The candle flame flickered once—slow, almost reluctant—then steadied for a heartbeat before trembling again. A thin thread of black smoke curled upward, barely visible in the endless dark that pressed in from every side. Wax slid down the side in a slow, silent tear, pooling at the base in a small, glistening puddle that caught the light like blood. Ren sat perfectly still, head bowed low over the table. His fingers were knotted deep in his hair—black strands streaked with white—gripping so hard that the roots pulled tight against his scalp, shocked by what Tamara had said.
Outside the pit of darkness they were in, the village lay under a gray sky that pressed low and heavy, No wind stirred the trees. No birds moved. No distant creak of wagon wheels or murmur of the river reached the streets.
The road was empty—too empty. Doors hung open at odd angles. Shutters stared blankly. Mud in the ruts still held the deep grooves of wagon tracks, but the wagon itself sat abandoned at the village entrance. Horses gone. Reins trailing in the dirt like cut strings. A single wheel had come loose and tilted sideways, sinking slowly into the earth.
The houses stood silent. Chimneys cold. The old man's bread stall lay overturned—basket on its side, crumbs scattered across the ground like pale ash. Windows reflected nothing. Even the trees leaned away, branches frozen mid-sway.
No movement.
No life.
Ren's companions—Shin, Peter, Lili, Bjorn—were not walking the paths. They were not laughing by the firepit or sharpening blades. They were not anywhere.
The village was a husk.
At the center, Tamara's house waited. The front door stood shut. And standing there—perfectly still—was everyone. Every single person who had appeared in this dream. Villagers. Neighbors. The old man with the bread. The woman who had once smiled. Children caught mid-step. And among them—Shin, Peter, Lili, Bjorn—all of them. They stood in perfect rows, facing the doorway. Shoulders squared. Eyes open. Faces blank. No blinking.
No sway of breath.
Their chests did not rise or fall in any rhythm.
They simply… waited.
Ren and tamara were oblivious of the situation outside.
Tamara leaned forward slightly, her voice steady but heavy.
"Ren, you somehow got trapped in this dream world. Perhaps you came here to this village," she said.
Ren tried to remember if he had actually encountered her son or seen that big tree, but Tamara interrupted him gently.
"It's no use, because you can't remember the beginning of a dream. You just find yourself in the middle of one."
She continued, her tone softening.
"It took me a long time to realize my son's Manifest was the dream world, and that he could make anyone within a certain range fall into a dream made by him. it's different from actual sleep. He doesn't simply make you sleep—it feels like sedation, much heavier and irresistible. Through many victims, I managed to understand how he did it that horrific night, how he managed to use my Manifest. In reality, he doesn't actually control Aspects' Manifests. He puts them in a dream where the passage of time is different. It would be only a second since the victim blacks out, but inside the dream they lived for decades and went through many experiences, thus growing their Manifests. My Manifest—that I couldn't awaken for years due to that bloody injury, that injury which deprived me of everything—had reawakened, but not with my effort. Ironic, isn't it? Later on I understood how he controlled it: by putting the victim in a life-or-death situation in the dream according to his own design and using the reflective nature of the Manifest awakening, thus triggering it while the victims are unconscious. And through the dream world, he could adjust how and where to use it—like he did with me. He used me, his mother, to hunt and capture those poor people of the village. The funny part is I can't even remember the dream I was in that made me trigger such a terrifying attack. I kept wondering what situation he made me go through in that dream."
She pushed her hair back and wiped her face.
"My son would keep his victims in peaceful and happy dreams indistinguishable from reality, and when he's threatened he would change the dream into a nightmare—and various horrific situations—just to use their Manifests in the manner he desires."
Ren looked up at her.
"If that's the case, why is my dream different and resetting each day? It doesn't make sense."
She responded quietly.
"Maybe because you don't have Akrion. My son uses Akrion to read his victims' thoughts and memories, to build their dream world. And since you have no Akrion, he must've only managed to read your most recent memories. That's why your dream kept resetting—because it doesn't have enough memories to progress beyond that point. It means you and your companions have arrived at the village. You just don't remember."
She sighed.
"You didn't think those were your real friends with you?"
Ren looked up.
"At first I thought they were… until I noticed how weak they were. They were like husks of their former selves."
She nodded.
"Good. Because each person has a unique dream world."
Ren thought deeply, then asked her:
"You only mentioned he manipulates Aspects. What about the rest—like Vessels and non-Akrion users?"
She explained:
"Even normal people have Akrion. He uses my Manifest to absorb their consciousness, dissolving their brains in the process along with their bodies, using them to keep the Aspects alive. And as for Vessels, their situation is far worse. They don't dream—they just get nightmares. Unlike Aspects, who need dreams to grow and use their Manifests, Vessels release Akrion involuntarily when in danger. And through hellish and brutal nightmares, he uses them as a source of Akrion. And upon depleting them, he uses my roots and my control over plants to control their dead bodies as puppets."
Ren went through many emotions quickly and ended up just angry, filled with hatred. But then he remembered Shin and Bjorn and what might be happening to them. He hit the table.
"I don't understand how or why he does such things. These are not the actions of a child."
She teared up.
"What else do children think? He thinks it's a game and we are his puppets. I know what you think, Ren, but deep down I know he's not doing it with intention. He has this dark side to him that's controlling him."
She paused as memories resurfaced—how he used to smile, even when he was injured, and how he used to play with her as they both laughed. She took a deep breath.
"If you have to blame someone, blame me for causing this twisted side of his."
Ren turned and tried to leave, but she grabbed him.
"Not yet," Tamara said, her voice shaking. "Do you know why I'm here?
Because I am the center of this all. He builds the victims' dream worlds centered around me, while disguising me as someone they care about—knowing through their memories and emotions that they will do everything to protect me, thus keeping me alive in the process.
