I drifted into a world unmoored from reason, where chaos was the wind and confusion its rain. The dream blurred the edges of everything familiar—people dashed through tangled streets, abandoned memories and discarded things swirling at their feet. But in the center of this tumult, a solitary tree rose, impossibly vivid, its trunk split by the cold stone walls of a prison.

Drawn closer, I felt the darkness pulse from the prison’s heart—a shadow heavier than night. The air chilled as my eyes locked with another’s, a prisoner whose gaze held storms and secrets. The space between us felt fragile, as if a single breath could shatter the barrier. I knew, without words, that the world would tremble if this presence ever tasted freedom.

A bowl shimmered on a pedestal near the tree, filled with pennies—copper hopes held tightly in shaking hands. The crowds swarmed, reaching, hungry for these tiny hopes, each penny a silent promise to the unknown. The bowl emptied with every grasp, wishes siphoned into desperate hearts.

Then, as the last pennies clinked together, something shifted. The prison’s door glowed, threads of light worming through ancient cracks, and the stone creaked open. Realization struck like thunder—the wishes, spent so freely, were loosening the prison’s lock. The last glimmer in the bowl flickered, and the prisoner’s eyes burned brighter, an unspoken warning.

I tried to shout, voice lost in the wind, pleading for the crowd to stop, for the wishes to remain. But hope slipped away with the final penny, and the door burst open, darkness spilling into the dream. I woke with the echo of those eyes lingering, caught between fear and wonder.