Preface

  To my ever-present companion, the Impostor Syndrome. You believe in me, so I don't have to.

  Prologue

  "Damn this arch-mage, couldn't he be at least a bit less messy? How am I supposed to find anything in this chaos? Maybe in this drawer? Nope. Behind the... nope. Maybe... oh, here you are."

  I took the notepad and returned to my desk to make some sketches to better grasp the process. It was kinda nice to have a task that required such preparation, most of software development is unbelievably boring.

  I sat down, placed the notepad on the desk, and cast around for the pen I left ther...

  "For the love of god, where's the pen? I had it like what, a few seconds ago?"

  Nah, that wasn't true, was it. Searching through the cluttered mage's workshop must have taken me a while.

  "Damn this ADHD. Losing things, a mess all around, and problems following time's passing? Isn't this curse a nice one? Well, at least we have gamification to keep things novel and engaging."

  Decades later, a second expedition ventured out to the wilds to retrace the steps of the first one. To find the lost ruins and retrieve the powerful artifact. This one definitely didn't repeat the same mistakes and left the other arcane object safely behind the great walls of the capital city.

  "I say, left the...," I sighed, the notepad in my hand.

  "Yes, sir, I'll be right back, sir!"

  And the great expedition followed the trail almost lost to nature and time, until they came upon a...

  "There it is."

  And with the artifact secured, they hastened back to...

  "What was it I wanted to write?"

  I stared at the pen and notepad forlornly.

  "Oh yes, the new task."

  ...

  I got home absolutely knackered. Yet another day in the office.

  "Really, you NTs, that's neurotypicals to you, Watson, you NTs will never understand how exhausting it is for us to act normal. Abnormal we can do, abnormal is easy."

  My inner monologuing got the better of me while fixing dinner for me and the family. After that, we had a quick game of LEGO Jurassic Park with my son, brush teeth, Duolingo (yay, I reached a 2000-day streak today), and bed. Hum, drum, hum, drum.

  To sleep, perchance to dream -- ay, there's the rub: For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

  The dream was back again tonight. I stood on unknown battlements, surrounded by enemy soldiers, leering, laughing, closing in. I tried to keep them at bay, following their movements, but there was just too many of them.

  One feigned a strike, and I interposed the spear between us, but it was a trap. Another one lunged into the gap, slashing at me with his sword. I yanked myself back, but the tip of his weapon tore a cut into my arm. Through the adrenaline, I barely felt anything, just a numb punch. But I knew it had been a deep cut. My armor was a joke, the simple leather jerkin leaving most of my arms exposed.

  The attacker quickly disengaged, not trying to press further. They clearly enjoyed toying with me. My breath was heavy, sweat stung in my eyes, panic and fear draining the dregs of my reserves.

  "Stop playing, we've got work to do," another rough-looking soldier climbed the stairs and growled towards my tormentors.

  "Yes, sir!" The group chorused, and their leering faces turned hard, focused on me. They closed in, arms ready.

  I woke up, sweating. "Strange," I thought. I experienced repeating dreams before, but this one was different. Way too realistic, way too pronounced. I even felt remnants of the strike on my right arm.

  "At least it's not the one about taxes again," I mumbled, yawning, and turned to the other side. It always helped me escape unpleasant dreams.

  ...

  The next morning wasn't going well. I forgot to charge my headphones and, having nothing to listen to on my way to work, as Homer Simpson would say, started thinking.

  By the time I arrived to the office, I was writing a new book, reorganizing world order, and unraveling quantum physics. Again.

  Mentally tired and unfocused, I started another working day. I somehow managed a few code reviews and even made a half-hearted attempt at my own task.

  I called it a day after mere six hours and went home. Wife, son, bed. How could other people go to pub or play tennis after work, I have no friggin idea. I was bone tired.

  ...

  Battlements again. My spear, inadequate armor, too many enemies, and overwhelming odds. Even my fantasy dreams are against me.

  ...

  "Okay, no procrastination today. I'm staying home to avoid interruptions. You. Can. Do it!"

  Full of optimism and resolve, I did my morning chores. But then, yeah, you guessed it, right?

  Sitting on the couch, I mused: "Half an hour of gaming will pleasantly start the good ol' circulation. After that, I'll be unstoppable."

  "Okay, it's almost lunchtime, just one more mission, but I really have to go afterwards."

  "Damn, damn, damn, damn. The family's back soon, and what have you done, you little..."

  Guilt welling up in my gut, clenching my heart tight, I stood up and finally turned the bloody thing off.

  "That was a waste of time. One more day behind schedule, one more heavyweight added to the ever-growing pile weighing down my shoulders. You stupid fuck."

  I clenched my fists in frustration and disappointment. Wednesday gone, two days left till the deadline.

