For as long as I can remember, my dreams have been stories where I am saving people. Sometimes it’s one soul, sometimes a small group, and sometimes—humanity itself. They play out like a film, where I’m both the viewer and the hero, swept into relentless action. In my earlier years, they felt like adventure epics—always racing toward a victory that never quite arrived. But in recent times, they’ve shifted into something darker, a nightmare. I wake in a hot sweat, shaken by visions I can hardly describe, as if my subconscious has run out of patience with subtle whispers and chosen more shocking ways to figuratively wake me up.