The transition out of the Nightmare was gentler than I expected.
One heartbeat, I stood in the ruined Temple of Chains with Nephis—air thick with scorched iron and ozone, the echo of snapping links still ringing in my bones.
The next—
[WORLD FOLDS — SOFT TEAR]
Reality collapsed inward like wet paper.
I hit cold tile on my knees beneath buzzing fluorescent lights.
[BUZZ—BUZZ—]
The sound crawled into my skull, thin and irritating, like dying insects trapped behind glass.
I was back.
A government processing center for newly Awakened—one of dozens scattered through the quarantine zones that used to be cities. The air reeked of antiseptic, burnt coffee, and fear-sweat.
Around me, the survivors of other First Nightmares were scattered like debris.
One girl sobbed quietly into her hands.
A man stared at the wall, lips moving soundlessly.
A boy retched into a plastic bin, shaking with every heave.
I stayed on my knees a moment longer, letting the dizziness ebb.
My body felt… different.
Not stronger. Not faster.
Denser.
As if the Spell had finally acknowledged my existence and decided I was worth upgrading.
The black thread was still there.
Fainter now—but unmistakable.
It stretched outward through walls, concrete, and steel, threading through the city toward her.
Nephis.
She had emerged elsewhere. I could feel the distance—kilometers, maybe—but the bond didn't care about space.
She is alive.
For now.
I pushed myself up.
A bored-looking government handler in gray fatigues glanced at me from behind a scarred desk. His eyes flicked briefly to the faint shimmer of runes hovering above my head—symbols only Awakened could see.
"Name and Awakening class," he droned.
"Levi. No class assigned."
His fingers tapped against a tablet. "Dormant. Aspect rank?"
"Dormant."
No reaction. No congratulations.
"Lucky you survived," he said flatly. "Processing queue's that way. Scan, ID chip, intake briefing. Don't cause trouble. Next."
I stepped aside.
My shoulder still ached where the Ash Stalker had clipped me—but the wound was already scabbing faster than it should.
Perks of being officially not-quite-human.
While waiting, I scanned the room.
Every new Awakened looked like they'd crawled out of hell.
But none of them were him.
Sunny wasn't here.
Not yet.
The timeline was already shifting. In the story, Sunny and Nephis Awakened close together—but the Spell never ran on a perfect clock.
If my existence had nudged events even slightly—
I cut the thought off.
Obsessing over butterfly effects was a fast path to madness.
Instead, I focused on the more immediate problem.
I had nowhere to go.
The slums I'd woken up in weren't home. Whatever life this body had lived before the Spell claimed it was gone—erased, irrelevant. No family. No credits. No safety net.
Just one persistent pull.
The bond.
I stepped out of the processing center into weak winter sunlight.
December 26, 2025.
The sky hung low and gray, the color of dirty steel. Drones hummed overhead, scanning for unauthorized Gates. Billboards flickered with public service announcements:
REPORT SLEEPERS. SAVE LIVES.
THE NIGHTMARE SPELL IS EVERYONE'S ENEMY.
I almost laughed.
If only they knew how personal it was about to get.
I started walking.
No destination. Just motion.
The thread would guide me.
It didn't take long.
Two blocks later, the pull sharpened—left, down a side street fenced with razor wire and flanked by condemned buildings.
I followed.
Around the corner—
She stood alone in an empty lot that had once been a parking structure.
Nephis.
Her silver hair caught the pale light like a drawn blade. She wore plain black government fatigues now, the kind issued to every fresh Awakened. No nightmare-forged armor. No manifested sword.
Yet the space around her felt charged.
She was staring at nothing.
Or everything.
The bond pulsed once.
Warm. Almost… questioning.
She turned.
Our eyes met across thirty meters of cracked asphalt.
[THREAD — RESONANCE]
Neither of us spoke.
Then she walked toward me—steady, unhurried.
When she stopped, she was close enough for me to see the faint scars fading on her knuckles.
Marks left by chains we'd broken together.
"You felt it too," she said.
Not a question.
"Yeah."
Her gaze lingered on my face. "You're not afraid of me."
"I've read worse horror stories."
Something flickered in her expression—curiosity, perhaps. Or suspicion.
"You speak in riddles."
"Bad habit."
She didn't smile.
Instead, she asked the only practical question that mattered.
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"No."
"Then you will come with me."
Not an invitation.
A fact.
The bond thrummed in agreement.
I raised an eyebrow. "You sure? I might be a liability."
"You already are," she said calmly. "But you're also useful. And the Spell has bound us. I do not waste tools."
Ouch.
But fair.
"Lead the way."
She turned and started walking.
I fell in beside her.
We walked in silence.
The city stretched around us—decaying towers patched with rust and hope, armed drones humming overhead, the distant scream of a Gate opening somewhere far away.
People avoided us instinctively.
Fresh Awakened always carried that aura.
Half predator.
Half prey.
After several blocks, she spoke again—quieter.
"You knew my name. In the Nightmare."
"I did."
"How?"
I hesitated.
The bond wouldn't let me lie.
But the whole truth would sound like madness.
So I offered a half-truth.
"I saw fragments. Before Awakening. Visions. Your face. Fire. Chains. A boy with too many shadows."
She stopped.
Turned fully toward me.
"Cassie," she said.
The name landed heavy.
"You saw her too?"
"Not clearly. Just echoes. Enough to know she's important. And that she's already Awakened."
The pale flame stirred faintly behind her eyes.
"If you speak truth," she said, "then you know more than you should."
"I know enough to be dangerous," I replied. "Mostly to myself."
Silence.
Then she turned and walked again.
"You will tell me everything," she said calmly. "Eventually."
Not a threat.
A promise.
Somewhere behind us—blocks away, or further—the third thread stirred.
Sunny.
He was waking up now. Crawling out of his own First Nightmare with that sharp, cynical mind already working.
He didn't know about us yet.
But he would.
And when our threads crossed—
I glanced at Nephis.
Her face was calm. Almost serene.
But through the bond, I felt it—the furnace of her will, burning steady and merciless.
Whatever came next, we would face it together.
Bound by fate.
Bound by chains.
And somewhere in the city, a blind girl was already seeing the shape of things to come.
Her lips moved in a soundless whisper.
Two shadows.
One flame.
One chain.
The wind carried the words away.
But they lingered in my chest like prophecy.
The city kept breathing.
And our real story—
Had only just begun.