  "Perhaps I could work a few hours on the weekend, they wanted it by the end of the week, didn't they? Nah, I also promised to go on that family trip. And they deserve it. I've already missed enough family events."

  As usual, after a day of gaming, I couldn't fall asleep. But finally, long after midnight, the sleep came.

  ...

  Battlements. At night.

  "Hey, did I not notice before, or was this always happening at night? Dreams are weird."

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  An intense fire must have been burning in the courtyard below, flames flickering on the walls, and the roar clearly audible even up here. Several torches in sconces and one or two braziers cast their deceitful half shadows around us.

  And the faces, they looked like caricatures, sneering, jeering, some even snarling.

  "Well, that's a mood shift if I ever saw one."

  But something else was lurking and swirling around, I felt more than saw it. A twisting thread of invisible fire and smoke, but strangely familiar, almost as if I could touch it. Eerie yet almost comfy, like an old coat or cloak. I felt elated, nothing like the fear and panic before. Even the pike in my hands felt sturdier, sharper, deadlier. I grinned at my assailants.

  "It's my dream, let's have some fun."

  At this point, I knew the movements of the soldiers as my own. It was easy to feign defense after the first feigned attack, and move the spear back in the way of the second guy, who got a face full of spear for his trouble. The stair-climbing probably officer's tone shifted mid-speech.

  "Stop playing, we've ... what the hell!"

  He bellowed and hurried to join the fray. It was mainly freestyle after I broke the old sequence, but I was feeling great, and they seemed to be unnaturally stunned by my swift and precise defense. I didn't wait for them to regroup and started moving fast, poking at them from different angles, switching positions and tactics, forcing them to dodge, step into one another's way and generally cause mayhem in their midst. And I was enjoying myself immensely.

  "Now, that's the way to do it, go dream!"

  Suddenly, a woman's voice cut through the din. Loud and clear, defiance, panic creeping in. A woman in distress.

  I sat up in my bed, beads of sweat on my forehead.

  "Damn, that was strange. Am I going to be sick or what?"

  I usually didn't sweat in sleep unless I was running a fever. Well, at least the dream was getting better. Up until the end, that was disturbing. Still, it was just a dream.

  "Good night," I yawned to myself, lay back and fell asleep before I knew it.

  ...

  Despite the wild dreams and sweat, I felt nicely fresh in the morning. I ate breakfast with my wife and son, kissed them goodbye, and, equipped with charged headphones this time, went to work.

  "Deadline's rushing like a frontal attack, let's finally focus and finish the damn thing. The armies of darkness stand no chance!"

  And I did a really good job, it was one of those rare days. Entering flow almost immediately, I brushed off any interruptions with grace, easily returning from questions, two short code reviews, and even one meeting, during which I stood in the corner, hopping from one foot to another, trying not to be too disturbing.

  On my way home in the late afternoon, I enjoyed the sun turning the view almost sepia colored. My son's homework, half an hour of Minecraft as a treat, dinner, Duolingo, teeth, and bed. It was a nice day. And just as I was falling asleep, I thought, "Hmm, I wonder if the dream will come again tonight."

  ...

  "Hell yeah, dream!" I dream-thought. We were back. The bastards must have set fire to something huge and very flammable. The light and heat were noticeable even though the source itself was sunken far below my view. And the strange tendrils I could, well, not exactly see, but sense in a way that my brain easily added them to my 3D world model, they were even more pronounced than the last time. And every movement, every little air current seemed to interact with them. I had to focus on the fight, but I instinctively sensed my connection, and even, yes, even control over these insubstantial mote-ribbons.

  When a particularly vicious attacker seemed to pull harder on one of these, without any conscious command, my mental autopilot said: "No!"

  The result was illustrative. He moved to strike me hard, his sword refused to budge, he twisted unnaturally, but momentum took him further. His grip slipped, letting the weapon go, and he fell face-first, straight in front of me. I was surprised, but that was nothing compared to the stunned looks on his companions' faces. He rolled on his back, looking up at me, nose bleeding, eyes wide.

  Watching his upside-down face, I tilted my head in amusement, "You're okay, buddy?"

  And right on cue, the officer rushed up the stairs: "Stop playing, we've ..."

  He stopped with his mouth open, staring at the tableau before him. His eyes flickering between me, the lying man, the other soldiers, back to the fallen one, to me. I couldn't help it, and started laughing.

  "Enough!" Yelled the officer. "Get him!"

  The soldiers started moving like in treacle, slowly coming to their senses.

  "Up, up!" I sniggered at the still prone unfortunate.

  He started scrambling up and away. They formed their ranks, but nobody seemed too eager to be the first to resume their attack.

  "C'mon!" Yelled their superior, his voice rising an octave. They struck. I struck back. It was fun incarnate. Or dreamt. For me, at least. My opponents fought with grim determination. Between strikes, dodges, and parries, I tried more tendril-tricks. And it was hilarious as hell. And with each successful trip, stumble, or misdirection, my foes grew more and more cautious. Even the boss lost some of his conviction.

