I stare at the expanded man cave, trying to reconcile what I saw him do with what I understand about ImagiSerum.

“What do you mean create? Are you the Draftsman?” How can he make a forest? I feel as though I’ve observed something out of a video game, except right in front of me. Real. Or is it? The level of detail used here would take an expert Draftsman a week to design and program.

“Like what you did in the Arena. Now that you’re out of the Tunnel, you’ll hopefully be making a lot more out of the Nightmare.” He plops on a couch and holds the box of pizza my way. “Pepperoni okay? Please don’t tell me you eat the kind with pineapple on it.”

My stomach growls. Is that in the Nightmare or from the Real World? “Pepperoni’s good.” I sit and take a slice. Pizza. I’ve been living off potatoes for almost a month. I can hardly remember the taste of tomato sauce, bread, or any sort of meat.

I take a bite and my eyes widen. Real or not, I plan to eat half the box. If what the Emperor says is true, maybe I’ll be able to make my own pizza someday. Out of nothing.

That sounds way better than another spear or set of wings.

“I’m Cain Cross.” I swallow. “And you’re . . . the Emperor?” It feels weird using the lofty title, like we’re play-acting.

He folds a slice of pizza in half to eat like a taco. “The name’s Luc. Some call me the Emperor because I create so much, but aside from that I let the people rule themselves.”

“No last name, Luc? Ifer, maybe?”

He laughs. “There’s that skepticism. Good! Good.” His calm and humor set me at ease despite my wariness. “And no. Luc Jupiter. Luc after lucid dreaming—a former passion-study of mine.”

“So it’s not your real name, then?”

“Is Cain Cross yours?” he asks.

Maybe I should have given a false name. That hadn’t even crossed my mind, but now it explains why Crixus sounds so Roman.

“You get one chance to restart your life, Cain. I took mine. Don’t miss yours.”

Another person who’s embraced this eerie world. I stop poking him with offensive questions and shift into intel mode.

“How can you create what you do?” I glance at the opposite side of the room to the forest, now replaced by shag carpet. Shame. Whatever happened to me in the Arena was all smoke and shadows. Misty wings that propelled me into the air, a smoky spear that impaled the bull. Nothing like a richly detailed living forest.

Luc shrugs and finishes off his slice. “I was the first one here.”

I wait. He can’t leave it at that.

He looks at me and chuckles. “I like you, Cain. I was the first person to escape those Tunnels. This world was quite different from the one you see now. Empty. Void. Dark and overrun by shadows. I had to learn quickly or die. I got out of the Tunnel on my nineteenth Sleep. After that, this became my new home.”

He leans back into the cushions of the sofa, twining his fingers behind his head. “That’s why you’re so amazing, Cain. You’ve been infected only, what, fifteen days? And you made it out of that Tunnel. That’s the fastest anyone’s ever managed.”

“It can’t be that rare.” Even if it is, so what? “I just kept moving. What’s the fastest after me?”

“Me.” Luc isn’t grinning now. “Anyone else who’s made it out of the Tunnel only did so with one visit—on rare occasions two visits—to the Old World left.”

Nole was on his second-to-last visit. He might have been so close to making it out. Did he make it out? Will I ever know?

I don’t miss how Luc talks about real life. The Old World—like he has no desire to return or find a cure. Then again, if he is trapped in here . . . that means his real body is in a permanent coma somewhere.

My next questions is, well, rude. “So how are you still alive?”

If I’m learning anything from the Nightmare Virus, it’s that we’re all painfully aware of how short our time is. There isn’t enough time left to worry about offending someone. If Luc is offended, well, we’re both going to die soon anyway.

“My physical body is in a LifeSuPod. My dad had connections.”

My mouth goes dry. Luc has a LifeSuPod? Those cost hundreds of thousands of dollars before the Nightmare Virus took over. Now . . . anyone would be lucky to get one for a crisp million.

So he’s rich. He’s one of the elite who was handed a LifeSuPod by his dad. “What about everyone else living here?”

“Some also have LifeSuPods. Most don’t. Everyone’s lives have been shortened, Cain. But that doesn’t mean they have to be lived less.”

“Easy to say when your rich daddy puts you in a LifeSuPod for five or ten years.”

So the people who are surviving this virus are the ones with deep pockets. The ones who caused the problem in the first place. Those who had the bucks to create ImagiSerum, test it, and offer it to the world, and now we’re reaping the consequences while they cheer from the Arena stands at our deaths.

“LifeSuPods aren’t just for the rich. They’re also for the loyal.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Meaning . . . ?”

“Those who are faithful to Tenebra and”—he tilts his head in mock humility—“to their Emperor, have the chance at a LifeSuPod. It could be in your future, Cain.”

“By becoming your servant?” This conversation is getting weird fast. “You only just met me.”

“You have power here in Tenebra. Not only that, but you still have access to the Old World. I’m not asking you to become my servant. I’m giving you an opportunity to serve this New World in a way that would benefit everyone.”

His offer reminds me of something I heard from traders on the Shadow Web where Nole and I used to buy ImagiSerum to practice our own Drafting. Enticing, a touch manipulative, and maybe even desperate. Luc has all the power he needs here, so why does he want me?

I’m not about to indenture myself to the guy in charge, even if he does reunite children with their parents.

Luc holds up his hands. “I’m not your enemy, okay? Let’s get that settled. There’s a whole different culture in Tenebra, and you don’t know what that is yet. There’s not a high survival rate. Those of us who have our senses about us band together. We help each other survive. It’s a brotherhood, not some back-door power play.”

“Survive?” A shadow of sarcastic anger swells. “By putting me in a gladiator arena? You call that surviving?”

“It’s better than putting you on the streets to be devoured by the first nightbeast you encounter. Or worse.”

I think of the Spores. They would have killed me had the Stingray Rider not shown up. It takes me one look at Luc to connect that the guy on the stingray was him. He saved us.

“You train for a marathon. You go through boot camp for the marines. Here in Tenebra, you have to compete to earn the right to live. There’s limited housing, and one weak citizen can be the demise of a thousand. It’s the only way we make it. There are enemies in Tenebra, constantly trying to take our lives. Consume us. Turn us into mist and death.”

His explanation doesn’t settle much for me. “You make the Arena into entertainment. People relish spilled blood and combat. It’s sick. Did you ever think about what sort of citizens are filling up this place?”

“Every single one of them competed in the Arena, Cain. They fought and survived through level after level after level until they earned their freedom. Those people in the stands aren’t there just for entertainment. They want to see you survive. They want to welcome you—and the other victors—into this world. No one wants anyone to die.”

My wariness settles. Somewhat. Whatever his motives, he claims he can help me get a LifeSuPod. I’d be a fool to throw away such an opportunity.

Luc claps his hands together once, and the food trash vanishes. “Think on it, okay? This is a lot to take in, but your time is ticking. For tonight, stay here in the atrium.”

The scene grows fuzzy. Is this Luc’s doing or am I that tired?

“Where will I be when I come back?” If I come back. “Will I remember any of this?”