The Storm Sea was the one and only vast ocean that fed much of the known dream realm.
Its turbulent and deep waters connected with the two great citadels where hundreds of thousands of Awakened resided. The first was Ravenheart, an imposing fortress that rose upon cliffs of black stone, and from there departed the River of Tears — a liquid artery that snaked toward the continent's interior, connecting one of the citadels under the command of the Saint of Pain. The river divided into smaller tributaries that reached different important zones where the presence of the Awakened was most active, carrying supplies, reinforcements, and hope to the scattered settlements.
At the other end, far from Ravenheart, the Storm Sea connected with Bastion through Rivergate, a citadel built upon a delta of canals and floating docks. From there, Bastion fed from the sea like a thirsty giant, distributing resources throughout all the territory under its influence.
Although the Storm Sea was vast and practically limitless — its horizons lost in an eternal mist that no explorer had managed to penetrate — the Awakened had managed to establish safe routes over the years, marking paths between dangers, mapping the least hostile zones while exploration continued. Each route was a thread of hope woven over an abyss of nightmares.
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Upon that sea, sailing under a clear sky and traversing deceptively calm waters, sailed a titanic ship of terrifying proportions.
It was a kilometer wide — a distance that on foot took several minutes to cover — and several kilometers long, to the point that the vessel, despite its enormity, seemed almost narrow due to the colossal proportions that defined it. It was a floating city, a miniature world that sailed the waters of the dream realm like a colossus indifferent to the laws of physics.
The keel of the enormous ship cut through the water like a giant blade, parting the waves with a deep, muffled roar that rumbled in the depths. Terrifying nightmare creatures — sea monsters of tentacles and glowing eyes that lurked in the underwater darkness — were consumed by the Devouring hull, a black, pulsating mass that made no distinction between living beings and abominations, using everything as energy to feed the countless enchantments that kept the vessel afloat.
At the prow, three enormous mastless pillars rose toward the sky like pillars of a forgotten temple. Each pillar was at least a kilometer wide at its base, the central mast being the most colossal, a tower of dark wood that rose upward for several more kilometers, piercing the low clouds and disappearing into the mist. At their peaks, lanterns of ghostly light burned day and night, guiding lost sailors toward the heart of the ship.
The ship's prow had a great many greenish trees and artificial rivers that fed them, small streams of crystalline water that snaked among the roots and cascaded down to lower levels. There were also enormous pagodas carved in spectacular and perfect forms — their curved roofs reaching toward the sky like dragon claws, their walls covered in reliefs telling stories of forgotten battles and fallen heroes — distributed along the upper deck like a forest of wood and stone.
The ship was undoubtedly a majestic and mystical creation, a work of supernatural engineering that no human from the waking world could have built.
However, Ash cared little for all of that.
Because he was engaged in a fierce battle against a nightmare creature: a terrifying wasp the size of an adult horse, its abdomen striped in black and pale yellow, its transparent wings buzzing with a sound that made the air and teeth vibrate.
Ash used the Pale Needle to defend himself, struggling to hold back the great wasp's advance while his eyes searched for blind spots. The creature's stinger — long as a dagger and gleaming with venom — whistled past his face repeatedly. Each thrust was a threat of slow, painful death.
In the distance, in a higher area of the jungle that covered part of the prow, lay the graceful figure of a girl with long black hair like a cascade of ink. Her hair flowed loose, swaying to the rhythm of the battle like a silken mantle that captured the dream realm's faint sunlight. Her face was beautiful — like all Awakened, the spell's corruption had sculpted her features until they became perfect, almost unreal — with high cheekbones, thin lips, and deep gray eyes that observed the combat with serene calm.
Her body was wrapped in a tight black suit, covered by armor plates that clung to her silhouette like a second skin. The plates were of a dark metal that barely reflected light, designed to provide great protection without sacrificing maximum flexibility. Every movement she made was fluid, almost liquid, as if the armor didn't exist.
Priscilla — for that was her name, though Ash sometimes forgot it in the midst of combat — held in her hand a curved saber sword like a waning moon. The blade shone with an edge that seemed to cut the air as it moved. While Ash dealt with his own wasp, she cut down several of the creatures in rapid succession, her sword describing silver arcs that left trails of black blood behind them.
'Die already, for once,' Ash thought, a little irritated, deflecting the insidious wasp's stinger again with a quick wrist movement. The Pale Needle's metal screeched against the stinger, white sparks jumping in the air.
