"Where am I," I said softly.
My surroundings were unearthly; I was in a forest with trees that seemed twisted, the air shrouded in a miasmic fog. This forest was so dark it was as if it absorbed light itself.
The ground beneath was muddy, and my feet felt as if they were being pulled in, threatening to sink me into the mire if I didn't move quickly.
"What is that?"
Strange screams echoed around me, along with whimpering cries that sent shivers down my spine.
I wasn't afraid of what might happen to me, but of the possibility that there was no way out of this place.
I quickened my pace, running across the forest mud, accompanied by the disembodied screams and whimpering cries.
In the distance, I saw a glimmer of light. That might be the exit, I thought optimistically. I ran with all my might towards it, only to see my hope for an escape shattered in an instant.
My positive thoughts about the light leading to an exit were crushed: before me was not an exit. The light that had guided me was nothing more than a reflection from another space, separate from the forest.
It was a vast room dominated by the color white, a stark contrast to the forest's darkness, which had made me mistake it for sunlight.
But I didn't give up. I would search for a way out until I reached the very end of this place. I stood up again and steadied my resolve.
I walked on without stopping for hours, until exhaustion, hunger, and thirst overwhelmed me. I collapsed, weak, in the middle of the white room.
My head began to feel dizzy and my eyes grew heavy. My vision blurred, and my voice was trapped, as if buried deep inside. I felt hopeless. Is this the end? Is there no one here? I wondered.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. Will I die here? Without anyone ever knowing? Suddenly, my blurry eyes caught something—the silhouette of a figure that was not unfamiliar to me. That's my teacher, I thought.
With my last ounce of strength, I tried to rise and move toward her. I dragged my feet, my steps heavy and slow, but I drew closer, slowly but surely.
Only a few meters separated me from my teacher, but my strength was gone. I couldn't take another step and fell, but I managed to gather the last of my voice to call out to her. "Teacher."
She turned and looked at me, but the feeling that followed was not one of relief, but a deep, piercing pain in my chest.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The words were so short, concise, and painful, spoken with a reality that held no trace of lies or jokes.
I tried to say, "It's me, Teacher," but my voice wouldn't come out. My hand reached for her, but she deflected it with a sweep of her leg.
"You're in my way," she said.
She lifted one leg high. As the word "Begone" escaped her lips, her foot shot towards my face, but a hand stopped it before it could touch me.
"Are you alright?" another voice said, one I knew so well. A voice so gentle and one I had longed to hear.
"Teacher," I said in a hoarse voice, tears flowing freely down my cheeks.
"It's okay now. I'm here," she said, pulling me into a hug, stroking my hair gently.
"Wait here, alright?" my teacher then asked me to wait. She stood up and faced the false version of herself that had tried to stomp on me.
I felt an incredible aura of rage emanating from my teacher. The calm and wise figure I knew was now showing a different side of herself.
"So, this is the one who dared to make my favorite student cry," my teacher said.
The air around her roiled, as if boiling with the heat of a fire. Then, a shockwave centered at her feet spread throughout the room. The white space—floor, walls, and ceiling—began to crack.
The white room shattered into pieces, replaced by the sight of the Colosseum. I, who had been behind my teacher, was protected by a shield bubble she must have created.
Now, I was seated in a VIP chair overlooking the center of the Colosseum's arena, where my teacher stood opposite her false double.
I wasn't alone. Around me were crowds of people cheering like spectators at a gladiator match.
In the middle of the arena, my teacher stood facing the impostor who looked just like her, who was currently looking around in confusion.
From this distance, I couldn't hear or feel what was happening down there; I could only see and hear the effects.
The fake calmed herself, seemingly having regained her composure, and stared back at my teacher.
They spoke, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. Then, the impostor unleashed an immense magical aura around her body; it was a blackish-purple.
Not to be outdone, my teacher released her own; it was white, shrouded in gold.
The effect of their powerful auras caused the ground beneath their feet to crack and splinter. Strangely, though it was strong enough to shatter the ground, the Colosseum building was unaffected. Even the spectators felt no fear of being caught in the crossfire, as if the place was protected by an incredibly strong barrier.
