### Chapter Two: Echo of the Hospital Room
The money in his bank account was a tangible reality, warm green numbers promising an end to a month of worry. But the relief Ethan was supposed to feel was out of reach, like a mirage in a desert of exhaustion.
His body was lying on the couch, but his mind still roamed elsewhere, stuck between the noise of reality and the silence of the dream world.
He could still feel the ghostly presence of that entity he'd captured, that compressed nightmare he contained, like a cold whisper in the basement of his soul.
He got up from the couch, feeling every muscle in his body groaning in protest. Every "mission" left him this drained, not just physically, but mentally too.
It was the price of crossing between worlds.
He moved to the small kitchen, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't make coffee; caffeine was the last thing his overactive mind needed.
Instead, he boiled some water and prepared a cup of chamomile tea, an old remedy his mother always recommended for sleepless nights.
He held the warm cup with slightly trembling hands and stood by the only window in his apartment, gazing at the silent arteries of light that formed the sleeping city below. Millions of souls out there, dreaming.
Some dreaming happy dreams, some running through the corridors of their own nightmares. And others, the unlucky few, might never wake up.
The image of the child, Lillian, whispering her mother's name after she woke up, flickered back into his mind.
It was a success, an expensive success, but a success nonetheless.
That faint feeling of satisfaction, of bringing a child back to her parents' arms, was the drug that kept him going in this dangerous line of work.
But it was also a painful reminder of the first time, the time he wasn't the experienced "Morpheus," but just a terrified brother. The time the victim wasn't an anonymous client, but his younger sister, Chloe.
Ethan sighed, letting the warm steam of the tea touch his face, as he allowed the memory he buried every day to rise to the surface.
--- Four Years Ago ---
Ethan knew nothing about Mind Eaters or the Dream World. He was just a 19-year-old college student, studying psychology, spending most of his time worrying about exams and his part-time job at a library. His life was reassuringly normal.
He had loving parents, and a younger sister, Chloe, who was twelve, and the center of his world. She was a vibrant girl, with fiery red hair and freckles that covered her always-smiling face.
It started gradually. Chloe began complaining about nightmares. At first, everyone dismissed it as normal for her age.
But the nightmares got worse, more vivid. She'd wake up screaming, talking about a "shadow man" watching her from the corner of her room.
Then physical symptoms started: constant exhaustion, loss of appetite, and dark circles etched under her beautiful eyes.
They took her to every doctor. They ran every possible test. And the result was always the same: "Nothing physically wrong. Maybe it's just stress or psychological anxiety." But Ethan, who was studying psychology, knew this was more than just anxiety. He saw real terror in his sister's eyes.
Then, one Tuesday morning, Chloe didn't wake up.
Her small body lay in her bed, breathing shallowly, but she was elsewhere. A deep coma no doctor could explain.
She was rushed to the hospital, where she became just a body connected to machines making monotonous, painful beeps. Sometimes she would shiver violently, letting out a faint whimper, as if being tormented in a world no one else could see.
Ethan's family life turned into a silent hell. His mother spent her days by Chloe's bedside, clutching her hand and reading stories in a broken voice.
His father threw himself into work, escaping the suffocating reality of the hospital. As for Ethan, he dropped out of college and quit his job, becoming a shadow haunting the hospital corridors.
He read every medical book, every research paper, every ancient folklore about "sleep sickness." He found nothing.
Two weeks passed. Chloe's condition worsened. Her skin grew pale, her body frail. Doctors told them they didn't know how long her body could last.
That night, Ethan was sitting alone by her bedside, holding her cold hand. The hospital lights were dim, and the sound of the machines was the only soundtrack to his despair.
He felt helpless, angry, guilty. Why her? Why hadn't he listened more seriously when she talked about the "shadow man"?
He leaned over and rested his head on the bed next to her arm, hot tears streaming from his eyes for the first time in days.
"Chloe," he whispered, his voice choked. "I'm sorry. I wish I could be there with you. I wish I could see what you see... to fight for you."
He was desperate, exhausted, and hadn't slept for over two days. And as he clung to her hand, sleep overcame him, and he drifted into a deep, troubled slumber on the edge of her bed.
It wasn't ordinary sleep. He felt himself falling, not into darkness, but into distorted light. He heard familiar sounds—his mother's voice, Chloe's laughter—but they were stretched and slowed, as if coming from underwater.
Then he felt an intensity, a violent tug, as if his soul was being ripped from his body.
He opened his eyes.
