The sky was wrong.
It wasn't dark. It wasn't stormy.It was silent. Still. As if even the stars had chosen to vanish in fear.There was no wind, no sound—just an overwhelming hush that sank into Aiden's bones like cold water.
He stepped forward, boots crunching over something that wasn't rock or grass. It was soft. Brittle.He looked down.
Wings. Pale, dusty wings.
Hundreds of them. All broken. Scattered like dried leaves in autumn. Some still shimmered faintly under the nonexistent light, veins glowing like fading embers. They weren't just remnants of creatures—they were the dreams of people long gone.
Lucius followed close behind, his presence like a shadow stretching unnaturally far. His white robe hung heavy with dampness, tainted by soot and blood at the hem. The robe was regal, but its edges whispered of ruin.
Dark tendrils of shadow moved lazily behind him—alive, intelligent, and almost unwilling to stay still. They weren't decorative. They were tools. Weapons. Warnings.
His silver eyes scanned the desolate garden with a calm that made Aiden uncomfortable. Lucius didn't look worried. He looked familiar with this place.
Almost like he'd been here before.
"What is this place?" Aiden asked, voice low. The question barely echoed.
Lucius crouched beside a fallen wing and ran his fingers across its surface. The membrane shivered under his touch, glowing for a second with a memory that flickered too fast to make sense of. It wasn't just a wing—it was a memory, fossilized in flesh.
"The edge of Nytherion's territory," he said. "The Forgotten Garden. Every wing here once belonged to someone devoured by her."
"Her?" Aiden echoed.
Lucius nodded slowly. "She's not a beast. She's an artist of suffering."
The words were heavy, full of meaning.
Lucius stood again. His shadows stirred in quiet unrest.The air here was different. It wasn't heavier in pressure—it was emotionally heavier. Like grief soaked into the soil. The very air tasted like regret.
As they walked deeper, the lifeless garden began to bloom.
They walked in silence for a time, the path beneath their feet made of warped stone that pulsed faintly, like it had a heartbeat of its own. Everything around them was tinted in muted grays and washed-out purples. No trees, no sky—just a flat expanse that stretched endlessly into an empty horizon.
"She used to be a guardian of thought."
Aiden glanced sideways. "Who? Nytherion?"
Lucius nodded slowly. "Before the infection. Before she turned. She wasn't always like this. There was a time she protected the dreams of the dying. She gave them peace."
Aiden raised an eyebrow. "You're saying she was… good?"
Lucius tilted his head. "She was purpose-built to ease pain. But she saw too much. Too many thoughts. Too many last regrets, final words, nightmares that outlived their dreamers. The mind wasn't meant to house so many endings."
Aiden kicked a rock, watching it vanish into the mist. "So what? She snapped?"
"No," Lucius murmured. "She adapted."
He looked far ahead, where the color bled even thinner into the landscape, as though they were walking into a memory that no longer wanted to exist.
"She realized peace was temporary. That it decayed the moment someone woke up or moved on. So instead, she gave them something that wouldn't decay. Something that would never fade."
"Nightmares," Aiden guessed.
Lucius gave a slow nod. "Not fear. Not horror. Longing. The kind that makes you want to sleep forever. That's what she crafts now."
"Then why are we walking straight into her world?" Aiden asked, trying to sound annoyed but betraying the edge in his voice.
Lucius was quiet for a moment.
"Because I need to know if I can still wake up."
Aiden frowned. "I thought you were the one who never dreamed."
"I lied."
Lucius's voice wasn't defensive—it was hollow. Like the truth had been sitting on his tongue for years, just waiting to rot.
The two kept walking, their shadows stretching far too long for the dim light above. Occasionally, flickers of motion danced at the edges of their vision—ghosts of thoughts that hadn't fully faded.
"I've seen what she does," Lucius said. "She doesn't fight like a monster. She gets into your regrets. Your guilt. She reshapes them. Twists them. She'll offer you exactly what you think you want. And it'll feel so real you'll wonder why you ever left."
Aiden didn't respond right away. He stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers like they might disappear.
"I'm not afraid of nightmares," he said eventually.
Lucius stopped walking. "You will be. Once they start smiling."
The air shifted then—barely.
It was like walking into a room that had been waiting for you. The temperature dropped, but not like cold wind—like memory. A chill that belonged in your chest, not your skin.
Lucius narrowed his eyes. "She's close."
Aiden swallowed. "I can feel it."
Then—
The sky was wrong.
It wasn't dark. It wasn't stormy.It was silent. Still. As if even the stars had chosen to vanish in fear.There was no wind, no sound—just an overwhelming hush that sank into Aiden's bones like cold water.
