MAJA WEDEKIND
Driven by the sudden disappearance of her father, she uncovers secret experiments at Thierstein Academy and faces down the scary truth of his words:
Dreams are battles.
While making new friends and foes at the faculty, she’s ready to confront her own mind, to finally bring the contradictory fragments of her memories in order.
A soul-searching journey
Basel nights have a way of gobbling up every bit of certainty I have. My tiny dorm room, a stone's throw from the institute, looks more like a makeshift command center than a place to sleep. Walls covered in a jumble of dream theories and sketches. I'm gearing up, you know, to sort out the messy jigsaw of my memories.
Ever since I was a kid, my dreams have been on another level, feeling more like a second life than just sleep. I had this knack for steering them, instinctively navigating their complex landscapes, long before Mom even introduced me to the concept of lucid dreaming.
Mom was totally absorbed in her art, like she was on a mission to capture something no one else could. She was obsessed with Bosch's style, you know, all eerie and out-of-this-world. She often talked about her dreams, overflowing with human projections in bizarre and grotesque activities, kinda like the poster of 'The Garden of Earthly Delights' she stuck to our kitchen door.
For her, it wasn't just about painting; she wanted to live in those crazy, twisted scenes she put on canvas. She dived into her lucid dreams, hunting for inspiration, thinking she could snatch a bit of that wild, surreal world and splash it onto her work. But it's like she dug too deep, got sucked too far into her dreamy art world, got lost... returned like a broken doll, stuck... ended up in that catatonic limbo...
Unicorn rocks!
Anyway, Dad was quite the contrary. The down-to-earth one, a real hands-on guy. A set builder – his world was all about the stuff you could touch and feel. You could hear him in his workshop at the oddest hours – just ask our neighbors – turning piles of wood and cans of paint into sets for plays and shows.
Right now, I'm sitting here, painting up the rocking unicorn he made when i was 10.
Dream Scenario
How do you even start to look for someone who's left no trail, but whispers in your dreams?
These dream scenarios with him are super clear, like I can remember them down to the tiniest detail.
Don't tell me it's just in my head. Sometimes those dreams, they feel more real than this whole... this regular reality.
Ugh, I sound weird.
Tell me that you're still alive
I'm certain he's out there, somewhere, somewhow connected to SEEDA, the Academy's dream server. This isn't about me tripping on hallucinations or clutching at straws of hope. I'm not just sniffing around for a few vague answers. No, I'm on a mission to bring him back.
Family. Is it irony or a curse that I follow in their footsteps, teetering on the edge of the subconscious abyss?
Thierstein Academy. I made new friends and foes there.
Oneironautics 1
Joined the course thinking I'd find some answers, maybe even figure out a bit about myself. It's pretty cliché – the troubled student trying to find herself in studies. But, hey, we've all got our issues.
The mindfield is a minefield
And there's Professor Ebbinghaus. He started as my teacher and mentor, but now he's like this unexpected hurdle in finding Dad. Dad's disappearance wasn't just some random thing, and I bet Ebbinghaus knows way more than he's letting on. To get to Dad, I've got to plunge into Ebbinghaus's twisted mind.
Diving into these dreams is like stepping into a never-ending maze. It's impossible to tell if I'm the hunter or the hunted. Ebbinghaus's head is like a minefield, each memory a hidden trap, each dream a little too tempting.
Snatching the dream cap felt like something out of a spy flick, minus the dramatic escape. Just me, tiptoeing through the Academy's off-limits lab, my heart going a mile a minute. Dodging Rickenbecker, the security guy, was the easy part.
Now, the cap, all wires and blinking lights, is chilling in my room, right by my notebook and the gear I need to hook it up. Fingers crossed it works from here – it's my only shot at reaching Dad.
Then there's the cocktail of sedatives I nicked from Ebbinghaus. The guy's been playing around with some really out-there stuff, not exactly by the book. He's been in hot water before, but he's too big a name to just kick out.
If he's breaking rules to dig into our brains, why shouldn't I? But, man, every time I shoot up, I wonder if it's the dose that'll send me too deep, to a place I can't crawl back from.
It's more than just wandering through this night-time labyrinth. Ebbinghaus's mind is crawling with dangerous shadows. They're not just illusions; they feel like real threats in a place where even fake death feels freakishly real. And in this weird, twisted game, Dad's stuck somewhere, caught up in Ebbinghaus's ego trip.
So, here I am, feeling like I'm winging it in this totally bizarre battle. The stakes? My mind, my soul, and Dad's life. If I screw up, we're both trapped in this never-ending nightmare.
Sleep isn't about rest anymore; my mirror shows it all. It's about stepping onto the front line.
