Sunny stood before the massive red gates of the Awakened Academy.
Calling them gates almost felt inadequate. They were less an entrance and more a declaration. A slab of reinforced alloy so thick and seamless it looked as though it had been carved from a single piece of metal. The surface was matte, scarred faintly by time and weather, but not a single dent marred its integrity.
Behind those gates stood the safest place in the city.
The Academy was not merely a school — it was a fortress. A city folded within another city. High alloy walls surrounded it like the shell of some colossal beast. A deep moat encircled the perimeter. Heavy-caliber turrets crowned the battlements, positioned with deliberate mathematical precision to create a suffocating dome of overlapping firepower. Anti-air suppression systems. Ground denial grids. Layered defenses upon layered defenses.
No Nightmare Creature was supposed to breach it.
Not even the colossal titans.
It was legendary.
Most of the city only knew it through screens. Popular webtoons romanticized it. Youth dramas glamorized it. Novels turned it into a stage for rivalry, ambition, betrayal, and romance. Young Awakened clashing in training arenas. Lifelong bonds forged in adversity. Dramatic confessions under winter snowfall.
Sunny had grown up watching those stories like everyone else.
He had never imagined standing here himself.
Of course, reality rarely resembled fiction.
There would be no slow-burn romance arcs. No carefully choreographed rivalries. No grand speeches about destiny. He had four weeks before the winter solstice.
Four weeks before the Dream Realm claimed him again.
There wasn't enough time to build anything sentimental.
And he had no desire to.
He wasn't afraid.
At least, not in the way he should have been.
His Aspect made that difficult.
If Omnimorph worked the way it implied… if Adaptation functioned the way it was written… then even death would not remain absolute. It would prevail once — and never the same way again.
Immortality had never been something he desired.
Yet here he was, possibly incapable of reaching the one thing he had once wished for most.
Snow drifted down in quiet spirals.
It was cold in front of the Academy gates. Cold and silent.
Except for him, only one other figure waited.
A girl.
Tall. Slender. Maybe younger than him.
Her grey eyes were clear but distant, as if they focused on something a few steps removed from the present moment. Her silver-white hair was cut short and neatly parted, the pale strands almost blending into the snowfall. She wore the same police-issued tracksuit as him and carried nothing.
No bags. No luggage. No visible attachments.
A pair of old-fashioned headphones rested over her ears. Music bled faintly into the winter air.
She looked calm.
Detached.
Not nervous or excited.
Just… separate.
There was something about her presence that felt self-contained. As though she existed slightly apart from the world rather than inside it. Confident and composed.
But also alone.
Sunny studied her for a moment longer than necessary.
Then a far more practical thought surfaced.
'Why would anyone dye their hair silver?'
The gates began to move.
The enormous slab of metal descended slowly with a deep mechanical rumble. It didn't swing open — it lowered, transforming into a long, reinforced bridge that extended across the moat. Internal locking mechanisms disengaged with a series of heavy, deliberate clicks.
The sound echoed in the winter air.
Sunny felt something tighten in his chest.
Master Jet's voice resurfaced in his mind.
…
"Since we both come from the outskirts, I'll give you three pieces of advice. Whether you listen to me or not is your business."
He turned to her, waiting.
"First: once you're registered in the Academy, they'll offer psychological counseling again. There will also be a reward for sharing your Nightmare experience and the details of your Appraisal. Soul shards. Possibly several."
He frowned.
"Are you trying to convince me to get therapy again?"
Jet shook her head.
"No. I'm telling you to refuse."
"Why?"
"Because Nightmare Creatures aren't the only danger in the Dream Realm."
Her gaze had sharpened slightly.
"Once you grow powerful enough, humans become just as dangerous. The less they know about your Aspect, the better."
She didn't speak dramatically. Just matter-of-factly.
"The easiest way to defeat a powerful Awakened is to exploit their Flaw. That's why the Academy encourages students to share their Aspects in subtle ways. I'm not saying the government will leak your information. But once two people know a secret, it stops being one."
There were a lot of people working for the government.
He nodded.
"Thank you, Master Jet."
"Second," she continued, "there will be a wide selection of courses. Combat training. Creature taxonomy. Sorcery fundamentals. Artifact theory."
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Disregard most of it. You don't have time."
"What should I take?"
"Wilderness Survival."
He hesitated.
"Why?"
