The teacher was wiping the chalkboard as the school bell rang, and students hurriedly stood and packed their supplies. It was Friday, and as usual, everyone was ecstatic to finally go home. Most of the students in Math Class, however, gathered around Jonathan. It was his eighteenth birthday, and the class sang to him and offered their best wishes. Jonathan smiled, but he didn't think much of the attention-he was used to it. No one in the school matched his academic success, athletic prowess, or effortless charisma. Everyone said that he was a prodigy, a blessing even. He was always destined to win and he knew that. Many admired him, while those who didn't were envious. The one thing everyone shared was a sense of wonder: how could Jonathan be so perfect? He never revealed much about himself, cultivating a persistent sense of mystique.
"Let's take a picture together!" yelled one of the girls. As the class jubilantly gathered 'round, the camera's flash briefly illuminated every face but one. The face of a person that no one even noticed was missing. It was Somni, already on his way home. He never stayed for moments like these. School was something he passed through, not something he belonged to-at least that's how he felt. He didn't care for his classmates, and the feeling was mutual. No one called after him, and he didn't expect them to. He stumbled sleepily through Starr City's pristine streets, heading toward the graffiti-scarred walls of his neighborhood, where his run-down house awaited him; the house his grandfather had left him before passing away; the only family Somni had ever really known. Since his grandfather's recent death, Somni had spent most of his time alone, save for Starkles, his cat. He lost his mother the moment he came into the world. There were complications during childbirth, but at 12:58 a.m. on a quiet Tuesday, Somni was born. His mother, however, passed shortly after due to those complications. His father didn't remain in his life for long either; he harbored resentment toward Somni, believing him responsible for his wife's death. After being released from the hospital, he drove to Somni's grandparents' home and left the boy in their care. He never returned. Somni's grandmother died of old age only a few months later. Death and grief surrounded him throughout his childhood, though he didn't fully understand them until years later when his grandfather told him everything. From the moment he could form his first feelings, he felt like a curse-one that longed to be a blessing. Somni believed his grandfather raised him to be a good person, but he struggled to make friends anyway. It wasn't that he didn't want to-he was afraid of placing his curse upon them. He had no particular talents, and without anything to set him apart, he faded into solitude. But there was one thing. His mother had named him Somni, a shortened form of somnium, the Latin word for dream. She was a narcoleptic and believed that the joy of having a child would save her. Somni was meant to be her symbol of hope. Disaster struck, but the name proved fitting, for throughout his life, his imagination never diminished. It could make even his days feel like dreams. Imagination was where Somni remained unrivaled. Hearing that from his grandfather for the first time, he couldn't help but smile.
Somni entered the house and closed the door behind him; it creaked, alerting Starkles. The living room wasn't messy or unkempt, but it was dusty-the same could be said for the kitchen. After feeding Starkles, Somni walked through the old house's narrow hallways and over its creaking floorboards to his room. Unlike the rest of the house, his room was surprisingly clean. It was where he spent most of his time, and the place he cared for the most. He played his favorite video games for a couple of hours, stopping only to grab something to eat or drink or to use the bathroom. By the time boredom finally crept in, it was exactly 9:58 p.m., and the sky outside had grown dark. He shut down his computer, walked over to his spotless window, and opened it. He pulled out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and lit one. One of his quiet rituals was watching the stars shimmer in the night sky while he smoked, Starkles curled close beside him. The moon, especially, held a strange place in his heart. "It's 10 p.m.," Somni said excitedly, glacing at the clock before looking back at his cigarette and taking another smoke. "Fifty-eight minutes until the shooting stars come." He stood there, enchanted, watching the stars for an hour. When the time came, no shooting stars appeared. Confused, Somni waited. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty. After forty minutes, he finally gave up and went to bed, dissapointed. "I wish this loser life would change," he murmured weakly-the wish he had saved for the shooting stars. He was tired of the loneliness. For as long as he could remember, he had felt like the world's shadow, never truly understanding what happiness was supposed to feel like. Starkles was already asleep in the corner of the room when Somni began to cry softly. He fell asleep in distress, his pillow damp with tears. Some time later-two minutes before midnight-a flash of light grazed the sky, briefly illuminating Somni's room. He didn't even budge. It didn't matter anyway; it wasn't the shooting star he had hoped for. It was something his mind wouldn't comprehend-something he was yet to understand.
