The child stepped hesitantly into Alex’s dream, his small fra trembling as he took in his surroundings. This was not what he had imagined. Instead of a lush, flowery dream filled with warmth or serenity, he was t with an oppressive, dark void.
The air felt heavy, and the silence was deafening. Shadows stretched endlessly, swallowing everything in sight, creating a place devoid of life, color, or hope.
In the center of this desolation, Alex stood. Unlike the grim surroundings, his deanor was startlingly casual, even cheerful. He was engaged in a conversation with a woman of breathtaking beauty.
Her elegance was otherworldly—long, flowing hair that shimred faintly even in the darkness, eyes that glowed with a dangerous yet captivating allure, and a presence so commanding that it seed to warp the space around her.
The child’s breath caught as he observed them from a distance. He was unsure whether to approach or retreat. Sothing about the woman unsettled him. Her aura was cold and unyielding, yet there was an undercurrent of warmth, almost playful in nature. It was as if she were both predator and companion to Alex.
For a brief mont, the woman’s gaze flickered toward the child. Her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, but the gesture did not feel welcoming. If anything, it sent a shiver down his spine. Her gaze then shifted back to Alex, as if dismissing the child entirely, as though he were no more than an insignificant intruder.
The child gulped, frozen in place. Does she know I’m here? No, that’s impossible... right? This is just a dream! He’s not supposed to notice .
Alex, unaware—or perhaps completely aware—continued his conversation with the woman. His voice was calm and relaxed, and the words were indistinct, as if muffled by the dream’s heavy atmosphere. Occasionally, he gestured with his hands, and the woman responded with a lilting laugh, a sound both lodic and haunting. It seed almost too real, as though it wasn’t a re projection of Alex’s mind but sothing—or soone—far more tangible.
The child felt the rope tied to his wrist tighten slightly, pulling him forward. His heart pounded as he took another hesitant step toward the two figures. Each step felt heavier, the air thicker, as though the dream itself was resisting his presence.
He couldn’t help but think, What kind of person dreams of a place like this? Most dreams he’d entered were colorful, vibrant, and full of yearning—dreams of loved ones, past mories, or even fantastical desires.
But this... this was nothing like that. It was as though Alex’s dream was a fortress, its walls designed not to protect sothing precious but to keep intruders like him out.
"I should go to the edge of the dream and cut his spiritual core," the child muttered under his breath, forcing his trembling legs to move. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small enchanted knife given to him by Enmu. It glead faintly, as if resonating with the dream’s energy.
Each step he took toward the dream’s edge felt heavier than the last. As he approached, the void seed to pulse, the air vibrating ominously. Swallowing his fear, he raised the knife and slashed at the fabric of the dream, creating a thin tear.
The mont he stepped through the cut, everything changed.
The child stumbled into a completely different scene. The oppressive darkness was gone, replaced by an enormous, blood-red castle that lood over him like a towering nightmare. Its walls pulsed as if alive, veins of crimson liquid coursing through them. A tallic tang filled the air, the unmistakable scent of blood.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
In the vast open space in front of the castle, figures made entirely of blood clashed violently, their forms twisting and morphing as they fought. Each blow they exchanged echoed like a thunderclap, sending shockwaves through the ground. Their battles were vicious, the crimson liquid splattering everywhere, yet it always seed to reform and rejoin the figures, making them whole again. It was a cycle of endless, brutal combat.
The child’s legs gave out beneath him, his body refusing to move. His heart pounded as his eyes darted around, trying to process the chaotic scene. What... what is this? he thought, panic clawing at his chest. This was no ordinary dream. This place felt alive—more than alive. It was hostile, aware of his presence, and it seed to mock his intrusion.
One of the blood-ford figures suddenly stopped mid-battle, turning its featureless head toward the child. Though it had no eyes, he could feel its gaze boring into him. His breath hitched as the figure began to step toward him, each movent dripping with nace.
The child tried to scream, but his voice was stuck in his throat. His trembling hand reached for the knife, but it slipped from his grip, clattering uselessly to the ground. The blood figure lood over him now, its presence suffocating.
"You shouldn’t be here," a voice rang out, deep and resonant, cutting through the chaos. The child’s head snapped up to see Alex.
~~~
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