And there they went. They lunged at each other with direct blows that caused a tremendous shockwave, sending clothing, flags, and even the wigs of some spectators flying into the air.
I was speechless, witnessing what was happening and what was about to unfold. This was probably the first time I had ever seen my teacher fight directly with her physical strength and magic.
"Get her... Teacher!!!" I shouted, caught up in the moment and instinctively cheering her on.
They exchanged blows at a speed difficult for the eye to follow. The impacts sent shockwaves all the way to the spectator seats. The arena floor was pulverized, chunks of it lifting and even flipping over.
Amidst the flurry of punches, I saw flashes of light—purple and yellow—that would sometimes touch and vanish instantly. That must be magic, I thought.
The clash intensified, the impacts growing larger, and then the impostor was thrown to the side of the arena, landing in a defensive stance.
She's incredible, I thought, to be able to fight on even terms with my teacher.
The impostor charged at my teacher again with feints of her hands and feet, along with magic. Though it seemed slow, she succeeded in knocking my teacher into the air.
My teacher stabilized herself, hovering in the air, while the impostor below began chanting a spell.
The arena floor instantly crumbled into blackness, looking like a black hole or a dark, circular gate.
"Whoa... what is she doing?" I yelled, after seeing her chant a spell that turned the arena floor into a black gate.
I looked at my teacher, who was still hovering. She was chanting something, and the sky turned dark, followed by the appearance of a circular golden gate in the sky, etched with runic carvings along its edges.
Both gates opened with a shriek so loud that I and the other spectators had to cover our ears.
From behind the black gate, I saw gigantic, sharp-tipped chains begin to crawl out from the darkness within. Meanwhile, from the golden gate emerged a colossal, winged female figure holding a spear.
"Oh my god... what is this?" I said. "So this is what it feels like to watch my teacher show her power... well... even if one of them is a fake."
I started cheering for my teacher again, along with the rest of the crowd.
The sharp chains shot upwards, and the colossal winged figure dove down, her spear aimed directly at the tips of the chains.
Their collision produced a massive shockwave, destroying the arena. Debris flew everywhere, and the spectators were thrown back along with fragments of the Colosseum.
A huge chunk of the Colosseum came hurtling towards me, but it was blocked by one of the wings of the colossal figure.
The sharp chains groaned and shattered into pieces, unable to withstand the pressure from the spear of the winged colossus.
The spear did not stop; it continued its dive, aimed directly at the impostor.
As I watched from amidst the Colosseum's ruins, something lifted me. My teacher was pulling me towards her with her magic.
Now I was floating. Below, I saw the spear dive and strike the impostor, obliterating her along with the ground and everything beneath, leaving behind the same white emptiness as before.
My teacher snapped her fingers. Instantly, the white room transformed into the flower gardens of a mansion, complete with servants who were serving tea and cake before me.
We sat there, served with a variety of cakes and teas. I also saw a bookcase filled with neatly arranged books.
My teacher then asked, "Well? Was it fun?"
I struggled to find the right words to describe it, but one thing was certain. "That was incredible," I said.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Eat and drink," my teacher said. "And there are books over there. You can read as much as you like," she offered, gesturing towards the bookcase.
"Of course," I replied, taking a bite of a small cake.
I sampled the various cakes and teas. After filling my stomach as she suggested, I went to browse the books in the case.
"Wow... this is amazing," I said, seeing a wide range of titles from science and physics to various histories and novels. But there was one book that piqued my curiosity.
I grabbed it secretly. I thought it would be mortifying if anyone knew I was reading a book titled "How to Enlarge Your Breasts."
Covertly, I began to read it, starting from the table of contents to the science of why and what causes small breasts, followed by methods and treatments to enlarge them.
"This is interesting..." I muttered, thinking that I could finally compete in size with my teacher.
"Yes... it is interesting," a voice said from behind me.
I jumped, startled. It was my teacher, who had apparently been watching me from behind the whole time.
"N-no... this isn't what you think," I stammered.
My teacher laughed softly and walked away. Huh... she's not teasing or mocking me? I thought, confused.