"It's different for city kids. They grow up with tutors. Outdoor excursions. Preparatory classes. We didn't."
Her expression had shifted slightly.
"What was the biggest threat to your life during your Nightmare?"
Sunny had paused.
His trial hadn't involved monsters.
No enemies.
No combat.
Only that endless space.
The ever-changing sky that hurt to look at.
"The environment," he had answered calmly.
Jet nodded.
"Exactly. You only know how to survive in the city. The Dream Realm isn't a city. It's wilderness. Can you reliably make fire in the rain? Identify edible plants? Avoid hypothermia? Find shelter before nightfall?"
She had met his eyes evenly.
"Fighting monsters won't matter if you die of hunger or exposure. I learned that the hard way."
He had almost said he already knew most of that.
But he hadn't.
Because survival in the outskirts and survival in the Dream Realm were not the same thing.
"This is as far as I go," Jet had said when they reached the gates. "I've notified them. Someone will fetch you."
"What's the third advice?"
She sighed softly.
"No one survives the Dream Realm alone. That's not philosophy. That's a fact."
She looked at him carefully.
"Try to get along with your peers. Even if they don't treat you well. It might save your life."
Then she smiled — unexpectedly warm — and patted his shoulder.
"You've done well to survive until now. Make sure you keep yourself alive."
And just like that, she had driven away.
…
The metal bridge locked into place with a final heavy click.
Reality returned.
The Academy awaited.
Sunny looked ahead.
Four weeks.
Four weeks to prepare for something that had already rewritten the laws of his existence once.
For some reason, he was certain these weeks would not be peaceful.
The silver-haired girl removed one earcup slightly, glanced forward once, and began walking without hesitation.
She stepped onto the bridge as though crossing into nothing more significant than another street.
Sunny exhaled slowly.
Then he followed.
Not because he was eager.
Not because he was afraid.
But because forward was the only direction left.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
The Sleeper compound sat in the southern corner of the Academy grounds, modest in size but carefully positioned. Training fields surrounded it on all sides. Parks too. Open space. Controlled space.
Everything about its placement screamed intention.
The building itself was low and modern, constructed from reinforced alloy and composite materials that could probably withstand more than most people inside it ever would. Like most Academy structures, the majority of it disappeared underground. Only two pristine white floors rose above the surface.
In summer, it must have looked beautiful.
White walls against endless green.
Glass reflecting sunlight.
Peaceful.
Now, in winter, it looked clinical.
Sterile.
Almost temporary.
Inside, the building was spacious and brightly lit. No dim corners. No shadows to hide in. The air carried that faint scent of filtered ventilation and polished surfaces.
Sunny and the silver-haired girl were guided into a large hall.
Around a hundred young men and women were already there — Sleepers, same timing, same bad luck. They clustered in loose groups, voices overlapping in waves. Some stood rigid with tension. Some smiled too brightly. Some tried very hard to look calm.
Nervous, Excited, Terrified.
The logistics of the Academy were apparently a nightmare in themselves. The Spell did not follow a schedule. It infected people chaotically — a cruel lottery with no predictable rhythm. Some Sleepers had a full year before the solstice. Some had months.
Some had days.
Which meant no clean batches. No standardized timelines. No neat academic structure.
So the Academy adapted.
Induction ceremonies were held monthly at the beginning of the year. Then weekly, once winter crept closer. As the solstice loomed, they tightened the net.
Some of the Sleepers here had been waiting for days.
Sunny had arrived mere hours before the ceremony.
Lucky.
Once inside the hall, two things became immediately clear.
First,Everyone was prepared.
Suitcases and duffel bags.
Backpacks stuffed with personal belongings.
Carefully chosen clothes and polished shoes.
These people had been sent from home. With farewells. With hugs. With expectations.
Sunny and the silver-haired girl stood out instantly.
Empty-handed.
Police-issued tracksuits.
No luggage. No visible past trailing behind them.
Not the norm.
Second, Master Jet had not been exaggerating.
Even though these were just Sleepers — barely at the beginning — they were dazzling. Clean skin. Straight posture. Bright eyes. Well-fed bodies. They radiated health and careful upbringing.
Good genes.
Better lives.
Sunny almost laughed.
All these observations were just distractions.
He already knew what was coming.
Because he could not lie.
And teenagers loved one thing above all else.
Talking.
About their Nightmares.
About their future glory.
