The Mad Ҡìղց

Between Dreams and Darkness

Wang lay motionless, his mind caught between two realities that vied for dominance. In one, he was Wang, a werewolf who had grown up poor on a farm with his grandmother. In the other, he was now Lan Wanji, a boy who had lived in luxury, with a family steeped in power, mystery, and magic. As he drifted further into the depths of his sleep, images of both lives swirled in his head. Memories blended, twisting into something that felt like both a nightmare and a revelation.

When did I get here? The question echoed in his mind, a whisper from a moment before everything had turned upside down.

Wang woke up slowly, the soft glow of morning light filtering through the heavy curtains of his grand room. The air was thick with the scent of incense, lavender, and something sharper, metallic. His mind felt foggy, as though the line between sleep and wakefulness had not yet solidified. He sat up, running a hand through his hair, eyes flicking to the ornate mirror across the room.

He didn't recognize the face staring back at him.

It was his face, but the eyes were different, harder—Lan Wanji's face, not Wang's. The realization hit him like a wave of cold water, jolting him from the last remnants of sleep.

"Morning," a voice broke the silence, smooth and melodic, but with an edge that made the hairs on his neck rise.

Wang turned to see Ayana standing in the doorway, her silhouette sharp against the dimly lit hall behind her. She was dressed impeccably, her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders, her lips curled into a smile that spoke of amusement and something else—control.

"Dream well?" she asked, stepping further into the room. Her eyes flickered with hidden intent as she examined him, as if weighing the balance of power between them.

Wang frowned, throwing off the sheets. "I don't know if it was a dream or not," he muttered. "Everything feels... wrong."

Ayana chuckled softly. "That's because you're not used to the truth yet. You're clinging to that other life—Wang's life." She tilted her head, watching him with interest. "But now you are Lan Wanji, my nephew. The life you're thinking of... it doesn't belong to you anymore."

"Doesn't belong to me?" Wang shot back, anger rising in his chest. "That life—my life—is real. This..." He gestured to the room, the lavish bed, the expensive furniture, all of it. "This is some kind of trick."

"Is it?" Ayana raised a brow, her amusement growing. "Tell me, if it was just a dream, then why do you remember both? Why do you feel the truth of both lives? The pull of each memory?" She stepped closer, her voice dropping. "I didn't bring you here to deceive you. I brought you here because you can help me."

Wang swallowed hard, trying to focus. He felt the weight of her words, but he couldn't deny the pull of his memories—both sets of them. They weren't fading like a dream should. Instead, they were settling, solidifying in his mind as if both were equally true.

"You want something from me," Wang said, narrowing his eyes. "This is all a game to you."

Ayana's smile faded, her expression becoming more serious. "I need you, Wang... Wanji... whatever you choose to call yourself. My nephew, Lan Wanji, is dead, but his soul is within you now. I need you to find out what happened to him. His death was no accident. I can sense foul play, but I need someone who can move unnoticed, someone who can access the memories Lan Wanji left behind in this body."

"Since you're a witch, why don't you just enter his memory and find out?" Wang asked, his voice steady but curious.

Ayana sighed, frustration evident in her eyes. "I tried, Wang. But something's blocking me. I can't get into his mind."