This was a world woven from smoke and mirrors.
If the mind willed it, it existed; if the mind drifted into emptiness, it ceased to be. For Orion, this concept was intuitive. I think, therefore I am. Perception defined reality; to move, to feel, to desire—these were the anchors of truth. Therefore, this descent into endless, suffocating darkness, this freefall through the void, was as real as the ground beneath one's feet.
"Welco to the Dreamlands, the realm of Nightmares."
Orion opened his eyes, montarily disoriented.
More accurately, the vessel of the Death-Soul Touch opened its eyes, staring blankly at the colossus before him. It was a swordsman, built like an iron tower. He bore a massive shield on his back, and his hands rested on the poml of a greatsword driven into the earth. Standing nearly twenty-five feet tall, he resembled a statue carved from the bedrock of the world.
Orion could sense the density of the being. This wasn't the result of so berserker expansion technique; the man was simply, undeniably, a giant.
"Kin of the Touch, welco."
"I am Minsar, Warden of the Dreamlands."
When Orion didn't imdiately respond, the iron tower spoke again. It was a strange sensation. The giant didn't lower his head or look down, yet Orion felt the weight of a gaze fixing directly upon him.
"Greetings. I am Stoneheart."
Orion's Death-Soul Touch vessel had never possessed a na before. Now, it did.
"Stoneheart. This is the place where dreams are chased. Do you recall why you have co?"
Orion nodded. He was here to guide this vessel to the rank of Demigod.
"Step into the world behind , and the path will open. Are you ready?"
Only after the Warden spoke did Orion realize that he and Minsar were standing on the precipice of a massive bubble suspended in the void. Inside the sphere lay a kaleidoscope of bizarre colors and shifting landscapes.
Orion couldn't help but turn his head, scanning the periphery.
Darkness. Absolute, crushing darkness.
Aside from the bubble, the only interruptions in the void were distant stars, shining like grains of rice scattered across an infinite black velvet cloth.
"Does it feel unreachable?"
"Yes."
As if anticipating Orion's reaction, the Warden's tone shifted, becoming gentle, like an old friend offering counsel.
"Where the heart goes, the horizon is but a step away. My kin, what you see is not always the truth."
The Warden's words struck Orion as slightly cryptic, a riddle wrapped in advice. He turned back, gazing at the world swirling within the bubble behind the giant. He hesitated, unsure if he should take that first step.
"If you are ready, you may enter."
The Warden's voice remained tranquil. He had seen this hesitation, this mixture of resolve and fear, countless tis before.
"I understand. Thank you."
He was already here; there was no turning back. Even if this vessel was destroyed, it was a risk he had accepted. With that resolve, Orion nodded to the Warden, walked past the massive sword, and stepped into the bubble.
Only after Orion's figure vanished did the tower-like man slowly turn, whispering to the swirling world behind him.
"The kin introduced by Kaidric... rumored to be a friend of the Dawnblade."
"I wonder what sort of talent he will awaken here?"
The Dreamlands: The First Stratum
The scene shifted instantly. Orion found himself standing in the dusty square of a fortress—a brigand's stronghold.
"Bwahahaha! Look at this! Another runt. Another tiny thing wanting to challenge Rhydan!"
The voice belonged to a bald, rough-hewn brute lounging sideways on a chieftain's throne set at the head of the square. He had one leg thrown over the armrest, eyeing Orion with a mixture of amusent and contempt. At the brute's feet lay two massive battle axes, each nearly the size of the man himself, radiating a savage aura.
The First Stratum? Challenging the Bandit King? Rhydan?
It wasn't what Orion had expected from the forbidden grounds of the Death-Soul Race.
He had anticipated a hellscape of fire and brimstone, or perhaps a treasure trove filled with ancient artifacts, or even a sanctuary of lost arcane scrolls. But this... this place felt off. It radiated a sense of eerie mystery.
Where the eeriness lay, Orion couldn't quite articulate. Where the mystery hid, he couldn't fathom.
"Young drear, are you sleepwalking?" the bald man sneered. "If you're still asleep, you can take a nap on my training grounds. Once you wake up, we can have a proper bloodletting."
Orion studied the man calling himself Rhydan. He was flesh and blood, possessing clear emotions and intelligence. He was certainly no mindless construct. Yet, the environnt—the fortress and the unnatural white mist swirling beyond its walls—felt fabricated.
"Stop looking. Beyond the walls is nothing but void," Rhydan said, his voice dropping. "What? Is my fortress not to your liking?"
Seeming to read Orion's skepticism, Rhydan's boisterous deanor vanished. His eyes narrowed, and his tone turned sinister. The shift in emotion was too real, too visceral, and undeniably dangerous.
"Friend, what exactly is this place?" Orion asked.
"You ask what this place is?"
"Yes. Is that wrong?"
Rhydan looked at Orion as if he were an idiot. Orion, for his part, maintained the gaze of an earnest student, his sincerity making him look all the more like a fool to the bandit king.
"Did you not see the Warden? Did he not tell you this is the Dreamlands? Or has the Warden fallen asleep on the job?"
Rhydan ignored Orion, muttering to himself and shaking his head as if grappling with an impossibility.
"The Warden told this is the Dreamlands," Orion said, his voice calm. He understood the na of the place; what he wanted to understand was the nature of its construction, the rules that bound it.
"Are you mocking ?"
Rhydan jerked his head up from the throne, glaring ferociously at Orion. His hands dropped to the handles of his axes.
"Friend, I—"
Orion didn't get to finish. Rhydan was already moving, dragging the massive axes as he charged.
"To mock Rhydan is to look down on Rhydan! To look down on Rhydan's fortress! Those who look down on are enemies. And enemies," he roared, "get their heads chopped off!"
It seed Orion had inadvertently plucked a dissonant string in Rhydan's psyche, plunging the man into a blind rage. There was no ti for diplomacy.
Rhydan was upon him.
The axes swept in a lethal arc. Instinctively, Orion swung his scythe to intercept.
CLANG.
Orion was sent skidding backward.
"What the hell?"
He stared at the weapon in his hands. It still looked like his Relic War Scythe, but its substance felt wrong. The weight, the density—it had degraded to an impossible degree. Upon contact with Rhydan's axe, the scythe had groaned, trembling as if on the verge of shattering.
To Orion, this was inconceivable.
"Enemies must be utterly broken!" Rhydan bellowed, closing the distance again. "I will teach you a lesson carved in bone!"
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