Dreamwood
The air here is thick with sleep, not the peaceful kind that brings rest but the kind you never want to fall into. It hangs heavy and damp, clinging to the skin like wet cloth. Around you, the forest feels still and silent, pressing in from every direction like a weight you can't shake.
The trees dance gently in a silence only they can feel. Their trunks appear almost fragile, with smooth, pale bark that curls away in spirals, exposing mysterious symbols that vanish as soon as you try to grasp their meaning. Each tree is marked with hollow eyes, numerous and unblinking, giving them a watchful yet eerie presence. Some eyes are peacefully closed, while others flicker with life, and a few even shed a black, sticky sap, as if they're crying in sorrow.
And through it all, the demonic energy is everywhere.
It leaks from the trees, bleeds from the soil, and hangs in the mist like something rotting. It clings to the skin, sticky and foul. Breathing it in feels like gulping down something warm and alive, something that squirms all the way down. It settles in your bones, making you feel as if ants are scurrying around inside you.
This is Dreamwood.
The land of unreality.
A place where dreams take root, and nightmares grow teeth.
Where thoughts become paths.
And memories become traps.
And at its heart, rising above the shifting wild, stands Veilspire.
The spire does not rise. It spills upward like smoke frozen mid-collapse. An impossible tower of black stone and translucent veils, its surface alive with shifting color and shape. The structure has no base, no beginning. It simply is. Some parts flicker, blinking in and out like skipped moments in a broken memory. Others loop endlessly, towers twisting into themselves, stairways that reverse mid-step, bridges that fold back to where they began.
Stained glass windows adorn the walls, their vibrant colors shimmering in the light. Each pane reveals scenes of dreams that never occurred and nightmares you might have known, evoking a bittersweet sense of familiarity.
Like a home you never wanted to return to.
It hums, softly but constantly.
Not alive. But aware.
Patiently waiting, as if longing for a story yet to unfold.
Deep within that strange, towering edifice, a vast chamber unfurls. The walls stretch endlessly, then suddenly fold inward, reshaping themselves in a dance that defies logic. Sounds are muffled, like someone holding their breath in the depths of a long sleep. At the center, elevated on a jagged plinth of glimmering obsidian, rests a throne that seems to breathe.
This is the Throne of Endless Nightmare. It did not come from hands but grew from the very core of dreams, dark and twisted. Its surface ripples like a slow-moving tide, strange and unsettling. Faces press outward and then vanish. Some are screaming, others smiling, but none remain long. From its base, thin strands of memory curl upward like smoke, drifting through the air like forgotten words that never found the courage to be spoken.
And upon it, she sits.
Still as stone.
The Demon of Dreams.
Her presence envelops the chamber in a heavy silence. She is the epitome of regality, formed from the luminous glow of pale twilight, her horns twisting like thoughts that have broken free from reason. Dark filigree tattoos weave and shift across her skin, catching the eye but always retreating when observed too closely. Her eyes do not just glow; they resonate with an unfathomable depth, representing the multitude of minds she has encountered, touched and altered, unraveled into the fabric of her realm.
She does not move.
She does not blink.
Only watches.
The throne pulses softly behind her, responding to her thoughts or perhaps her desires. The very air hums around her, an unsettling tone as if reality itself is desperate to look away but finds it impossible to do so.
Then a fleeting flicker crosses her face, almost unnoticeable.
Someone has stepped into her dream.
Her lips curled into a wide smile, her eyes shining with an almost unsettling mix of excitement and desire.
"He's here," she whispered.
The words slipped from her lips as if they were laced with a dark enchantment.
"Hahahaa..."
A hollow laugh followed, echoing softly. It sounded like something lost in a dream, still laughing long after everything else had vanished.
She closed her unblinking eyes.
Her mind sank inward, allowing herself to slip away from the present.
In her mind, she found herself pulled into a forgotten moment. One buried so deep it should have stayed hidden. Yet it throbbed in the shadows like a wounded heart, insistent and alive.
"Ha! Look at him. Our little hero!" The mocking laughter echoed around her.
"He's shaking. Is he gonna cry?" Another jeer followed.
"Aww, come on, tough guy. Hit me!" They continued, belittling him, turning the air dense with scorn.
"ooooh, so scary!" The chorus of cruel taunts surrounded him, spiraling upwards like smoke.
"Careful. He might actually poke an eye out… by accident!" More laughter erupted, sharp and stinging.
A crowd of demons circled a clearing. Misshapen things with twisted grins and flickering eyes. Their shapes bled into the shadows, never quite solid, never quite real. But the hate in their voices was sharp enough to draw blood.