He jumped back, moving several meters away, and activated the mist of his cloak. The thick gray fog burst from his body like a living thing, spreading in a radius of several meters. The wasp, furious and blind with instinct, entered the mist searching for him frantically, its wings buzzing with a noise that rebounded off the nearby treetops.
But Ash was cunning.
Positioning himself in the wasp's blind spot — the rear, where its large compound eyes couldn't reach — he leaped. The Pale Needle shone in his hand for an instant before plunging directly into the wasp's neck vertebra, piercing the joint between the chitin segments with surgical precision. The weapon cut the connection between the monster's head and spinal column, severing the motor nerves in a fraction of a second.
The wasp immediately lost flight — its wings convulsed for a moment before stopping completely — and landed on the green grass with a muffled crash. The creature's body writhed for a few seconds, its legs thrashing in the void, but Ash didn't waste time. He jumped on the wasp once more, stabbing it several times in the thorax and head, ensuring that the venom still pulsing in its stinger couldn't be used against anyone else.
Finally, the wasp stopped moving.
When he finished, he heard the spell's voice, cold and impersonal as always.
[You have killed a Fallen monster. Terrible Hornet.]
[Your soul strengthens.]
Ash sighed as he stood up slowly, his muscles protesting the effort although the battle hadn't been particularly long. He looked at the wasp's corpse with a mixture of satisfaction and weariness.
"If you weren't poisonous, I'd turn you into a kebab for dinner," he murmured, kicking the monster's head with the tip of his boot. The head rolled a few centimeters, its jaws still opening and closing weakly in a post-mortem spasm.
Ash summoned his runes. The bright characters appeared floating in the air before him, written in the spell's ancient language.
Soul Fragments: [656/2000]
He sighed again, more deeply this time.
The task of reaching three thousand fragments was undoubtedly long and winding — a path of asphalt and thorns stretching to the horizon without promises of immediate reward. If before he obtained two soul fragments for killing a monster of the Awakened rank, now he only got one. And the same happened with the Fallen: two fragments instead of four.
It was undoubtedly a scam for all his effort.
The worst part was that he didn't even receive fragments from the Awakened beasts — those that, having surpassed their first rank, possessed abilities and intelligence that made them dangerous even to entire teams. To kill them, he had to use Weaver's mask to invert his flaw, or in extension, use his echoes to kill for him. Both options were tedious and consumed resources he would rather save.
"Hey, Ash, if you're done contemplating your life, I need some help over here," said Priscilla, her voice clear and mocking even above the buzzing of the approaching swarm.
Ash nodded, setting aside his thoughts.
"Yeah, move back a bit. I'll send the Raven to deal with those things," he said as, after a sea of blue sparks that crackled in the air like tiny lightning bolts, the familiar figure of a black steel raven appeared.
The Black Steel Raven materialized with a metallic screech that echoed among the trees, its metal wings shining under the faint light. Its body, at least five meters tall, launched toward the swarm of wasps with a speed that belied its size. Its claws — long as blades and sharp as razors — extended while its body became wrapped in lightning, electrical sparks jumping from each metal feather.
Spinning on its own axis, the raven created a whirlwind of electricity. Dozens of wasps fell dead, electrocuted in a matter of seconds, their charred bodies raining down on the grass like a black storm. The smell of burnt chitin and singed flesh filled the air.
While the Raven eliminated the swarm — its movements were almost playful, as if dancing rather than fighting — Ash observed his companion, who approached with a wide, genuine smile on her beautiful face.
"I must say, no matter how many times I see it, that raven is truly awesome," said Priscilla, as the Raven opened its metal beak and devoured several wasps as if they were candy, its jaws crunching as it crushed the chitin.
"Seriously, Priscilla, you have a problem with ravens," said Ash, crossing his arms.
Priscilla wrinkled her face in indignation, a gesture that on anyone else might have looked ugly but on her only highlighted the vivacity of her features.
"Ravens are awesome. And besides, look how cool it looks. It must be incredible to say: 'Raven, use Thunder Shock!'" — her voice imitated an epic tone, like a narrator from a hero's tale.
Ash blinked in disbelief, his face showing a mix of exasperation and fatigue, before shaking his head slowly.
"It's not a Pokémon I use for battle."
"Aha," said Priscilla, with a mischievous smile that betrayed she knew exactly what she was doing.
