[A/N: play Weige ALSNT while reading this.]
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Asher looked at Dahila as his entire being shook.
[You have received an Attribute!]
[Your Attribute has evolved!]
The spell whispered twice as he frowned. "Which part of my consciousness is this?"
Asher wasn't stupid,
Dahila stood before him, her smile glinting like moonlight on a blade. "Asher," she said, her voice resonating in the hollow expanse of his soul sea. "Do you know what it means to be trapped inside someone's very being?"
She stepped forward. With each click of her glass-black heels against the shallow water, the space around her shifted — the ocean of his soul reshaping itself to her rhythm. Ripples stretched outward, bending starlight reflected in the red water.
"I am not the Dream God," she continued, her reflection fracturing around her ankles, "but a shard of it — a memory given form."
Her eyes burned vermillion, twin embers cutting through the haze. "And that means your existence, Asher… is undeniable."
Asher understood what she meant, "So, a part of me is still conscious, walking through the mist."
Dahila's smile faded. Her tone hardened to something almost reverent. "You are changing," she said. "A dangerous change — and a necessary one."
Then, she vanished. Her voice echoed everywhere.
"I need to control that change. I can't let you go mad. For me and my goals."
A pause.
"For both of us."
Asher licked his dry lips, "Your sealing parts of my consciousness."
Dahila didn't answer. She simply turned away — her steps echoing in the still air as though she were walking across invisible glass. The dim light of the soul sea rippled beneath her feet. Around her, Asher's four cores burned in the void — molten orbs of shifting energy that pulsed with every breath he took.
Only one, however, was fractured — half white, half black, flickering like a dying star.
Asher's fists tightened. Every instinct screamed at him to stop her. But even now, a colder, more calculating voice inside him — one he despised — whispered that she was right. This version of him, this "soul-self," was far too pragmatic, stripped of sentiment, sculpted by necessity. Maybe Dahila had willed that. Maybe he had.
He knew the truth — if he carried every memory from the illusions, every death, every madness, his mind would rot before his soul ever evolved.
Dahila's lips curved faintly. "I don't need to do much," she murmured. "You already know, don't you?"
Her hand lifted and reached toward the fractured core.
"You've built the walls yourself," she said softly. "A mental defense, unconscious but perfect. I only have to decide which memories cross the threshold... and when."
Asher frowned, a shiver crawling up his spine. "You're rewriting me," he whispered.
Dahila smiled, "I'm refining you."
Then, the air trembled.
From beneath her skin, dark tendrils began to unfurl — viscous and alive, slithering with the hiss of whispering voices. They drifted toward Asher's core, circling it like serpents in heat. Then, without warning, they pierced the surface — burrowing into the luminous structure, sending waves of pressure that rippled through his entire being.
The sensation was agony and ecstasy all at once. His essence shuddered, unraveling and reforming, as though his very soul was being rewritten molecule by molecule.
He staggered, his breath catching as something ancient stirred within him — a tide rushing up from the depths of his existence.
Then, amid the chaos, a calm whisper brushed through the storm:
[Your Nightmare is over.]
Asher lifted his gaze toward the heavens of his soul—vast red clouds swirling above like molten dust, burning with silent thunder. He exhaled, and the world inside him trembled.
Something ancient was awakening.
His four Cores ignited with intense heat, the power within them surging. The heat spread through his soul and his body, rejuvenating and changing them.
His body and soul, both turned incandescent and malleable by the furious heat flowing through them, started to melt into each other.
They were slowly merging.
But they were not simply joining into a single whole… instead, the two parts of his being resonated with each other, reinforcing one another. The power of that resonance grew stronger and stronger, and then exploded once it reached his four cores.
Ripples tore through the red clouds above as the four cores blazed brighter than suns.
But amid the inferno, a sudden cold began to bloom.
From within the chaos, his Dream Core flickered — frost crawling over its surface like a spreading web of glass. The fire bowed before it. The heat recoiled. And in the next breath, the cold devoured everything.
Asher gasped. Whispers erupted around him, countless voices whispering truths in languages no mortal tongue could shape. Then, just as suddenly, all sound vanished.
Silence.
