“What is your dream?”

  The question cut through the quiet like a warm breeze — gentle, but carrying a strange weight that settled on Roland’s chest.

  He blinked at the girl seated next to his hospital bed. Her voice was soft, steady, and certain, yet there was no teasing in it — no cruelty, no mockery. It was genuine, the same question she’d asked him before, and the one he’d never found an answer to.

  He hated that word.

  Dreams.

  Dreams were for healthy children. For the ones who could run without their lungs burning, laugh without coughing up blood, and fall without the sound of their bones cracking like brittle glass.

  He turned his head away from her, letting his eyes drift to the window. Beyond the sterile white frame, life unfolded like a painting he could never touch — green grass swaying in the summer breeze, red swings creaking under the weight of giggling children, sunlight pooling across the earth like spilled gold.

  His voice came out low, almost bitter. “I don’t have one.”

  The bitterness wasn’t for her. It was for himself.

  The girl tilted her head slightly, her silhouette framed by the pale hospital walls. Her eyes — blind, milky, unseeing — still somehow fixed on him as though she saw straight through him.

  “You’re lying,” she said softly, with the faintest smile. “Everyone has a dream. Even you.”

  Something sharp twisted in Roland’s chest. He turned to her, face scrunching as frustration spilled past his control. “How would you know? You can’t even see the world. You—”

  He froze.

  The words had escaped before he realized. Harsh. Cruel. Unfair.

  “…Sorry,” he muttered, his throat tight. “I didn’t mean that.”

  The girl flinched slightly, but her smile didn’t falter. Her small hand reached out, fumbling until it found his. Her fingers were warm, gentle, grounding.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I can’t see… but I can feel. And right now, I feel like you do have a dream. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  Roland didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

  There was silence for a while, broken only by the faint beeping of machines and the muffled laughter of children outside. The sounds barely reached him here, in this little white room that always smelled faintly of medicine and metal.

  “...Roland,” the girl said suddenly, tugging lightly on his sleeve. “Can you… describe it to me?”

  He blinked. “Describe what?”

  “Outside,” she said, tilting her head toward the window. “What’s it like today?”

  Roland hesitated, then followed her gaze. The sunlight filtered through thin clouds, soft and hazy, casting the playground in a warm glow.

  “There’s… a breeze,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “The grass is moving like waves, all green and bright. There are kids on the swings — two of them racing to see who can go higher. And… there’s this one tree with flowers on it. White petals. They’re falling whenever the wind blows, like little pieces of snow.”

  She smiled faintly, resting her chin on her knees as she listened. “It sounds beautiful.”

  “It is,” he murmured.

  She turned her face toward him, her blind eyes soft. “You know… even if I can’t see it, I can still picture it. When you describe it, it feels like I can see it through you.”

  Roland looked away quickly, biting his lip. He didn’t know why that stung more than her blindness.

  “…What’s your dream, then?” he asked finally, his voice quieter this time.

  She paused, brushing her fingers along the edge of the bed as if feeling for her thoughts. Then, without hesitation, she said:

  “I want to explore the world.”

  Roland blinked. “What?”

  “I want to go on adventures,” she said, her face glowing faintly as if warmed by her own words. “Climb mountains, feel the ocean breeze, meet strange people, and see everything life has to offer.” She tilted her face toward the window, her smile growing brighter. “Even if I can’t see them… I want to know they’re out there. I want to feel them.”

  Roland hesitated. “…But that’s—”

  Impossible. He couldn’t say it aloud. The word died in his throat, tasting bitter.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  She lowered her voice. “…Roland, I want you to go for me.”

  His breath caught. “…What?”

  “The doctor said I don’t have much time,” she admitted, her voice small but steady. “My blindness… it’s just a side effect of something worse. There’s a cure, but…” She hesitated for the first time, her hand tightening slightly around his. “…it’s risky.”

  The silence between them stretched.

  “And if I… if I don’t make it,” she said finally, forcing a smile, “promise me you’ll go. Promise me you’ll see the world for me. Promise you’ll have the legendary adventure I dream of. And maybe… maybe one day, if we meet again in the afterlife, you can tell me all about it.”

  Roland stared at her. At her blind eyes that somehow saw further than his. At her smile that reached past the walls and machines and suffocating sameness of this place.

  He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was foolish.

  But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

  “…Fine,” he whispered, his voice shaking despite himself. “I promise.”

  * * *

  She died three weeks later.

  One day she was teasing him, laughing as she asked him to describe what raindrops looked like clinging to the window. The next, she was gone.

  No warnings. No explanations. Just an empty bed.

  Roland didn’t cry when they told him.

  He didn’t scream, either.

  He just sat there, numb, staring at the ceiling as the world outside their window carried on without her.

  The laughter of children.

  The creak of swings.

  The petals falling like snow.

  All of it blurred into silence.

  And from that day on, he stopped looking out the window.

  He stopped dreaming.

  * * *

  And then Roland died too.

