Real Dream: Infinity

William walked through the streets of Solaris without really paying attention to where he was going. His feet followed the usual path, as if an invisible inertia dragged him forward without requiring any thought. Around him, the city buzzed with life: streets filled with hurried pedestrians, voices interrupted by the constant noise of vehicles speeding by, holographic ads illuminating the buildings with cutting-edge messages. Everything moved forward, functioning like a well-oiled machine where every piece fit perfectly.

"They move as if time were chasing them..." he thought, watching a couple running toward the aerobus station. It seemed as though they didn't have enough minutes in the day, as if life demanded too much from them and they could barely keep up.

William, on the other hand, felt trapped in a cycle where time held no meaning. His steps weren't quick or purposeful; he walked slowly, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground. At some point, catching his reflection in a glass pane, he stopped for a moment.

His golden hair, messy as if he never bothered to fix it, fell over his forehead, partially obscuring his brown eyes. In his gaze lived a weariness that didn't belong to someone his age. His figure was that of a tall, slender boy with slightly hunched shoulders, as if some invisible force pushed him down. He wasn't the William others had known years ago: confident, arrogant, and bright like a star everyone wanted to reach.

When will I be like them?

The question echoed in his mind, constant and unrelenting. When would he find that path that seemed so clear to everyone else? The people around him were rushed, yes, but at least they knew where they were going. They knew what they wanted—or so it seemed.

William, in contrast, just kept moving forward because stopping wasn't an option.

When he arrived home, the door slid open with a soft hum. "Welcome, William," the cold, mechanical voice of the home's artificial intelligence greeted him. The lights on the walls turned on in silent acknowledgment, and the warmth of the house enveloped him instantly. A place that should have felt comforting, safe... but only suffocated him further.

He climbed the stairs mechanically, his footsteps echoing softly against the spotless floor. The house, with its automated systems and perfect cleanliness, seemed indifferent to the invisible weight he carried. Reaching his room, the door slid open with a faint hum upon detecting his presence. William stepped through without energy and collapsed onto his bed, his body sinking into the adaptive memory mattress as the absolute silence of the room surrounded him.

He closed his eyes, trying not to think. Trying to empty his mind. But the images persisted, relentless and cruel: the memory of his mother sitting at the dining table, looking at him with a calmness that hurt more than any shout; her firm voice cutting into his chest like daggers:

"You don't understand loneliness. You don't know what it's like to be left behind while everyone else moves forward."

"No... that's not true," William thought, but even that denial felt hollow. His mother had been right, and that truth tormented him. Every day he moved forward without direction, every time he forced himself to ignore the future, he felt himself drifting further away from her.

William opened his eyes and stared at the white ceiling. The faint light of the afternoon filtered through the window, casting irregular shadows on the walls.

"University..." he told himself, clinging to the idea as if it were a lifeline.

That time will be different. I'll find something I like. Something worthwhile...

He rose from the bed with effort and turned on his computer. The screen lit up his face with a cold glow, but before he could even open a file, he stopped. The room fell silent again, broken only by the soft hum of the climate control system kicking in.

What if nothing changed?

The question hit him hard, and a knot formed in his stomach. He stared at the screen, but he no longer saw the icons or folders. Only a vision of the future that suffocated him: himself, sitting in a university classroom, surrounded by people who seemed to have it all figured out while he remained the same. What would have changed, really?

"Nothing," a voice in his head answered.

Because he would still be William: the boy who didn't know which path to take, who felt exhausted for no reason, who sank deeper and deeper into a void he couldn't fill. No matter how much he tried, at the end of the day, he couldn't escape himself.

He looked down at his hands. They rested motionless on the desk. He knew what he was supposed to do: open his books, study, prepare for the future everyone expected of him. But the weight of that effort, of that empty expectation, was too much.

Fear settled in his chest again, spreading like a shadow. A deep, ancient fear that made him shut his eyes tightly.

"What's the point of all this?" he whispered quietly, his voice barely an echo in the empty room.

But there was no answer.

The computer screen remained on, waiting, as if it too knew that William wouldn't move. That all the momentum he had felt had vanished, swallowed by the weight of his own mind.

He stayed there for a while, motionless, as the afternoon turned to night and the shadows in the room enveloped him.

There, in that silence, William once again felt what he had been feeling for so long: that he was alone, trapped in a cycle with no way out, where each day was a repetition of the last.

And perhaps, he would never find a way to escape.

***

Aurora woke up to the morning light filtering through the slightly closed curtains. The golden rays illuminated a room brimming with life, though somewhat messy: shelves overflowing with books, vibrant posters decorating the walls, and a small collection of plants fighting for space on the windowsill. The wooden floor, marked by years of use, creaked softly as Aurora climbed out of bed.

Her room had the charm of a lived-in space. A desk near the window was cluttered with papers, worn-out pens, and a coffee mug she had forgotten to wash the night before. The bed, covered in a slightly wrinkled green quilt, still retained the warmth of her dreams. Unlike the cold, inhuman order of a high-tech home, here, every object had a purpose and a story, even if it wasn't always in its place.