Ren… I am the only way to stop him once and for all. When you leave, promise me you will try and set me free—even if it means killing me."
Ren objected and hesitated, but she instantly said,
"Ren, promise. Promise me you will do it if the chance presents itself."
Ren nodded and accepted it.
She smiled and laughed softly.
"I'm glad that you didn't kill me earlier, because it would have made things worse."
Ren laughed awkwardly and apologetically, but then asked,
"Why?"
She told him,
"Everyone within the dream will start attacking you, making your own dream world your worst enemy."
He laughed and said,
"Don't worry, I can kill them easily."
But she warned him,
"Don't do that, because if the dream world collapses from within, you might be consumed by the tree as nutrients. Attacking your dream world is like damaging your brain."
Ren stopped laughing and told her,
"I already killed a few."
She yelled at him, shocked.
"What?"
He said,
"You were there. Don't you remember? But now that you mention it… you didn't seem to remember what happened after each reset. You kept asking if this was the first time we met."
She sat down, sad, looking down.
"With each dream world he creates, my mind becomes more fragmented. With each version of me pretending to be a certain memory of someone else, my mind is already broken, and there's no chance for saving me. As I can feel my body slipping away… I no longer remember certain parts. The faces of my parents. My childhood. How my husband and I met. I no longer remember my master's face nor his name."
She stopped, but then stood up.
"Ren, do you know what this place is?"
Ren shook his head.
"No."
She snapped her fingers, and the entire place shone, reshaping into something similar to broken shards of glass—each shard showing other people's dreams.
"This is where all the versions of me can gather and hide. Right on this table, we share everything we know through others' dreams."
Ren turned around, seeing different people's dreams—some good and happy, some in horrific ones. Too many people. Through one shard, he saw Lili smiling and hugging what looked like her parents. Then, in a certain shard, he saw Shin on his knees, bleeding, fighting someone with long black hair. He looked like a very terrifying opponent.
She flicked her wrist, and everything went dark.
Ren asked her,
"If you are in the image of my mother, why did you lie before and say your name was Esther?"
Deep down he was asking, hoping that she wasn't lying and that she might have seen his mother in someone else's dream.
But she laughed and asked,
"You seriously didn't know?"
Then she said,
"She was still doing stupid stuff—not telling her own son her name."
Ren blinked.
"Wait, what?"
She told him,
"Your mother used to live here. When I was pregnant with my first child, I came to live here in this village, and your mother used to live nearby—right next to the river in the forest, in a small shack. We used to be close friends."
Ren's eyes filled with tears.
"I never knew… but what happened?"
She said,
"One day she left, saying she finally met someone worthy of her heart."
She got close to him and whispered,
"Between you and me… I'm pretty sure your mother was a terrible wife. She always declined marriage proposals and would pick a fight with every man who proposed. She was strong as hell."
Ren burst into laughter.
"Yes, that sounds like her. One time she fought a bear because it ate the meat she was drying."
But then he got silent all of a sudden, eyes watering.
"I never met my father. She used to say to me he's traveling. And when I asked to where, she would always smile and say 'near.'"
Tamara patted Ren's head.
"He must've run away."
As they both burst into laughter, and after a few moments, she told him,
"It's time for you to leave this nightmare."
She pointed at the candle as it was about to melt entirely.
Ren looked down at his hands.
"I don't know how. I've already tried everything."
Tamara grabbed his chin gently and lifted his head.
"You already know how. For each time this dream has been reset, you have to kill yourself. Your situation is special. Unlike others who need to do it once and then their dreams are continuous."
She hesitated.
"You have to do it yourself. There's no other way around it. Death is the only way to wake up."
Ren closed his fist, determined. He asked her,
"Would you be able to remember me if the dream resets?"
She nodded, smiling.
"Of course. You are here, and I will always cherish my memories with my student."
Ren smiled and said,
"So do I."
She pointed up as the light shone from above. She and Ren started levitating toward it.
She got out from under the bed. Ren forgot and hit his head.
"Ah—you seriously need to change where you hide this spot."
As he was about to get out from under, he noticed Tamara—who now looked like his mother again—just standing there, blocking his view. He got out.
"Tamara?"
She stood frozen, signaling with her hand behind her back for Ren to stop.
He peeked in the direction she was looking. The old man—who used to greet him so many times—was standing facing the wall. He peeked toward the hallway and saw it filled with people he recognized—all facing the wall, just silent. Everyone with their back turned toward Ren and Tamara.
Tamara approached the old man slowly.
"Mr. Clark? Hey, Mr. Clark, are you alright?"
Ren just watched.
As the old man, Mr. Clark, turned slowly toward Tamara, for a moment he smiled—but then he saw Ren behind her. He released a terrifying, deafening scream.
Every other person turned quickly toward Ren.
Ren looked toward the window. In a split second, every person from this dream rushed toward him.
Ren instantly ran toward the window and jumped. In mid-air he looked back at Tamara and noticed they were avoiding her and focusing on him.
He landed from jumping a floor and instantly sprinted. He looked back and saw them just jumping and falling, hitting the ground, then getting up as if nothing had happened to them.
Tamara yelled from the window,
"Whatever you do, don't kill them!"
Ren, running with all his strength, saw tens of people—young and old—matching his speed. He saw the wagon right at the village entrance. Remembering that there might be a weapon there, he reached the wagon and jumped through the curtain. He started looking through the crates and sacks and found a fork.
The people reached the wagon as it started shaking and tried entering from both sides. He instinctively pushed the fork with all his might into the side of his head.
Huff… huff… huff…
He opened his eyes and he was back in the forest. Breathing heavily, he whispered to himself: "230."