A silence so deep it felt like the void before creation.
And in that silence, the spell spoke — trembling as if even it feared the words it carried:
[You have received an Aspect Legacy.]
[The Abyss Reflects Seven.]
Dahila lowered her hand slowly, turning her head as Asher's eyes opened — twin stars burning with a light that wasn't his. The air warped around him, bending toward his presence.
Her black gown rippled like liquid night; his tattered trench coat mirrored it, fluttering in a phantom wind that carried the scent of iron and rain.
For a single, breathless moment, they faced each other.
Then Dahila smiled faintly. "I'll be gone for a bit," she whispered.
Before Asher could speak, an unseen force struck her — a soundless impact that tore through the air like a divine judgment. Her body convulsed, fragments of flesh and blood scattering into the soul sea below. She fell in silence, crashing into the shimmering water.
Blood and sinew scattered in the air like falling petals.
Crimson and black rained down upon Asher. He tilted his head upward, eyes half-lidded, letting it fall over him.
The spell whispered in his ear for one last time.
[...Wake up, Asher.]
[Your nightmare is over!]
***
Two figures crouched high among the trees, arms crossed, watching the moonlit garden below.
One of them scowled. "Really? We're stuck freezing out here while everyone else is enjoying the Valor Ball? We got invitations too, you know."
The garden was silent save for the rustle of leaves. Frost shimmered faintly over the marble paths — a cold night, and a long one.
His companion gave a weary chuckle. "Orders are orders. Both clans made it clear—when he wakes up, we're to strike immediately. Guess that takes priority over dancing."
"Still," the first muttered, "the Song Clan and the Valor Clan working together? Just to kill one guy?" He snorted. "Even if he's the great Saint Zerei, it's overkill. Five Masters, ten Awakened — all for one man? Ridiculous."
"Maybe," the other said quietly, "Even I don't understand what he has done to anger the sovereigns." He adjusted his gloves, eyes scanning the still garden. "We just wait."
"Wait?" his partner hissed. "It's been two and a half years, Martin! Two and a half damn years!"
Martin opened his mouth to reply — and froze.
The air shifted.
It wasn't wind. It was weight.
A crushing pressure descended on them like a falling mountain, bending the branches beneath their feet. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.
Martin's expression hardened. "...Looks like," he murmured, hand on his weapon, "the wait's finally over, Hiwer."
***
In a certain magnificent hall...
The rows of armor-clad honor guards, and the distinguished guests surrounding two people.
Sunny looked at Nephis. lingered for a few moments. and then walked in her direction with steady steps.
As he came close, he offered her a hand and asked.
"Shall we dance?"
Neph looked at him in confusion for a couple of seconds, then shrugged and placed her hand in his.
They walked to the center of the hall. Sunny's other hand found her waist; hers rested lightly on his shoulder. The distance between them vanished. The world narrowed to a single breath.
And then—
BOOM!
The grand doors of the hall exploded inward, a storm of splinters and smoke tearing through the music and laughter. Cries rang out as shards flew like shrapnel. Instantly, dozens of guests summoned their Memories, essence flaring as guards rushed to form ranks.
Nephis's eyes hardened. Sunny's expression darkened, Cruel Sight already gleaming in his hand.
Wet footsteps echoed through the settling dust.
As the haze cleared, the figure stepped into the light.
A man — clad in torn, blood-soaked hospital garb. Skin pale as ash, face drenched crimson, his every movement left a trail of dark red drops upon the marble.
Yet even through the horror, everyone knew who he was.
Vermilion eyes glowed beneath the curtain of matted hair — eyes so intense that their gaze alone crushed the air around them. The weaker guests fell to their knees, gasping as invisible weight pressed down upon their souls.
Nephis's pupils trembled. Sunny's grip slackened — Cruel Sight slipped from his hand, the weapon clattering against the floor.
The hall fell silent.
"…Asher."
[End of Volume 3, Part-1: The Exile's descent.]
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[A/N: how was the 2nd NM? I think I made it better than most. Also I tried fighting back. I really did. But I can't. Guys... 5 more reviews till this fic has 50 reviews... 50! REVIEWS! 🤞]