About the Dream Realm.
About each other.
They wanted to ask questions.
They wanted to be asked questions.
They wanted validation.
Recognition.
An audience.
Sunny had experience with adolescents.
Unfortunately.
Back in the outskirts, some of them had crossed his path while he was scavenging. He had learned one crucial truth.
Teenagers were terrifying.
Not because they were strong.
But because they were fearless in the dumbest ways possible.
They didn't need a reason.
They could care less as long as someone bled.
They just needed attention.
'Ugh… the smell of hormones.'
With visible reluctance, Sunny stepped further into the hall.
…
'Children. All of them.'
Their maturity reminded him of Rain when she still followed him around — curious, loud, convinced she understood the world.
Sunny, despite his face, was older than anyone here.
Usually, his height and cold stare were enough to keep people away.
Usually.
One boy approached him, eyes bright with morbid curiosity.
"Look at all these young people. How many do you think will return from the Dream Realm? How many will perish? What do you think our own chances of survival are?"
Sunny didn't hesitate.
"I'm not sure about everyone. But I think you'll be one of the first to kick the bucket."
That ended that conversation.
Another time, a girl beamed at him.
"I received an armor-type Memory in my Nightmare. It's an enchanted robe. Would you like to see?"
"N O."
She blinked.
Left.
Then there was the group discussion he accidentally walked into.
"…and then those lowlifes started robbing the bodies. It was disgusting! They even took their shoes! What kind of degenerate steals a dead man's shoes?"
Sunny answered honestly.
"I once killed a man and took his boots. They were nice boots."
Silence.
"…What? You killed someone just for boots?"
"Of course not. There were other reasons. I also took his shirt."
That one dispersed quickly.
Word spread about him.
Textbook asshole. Unhinged.
Socially radioactive.
Eventually, the hall adjusted around him like water flowing around a stone.
Peace.
At least nobody was approaching him anymore.
Still, it wasn't entirely pointless.
The interactions helped him map his Flaw more precisely.
Rule one.
Silence counts as a lie.
If a question is asked in his vicinity, he must answer — even if it wasn't directed at him.
Rule two.
Truth does not mean usefulness.
He can manipulate wording. Frame statements. Deliver technically correct answers that mislead completely.
Rule three.
If he resists — if he attempts to distort the answer too far from truth or refuses to respond — the pain comes.
A sharp, splitting agony inside his skull.
It was impossible to locate and unendurable.
So he experimented.
He deliberately hovered near conversations. Measured the pressure. Timed his responses.
That was when he noticed them.
A group of five or six Sleepers gathered around a tall young man.
Brown hair, green eyes with a gentle smile.
He had confident posture and a trained body.
Everything about him whispered refinement.
Nobility.
One of the group gasped:
"Ascended? You received an Ascended Aspect? What… what was your Appraisal?!"
The young man smiled humbly.
"Excellent."
Sunny slowed.
Ascended Aspect.
Excellent Appraisal.
'Impressive.'
The group buzzed with admiration.
Sunny frowned.
Then stepped forward casually, as if pulled by idle curiosity.
"Ascended? That's it? What's the big deal?"
Silence.
The reactions were priceless.
Shock.
Confusion.
Irritation.
The green-eyed young man merely smiled politely.
One of his companions cleared his throat.
"Uh… friend. You must not know much about the Spell. Caster's results are remarkable."
"He is a Legacy, after all."
Sunny paused internally.
A Legacy.
Descendant of an Awakened clan.
Trained from childhood.
Prepared for infection as certainty, not chance.
Formidable.
Very formidable.
Still.
"I don't think it's as remarkable as you make it sound."
Hostility replaced confusion.
"Listen. If you're unimpressed by an Ascended Aspect, then share your own results. What was your Appraisal?"
Caster remained calm.
Smiling.
Sunny gave them exactly what they wanted.
Arrogance.
"You want to know mine? Fine. My appraisal was so good the Spell couldn't even put it into words. It was left completely speechless by my achievements. And to top it off, I received an Aspect higher than Divine itself."
Strange looks.
Divine Aspects were myths.
Higher than Divine?
Delusion.
Still, a flicker of doubt lingered in some eyes.
What if?
Sunny crushed it.
"Mind you, I'm not some lofty Legacy. I'm from the outskirts. No combat training. All that preparation and he only got 'excellent'? What did he do during the Nightmare, pick his nose?"
