Chapter 5- First Landing

The wind howled across the barren White Mountain, its icy fingers biting at Anna’s skin. She pushed forward against the fierce gusts, the sky above an empty expanse of grey and white, as the snow drifted in relentless flurries. Her breath came in sharp bursts, but the cold didn’t faze her—it was the memory that cut deep. Each time the thought crossed her mind, a sudden, sharp pain pierced her chest. The man, the one who had hurt her, lingered in her memory like an echo. Who was he again? Why did she keep forgetting? Each time she reached for the answer, it slipped through her fingers like snow.

She paused, her senses prickling. Something in the air felt... familiar, but not in the comforting way it should. It was almost sinister—yet, strangely welcoming. Her heart skipped a beat. What was this feeling?

As if pulled by an invisible force, she tilted her head and sniffed the wind. The scent was unmistakable. A floral fragrance mixed with a salty tang—fresh, like flowers kissed by the sea. She closed her eyes, letting the scent guide her. Following it, she stopped abruptly, her gaze landing on something—or rather, someone—standing before her.

A figure slouched beneath a towering tree, its icy branches heavy with snow. The man’s outline was barely visible against the white landscape, but the unmistakable grey pajamas clung to his form. Anna blinked. "No way... Is that... him?"

Her mind reeled, and she couldn’t suppress the question: How could he be here?

---

Harry Camilton had no idea how he’d ended up on White Mountain, and his headache only made it worse. “What the hell happened?” he muttered, blinking against the blurring snowflakes. One moment he’d been in his bed, warm and comfortable; the next, he found himself in this frozen wasteland, an uncomfortable chill gnawing at his bones. Oddly enough, though, he didn’t feel the cold—he was warm—but something about this place was wrong. His head throbbed with confusion.

The surreal beauty of the mountain was undeniable, but it couldn’t distract him from the increasing alarm in his chest. This wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t be. He was wide awake. He rubbed his temples, trying to gather his thoughts, but the sound of his own thoughts seemed muffled, as though someone had pressed a blanket over his mind.

A sudden, sickening dizziness overtook him. He stumbled forward, clutching at the snow-covered branches for support, only to collapse in a heap. He retched, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the cold ground, his body shaking from the nausea.

“What the hell is going on?” he croaked, his voice hollow in the vast emptiness. The cold, sterile whiteness surrounding him felt as though it was pressing in on him, suffocating him. This isn’t real. But it had to be.

He paused, catching his breath, trying to clear his vision. That’s when he heard it. A voice.

“Mr. Camilton, are you alright?”

He turned, his heart leaping in his chest. There she was—Anna. Standing in front of him, her blonde hair whipped by the wind, her green eyes wide with curiosity. But how? Why was she here? Was he still dreaming? He rubbed his eyes again, but when he opened them, there she was—so real, so alive.

Anna studied him for a moment before letting out a short laugh. “What on earth are you doing here, Mr. Camilton? In my dream of all places?”

“Your dream?” His voice was hoarse with disbelief. How could that even be possible?

She grinned mischievously, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yes, my dream. I have no idea how or why, but you're here. And frankly, I’m starting to think we’re both in the same strange place.”

Harry struggled to make sense of it all. “But how am I here? I was... I was just in my bed.”

“Funny,” Anna said with a tilt of her head. “I was thinking the same thing. And yet, here we are. In the Moonland.”

“The Moonland?” Harry echoed, confused. “Is that what you’re calling this?” He motioned to the vast whiteness surrounding them, the stark, cold beauty of it all.

Anna laughed, the sound light and free, almost childlike. “Yes, Mr. Camilton. What did you expect? ‘Dreamland’?”

He frowned. There was something in her smile—something about the way she spoke that made him feel unsettled. “I don’t understand,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

“I don’t either,” Anna said, shrugging. “But you’ll get used to it. Trust me, I’ve been here before. More times than I can count.”

Harry’s mind reeled. Nothing about this made sense. His thoughts spun, colliding against each other, until he couldn’t make heads or tails of his situation. Was he dreaming? Was he awake? What was she doing here? And why did she seem so... comfortable? She wasn’t as confused as he was.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice strained with frustration.

Anna looked up at the snow-covered mountain peaks, the wind tugging at her coat. “Call it whatever you want, Mr. Camilton,” she said, her tone nonchalant. “But for me, this is just... my reality. At least, for now.”

He couldn’t tell if she was mocking him or being sincere. Maybe both.

“Is this even real?” he asked, stepping closer, as if to feel the cold earth beneath his boots, to convince himself this wasn’t a dream.

Anna met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “For you, maybe not. But for me, it is.” She glanced at him with a slight smirk. “You’re in my dream, Mr. Camilton. And I suggest you stop trying to fight it.”

Harry stood there, his mind a tangled mess. He felt the weight of her gaze on him, but instead of anger or embarrassment, something else stirred within him. A sense of... responsibility? Protectiveness? No, that couldn’t be right. This was just a dream.

The wind howled again, but for the first time since he arrived in this strange, frozen place, Harry felt a flicker of clarity. Anna was here. She seemed to be unaffected, as though she belonged. As though she had always belonged.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “If this is your dream, then why are you so calm? Why am I the one losing my mind?”

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Maybe you just need to trust the process, Mr. Camilton.”

Harry stared at her, unsure whether to be frustrated or intrigued. One thing was certain—this was a journey neither of them expected.

And it had only just begun.