Flowers grew out of the wings. Not like normal flowers—these were crystalline, translucent. Their petals moved like digital screens, flickering between vivid scenes.
A little girl's laughter.
A parent's embrace.
A lover's kiss.
Then, like a film reel melting, the colors darkened.
The laughter turned into screams.
Faces contorted in agony. Pleading. Dying.
The memories twisted into nightmares.
Aiden turned away, clenching his jaw. "I hate this."
Lucius watched one flower until the image disappeared. "You should. That's why she makes it beautiful."
Then, without warning, the ground pulsed. Not shook—pulsed. Like a heartbeat.Low. Slow. Intimate.
Something massive stirred in the distance.
A voice, silk-soft and venom-laced, floated across the windless air.
"More visitors... how lucky I am."
Aiden's spine straightened. His hand reached for his sword.That voice didn't feel like a threat—it felt like a memory he didn't want.
"She's near," Lucius said quietly. His shadows wrapped around his wrists like armor. "Don't run. Don't blink. And don't believe anything you see."
Aiden narrowed his eyes. "Even you?"
Lucius didn't answer.
That's when they saw her.
She drifted down like a falling petal, slow and surreal.Nytherion didn't walk—she floated. Her wings, enormous and ethereal, shimmered with thousands of golden eyes embedded into them. Eyes that didn't blink. Eyes that watched everything. They weren't just decoration—they were victims.
Her body was slender, unnaturally tall. Her skin, deathly pale. Her hands were elongated, fingers tapering into antenna-like curves. Her face, partially hidden behind a cracked porcelain mask, bore a smile that didn't move.
But her voice did.
"I remember you," she said. "You were at the Author's table once, weren't you, Lucius?"
Lucius didn't flinch.
"I left his table. I burned the invitation."
"And yet… here you are, back in his book."
Lucius' tone sharpened. "Because I'm going to end it."
Nytherion's mask cracked further. Blood leaked from the broken edge like a tear.
"Oh, poor thing," she cooed. "You still think there's a story left to end."
Aiden had enough. His sword left its sheath, gleaming in the dead light.
Nytherion tilted her head.
Then vanished.
No wind. No sound.Gone.
Aiden blinked.
"Don't—!" Lucius shouted—
But the world shattered.
Aiden's sword froze mid-air. Lucius dissolved like smoke.
Everything inverted.
The sky flipped upside down. The ground spiraled. The wings flew upward. Time bent.
And then—
Black.
[DREAMWORLD INITIATED]
Aiden opened his eyes.
He was standing in his hallway.
Earth.
The peeling wallpaper. The smell of toast. The creak of the fourth stair.Everything was right. Too right.
"No," he whispered.
He heard her.
His mother.
Calling him for breakfast.
His feet moved without thinking. Downstairs, the table was warm. Safe. Smiling faces.But something was off—the corners of the room were frozen. Time wasn't moving past the center.
His mom smiled.
But didn't blink.
Aiden's hand trembled on the sword hilt.
"Kill yourself. Or stay forever."
The voice wasn't hers.
It was Nytherion's.
Then another voice, digital and flat:
[WARNING: MEMORIZ VIRUS DETECTED.][ESCAPE CONDITION: SELF-TERMINATION.]
Aiden closed his eyes. His mother's voice begged.He cried.
Then he stabbed himself.
Darkness.
He woke again.A classroom.
Bullies. A forgotten memory. Aiden's younger self was crying in the corner.
Again, the same voice.
"Kill yourself. Or stay forever."
He hesitated.
It was harder.
But he thrust the blade again.
Another world. Another death.
Each time he woke, he bled more. Tired more. The dreams weren't just illusions—they drained him. They lived inside him.
Finally, in a clearing of memory-flowers, he saw Lucius. Seated on a throne of black mist.
Bleeding.
Watching.
"You've seen it now," Lucius said. "This is her world. The Dreamworld. Her cocoon."
Aiden fell to his knees, gasping. "What the hell is this?"
"She doesn't kill," Lucius replied. "She collects. Every soul she infects with the Memoriz virus becomes part of her world. They keep dreaming until they give up."
Aiden's eyes burned. "So how do we kill her?"
Lucius raised a palm. The Shadow Orb floated above it—cracked. Flickering.
"I tried. She feeds on shadow. My power strengthens her."
"Then why are you just sitting here?"
Lucius met his eyes, gaze sharp. "I'm waiting."
"For what?"
"A second player."
Aiden frowned. "You need me?"
"No," Lucius said coldly. "I need someone desperate enough to survive."
They both looked up.
Wings filled the sky. Not just Nytherion's—but all her victims'. A galaxy of suffering.
And in the center floated Nytherion.
Smiling.
"Welcome, my darlings," she whispered."Time to dream again."