After a few hours, Somni opened his eyes. Above him was no ceiling-only darkness. He looked around and realized his room, his house, his world were gone. He lay there in the void, not scared, not shocked, only confused. He stood and cautiously stepped forward. Though he could walk, he couldn't feel anything beneath his feet. He stared into the emptiness until it stared back. Somni wasn't alone. A figure approached-humanoid in shape, but formed entirely of darkness. It had no face, just the suggestion of a void-like body. Still unfazed, Somni asked it simply, "What is this place?" The entity seemed amused by his indifference. "This," it said, its voice stripped of identity, neither young nor old, "is your mind materialized." Somni's confusion remained, yet his reaction was stoic. As if it made sense, he asked, "Who are you, and why are you part of my mind?" The figure smirked. "Let's not get too personal. You should be more interested in what I have to offer, Somni." That was the first thing that truly surprised him. Still, he didn't ask how it knew his name. "What?" He said flatly. The being stepped closer and whispered, "I wish this loser life would change." Somni's eyes widened. "I heard your wish last night," the entity continued. "I'm here to fulfill it." Thinking it was mocking him, Somni tried to push it away. The moment he touched it, the figure dissolved into void-like particles, scattering into the darkness. A fading voice echoed around him: "You can call me Animo, Don't dissapoint me, Somni." Somni stood there, appalled, his expression finally breaking as he watched what had once been a body scatter into the void. Suddenly, another voice rang out-different from Animo's. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" The darkness began to peel away as the sound grew more familiar. It was his alarm. For a moment, his senses blurred, then he jolted awake. He stared at the ceiling-the same one that had vanished moments before-and looked around his room. Starkles was meowing irritably at the noise. Somni let out a long sigh. "Bastard," he muttered. "It was just a dream."
Lethargic, Somni stood up and pressed his feet against the floor, almost checking that he could feel it this time. As usual, he fed Starkles and made himself breakfast, a simple bowl of cereal. All the while, the strange dream lingered at the back of his mind. The day passed uneventfully. Before darkness crept in, Somni found himself back in his room. He glanced at his monitor with a hint of curiosity. "What was its name again?" he muttered. A moment later his expression shifted with realization. He sat down, opened his browser, and typed a single word into the search bar, Animo. At first, nothing meaningful appeared, only definitions. In Latin, courage. In Spanish, it carried a broader meaning-Don't give up. Somni sighed and scrolled further. That was when he found it-animo.58. He clicked the link. As the page loaded, he felt a strange tug of familiarity. He'd been seeing the number fifty-eight everywhere lately. His grandfather used to mutter something about it when Somni was younger, though he had always brushed it off. "Apophenia" Somni told himself. The website was unsettling-no design, no structure. Just strings of letters and numbers scattered across the page. Still intrigued, Somni tried running the data through various programs. Eventually, a pattern emerged. Coordinates. His curiosity turned to terror as he read them. "This is-"
The place was familiar to Somni. Knowing he could make it there just before nightfall if he left at once, he scrambled around his room and took off without hesitation. Stone monuments and weathered engravings loomed before him as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ground. Somni was at the graveyard where his grandfather was buried. The funeral felt like yesterday. It had taken place only weeks after Somni's eighteenth birthday. Uneasy but desperate for answers, he wandered the grounds until there was nothing left to find. In the end, he stopped at his grandfather's grave and knelt to pray.
By the time he stood again, darkness had settled fully. Then, in a single moment, everything vanished. Somni knew this place. He was inside his mind again. Thrill surged through him; he'd found a way back. The void shifted. What had been a grave moments ago peeled away from the darkness, reforming into a humanoid shape. This time, Animo had eyes; soft baby-blue irises framed by long, pale lashes. They looked like a woman's. Animo approached without a sound. Questions poured from Somni. "Is this another dream?" "Where is the real world when I'm he-" A hand rested genty on his head. "All will be answered in due time," Animo said calmly. Weakness flooded Somni's body. "What... are you doing?" he whispered. Then everything went dark. He woke up in the same place, still in darkness, confused. A voice rang out, it was Animo's. "This is a past memory. Nothing you see is real at this time, and no one can see or hear y ou. These are just memories, but they conceren you." Somni, still lying on an unseen floor, looked around. An elderly man stood several meters away, his back turned. He wore a pristine white lab coat and worked feverishly at a futuristic console, fingers moving faster than seemed possible. The environment shifted constantly, fragments of different places blending into one another as if multiple memories were playing at once. Somni started approaching him. Between each shift, the man spoke. "Sixteen... seventeen... eighteen..." Somni stepped carefully, as if he was scared. "Twenty-seven... twenty-eight... twenty-nine..." Somni was speeding up and so were the memories. "Fifty-six... fifty-seven..." He stopped. Somni was only a few steps behind him now. The closer he got, the clearer the console became, its surface subtly altering with each memory shift. Yet the man himself never changed. The same gray hair. The same slim frame. The same immaculate coat. The man lifted a microphone