The first night, she built a floating observatory. The second, a chocolate waterfall. By night five, her dream castle had towers made of stained glass that sang when the wind touched them.

Lena hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Not because of insomnia, but because she didn’t want to.

Then the dream castle began to crumble—not dramatically, but politely, brick by brick, each one turning into a notification:

“You have spent 1,000,000 Diamonds. Your sleep debt is now due.”

But dreams, even modded ones, have a debug log.

Lena woke up screaming.