As I continued down the seemingly endless staircase, a single thought circled in my mind like a loose gear.

This is the complete opposite of my dream…

In the dream, I climbed upward, step after step, toward the light.

But now?

Now I was descending deeper and deeper into a place that felt forgotten by the world.

How far down did this go?

Just as that uneasy question crossed my mind, the staircase suddenly ended.

My boots touched solid ground.

I lifted my lantern and slowly swept its light across my surroundings.

Darkness.

Nothing but darkness.

The silence was so absolute it felt unnatural—like the whole world was holding its breath.

I stood inside a large, open chamber, the walls built of thick stone and curving inward like some kind of underground bunker. No furniture. No decorations. No signs of life.

Just emptiness.

After walking around for a bit, I finally spotted something—a narrow passage carved into the wall. It felt deliberate, purposeful.

With no other choice, I followed it.

Not long after, I reached the end.

And there it stood.

A massive stone door, towering at least three times my height.

Its surface was covered in layers of faded magic circles, symbols, and old runes—intricate patterns that must've once pulsed with power but now looked like dried paint.

I ran my fingers lightly over the engravings.

"This used to be sealed with multiple spells," I muttered. "A whole system… all layered together."

But now?

Nothing.

No mana. No magical resistance. Just a dead lock on a dead door.

"How am I supposed to open this…?"

I took a step back, raising my lantern higher.

There had to be a mechanism. A pattern. A trigger. Anything.

In the past, a place like this would've opened automatically with a flicker of magic—runes lighting up, gears turning, everything moving as intended.

But after centuries of dust, decay, and abandonment?

Yeah. No chance.

I kept searching, running my hand along the cold wall, knocking here and there, checking the floor, the corners, anything that looked even slightly suspicious.

And then—

"…What's that?"

Something faintly out of place caught my eye on the opposite side of the broken door.

I crouched down and brushed my fingers across the surface. A thick layer of dust clung to my hand, crumbling like old flour.

Underneath, a metal plate revealed itself.

"Well, that definitely wasn't placed here for decoration."

I gripped its edge and lifted.

Click.

A soft sound rang out—quiet, but unmistakable.

Beneath the plate was a small hole in the wall.

A keyhole.

A hidden, emergency override for the original magical mechanism.

A backup for when everything else failed.

Which meant one thing:

"I need a key. And of course, I don't have it."

If I knew the shape, I could use the Dream Orb to replicate it easily.

But creating a key I'd never seen?

Impossible.

…Or at least it used to be.

"There is a way, though…"

As I muttered to myself, my hand naturally moved to the Dream Orb inside my coat.

Over the past several days, I'd wandered through countless dreams repairing this thing.

I'd collected fragment after fragment, and when I finally restored the orb, something new awakened within it—something completely unexpected.

A new ability.

A way to slip into the past.

Not physically, but into a moment tied to a place or an object, like reading memories embedded in the world itself.

Almost like psychometry.

It wasn't a combat ability and it didn't make me stronger…

But if used correctly, it could solve problems like this with ease.

There was just one catch:

"…I haven't actually used it yet."

This was uncharted territory.

I didn't know what I'd see, how far back I would go, or if I'd even be able to control what moment I entered.

But turning back after all this effort?

Yeah, no. Not happening.

I took a slow breath.

"…Let's try it anyway."

Decision made.

I held the Dream Orb in both hands and pushed my magical power into it.

Instead of its usual clear glow, a murky, shadowy light began to swirl inside the sphere—like ink dissolving in water.

The light grew thicker, spreading outward, wrapping around my arms, my shoulders, my vision.

And then—

I felt myself being pulled.

Dragged.

As if someone had grabbed the back of my neck and jerked me through a curtain.

The world around me twisted into darkness—

And then I was somewhere else entirely.

--------

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was—

A hallway.

Not just any hallway, but a strangely familiar one.

It took me only a moment of looking around before the realization clicked.

I had successfully stepped into a memory.

The corridor stretching before me was the same long, sterile hallway I'd walked when searching for dream fragments—but this time, it was alive.

People in pristine white coats bustled back and forth, papers in hand, voices overlapping in hurried conversations.

Equipment carts rattled.

Glass doors hissed open and shut.

The place was overflowing with activity—completely different from the abandoned silence I knew in the present.

I stood still for a moment, absorbing it all.

This was the past.

And I was merely a shadow within it.

Just like any memory projection, I couldn't touch anything.

I couldn't speak to anyone.

They couldn't even sense my presence.

It felt like I had slipped behind the world's curtain—a spectator in someone else's recollection, a ghost wandering through a time that no longer existed.

Good.

That meant I could observe everything without interruption.

Since I was already here, I made sure to memorize every hallway, every door, every turn.

Piece by piece, I engraved the entire structure of the laboratory into my mind.

While I walked, listening, something caught my ear.

Two researchers stood near a doorway, speaking in hurried whispers.

"What's the current status of Epsilon?"

"It's stabilized for now."

"Any abnormal symptoms?"

"No. Aside from a slight fever, nothing unusual."

"Keep monitoring it constantly regardless."

"Understood."

Epsilon?

My steps halted.

That name…

Why did it sound so familiar?

I frowned, sifting through memories.

Somewhere, at some point, I had heard that term before…

And the more I thought about it, the more uneasy I felt.

Something told me this wasn't just a random code name.

It was something important.

Something dangerous.

Something connected to why I was here.

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