Author's Note: I've revised Chapters 1–9 into chapter 1-7 for clarity without changing the story. Thanks for your support!
Orien jolted awake, drenched in sweat. The jungle from his dream still throbbed behind his eyelids—the massive black-furred ape, the house-thick serpent, their eyes locked on him as if they had been waiting.
He tried to catch his breath. Something had changed. That night marked the beginning—of the dreams, the whispers… and the truth that not every dream was just a dream.
Ever since he was little, Orien had been drawn to the supernatural. Fantasy movies weren't entertainment—they were glimpses of something real. Powerful characters, magic, beasts… he envied them all. And yet, reality always returned, like a cruel slap.
Books became his escape. Stories weren't just pages; they were living worlds. He devoured novels, dramas, and legends, losing himself in them. The more he read, the more the real world faded into the background.
Orien wasn't genius, just quiet, thoughtful, and sharp-eyed. He noticed things others overlooked, and his thoughts drifted like distant stars: brilliant, unreachable, alive. To others, he seemed reserved. Few friends earned his trust, and even then, he never gave himself fully—not from mistrust, but as a shield against the pain lurking ahead.
His family shaped him too. A mother admired for her beauty and kindness. A father, a war veteran, firm as stone, dependable in all things. Younger siblings who brought noise and laughter into his orderly world. And then there were the family stories—ancient folktales, myths whispered over dinner, tales that seemed to echo truths buried by time.
Orien didn't just listen. He collected evidence: photographs, accounts, legends across continents that mirrored one another. A city silent beneath the sea. A village frozen mid-step. Forests shaped like serpents. Pyramids too precise to be ordinary. Entire towns that vanished overnight.
Each whispered the same thing: This world is not what it seems.
Then came the dreams. Faces he had never seen yet recognized. Beasts extinct for centuries. Battles too vast for human memory. Déjà vu so sharp it left him breathless.
And finally, one night, the dream surged like reality breaking in. He stood in a living jungle. The black-furred ape swung between titanic trees, roaring. The obsidian-scaled serpent slithered beside it. Fangs, claws, and elemental fury tore the landscape apart.
Then they stopped. Both turned to him.
Their gaze didn't frighten him—it froze him. Recognition. Ownership. They weren't fighting each other. They were fighting over him.
> "I saw him first. He is mine. I demand a share."
"Do not test me. Did you think I did not see him first, fool?"
Branches tore at his arms. The ground shook under their pursuit. He ran, but the jungle fractured, reality splintering around him.
Orien awoke with a gasp, heart pounding. His room was silent. But inside him, everything had changed.
The world he knew was only a fraction of what existed. And he would soon learn that power, danger, and truth came not from waking life, but from dreams—and what waited beyond the veil.
---