  It wasn’t dramatic. No heroic last words, no flashing lights, no divine revelations.

  One night, he simply closed his eyes… and didn’t open them again.

  * * *

  Roland opened his eyes to sunlight.

  The warmth pressed against his skin — soft, golden, and real.

  He blinked rapidly, wincing at the sudden brightness, and sat up slowly.

  This wasn’t a hospital room.

  Above him stretched a canopy of carved blackwood beams, their surfaces etched with curling flame motifs. Golden tapestries lined the walls, embroidered with Inferna’s sigil — a black sun wreathed in fire. Beneath him lay silk sheets soft enough to swallow him whole.

  Roland frowned, trying to move, expecting pain — but there was none.

  His body felt… different. Stronger. Lighter. Alive.

  He flexed his hands and stared at his arms. The frail limbs he remembered were gone, replaced by a child’s body — lean, healthy, and unscarred.

  A knock on the door jolted him.

  “Roland! Are you awake? It’s already afternoon!”

  He turned toward the voice, startled.

  The door opened, and a young woman stepped in — blue hair neatly tied, her clothes practical yet refined. She carried herself with the posture of both a maid and a soldier, her presence radiating quiet authority despite her soft smile.

  “Who… are you?” Roland asked, his voice hoarse.

  She paused, tilting her head slightly. Then she chuckled softly. “You’re not pretending to forget me again, are you, Your Highness?”

  Her lips curved into a warm, tired smile. “It’s me — Flora. Your caretaker.”

  Flora.

  The name echoed strangely in his mind — unfamiliar, yet comforting.

  Suddenly, a flood of foreign memories surged through him, sharp and dizzying — voices he didn’t know, places he hadn’t seen, emotions that weren’t his. His breath caught as fragments of a life not his own crashed against the edges of his consciousness.

  Flora noticed his blank stare and sighed softly. “Still daydreaming, I see. You’d better wake up soon, Your Highness. Lady Carmilla is waiting.”

  She left him to change, closing the door gently behind her.

  Roland sat there in silence, heart pounding.

  Prince Roland of Inferna.

  Second in line to the throne.

  Born in a kingdom feared across the continent — a fortress of black stone bordering the Forbidden Lands, where the dead did not stay dead.

  Not a dream.

  Not a story.

  This was his new life.

  And then he remembered.

  Her.

  The girl in the hospital bed.

  Her blind smile, her laughter, her dream.

  “See the world for me,” she’d said.

  And now… he could.

  * * *

  “Are you dressed yet, Your Highness?” Flora’s voice called softly from behind the door.

  “Almost,” Roland said, forcing his voice steady.

  He dressed clumsily, slipping into a tunic of deep crimson lined with gold trim — Inferna’s colors. The fabric was soft but heavy, carrying the weight of nobility he didn’t feel ready for.

  When he stepped outside, sunlight washed over him, warm and dazzling. The castle courtyard stretched wide, paved with black marble that reflected the sky like glass. Soldiers trained under banners of crimson flame, their movements sharp and disciplined. Servants hurried past, carrying scrolls and weapons, their expressions tense.

  This was a kingdom constantly preparing for war.

  * * *

  “Roland.”

  The voice was sharp, like the crack of a whip.

  He turned and saw her — Carmilla.

  She stood in the courtyard, her violet dress rippling faintly in the breeze. Her hair, as black as obsidian, framed a face both elegant and cold. At fourteen, she already carried herself like a queen, her gaze steady and unyielding.

  “You skipped your lessons again,” she said, crossing her arms.

  Roland scowled instinctively. “They’re boring.”

  “Boring?” Her lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Then perhaps you’d prefer spending the day in the dungeons?”

  His scowl faltered. “...No thanks.”

  Carmilla sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “You can’t keep running off, Roland. Father will—” She stopped, hesitating for a moment before softening her tone. “One day, you’ll understand. Being a ruler isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you must do.”

  Roland stared at her. She was strict, sharp, and often terrifying… yet beneath her coldness, he caught glimpses of something else.

  Something weary.

  Something lonely.

  He didn’t know why, but he wanted to understand her.

  * * *

  That night, after a long day of failed combat drills and exhausting etiquette lessons, Roland climbed to the highest tower of the castle.

  The world stretched endlessly beneath him — seas of gold fields, forests deep and green, and the jagged silhouettes of mountains on the horizon.

  And for the first time in two lives, he felt… awe.

  A butterfly drifted past, its wings shimmering faintly under the moonlight. It landed on a blooming flower growing between cracks in the stone.

  Roland stared at it, mesmerized.

  “Amazing,” he whispered.

  Above him, the shattered moon hung suspended in the sky — broken yet beautiful, its pieces glowing faintly like scattered diamonds.

  Somewhere beyond those mountains… beyond this kingdom… was the world she had dreamed of.

  And for the first time since her death, Roland smiled.

  “Get ready, world,” he murmured softly. “I’m going to see everything. For me… and for her.”