I’m running.
The air around me is thick, hot, and suffocating as if the world is closing in, the ground beneath my feet trembling with each step I take.
I’m not sure where I am, but it’s too real—too vivid. I look around, panic rising in my chest. Where am I?
The walls of Goldencrest stand in front of me, towering high and thick like a fortress, but something is wrong.
I hear shouting, but it’s not in any language I recognize.
There’s a man ahead of me, running with urgency. His face is blurred, his features indistinct, but I feel a strange sense of familiarity about him.
He’s holding something in his hand—gasoline. I can smell the sharp, burning scent as it drips onto the ground.
I try to call out to him, my voice breaking through the air, but it’s like I’m invisible. He can’