Ash looked at the Raven, which had created a lightning bolt that ran through the swarm forming an electrical grid that eliminated all the remaining wasps. The creatures fell in batches, their bodies convulsing for a moment before becoming motionless. The blue light grid shone intensely for a second before fading, leaving behind a silence broken only by the crackling of residual electricity.
"You were saying?" Priscilla smiled in victory, her white teeth gleaming.
"Fine, you win," said Ash, knowing that arguing with that girl would only give him headaches. She had an innate ability to get under his skin as easily as the Raven killed wasps.
He summoned a memory in the form of a dagger — a curved-blade knife with a bone handle, designed specifically for butchering nightmare creatures — and approached the wasp's corpse. With precise and experienced movements, he opened the monster's abdomen, carefully separating the chitin plates. He extracted two ascended soul fragments — small gems of light that shone like trapped stars — and stored them in a brown leather pouch tied to his waist, along with other fragments collected during the expedition.
"Hey, Ash," said Priscilla, leaning against a nearby tree as she watched him work. "Even though we've known each other for a few months now... you usually have quite a peculiar expression when fighting. Like you enjoy massacring your enemies."
Ash finished storing the last fragment and stood up, cleaning the dagger on the grass before making it disappear back into its memory existence.
"I suppose so. They say a battle isn't a battle if you don't go a little crazy."
"Does such a saying really exist?" asked Priscilla, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
"Yeah. I just made it up now," said Ash with total seriousness, his eyes meeting hers for a moment, before looking toward his echo.
"Hey, spit that out. It's poisonous," he shouted at the Raven, which was about to swallow the venom sac from one of the wasps, a translucent orange-sized bag pulsing with a greenish liquid.
The Raven looked at him defiantly, its metal eyes gleaming with mischievous intelligence. It opened its beak slowly, showing the venom sac inside its metallic throat, like a child wanting to prove it could do whatever it wanted.
"No..." said Ash, his voice taking on a warning tone that would freeze any human's blood. "If you do it, I'll dismiss you and won't summon you for an entire month."
The Raven froze — a pose that on a creature of steel and lightning was almost comically expressive — and stared at him, as if saying it wouldn't dare, that it was joking. But seeing Ash's serious face — jaw tense, eyes cold as ice — the Raven finally desisted under its master's gaze. The venom sac fell to the ground with a wet thud.
"Good millennial bird," said Ash, dismissing the Raven with a hand gesture that made the creature vanish amid sparks, its last screech sounding almost like an insult.
'Without a doubt, I get the strangest echoes of all. I don't think anyone has weirder echoes than me,' Ash thought, rubbing his temple where a headache was beginning to form.
"Hey, Ash," said Priscilla, already moving away from the clearing, "let's go back and give the report. We managed to clear this area of the Fallen one that had made its nest, and the superiors will be waiting for news."
Ash nodded, storing the fragment pouch in a deeper layer of his inventory, and followed Priscilla through the forest at the prow.
It took them some time — they walked under the shade of giant trees, crossing small streams that fed the roots and wooden bridges connecting different sections of the ship — but they finally reached one of the great pagodas.
The pagoda rose before them like a monument to supernatural craftsmanship: its curved roofs rose in several layers, each decorated with carvings of mythical beasts and ancestral warriors. The dark wood pillars were inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold, and the doors — enormous leaves of solid wood — were covered in runes that glowed faintly with the spell's power.
Upon entering with Priscilla, the pagoda's interior revealed itself spacious and well-lit with chandeliers — large crystal and bronze structures hanging from the high ceiling — creating a warm and welcoming light that contradicted the exterior's coldness. The wood on the walls had a deep mahogany tone, polished by centuries of use, and the floor was covered with bamboo mats that muffled footsteps.
There was a set of stairs ascending and descending between the pagoda's levels, some arranged in a spiral — their steps turning around a central axis carved with intertwined dragons — others straight and wide, connecting winding floors. All were carved from the same wood as the pagoda, their railings worked with a delicacy that spoke of hands that had never known fatigue.
Ash and Priscilla climbed the stairs for a few minutes, passing other Awakened coming and going — some carrying equipment, others talking quietly — until they finally reached their destination: a beautiful wooden door, more ornate than the others, with protection runes glowing on its frame.
Ash knocked three times, dry and respectful knocks, and waited.
A moment later, a deep voice from inside ordered them to enter.
