Real Dream: Infinity

William woke up with a start. The dim light of his clock projected irregular shadows on the curved walls of his room, a space seemingly designed more to impress than to comfort. The walls, made of Luxyn—that translucent material that emitted a bluish glow—seemed to breathe with the ambient light. In other homes, it was comforting; here, it only emphasized the silence.

The clock displayed the time: 5:00 a.m., two hours earlier than necessary. William sighed, resigned. He looked at the ceiling, where luminous patterns recreated a constantly moving night sky. It was a sophisticated attempt to make the place feel warmer, though to him, it was nothing more than a calculated illusion. He sat up slowly, noticing the cold air wrapping his body. As he leaned against the edge of the bed, his feet touched the icy floor—a sensation that brought him back to the present.

Without hurry, he rubbed his eyes and let his gaze wander around the room. The approaching exam crossed his mind, but not enough to compel him to turn on the computer. Stretching his legs, he remained there for a moment, listening to the constant hum of the climate control system. A part of him knew he wouldn't fall back asleep, so he didn't try.

***

By the time his watch showed 7:40 a.m., he was already standing by his wardrobe. His eyes scanned the neatly arranged clothes hanging in perfect symmetry—each garment a variation of the same scheme: white shirts, black trousers, nothing that suggested individuality. He picked one of the school uniforms, which automatically adjusted to his size as if it could sense his mood. As he left, he grabbed his favorite black jacket—a garment that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—and slung his backpack over his shoulder without looking back.

He descended the stairs with heavy steps. The foyer, vast and minimalist, seemed even emptier at this hour. The Luxyn walls responded to his presence with pulses of light that followed his footsteps. A detail that might fascinate any visitor but to William was as mundane as it was irrelevant. The echo of his steps filled the space, bouncing off the Ferroin floor—a material that promised security and permanence but transmitted a sense of coldness despite its warmth.

As he approached the kitchen, a built-in compartment revealed itself from the wall. A tray emerged with mechanical precision, offering a breakfast designed to be perfect: a uniform beige mix, packed with nutrients but absolutely devoid of flavor. He sat by the window as he ate, looking out at the streets of Luminia. Outside, the Luxyn sidewalks reflected the first rays of light. The buildings, immaculate and uniform, rose as though molded by the same hand. Floating walkways in the distance connected the towers, powered by the In, the energy that had transformed both the world and its people.

Everything in Luminia seemed carefully calculated, as if the city itself were trying to convince its inhabitants they lived in a paradise. William chewed slowly, unhurried. Perfect or not, everything still felt too... artificial.

The sun had already risen by the time William turned on the holoscreen in the living room while eating alone. A morning news broadcast played in the background, accompanied by a solemn tone:

"Incidents involving Emergents continue to rise. Local authorities have reported disturbances in several metropolitan areas, with multiple witnesses describing individuals exhibiting out-of-control abilities. Helios Tech insists that its containment measures, led by the Anomaly Containment Unit (ACU), are under control. More details at 10 a.m."

"Reapers." They weren't spoken of openly, but the fear of crossing their path was universal. They were Helios Tech's enforcers, ensuring that any anomaly was contained, no matter the cost.

William largely ignored the broadcast, but the word "Emergents" echoed in his mind like a persistent whisper. As the television continued its report, he quickly finished his meal, set the plate aside, picked up his backpack, and headed toward the entrance. His sneakers—white with red accents—waited perfectly aligned by the door. The door opened automatically as it detected his presence, letting in cold air that made him pull up his hood. His golden hair, slightly long and messy—striking but unwanted—was concealed beneath the dark fabric.

He walked passing through perfectly maintained gardens. The hedges, trimmed with millimetric precision, seemed to watch him as he moved. This district wasn't for just anyone. Only essential Helios Tech employees lived here, an exclusive space where the streets maintained an artificial order, as did the air itself. The meticulously kept gardens reflected the perfect system imposed on the people. Everything was calculated to uphold the image of efficiency, but behind the façades, real life seemed to have been exiled.

His house, like the others in this place, in shades of white and black, was built to appear modern and efficient. No excesses, only what was necessary. The people living here had neither the time nor the space for trivial concerns. Their existence was expected to revolve around Helios Tech, the company that managed the In, the primordial energy now dominating daily life. In the Luminary District, everyone seemed to be just another cog in the city's machinery.

William began his journey to school, leaving his house, passing through Luminary's security checkpoints, and crossing several streets until he reached the platform that would take him to higher levels. As he walked, the bustling city unfolded before him in striking contrast. The lights flickered intermittently in a fine mist, reflecting the disorder and agitation of its people.

At the base, Noctus—the lowest and darkest part of the city—seemed like a labyrinth of narrow streets and buildings weighed down by the passage of time.

