Samael looked around cautiously, trying to recognize any detail of that region of the Dream Realm.
No luck.
From what he could tell, he was on a beach—the coast of an apparently enormous island. The sand was dark and damp, littered with debris carried ashore by the waves, and the wind bore a sharp, aggressive scent of salt.
He raised his gaze.
Surrounding the island, the sea churned violently. Colossal waves crashed into one another, as if the ocean itself were at war with its own existence. It wasn't merely dangerous—it was hostile.
A chill ran down Samael's spine.
As he stared at that raging ocean, a guess formed in his mind.
Stormsea.
"Of course…" he muttered with a tired sigh. "It had to be."
He rubbed his face.
"Why do you hate me so much, life?" he asked quietly, staring at the turbulent horizon. "You could've thrown me somewhere near Bastion… or Ravenheart…"
There was no answer.
Only the endless roar of the waves.
Samael took a deep breath and forced his mind to work.
"Alright… what now?" he thought.
His eyes swept across the island.
On one side, the violent sea. On the other, a dense, dark forest, its trees rising like warped pillars, packed so tightly that barely any light slipped through. The forest felt… wrong. As if it were alive. Watching.
He swallowed.
"Do I wait for the Night Garden?" he murmured to himself.
The idea of staying still, exposed, was anything but comforting.
Then he turned his gaze back to the forest.
"Or do I explore the island, looking for a citadel…"
Every instinct screamed danger.
That dense woodland looked ready to swallow him whole, as though every shadow concealed something poised to strike the moment he made a single misstep.
Samael remained still for several seconds, feeling the wind, listening to the sea, staring into the forest's darkness.
It was his first real dilemma since arriving in the Dream Realm.
And either choice could be fatal.
He approached the ocean cautiously, as if even the ground beneath his feet might betray him. Stopping a few meters from the water, he considered his options.
He stared at the Stormsea.
The water writhed in chaotic violence, like a living creature locked in perpetual rage. Beneath the distant waves, he noticed colossal shadows moving under the surface—slow, massive, crushing.
Even from that distance, Samael knew one thing for certain.
Any one of them could kill him with terrifying ease.
"Looks like a raft is out of the question…" he muttered. "Unless I feel like committing suicide."
He fell silent for a few seconds, watching the sea.
"Although… maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea," he added quietly, more to himself than out of genuine conviction.
As he leaned slightly forward, his reflection in the water caught his attention.
It wasn't the face he expected.
A beautiful woman stared back at him, her hair a blend of gold and white, gently rippling with the movement of the water. Her eyes carried a deep exhaustion—not physical, but existential. A weariness that went beyond that moment, beyond that world.
Samael held the gaze for a few seconds.
"Maybe it really wouldn't be such a bad idea…" he murmured, staring at his own reflection, feeling the weight of that body—of that identity he still couldn't quite call his own.
Then he abruptly looked away.
"Heh… just kidding," he said, without the slightest conviction.
The sea answered with a distant roar, almost as if it were laughing at him.
Samael stepped back, away from the water.
The ocean wasn't an option.
That left only the island.
The forest.
And whatever was waiting for him inside.
He stopped a few steps from the forest's edge.
He stood there, motionless, staring at that mass of twisted trees that seemed to close in on itself. The longer he looked, the stronger the feeling became—that the forest was staring back.
He lowered his gaze.
His hand was shaking.
Not subtly. Not controllably. The fear was obvious, seeping through his fingers like cold sweat.
Samael took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and looked back at the forest.
"I'm going to need a weapon…" he murmured.
He hesitated for a moment.
"I'm going to have to use it."
His voice was low, tense, clearly uncomfortable with the decision. Even so, something inside him was already screaming urgency.
He was being watched.
His Attribute, Bestial Reflexes, pulsed almost instinctively. At the academy, it had only worsened his personal hell—making the disdain, the stares, and the hostility of others almost tangible.
But here…
Here, that Attribute was terrifyingly useful.
He couldn't see the predators.
But he could feel them.
Several points of light appeared in the air and converged into his hand. The energy slowly condensed, taking on solid form.
A rusted sword.
Samael avoided looking at it for a few seconds, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, as though preparing himself for something far worse than combat.
Finally, after so long, he looked at his Memory.
The moment his eyes touched the blade, the world seemed to distort.
The sound of the sea, once distant, became more hostile—twisted, almost dissonant. The cold breeze from the forest felt like it carried invisible blades, slicing against his skin.
His heart raced.
Cold sweat ran down his neck.
His legs began to tremble even harder than before.
A violent wave of nausea surged up his throat, and he had to fight the urge to vomit right there.
The sword was a trigger.
A deep trauma.
A trauma whose origin he couldn't remember.
The only way to overcome it was to face it head-on.
Then, the gazes multiplied.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
The forest seemed to spin around him, and Samael began to hear voices.
"Kill him…"
"Destroy…"
"Tear him apart…"
They were overlapping screams—men, women, children. Coming from everywhere. From nowhere. From inside his own mind.
Even so, he endured.
He forced himself to remember.
He remembered his parents.
Samael's parents… and the parents he had had on Earth. Both loving. Both real to him.
He remembered happy moments, quiet nights spent reading his favorite works: Shadow Slave, Lord of the Mysteries, Reverend Insanity.
He remembered the training with Layla—the only period of true peace he had known in that world.
And then…
A fragmented memory.
Cold nights.
Absolute darkness.
Suffocating despair.
And beside him…
That sword.
Always it.
That was when Samael realized.
The sword wasn't his enemy.
It hadn't caused his pain.
In fact, it had been the only thing by his side.
The only thing that had protected him.
As distorted as it felt, his anxiety began to subside as that understanding settled in. The fear didn't vanish—but it lost its grip on him.
It was as if his body had rejected that sword until the moment he finally acknowledged it.
Samael closed his fingers around the hilt.
The forest remained silent.
But for the first time since arriving there, he was no longer completely defenseless.