Inside, the office was spacious, with high ceilings lost in shadows and windows facing the ship's upper deck. The furniture was functional but elegant: a dark wood desk occupied the center of the room, and behind it, a comfortable chair brought from the waking world — black leather with a padded back, a rarity in the dream realm — waited for its occupant.
Sitting at the desk was a man of around forty-some years, with a severe face marked by the wrinkles of countless battles. His hair was short, black as night, with some grays at the temples that shone under the chandeliers' light. His eyes, also black, were deep and penetrating, capable of inspecting an entire soul with a single glance.
His resemblance to Priscilla was undeniable — the same high cheekbones, the same jawline — though where she possessed a youthful and vibrant beauty, he had the gravity of a cliff that had weathered countless storms.
He was one of the few Saints inhabiting the Nocturnal Garden. The Saint Typhaon.
At that moment, the Saint was busy with several sheets — rice paper scrolls covered in careful writing and letters sealed with red wax — writing something with a bird feather that seemed to tremble slightly under his firm hand. After finishing writing, he raised his face and looked at both Awakened before him, his eyes scanning them from head to toe in a fraction of a second, assessing their condition.
"Report," he said. His voice was deep and measured, unhurried, but charged with an authority that demanded immediate obedience.
Ash nodded, stepping forward.
"We found the nest of the nightmare creature described in the reports," he began, his tone professional and direct. "It was a Fallen monster, as suspected. It was deep in the East zone of the prow, in a cave formed among the roots of the oldest trees. We eliminated it along with most of its colony, but there are likely more nests in the area. These creatures generally aren't alone — a Fallen of this type is usually the sentinel of something larger, or part of a wider network."
Saint Typhaon nodded slowly, his face impassive. He wrote something on one of the scrolls, the pen scratching softly against the paper.
"Understood," he said, looking up again. "Anything else?"
Ash hesitated for a moment before continuing.
"Yes," he said, and his voice became more serious. "We believe there's a Corrupted abomination prowling the area. We found two dead Fallen creatures, torn apart, their bodies shredded. It wasn't a normal fight. The wounds were deep, clean, as if made by something much more powerful than them. And in both cases, the souls had been ripped out. Not extracted with a memory like ours. Ripped out. Violently."
Saint Typhaon nodded again, this time more slowly, his expression becoming more serious. His black eyes gleamed with something that might have been concern — or perhaps interest.
"Thank you for informing me of this and for your hard work," he said finally, his tone warmer though without losing formality. "You may withdraw. Rest. You will likely have new assignments soon."
Ash and Priscilla bowed their heads slightly as a sign of respect before leaving the office.
They walked in silence down the hallway — the muffled echo of their footsteps on the wood — waiting until the door closed behind them with a soft click and they were far enough to speak quietly.
"Gods," Priscilla exhaled, bringing a hand to her chest. "He's truly frightening."
"He's quite serious," Ash admitted, lowering his voice instinctively. "Every time I come to report, he gives me goosebumps."
Of the few times he really got nervous, being in the presence of a Saint — and one as powerful as Typhaon, whose name was whispered with reverence even among other Saints — made him rethink his entire idea of personal strength. Ash had killed hundreds of monsters, had faced Fallen and survived, but before a Saint he felt like a child playing at being a warrior.
Priscilla nodded, her expression serious for a moment before a smile lit up her face.
"Well," she said, stretching her arms above her head, "I'm quite hungry. What do you say? Shall we return to the waking world to get some food at the Academy?"
"Sounds good," said Ash, mirroring the stretch with a more contained gesture. His shoulders cracked slightly, joints protesting after hours of combat.
They reached the central great pagoda — the largest of all, a multi-story structure that rose at the exact center of the prow, so tall that its highest point was lost among the clouds — and entered its interior. They climbed the stairs once more, passing statues of forgotten warriors and paper lanterns floating in the air without visible support, until they reached the return portal.
The portal was located one floor below the Captain's level and the great ship's command center, in a circular chamber with white walls and polished stone floor. It was an elevated platform, about five meters in diameter, made of an indestructible diamond-white stone that seemed to glow faintly with its own light, as if containing a miniature sun within.
The portal was not merely an entrance to the waking world — it was a reminder that the two realms, dream and wakefulness, were closer than most wanted to believe.
Ash and Priscilla stood on the brilliant surface. Ash felt the familiar sensation of his body becoming weightless, of his consciousness pulling in two directions at once, and then — like a thread breaking and tying itself elsewhere — the transition ripped him from the dream realm.