The vehicles, though high-tech, buzzed through the streets, creating even more smog and dust. The people living in Noctus seemed forgotten—left behind by technological progress—marked by the daily struggle to survive.

As William approached the platform, the contrast was unmistakable. From there, he looked upward toward Solaris, the upper part of the city. Solaris was the technological and opulent heart, where buildings shone like giant glass mirrors, reflecting the sunlight. The streets, clean and orderly, appeared suspended in the air, connected by floating walkways and massive elevators that moved with precision. The people in Solaris didn't have to worry about darkness or scarcity; their lives were filled with luxury and comfort, marked by scientific advancements and an artificial peace.

William stepped into one of the enormous elevators that, despite their size, made no sound. As the elevator ascended slowly, William watched the gap between the two worlds become increasingly clear. Noctus, with its chaos and despair, faded into the distance, while Solaris emerged as a beacon of progress—a place he didn't fully belong to.

In no time, he reached the station, where, in the distance, an Aerobus hovered over the energy rails. After the automatic scanner checked his identity, he quickly boarded, avoiding the gazes of the few passengers. He sat at the back, resting his head against the glass. The city slid past his eyes like a blur of lights and futuristic structures. But his mind was elsewhere. The exam, the classes—it all felt insignificant compared to the feeling of being trapped in an endless cycle.

***

In less than thirty minutes, William was standing in front of the school, an imposing structure designed in the shape of a three-dimensional hexagon. It rose like a symbol of order and perfection within the district. Its walls, built with an advanced variant of Ferroin and coated in Luxyn, emitted a soft glow that shifted according to the flow of In, adapting to the collective emotions of the students and staff. The design not only offered a futuristic aesthetic but also regulated temperature and noise, ensuring an optimal learning environment. William looked at it with something close to disdain.

So precise, so perfect…

He walked leisurely toward the entrance: a bridge suspended by energy columns that seemed to float above an artificial lake whose crystalline structure reflected the first rays of sunlight.

Upon reaching the school, the massive, polished doors opened automatically as they detected his presence. As he crossed the threshold, a soft hum enveloped him, signaling that the system had logged his entry. The main lobby was a spacious and minimalist area, with floors made of a translucent material that seemed to flow beneath his feet. Students moved among interactive holograms projecting diagrams of their upcoming lessons, while silent drones circulated, distributing materials and adjusting the lighting as needed.

As he advanced, holographic panels along the path displayed reminders for the day: updates from Helios Tech, weather reports, and an exam reminder. His lips twitched at the sight of it.

Tsk, I know already.

Upon entering the classroom, William found himself under the stern gaze of the teacher.

The man, barely 1.6 meters tall, looked even smaller next to William's 1.79-meter frame. The contrast was almost comical. The teacher, a thin, elderly man with an angular face etched with a sea of wrinkles, wore a pair of round glasses that seemed too large for his narrow face. His sparse, snow-white hair was meticulously combed to one side, as though no strand dared to defy his rigid order. The expression in his small yet sharp brown eyes was that of a hawk observing its prey.

"It's a miracle his neck can support his head," William thought, a flicker of humor sparking a faint internal smile. Though diminutive and frail in appearance, the man exuded an authority disproportionate to his size, as though every fiber of his small body radiated pure disapproval.

"I apologize for my continued tardiness," William murmured mechanically, pulling back his hood to reveal his golden hair as he crossed the room. The hollow echo of his words filled the awkward silence. The phrase emerged without intention or emotion, a reflex learned through routine. Without waiting for a response, he headed to the back of the classroom and slumped into his seat. His mind had already wandered far from the room, ignoring the fleeting glances of some classmates who barely dared to look at him.

The exam went as he expected: a disaster. His mind was blank, unable to focus. The answers he wrote were mere guesses. When he finished, he let out a heavy sigh and allowed himself to get lost in the view outside the window until a conversation between two classmates caught his attention.

"Did you hear? They say an Emergent destroyed an entire park last weekend. Did you see it?" one of his classmates asked, showing a blurry video on his computer.

"Bah, it's all exaggerations. Probably just another lunatic with a drone," the other replied, rolling his eyes.

William listened silently from his seat, preferring not to join the conversation. However, his eyes locked onto the screen. A blurry figure, barely visible, seemed to disintegrate a tree with just a movement.

William turned away from the screen with an imperceptible grimace. Conversations about Emergents always unsettled him, especially when the line between admiration and fear blurred. It was inevitable; Aetheris seemed obsessed with them, and Dominion, the weekly event organized by Helios Tech, only fueled that fascination.

