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When I was younger, I kept having the same dream. I would wake up somewhere else, a dark place filled with silent figures. They walked around carrying cubes, never noticing me. After a while, I’d see a mountain with a gap in it. A beam of light shot up through it, and one by one, they dropped their cubes into the beam. Each cube would shoot into the sky. Eventually, I did the same. I picked up a cube and walked toward the light. It felt important—like I was supposed to be there. But just a