My teacher then reached into her pocket, lit a cigarette, and with her back to me, she spoke.
"It's time..."
I jolted awake with a sharp pain in my forehead. So it was just a dream, I thought.
In front of me, my teacher was kneeling, holding her reddened nose.
"What's wrong, Teacher? What happened to your nose?"
Her eyes were watery, probably from the pain of her nose hitting something.
She reached out and pinched my nose.
"This is your fault," she said, still pinching.
Huh... my fault? I was confused, having just woken up only to be accused of being the culprit.
My teacher then explained that she was trying to wake me because we had arrived at an inn. But as she leaned in to wake me, I had suddenly jerked awake, and my forehead had slammed right into her face, hitting her squarely on the nose.
"Hehehe... sorry."
She didn't make a big deal of it. Instead, she asked me to get ready because, as she said, "we're going to get a room."
We packed our things and entered the inn. My teacher booked a room and ordered dinner. Even though it was late, because it was my teacher who was ordering, the innkeeper agreed and accommodated her request.
My teacher and I sat in the inn's dining room. The previously empty room was now bustling with people eating. My teacher's act of ordering at an odd hour made others who saw it think the kitchen was still open, so they started ordering food as well.
Various dishes were served at our table, from meat and bread to vegetables. The drinks were also diverse, ranging from water and juice to alcohol.
Oh, right, we weren't alone. The coachman was at our table, though he had initially refused, feeling it wasn't his place. But my teacher insisted.
After dinner, we went to our respective rooms. But as I was about to enter mine, my teacher pulled me into hers.
"So... what kind of dream did Lullaby give you?"
My teacher asked about my dream as if she knew I had dreamt something. Not only that, but she also mentioned a name: "Lullaby."
I told her about the dream I had. Although it was hazy and unclear, especially the beginning, there were parts I still remembered.
Listening to my story, my teacher's eyes narrowed, and she gave a knowing smile.
"Hoh... so you want to compete with this size?"
My teacher started boasting about her large chest after hearing the part of my dream where I read the breast enlargement guide. She lifted her chest with both hands and jiggled it.
Slap... Slaps...!!!
I slapped both of them with my hands. It was quite hard, making her pull back and rub her chest.
"That hurt... Have you no pity for them?"
"Are you two okay?"
She cried out, trying to soothe her breasts as if they were her own children.
"Teacher...!!!"
I glared at her.
"Alright, alright..."
"What you experienced in your dream was an encounter with Lullaby," my teacher said, finally getting serious after my glare.
"Lullaby?"
"Yes... Lullaby."
My teacher instructed me to open the book to page 007. I opened it and read the description:
APPELLATION: Lullaby
TITLE / EPITHET: The Sleep-Inducing Melody, The Nightmare Plucker, The Echo of Star Silence
CLASSIFICATION:
* Primary: Folkloric
* Status: Active
* Scale: Local (But its manifestation can occur anywhere)
* Level: Bound
ORIGIN: Lullaby was born from the first collective desire for peaceful rest. When the first living beings felt weary of the world and yearned for fearless sleep, that pure desire resonated and created an echo. That echo became a melody, and that melody slowly became conscious. It is not a god or spirit, but the universe's lullaby to itself.
FORM / ESSENCE: Its essence is a Living Conceptual Melody. It has no physical body or form. It is a song that exists independently, a sonic anomaly woven from peace, innocence, and the silence of the night.
APPEARANCE & PERCEPTION: You will never see Lullaby. You will experience it. Its presence feels like a sudden cool breeze on a sultry night. A very soft and soothing melody is heard, its notes impossible to remember after waking. It carries the scent of night-blooming flowers or the smell of rain on dry earth. It is the comfortable sensation of pulling up a blanket, an inexplicable feeling of security.
DOMAIN & INFLUENCE: Its domain is the realm of dreams, peace, and emotional healing. Its influence is purely positive and restorative.
* Dream Purification: It gently "plucks" nightmares, fears, and anxieties from the minds of those sleeping. It does not destroy them, but rather "transforms" them into minor notes within its melody, neutralizing them into a poetic sadness.
