Wade had been resting his chin on his hand, casually letting his gaze drift over the furnishings in the room.
Noticing movent, he turned his head and his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise.
Although one could exit a daydream at will, for soone to leave a customized daydream within just a few minutes on their first try—Nicolas Flal's clarity of mind caught him off guard.
But then Wade realized: with a guest sitting right beside him, Flal naturally wouldn't craft the kind of daydream he truly longed for.
So he had probably written sothing ordinary… perhaps a simple stroll along a beach?
Then Wade saw a single tear slide from the old man's eye, tracing down his pale skin before Flal lifted a hand and gently wiped it away.
"It was a good dream… a truly wonderful invention," Flal said with a trace of sorrow. "I saw so friends who've long since passed… those were such cherished tis…"
"I thought you'd… hmm, 'cherish' it a little longer," Wade said, puzzled.
"I don't dare let myself get lost in it," Flal replied, carefully placing the quill back in its box, closing the lid, and patting it gently. "I'm afraid I'd get too attached and never want to return to reality."
"It only lasts thirty minutes at most," Wade pointed out.
"But after one thirty minutes cos a second… a third… an endless stream of thirty-minute dreams—right up to the end of one's life."
Flal looked into Wade's clear eyes and smiled. "Child, you're still too young. Only if you've lost as many important people as I have will you understand the true danger of these dreams."
Wade fell silent.
He had lost important people too.
When he first created the Daydream Quill, of course, he was the first to use it.
He crafted all kinds of dreams—and for two or three days, he truly was addicted, unwilling to wake up.
But after that phase passed, when he erged from the final dream, he was struck by a vast emptiness. His emotions were like a beach at low tide—blank, drained. Inside, he felt a desolate stillness so complete that he didn't even want to pick up the Daydream Quill again.
It reminded him of a sumr break back in middle school, when he had been completely absorbed in video gas. His parents had relaxed their restrictions and let him play as much as he wanted.
But after gaming endlessly for several weeks, he was suddenly gripped by a feeling of "What am I even doing?"—a wave of existential emptiness. There was even a sense of guilt, as though all the ti and energy he'd poured in had been devoured by an invisible black hole.
Looking back, he couldn't explain why he'd been so obsessed, nor could he say what he'd gained—aside from a few numbers on a screen. The thrill and excitent were gone, even the mories of the ga were fuzzy. All that remained was the haunting question: "Where did all the ti go?"
From that point on, he never got addicted to gas again. He only played occasionally to kill ti.
The Daydream Quill was the sa.
Even under the influence of magic, deep down in the dream, he always knew—it was all fake.
Affectionate, loving parents… the vibrant days of school… wealth, beauty, fa, overwhelming power… adventures in another world… commanding history side by side with legends…
These were all illusions woven by magic — fake dreams that lasted at most thirty minutes. And every ti he woke from one, that sense of emptiness and loss would creep over his heart.
What's more, it was hard to string the dreams together. If he wanted continuity, he had to write out each dream in exhaustive detail. Not only did this cause the ink to run out much faster, but the enthusiasm for entering the dream would fade quickly during the writing process.
Perhaps so people would drink poison to quench their thirst and build their nests inside illusions, but Wade simply began to feel genuine aversion and exhaustion — he didn't want to keep going.
In his eyes, it was just like becoming desensitized to a video ga: not as difficult to walk away from as Nicolas Flal believed.
Sensing Wade's faint disagreent, Flal asked, "Wade, I recall you're working with a magic shop?"
"Yes," Wade replied. "Aslan's Magic Workshop — Marchionne's."
"Are you in need of money, child?"
"Not at all. I'd say I'm doing quite well, financially."
"Then… this may be a little presumptuous…" Flal said slowly, "but may I ask you not to sell this kind of quill in the store?"
"I don't really care about making money from it," Wade said. "But why? The Daydream Charm is a pretty common spell — a lot of people know how to use it."
"But how can a random dream compare to one shaped exactly to your desires?"
Flal sighed. "Most people aren't as clear-headed and rational as you. To them, the Daydream Quill could be even more dangerous than a drug."
"All right, I'll agree," Wade said. "But I still think it can be used for good — to help people with ntal illness, to give those who've lost loved ones a chance to see them again, to ease grief. It could also be a tool for studying or combat simulation."
Flal gave a faint smile. "Of course. The embodint of imagination is a double-edged sword — it can harm, but it can also heal. What matters is how people use it."
He thought for a mont and then added, "Maybe we shouldn't ban the Daydream Quill outright. We just need to add a few more restrictions. May I offer a suggestion, child?"
"Of course," Wade said at once. "It would be an honor."
An anti-addiction system, huh? Wade was actually quite familiar with that kind of thing.
"We could use a chiric spell structure that limits the number of uses," Wade said. "After three uses, the quill goes into a dormant state and can't be reactivated for at least twenty-four hours."
"Not enough," Flal said. "Obsessive users would just buy more quills. What it needs is a spell that can sense the user's emotional and ntal state — if they fall into a deep addiction, it should turn the pleasant dream into a nightmare, forcing them out."
"That might not be a good idea," Wade objected. "What if soone using it for therapy has a fragile condition? A sudden fright could make things worse."
Flal thought for a mont. "Then… what if the dream simply turns dull and boring?"
"A boring dream…" Wade rubbed his chin. Then his eyes lit up, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. "How about an exam? An endless exam — insanely difficult questions, not a single one answerable."
"An exam?" Nicolas Flal was silent for a long mont, and then let out a hoarse laugh. "That idea is… absolutely brilliant."
He and Wade exchanged a look — their eyes twinkling with cunning and anticipation, even in the folds of Flal's wrinkled face.
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