The darkness receded like a tide. Ethan suddenly found himself standing in an unfamiliar alleyway. The night was not cold, yet an inexplicable pressure pressed against his chest. The ground was damp, as if countless footsteps had passed over it, and the air carried the mingled scent of old paper and gunpowder.
"…Where is this?"
Ethan murmured under his breath. But he knew—this was a dream. Every time a nightmare came, the air carried that subtle sense of unreality, as if reality itself had been torn open.
Footsteps echoed from the street corner.
Ethan snapped his head up. Beneath the lamplight, a familiar silhouette gradually appeared—tall and thin, walking with the light, brisk steps of youth.
"—Xirei?"
The name nearly choked out of his throat. This had been his friend, the one who had stood by his side during the earliest days of training, sharing dreams of the future. Yet in a sudden assault, Xirei had died in the maw of a nightmare, leaving only bloodstains and a shattered emblem.
Instinctively, Ethan quickened his pace, chasing after the figure.
The streets seemed to stretch endlessly, deliberately keeping the distance between them. No matter how fast he ran, the silhouette always maintained a gap of three or four steps—never near, never far.
"Xirei! It's me!" Ethan shouted. His voice echoed in the dream, yet it collided with an invisible wall of fog, unheard.
The figure slowly turned down a side alley and vanished into the shadows.
Ethan's chest tightened. He pushed forward, only to find himself in a dilapidated training ground—the very place where they had first met. Wooden posts, targets, and sandbags stood silently, as if time had never moved.
"Remember? You always laughed that my punches had no power," Ethan muttered bitterly, his voice reverberating in the empty space.
Suddenly, the silhouette reappeared, now standing before a target. This time, it moved slowly, as if practicing punches. Each strike hit the bullseye with precision—but without sound, without breath.
Ethan stepped closer, a tremor flickering in his eyes."Are you… still alive? Or just a shadow of the nightmare?"
The figure finally stopped.
It slowly turned its head, yet its face remained obscured by a black mist. Deep within the haze, a pair of eyes stared at Ethan unyieldingly.
They were not the eyes of the friend he remembered, but deep, indifferent, almost emotionless.
Ethan's chest went cold. His steps faltered.
The silhouette spoke, voice low, with an eerie echo:"Ethan… stop investigating. You'll end up like me."
As the words fell, the training ground suddenly collapsed. Wooden posts turned to ash, sandbags split open, black smoke rising from the ground, as if intent on consuming everything.
Ethan stumbled back, hoarse:"Who… who are you?! Xirei wouldn't say this!"
The figure blurred for a moment, like shattered mirrors reflecting countless cracks. Finally, only one sentence lingered in the air:
"The nightmare is not the enemy. We are."
Boom—!
The dream completely collapsed.
Ethan jolted awake, finding himself lying on the stone floor of the chamber, his forehead slick with cold sweat. Karl crouched beside him, tense:"You passed out! You were talking in your sleep the whole time."
Gasping, Ethan rasped:"I… I saw him. Xirei."
Karl's expression shifted, brow furrowing further:"Are you sure it wasn't just a hallucination?"
Ethan remained silent for a moment, eyes complex."I don't know. But he told me to stop investigating… and said—'We are the enemy.'"
They exchanged glances. The air in the chamber grew heavy.
Karl whispered:"Seems the God of Nightmares is not just a legend sealed away. It… is speaking to you through your memories."
Ethan lifted his hand, clenching his fingertips tightly, as if trying to grasp something long gone.
The shadow of his friend had become his greatest question at this moment.