  "No!" The woman yelled, half defiance, half fear.

  "Damn, not again!" I mumbled, sitting in my bed.

  ...

  Another strange feature of ADHD is the lack of satisfaction when you finish something. We may enjoy the process, especially when we manage to enter flow, but the ends are always a bit... anticlimactic. No celebrations, no dopamine rush. That's why we suck at finishing projects. You can learn to help it, yet I expect it's not the same. But what do I know.

  The fact is that after Thursday's magical vibes, I managed to finish my task on Friday. I did a little mental winner's dance, the crowds went wild, and celebrated their hero and all that stuff, but in the end, I closed my laptop, packed, and went home.

  To leave nice and early, we readied everything for our trip and went to bed soon-ish. With no heavy weight of yet another unfinished work, it'd be a great day. A day with my family, in the woods, slow and quiet.

  "Yeah, I sighed, lying in bed, tomorrow will be fun."

  I kissed my wife goodnight, snuggled up to her for comfort, and fell asleep.

  ...

  This dream of mine was already feeling so familiar that I started making plans. I wasn't just a pawn being moved by a higher force. I was the master of my own destiny, and I decided to make the best of it. And I wanted to see the woman whose voice I'd heard before. I reasoned that seeing what was happening down there in the courtyard would prevent me from waking up, giving me a chance to observe, and perhaps even help her. So this time, as soon as I appeared in my obligatory position on the battlements, I started realizing my plan.

  It wasn't easy, though. I had basically two options. I could start moving towards one of the towers enclosing this segment of the wall, keeping my back against the crenellation. Or I could try going through the middle of the merry band of cutthroats directly towards the stairs. But I somehow felt they wouldn't let me. And I didn't feel like mass murdering the lot of them, even though I was certain they didn't share my sentiment. That's how dreams are, right? If you're not a murderous psycho IRL, you hesitate to turn into one in your dreams. And if you don't, that should sound an alarm bell.

  But the tower entrances looked like dark maws, and anybody could be lurking in the darkness. Nevertheless, I started towards the tower closest to the stairs. It was like making way against the current. The dream apparently didn't want me to go. As long as I was cheerfully toying with my assailants, I could do as I pleased, but making progress away from my location was hard. And the soldiers played along as if they knew what my intention was. The progress was slow, even with my magic tricks. And I knew I was on the clock, especially after the officer joined his underlings. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, and even if there was, I didn't think the interval had always been the same.

  Then I finally made my way to the tower. I was getting desperate, fearing the voice would wake me up and interrupt the dream again.

  "I'm afraid to wake up," I chuckled, "that's a new one." But it didn't make my desperation any lesser. I considered a dash when I noticed it. Besides the already familiar mote-ribbons, there was something else. From the brazier above the door, another tendril flowed and squirmed. Almost invisible, dark red, and radiating heat. And more were coming from the courtyard's blazing fire. An immediate idea struck me, and my instinct came to the rescue. I somehow pulled on the nearest wisp, concentrated it into two balls, threw one towards my enemies, and the second one through the portal. I was rewarded with yelps of pain while I dashed over the width of the battlements.

  I got my first glimpse of the courtyard and what was happening there. A large pile of timber, broken furniture, tapestries, and clothes was burning in the center. Another group of soldiers was throwing more stuff on the fire. Two more were dragging a small figure by a rope tied to her wrists, who was fighting them all the way. My target, I presumed. It took me but a fraction of a second to take it in before I had to turn back to my devoted followers. They looked like someone poured a bucket of boiling water over them, and didn't seem eager to continue our disputation. But they were slowly pulling themselves together.

  I risked another glance towards the woman, just in time to see her freeze in shock, eyes wide in horror, watching two soldiers holding something heavy between them, giving it one rock back and hurling it into the fire. It was a body.

  "No!" She screamed in defiance.

  In shock, my instincts took over. All the lights and even the large fire dimmed and darkened as I pulled on the power coming from them, and in an instant, neatly distributed it between all the enemy soldiers. The result was not nice. It took the flames a while to regain their strength and illuminate the scene again, and what I saw exceeded my wildest expectations. Charred remnants slowly crumbled to dust, leaving only sad heaps with but a few larger pieces. I was struck, staring open-mouthed at the carnage.

  "What the fuck?!"

  "Mael?" A soft voice brought me to my senses.

  I turned to the woman and found her slumped on her knees, eyes wide, staring at me. Or in my general direction. I looked around, but saw no one. Then I finally burst into motion, running down the stairs and towards her.

  "Are you okay, ma'am? Did they hurt you?" I asked, stopping a non-threatening distance from her.

  She had tears in her eyes. "Mael?" Her voice small, confused.