Aurora yawned and stretched slowly, dragging herself to the kitchen. On the way, she picked up a scarf lying on the couch and tossed it carelessly toward a coat rack. The house was small but cozy, equipped with basic, somewhat old appliances that still worked, though not without the occasional mechanical groan.

In the kitchen, she pulled out a pan and turned on the stove. The aroma of melting butter began to fill the air as she whisked eggs with quick, precise movements. She added diced tomatoes and shredded cheese from the fridge. "A simple breakfast, but enough for a day like this," she thought.

After finishing her breakfast, Aurora turned on her Nexus, checking her account balance. The payment for her hours at the library had been deposited on time. The interface projected a series of green numbers floating over her wrist, bringing a faint smile to her face. That job, though monotonous, was her little corner of peace: the smell of old books, the soft sound of turning pages, and the comforting silence. And today, her efforts would finally pay off: Dominion.

Aurora had been saving diligently for a month, resisting temptations like new clothes or her favorite books. The ticket system, like everything in Aetheris, was virtual and exclusive. All she had to do was scan her Nexus at the entrance—the advanced, efficient smartwatch exclusive to Helios Tech. But as she changed clothes, Aurora's thoughts drifted elsewhere: to Etheron, the place where she grew up.

Etheron was the complete opposite of Noctus or Solaris. There were no smartwatches, futuristic elevators, or virtual payments. The houses were simple, the days quiet and slow. Although life there had been hard, she remembered those days fondly: picking fruit, reading under the sun, and gazing at stars in a darkness that barely existed in Noctus. Perhaps that was why, despite now living surrounded by technological advances, Aurora avoided using them more than necessary.

"I guess I've gotten used to it... but not completely," she murmured, chuckling softly as she put away the remains of her breakfast.

She left home wearing the white shirt and black pants bearing the symbols of the Helion Red Diamond Institute, a bright red diamond with specks of blue light. Making sure to lock the door, she walked down a street that was still quiet in the early morning. The air, slightly misty with a whitish fog, carried a pleasant chill, and the city noise was just beginning to stir.

The Clarus district in Noctus was a place that seemed frozen in time. The houses, built with common materials like wood and concrete, evoked old Earth cities. There were no glass structures or gleaming facades; instead, there were small gardens overflowing with flowers, sloped roofs, and windows with half-drawn curtains. However, a closer look revealed that time hadn't completely stopped: each house discreetly sported small solar panels, automatic water recycling systems, and modern appliances hidden behind weathered exteriors.

Aurora had chosen to live in Clarus for a simple reason: its proximity to Solaris. Knowing herself and her tendency toward laziness, she hadn't wanted to move somewhere that required multiple transports or extra commuting expenses. From here, all she had to do was walk down a street and take a public elevator that would bring her directly to Solaris, right next to Helion's entrance.

As she walked along the quiet street, she gave a slight nod to Mrs. Marlen, who was watering the plants in her small garden, and carefully avoided a couple of children playing with small drones, laughing as they flew clumsily at low heights. Despite the advancements and modernity, Clarus retained something Aurora had always valued: soul.

She arrived at the elevator building, a metallic block that seemed out of place in such a nostalgic setting. The cabin was spacious, clean, and silent. Aurora pressed the Solaris option on the touch panel and felt the gentle vibration as it ascended. Through the glass walls, she could see the changing landscape: the tranquility of the Clarus district shrinking below, hidden in the mist, while Solaris's gleaming towers began to dominate the view.

"And to think all of this was underground," Aurora thought, letting out a small smile. She had learned in the library that Noctus had been built below ground long ago, a refuge during the early eras of Helios Tech's exploration. But Solaris... Solaris was the future.

When the elevator doors opened, the change was immediate. The light was brighter, the air slightly warmer. Crowds moved with purpose, their phones and holographic screens glowing as they received instructions, payments, or notifications. Aurora adjusted the strap of her backpack and headed toward Helion, the institute with its imposing and futuristic doors.

Inside the classroom, the atmosphere was the same as always: students chatting among themselves, others reviewing last-minute notes, and a quiet anticipation settling in just as the clock struck the start of class. Aurora crossed the door with her usual calm expression but paused for a moment, surprised to see William sitting in his seat.

"On time again?" she thought, showing no emotion on her face.

She continued to her usual seat and dropped her backpack with a slight sigh. That's when she noticed something even more unusual: Professor Martius, a short man with neatly combed silver hair, round glasses, and a normally unflappable demeanor, stood frozen in front of his desk. His small eyes widened behind his lenses, unable to hide his astonishment as he stared at William.

"Two days in a row..." Martius murmured, visibly in shock.

Aurora had to stifle a laugh at the sight. Internally, however, she couldn't help but find it amusing. A small change in routine, no matter how insignificant, was enough to shake the professor's composure.

"Maybe today will be an interesting day," she thought, a fleeting smile crossing her lips where no one could see it.