In the center stood a boy. No older than ten. Raven-haired, barefoot, skin streaked with dirt. His eyes were dark, too heavy for his face. His tunic was ragged, slipping off one shoulder, hanging like it belonged to someone else. He looked just like a beggar who wander in streets.
He clutched a rusted steel pipe, bent near the top and streaked with flakes of old, rusted red. It trembled in his grip.
At his feet lay a girl, no older than six, curled up on her side, unconscious and fragile. Her shallow breaths were barely audible beneath the tangle of hair that clung to her cheeks, obscuring her face.
The boy's grip tightened.
He looked at the demons.
She sensed his fear acutely, like a heatwave radiating from him, heavy and oppressive, as if he were standing too close to a fire. The boy was clearly terrified; his hands shook, and his breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts, as though he were fighting back tears.
Any other child might have crumpled under the pressure, dropped to their knees, or cried out for help. Yet, he remained upright, small and solitary, gripping the rusted pipe tightly in his fists. The shadows around him seemed to mock and menace, but still, he held his ground.
The demons continued their taunting.
"Look at him," one scoffed, voice dripping with disdain. "Barely taller than a sapling but dare to stand against us."
"He's shaking," another added, a grin spreading across his ghastly face. "Doesn't even know how to hold that pipe."
"He'll snap in half before we're even warmed up," taunted a third, a cruel smile twisting his lips.
"Bet he thinks he's some kind of hero," one laughed, delighting in the moment. "Here to slay the monsters and save the day."
A ripple of laughter surged through the group, leaving a chill in the air.
"Go on then, little knight," a demon taunted, stepping closer. "Show us what you've got."
"Yeah, protect your princess. That's what heroes do… isn't it?" Their cheers echoed mockingly, wrapping around him like a noose.
The boy remained silent, fear coiling in his chest, yet he tightened his hold on the pipe. Despite the fear, despite the trembling, he stood ready.
When he looked to the demons, his wide, dark eyes showed something unexpected, something that transcended fear. It wasn't anger; it wasn't pride. It was a quiet, stubborn determination, a refusal to give in to despair.
Something twisted inside her as she watched the boy's dark eyes. The way he stood, barely holding himself upright. The way he refused to give up.
Her hand trembled. Not from weakness, but from a deep, gnawing hunger that curled beneath her skin and refused to quiet.
She sensed it within him, how close he was to breaking apart, how empty his heart must feel. And yet… there was still something holding him together, something stubborn and quiet, a flicker of defiance.
She wanted to crush it. Not with sheer power, but with her own hands. She imagined wrapping her fingers around that last shred of spirit, twisting it slowly until it faded away. The thought of watching his face in that moment sent a thrill through her.
She could see it clearly. The way his eyes would widen in disbelief, his mouth opening slightly as if unable to accept it was happening. That stunned expression, when a person finally comes face to face with harsh reality, that there's no escape, no hope, no reason left to fight.
Thought of it exhilarated her.
Despair had always fascinated her. From the moment she was born, she was drawn to how it contorted faces, silenced voices, and left people cold. But her fascination had morphed into something sharper, something hungrier, when she met HIM.
The Demon of Despair.
He taught her how to savor this emotion, how to draw it out, how to feed on it until it filled every part of her being. It had become intertwined with who she was.
As she approached, the demons noticed her. Laughter vanished.
They turned. One by one, they dropped to their knees.
Her presence demanded reverence. Her nobility was carved into her very bones.
"Stand," she said, her voice calm yet edged with an unyielding authority.
They complied without hesitation.
Her gaze shifted back to the boy in front of her.
He stood his ground, trembling slightly, but there was a defiance in him that was hard to break.
"What a cute toy," she remarked, an amused smile curling her lips.
He remained silent, his eyes locked on hers.
She stepped closer, closing the distance until she could sense the palpable fear that clung to him.
With a swift motion, she reached out, grasping his neck with surprising gentleness as she lifted him off the ground. The object he had clutched tightly slipped from his fingers, falling uselessly at his feet.
He struggled against her grip, instinct kicking in as he fought for breath, but her hold only tightened. He felt his strength slipping away, yet something within him clung desperately to consciousness.
He should have succumbed by now, but an inner fire kept him anchored, refusing to let him fade.
Her eyes sparkled with a peculiar delight, as if she had just found a new favorite toy.
Abruptly, she released him, letting him crumple to the ground.
"Take them as slaves," she commanded, her tone chillingly indifferent.
And just like that, the moment slipped away, fading like a memory dissolving in water.