The moonlight bled gently through the stained glass of the Elden Castle window, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room shared by Ryle and Thea. The fire in the hearth crackled low, warm and steady. Thea sat curled in a velvet chair, reading a thick tome titled Nightbane Physiology: Weaknesses and Suppression. A cup of rose petal tea steamed softly beside her.
She turned a page with quiet grace, her twin swords, Twinlight, resting on a wooden stand near her side. Though peace reigned for the moment, her guard was never truly down.
Ryle had left earlier, mentioning he needed to speak with Seraphina about security matters and some personal questions. Thea trusted him. She always had.
But tonight… something didn't sit right.
The door creaked open.
Ryle stepped in.
Or at least—it looked like Ryle.
"Back already?" Thea asked, not looking up.
"Yeah," he said smoothly. "Need to test something. Mind if I borrow Twinlight for a bit?"
She blinked and tilted her head. "What for?"
"Want to see if I've awakened light magic," he said with a half-smile. "Might be useful for fighting Wraiths."
He always joked. Smiled crookedly. But this time… the smile didn't reach his eyes.
Still, she handed the sword over, albeit hesitantly.
"…Don't take long."
He nodded, took the swords, and left.
Minutes passed. Then hours.
And then the real Ryle returned.
He stepped into the room, brow furrowed. "Thea. Sorry, Seraphina—"
He froze.
She was standing.
Twinlight's stand was empty.
"Where… are the swords?" he asked.
Thea stared at him, breath catching. "You… you took them."
"What?"
"No. You came in earlier—said you needed them to test light magic."
Ryle's body turned still. His Dragon Eyes ignited with a flare of gold. He looked directly into the space around them, the invisible layers of magic peeled away like paper.
What he saw made his heart drop.
Not a Wraith.
But a Demon General.
Nytheris.
The Mother of Wraiths.
She stood atop one of the castle's balconies, facing the wind in her dark, crescent-laced armor, Twinlight held lazily over her shoulder. Her horns curled like spiked vines, and her black wings folded behind her like a throne.
"Oh," she giggled when Ryle appeared before her, "you caught up faster than I expected. No fun."
"How did you—" he growled.
"I borrowed your face," she said sweetly. "And your darling girl didn't even question it. Isn't trust a delicious weakness?"
Ryle's eyes burned, ready to strike—but she raised her hand.
And the world shattered.
Everything turned dark.
Everything turned wrong.
Ryle blinked.
He was in a small cottage. Warm. Peaceful.
Thea stood at the stove, humming.
He blinked again.
Tobin, laughing with a fishing rod.
Kessia, cradling a child and twirling in the meadow.
What is this?
The days passed like dreams. Sunshine. Smiles. Quiet laughter.
But then it all twisted.
Thea turned—her chest split open by a claw.
Tobin screamed as shadowy chains tore him apart.
Kessia tried to run—Nytheris appeared behind her and snapped her neck with one hand.
Ryle fell to his knees.
The warmth was gone.
The skies turned crimson.
Nytheris stood before him, her form flickering between beauty and horror, wings unfurling over the corpse-littered field.
"Do you see?" she whispered. "You are no savior. Just a child, drowning in guilt. This is what you fear… isn't it?"
Ryle curled inwards.
His breath shattered in sobs.
"You can't save anyone."
In reality, Ryle collapsed in the castle hall, his body twitching. His pupils were wide and unfocused. Blood dripped from his nose.
Nytheris floated above him, smiling cruelly.
"He's gone," she said, voice echoing. "Drowned by his own fears."
The hallway door burst open.
Thea, Tobin, and Kessia rushed in.
Tobin's flame-wreathed fists exploded forward—only for the fire to reflect off a mirror-like barrier and singe his arm.
Kessia swore. "She's toying with him!"
Thea dropped beside Ryle, her voice cracking.
"Ryle… please—come back—"
Nytheris tilted her head, mock-pouting. "Poor little knight. You've already lost him. He's nothing now."
And then, Thea rose.
Tears streaking her face.
But her voice was unshakable.
"Even in despair… Ryle always rises. Even if he's shattered… he rebuilds. Every time he was nothing, he became something greater."
She placed her hand on his chest, over his heartbeat.
"It's not over. Not yet."
Inside the nightmare…
The corpses of his friends surrounded him.
Nytheris reached out a hand.
"Stay here with them, Ryle. The dead are peaceful."
He stared at his trembling hands.
He could hear Thea's voice.
He could feel it—like sunlight through clouds.
And then, he stood.
Silent.
Then—
Boom.
His fist, wrapped in purple aura, collided with her jaw.
The illusion shattered like glass.
Nytheris gasped—in the false world, for just a moment—he'd hit her.
Ryle snarled, eyes blazing with fury.
"You messed with the wrong nightmare."