* Granting Rest: It provides deep and restorative sleep to those suffering from insomnia, grief, or trauma. In the morning, they will awaken feeling light and peaceful, as if a heavy burden has been lifted from their shoulders, though they will not remember why.
VULNERABILITIES & COUNTERMEASURES: As an embodiment of peace, it is inherently weak against its opposite.
* Dissonance of Chaos: Loud, harsh, and chaotic sounds (such as industrial machinery, angry shouts, or aggressive music) are painful to it and will force it away.
* Cynical Rejection: It is powerless before minds that consciously reject peace and innocence. Someone who actively enjoys chaos or hatred will be "unheard" by it; its melody will never be able to reach them.
* Cannot Force: It can only offer peace. It cannot force someone to accept it. Someone who chooses to remain awake in their anxieties cannot be helped by it.
ECHOES IN HISTORY & MYTH: In every culture, there are stories of "Night Wind Spirits" or "Dream Singers" who come to crying children or restless soldiers on the battlefield. They are never seen, but after their "visit," the child will sleep soundly, and the soldier will find momentary peace amidst the horrors of war.
WHISPERS & FRAGMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE:
* "If you suddenly hear a song you've never heard before in the middle of the night, don't try to record it. Just enjoy the gift."
* "They say nightmares are its food, and pleasant dreams are its breath."
* "Lullaby doesn't give you pleasant dreams. It just cleanses the garden of your mind, so that pleasant dreams can grow on their own."
Note from The Scribe: Documenting this entity feels like whispering. There is a profound gentleness here, a reminder that not all anomalies are cosmic horrors. Some are small, silent wonders. Lullaby is proof that within this tome full of shadows, there is also a calming beam of moonlight. It is an anomaly we do not wish to fight or understand, but only to listen to.
"Who is she, Teacher?"
"Have you ever heard of the tooth fairy? Or the dream fairy?" my teacher asked back, referencing a legend or fairy tale about a fairy who gives pleasant dreams to good children.
"So Lullaby is a nightmare-eating fairy?"
"Well, it's true that she eats nightmares, just like you experienced."
My teacher pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it with a flame from her index finger. Then she continued.
"But she is not a fairy."
"Then...?"
If not a fairy, then what? Could it be a spirit like The Wife but with a different domain, or an anomaly like the Empress? I wondered.
"Try reading the Origin, Form, and Essence sections again."
I re-read the requested sections, then concluded.
"She has no physical form? And Lullaby is Lullaby."
I made the conclusion, though I still didn't fully grasp the meaning. I could understand the form part; Lullaby doesn't operate in the physical plane but in the realm of dreams. But the part about it not being a god or a spirit, but the universe's lullaby to itself, was still beyond me.
My teacher then gave an analogy.
"You know that I am me, and because I am myself, then myself is me... so there is nothing false as long as you are referring to me."
My teacher took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke out the window.
"Unless, you mistakenly think that I am her," she continued.
"Hmm..." My mind spun, trying to understand my teacher's meaning.
What did she mean by 'I am me' while 'I am her'? It was like a word game that made my brain work overtime.
Then I remembered my dream, when I mistook the figure that looked like my teacher for her, but she didn't recognize me, until the real one who did recognize me appeared. But that was just a dream; my real teacher was here, right in front of me.
Okay, let's think about this more deeply. If I am me, then there is no other me but myself. In that case, she is the one and only me.
I drew a conclusion.
"So Teacher... you're trying to say that Lullaby doesn't represent anything, because she is what represents herself?"
My teacher then replied.
"There you go. Lullaby doesn't represent lullabies; she is Lullaby because of herself."
"Then... what did she do to my dream?"
My teacher then put out her cigarette as the ember nearly touched her slender fingers.
"Hmm... perhaps she ate it. You should thank her, because if it weren't for her..." my teacher paused for a moment, "...you might not have been able to return to yourself."
"Dreams are the flowers of sleep, a lullaby... something unreal and unprovable. But if you experience a dream that feels very real, be careful, because it might be a sign."
My teacher said as she closed the window, then patted my shoulder.
"Sleep with me tonight. Let the coachman use the other room."