He wasn't in the hospital. He was standing in the middle of a vast green meadow under a clear blue sky.
This was the secret garden behind their grandmother's house, Chloe's favorite place. He saw the swing they used to play on, and the old apple tree they used to climb. But, just like Lillian's dream, everything was wrong.
The grass was grey and brittle, crumbling under his feet. The apple tree was black and charred, its twisted branches like skeleton fingers.
And the swing was moving slowly back and forth, making a painful creaking sound, but no one was on it. The place pulsed with despair.
Then he heard crying.
He ran towards the sound, his heart pounding. He found her there, the dream version of Chloe, sitting under the charred tree. She was trembling, but she wasn't looking at him. She was staring in terror at something in front of her.
Ethan followed her gaze and saw it. "The shadow man." It wasn't just a shadow; it was a three-dimensional entity, a tall, slender creature made of light-devouring darkness.
It had no face, just a smooth void, but Ethan felt its cold, hateful gaze on him.
The entity slowly extended a "limb" of shadow towards Chloe, not to touch her, but to steal something from her... her warmth, her life, her memories.
In that moment, Ethan didn't think. He wasn't the expert "Morpheus." He was just a brother seeing his sister in danger. A wave of pure protective rage washed over him.
"Get away from her!" Ethan shouted, and his voice, which should have been weak in the dream world, came out as a physical force, a visible sound wave that distorted the air around him.
The dark entity was surprised. Its smooth "head" turned towards him, and it let out a hiss that sounded like a mix of static electricity and tearing silk. It hadn't expected another consciousness here. This was its own private domain.
Ethan didn't know how to fight; he had no conscious "power." All he had was his love for his sister and his will to protect her.
He saw the entity surge towards him, so he did the first thing that came to mind.
He imagined a wall, not of light, but of his happy memories with Chloe: the day he taught her to ride a bike, the day they built a pillow fort in the living room, their laughter eating ice cream in the summer.
The wall appeared before him, not as a solid barrier, but as a wall of glowing, warm images. The dark entity crashed into it and shrieked, recoiling as if the light and warmth burned it.
Ethan realized then. This was his weapon. Reality. True human emotion. This parasite fed on fear and despair, but it was weak against strong positive emotions.
He ran towards Chloe, shielding her with his body. "I'm here, Chloe. I won't let it hurt you."
He looked directly at the creature and began to flood the dream with everything he had. It wasn't an attack, it was a flood.
He flooded the grey meadow with memories of birthdays, beach trips, and their mother's songs. The grey grass turned vibrant green, and the charred apple tree bloomed with white and pink blossoms.
The creature couldn't bear this much life. It began to melt and fade at the edges, retreating into the shadows, then disappeared completely, leaving behind an echo of coldness and malice.
Ethan felt exhaustion crush him. He turned to Chloe. She lifted her head and looked at him, and for the first time in weeks, he saw a flicker of consciousness in her eyes. "Ethan?"
Then everything collapsed.
--- The Present ---
Ethan opened his eyes, returning to his quiet apartment. The cup of tea had grown cold in his hand. The memory of that night was still vivid in his mind, painful like an unhealed wound.
Chloe woke up the next morning. But she wasn't the same girl.
He had saved her life, but he couldn't erase the damage. The monster left deep scars on her psyche.
She became a quiet, fearful girl, afraid to sleep. The family moved to another city soon after, trying to start anew, but what happened continued to haunt them.
And Ethan was alone with his new knowledge.
He had discovered a horrifying secret world, and he had discovered that he possessed the key to enter it.
He wasn't chosen, and it wasn't a gift. It was an ability born from tragedy and despair. And as far as he knew, he was the only one of his kind.
At first, he tried to ignore it. He tried to live a normal life.
But he couldn't. He'd read the news about mysterious comas, about people suddenly losing their minds, and he knew the truth. He knew those creatures were out there, feeding in the dark.
And so, "Morpheus" was born. Not out of heroism, but out of a complex mix of guilt and responsibility.
If he was the only one who could fight these things, wasn't it his duty to do so? It started as a side gig, a way to earn some money to help his family from afar, and a way to punish those parasites.
Now, standing in his apartment, with money in his account, and the captive nightmare still an echo in his consciousness, he realized something had changed tonight. He had evolved.
He was no longer just a "cleaner."
He looked at his hand again. He no longer felt the helplessness he had felt in that hospital room.
He felt power. And the idea of using that power, not just for defense, but for offense, no longer seemed crazy. Instead, it seemed... logical.