Dominion wasn't just a spectacle. It was the core of Emergent culture on the planet Aetheris. Each week, Emergents of various levels and abilities were summoned to face challenges in a massive arena, designed to test both their strength and creativity. The event served multiple purposes: training official Emergents, gathering valuable data on their abilities, and entertaining millions of spectators both live and via holographic broadcasts.

But not all participants were official Emergents. Some, like William, could join thanks to special permits granted by Helios Tech, often due to family connections or exceptional circumstances. There was also a civilian participant category—ordinary people temporarily injected with In for the competition. These injections awakened their abilities in a controlled manner, but always under strict supervision. After their participation, the residual In was extracted, ensuring they never evolved to Phase 2, known as Luminar.

To most, Dominion was just another spectacle—entertainment that turned Emergents into society's shooting stars. However, to Helios Tech, it was a goldmine of information. Every attack, defense, and use of In was carefully recorded, analyzed, and archived. This data fueled both research and the technology used to control the population. On Aetheris, everything was monitored, and Helios Tech ensured no one could use their abilities outside the authorized time and place.

That didn't mean there weren't risks. Emergents out of control were rare but not unheard of, and the Anomaly Containment Unit (ACU)—the Reapers, as they were informally called—were always on alert. With a minimum level of Luminar, the Reapers were relentless hunters, equipped with technologies designed to neutralize even the most dangerous Emergents. The occasional presence of Seraphim among them—Emergents at the pinnacle of evolution—added an aura of fear and mystery.

William knew these dynamics better than most. His official permit, granted by his father's reputation, had placed him on Helios Tech's radar from the beginning. Though he avoided conversations on the subject, he couldn't ignore the constant pressure from his surroundings. Dominion was a window into a world of power and possibilities, but also a reminder of the limits imposed by society.

When the bell rang, the classroom filled with voices and hurried movements. William, unhurried, remained seated a few seconds longer, gazing out the window. The sky over Aetheris, always meticulously clear, now seemed different. Dark clouds were forming on the horizon—something uncommon in the city. He frowned, trying to push away the feeling of unease.

William rose calmly, gathering his belongings as the other students rushed out of the classroom. In Solaris, the daily routine seemed marked by a frantic pace, but William had always been different. He didn't hurry; he didn't follow the flow. No matter how much he tried to fit in, he always felt as though his steps went against the current.

***

The route home was a familiar routine. William left the school and made his way toward the station, where the Aerobus platform floated in perfect synchronization with the schedules. The technology—courtesy of Helios Tech—ensured everything worked without error. He boarded the Aerobus, his gaze lost in the screen of his smart watch, scrolling through news and alerts as if they truly mattered to him. But this time, something caught his attention.

"Atmospheric anomaly detected in the northern sector of Solaris. Authorities investigating possible disturbances in the In flow. Non-essential travel is discouraged."

William frowned. It wasn't common for anything to disturb the flow of In, especially in Solaris, where technological stability was absolute. He dismissed the notification and leaned back in his seat, gazing out the window. The dark clouds he had seen earlier were still gathering, casting a shadow over the floating city.

When he arrived at the main station, the usual bustle of the area brought back a sense of normalcy. People came and went between shops, restaurants, and entertainment hubs that filled the streets of Solaris. William disembarked the Aerobus and began walking toward the elevator that would take him back to Noctus. As he moved, a strange tension seemed to hang in the air.

It wasn't obvious, but William could feel it. The way some people whispered in hushed tones, the furtive glances toward the sky… Something wasn't right. He quickened his pace, eager to get home before the unease solidified into something tangible.

Suddenly, a loud crash broke through the atmosphere—a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate in the very heart of the city.

Boom!

The lights around the platform flickered, and a wave of energy rippled through the streets, causing holograms to blink erratically and devices on people's wrists to momentarily display error messages.

"What the hell was that?" William muttered, turning toward the source of the noise.

In the distance, near one of Solaris's main entrances, a column of smoke began to rise. Although government security forces wasted no time in mobilizing, chaos had already erupted. People ran in every direction, shouting and seeking shelter.

William hesitated. He knew the sensible thing to do was to head for the elevator and get to safety in Noctus, but something held him back. An instinct—or perhaps a morbid curiosity. He turned toward the smoke, his sharp eyes scanning for any signs of movement.

At that moment, a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back sharply.

William turned abruptly, his heart racing with surprise, only to find himself face-to-face with two figures advancing calmly but radiating a palpable aura of danger. They wore sleek, dark suits with a uniform design, yet intimidating details: black gloves paired with masks that covered the upper half of their faces, each mask adorned with a simple, glowing symbol that emitted a faint bluish light.

Their movements were methodical, almost choreographed, and they glided through the crowd like predators in a forest. Those still lingering in the area stepped back at the sight of them, forming a clearing as they moved with unwavering precision. William recognized them immediately.

"The Reapers of Helios Tech."