Somni hadn't noticed before, inhaled deeply, and spoke: "Project fifty-eight... cursed." Just as Somni leaned forward, about to see his face, the world distorted. His senses blurred in a familiar way, and he passed out. When he came to, he was back on the floor. Animo stood beside him now, even more defined than before. "Spectacular," Animo said. "Your mind processed fifty-eight memory segments, and you're only this exhausted. "Its voice had changed. Softer. Almost feminine. Almost human. Somni barely heard it. He was watching Animo. With every encounter, it looked less like an entity and more like a person. The familiar baby-blue eyes remained, and now long, pale-blond hair framed its face. Its body had weight, shape, humanity. And unsettlingly, Somni saw traces of himself in it. "The resistance," Animo continued. "It must be your imagination. I wonder how far your mind truly goes." Somni was stunned. "Wait... how do you kno-" Animo sent a neural impulse to his brain. Pain detonated behind Somni's eyes. Darkness again. When he opened them, the old man had returned; this time arguing with a younger man, about Somni's age. Their mouths moved, but no sound reached Somni. He rushed forward, only to slam into an invisible barrier. "This is a future memory. You can't interfere with it; I'm just trying something." Animo's new heavenly voice rang out. "Future what?" A shock came instantly and Somni collapsed for the fourth time. He awoke on his knees, gasping. "I suppose future memories are too complex for you," Animo said, despondent. "By the looks of it, I think we'll part ways soon, Somni. I'll answer what I can." Somni barely managed a sound. "The people you saw want something from me. You asked who I am." Animo tilted its head. "I'm a deity, I maintain balance. Energy. Life essence. You don't feel it, but it's everywhere." Somni listened, clinging to consciousness. "When too much energy accumulates in one place, or one person, imbalance forms. You are one such place. The people you saw are the reason you're like this. They extracted fragments of my essence. Power no human should wield." Animo's expression darkened. "Deities have no desires. Humans do. And when ego holds divinity, disaster follows. Let's say you also have a part of my power; they give out a part of my essence every time." Somni's breath steadied. "Every... time?" Animo put on its iconic smirk and began fading into darkness. "Don't worry about it for now," he said. Somni watched with a hint of discontent, still on his knees. Animo merged back into the place where the grave had been, and the darkness blended into reality, revealing the graveyard where Somni stood. Rain began to fall as he stood up and headed home. He arrived drenched, wanting nothing more than to sleep everything off.
He managed to fall asleep, and Sunday went by quietly, nothing new for Somni. When Monday came, he went to school, and as usual, no one paid attention to him, except for Jonathan, who seemed genuinely thrilled to see him. Something felt off, but Somni also felt seen. When class ended, Jonathan approached and started talking about trending video games. Somni was surprised, but happy. Over the course of the week, they grew closer, and one day Jonathan invited him to hang out. "Friday 10:30 p.m., Starry 58th, I'll see you there!" Somni was a little unsettled that Jonathan had chosen such a late time, but he was excited nonetheless. When Friday came and 10:30 p.m. approached, Somni made his way toward the meeting spot. The sky was dark, void of stars, but a full moon shone above as he approached Starry 58th. Just before he reached the destination, he passed through a narrow, shadowed street and saw Jonathan standing at the end. His friendly school expression was gone, replaced by something menacing. Somni smiled at him; until a sharp pain shot through his arm. Someone had injected him with something. Jonathan didn't move; he just watched as a new neural impulse coursed through Somni, and he lost consciousness.
Somni awoke in his mind, feeling the familiar pull of near-sensory deprivation. He lay on the ground, confused, as Animo floated above him, pointing ahead. Following the gesture, he saw the same man and young person from the future memory. "This is a present memory," Animo said. Somni's face turned pale. The older man was his grandfather, and the young one was Jonathan. "The man you know as your grandfather has been running these experiments for centuries, and Jonathan was his first apprentice," Animo continued. Somni trembled. "They draw me toward those they engineer in order to extract more of my essence. Even aware of this, I am bound to correct the imbalance. They just want more power" Animo added. It's shadowy skin began to unfold like a bandage, revealing a woman's face. Somni watched in disbelief. "Mother..?" He said in a weak voice. He had never met her, but something told him it was her. Animo didn't respond. The fleeting warmth he felt collapsed into emptiness as realization struck. "No, I don't have a mother," he said flatly. They had engineered a memory of her to resemble Animo. Around them, more men moved through the lab where Somni had been created. People rushed in, carrying Somni's soul-less body. "You have a strong mind, so I could resist their devices. They might extract some essence, but not the entirety of me. Thank you, Somni. I couldn't save you, but you saved me." Somni wanted to believe none of it made sense, but it all clicked. He wouldn't cease to exist; he would simply be replaced by another project. He heard the men discussing new memory sets, things far beyond his understanding. He accepted his fate. "Fifty-eight times, huh?" I'm not that bad after all," he smiled. The last thing he remember before drifting off, aside from the pain, was basking in the moonlight-content. As he was losing consciousness, a voice he belived was his grandfather announced something that made him smile more than ever: "Loading project 59: Blessed."