Now the doubt evaporated.
An outskirt rat boasting about surpassing Divine?
Ridiculous.
Caster finally spoke.
"Speechless, you say? Interesting. Would you mind sharing your achievements?"
Sunny grinned.
"Sure. I killed God."
A few people snorted.
"Oh? And how did you do it?"
"I didn't even have to lift a finger. I walked up to it. It surrendered immediately."
Laughter erupted.
"Ghostface, have some decency."
"Who would believe such a lie?"
"I can't answer that. Because it's not a lie."
"You're seriously claiming you killed God. By doing nothing?"
"That's the truth."
"Crazy bastard!"
"Insane!"
Caster raised a hand.
"Guys."
Silence fell.
"I see," he said mildly. "In comparison to your achievement, mine does seem average. Thank you for sharing. I hope you'll be as successful in the Dream Realm."
Sunny's smile sharpened.
"You better believe it."
He walked away.
Mission accomplished.
He had told nothing but the truth.
And ensured no one would ever take him seriously.
What did they believe now?
That he was weak.
Uneducated.
Untouched by training.
Mentally unstable.
Pathetic.
'Perfect.'
Behind him, someone muttered to Caster:
"Why didn't you put him in his place?"
A pause.
Caster's voice lowered.
"Poor fellow must have lost his mind in the Nightmare. It happens. He'll most likely die soon. Being kind is the least I can do."
Sunny's mouth twitched.
What a nice guy.
How fortunate.
How very fortunate indeed.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Satisfied with his performance, Sunny drifted back toward the farthest, emptiest corner of the hall.
Eyes followed him.
Gazes filled with mockery, contempt, pity.
A few whispers and snorts.
No one made room for him — they simply let space form naturally, like oil separating from water.
'Good.'
He didn't want company.
There was something he had realized during his little social experiment.
He couldn't truly adapt to his Flaw..
If he could fully neutralize it — fully master it — then it wouldn't be a flaw anymore.
His truth could be bent.
Framed.
Weaponized.
But never escaped.
Eventually, he slipped free of the crowd and reached the quietest part of the hall.
One bench. One girl
No one else dared sit there.
Sunny paused and studied her.
She looked delicate and demure.
Very pretty.
Her clothes were modest but neat — not expensive, yet chosen with care. Pale blond hair fell softly around her shoulders. Big blue eyes. A face so symmetrical and refined that she almost looked artificial.
A porcelain doll placed gently on a shelf.
But something was wrong.
Sunny frowned slightly.
It took him a moment to understand what unsettled him.
Her stare.
It was empty.
The kind of stillness he had seen once before — on the face of an old woman he had killed in the outskirts. A gaze that did not meet the world halfway.
Realization clicked.
She's blind.
Sunny sat down on the opposite end of the bench.
She hadn't been blind before the Spell.
No one blind could have survived the First Nightmare without prior adaptation.
Which meant she had lost her sight during Appraisal.
Her Flaw.
He leaned back slightly.
Whatever Aspect she had received in exchange for her vision, it had to be extraordinary to justify such a price.
But with only a dormant core?
Blind.
In the Dream Realm that wasn't a handicap.
That was a death sentence.
In a way, she was already walking toward a grave she couldn't see.
Sunny turned his gaze back to the hall.
Now he understood why this corner remained empty.
It wasn't superstition.
It was instinct.
The girl carried an invisible aura.
Hopeless and doomed.
People avoided proximity to that kind of future.
Across the hall, natural factions were forming.
The Legacies gathered around Caster — polished, confident, accustomed to hierarchy with him at the center.
Another cluster of well-dressed Sleepers — children of high-ranking government officials and wealthy families — formed their own quiet circle. Refined. Controlled.
Then the less privileged.
The ones who looked like they had clawed their way here.
Three tiers.
Already separated.
Already stratified.
And then there was this corner.
Sunny.
And the blind girl.
Two future casualties.
Declared dead before the solstice even arrived.
His gaze shifted.
The silver-haired girl from the gates stood alone by a wall, headphones over her ears, posture relaxed. She didn't seek a group. Didn't avoid one either.
Detached.
Time dragged.
The energy in the hall began to sour.
Excitement curdled into irritation.
Voices lowered.
Feet shuffled.
Even the Legacies were growing restless.
'When will this damn ceremony start?'
As if summoned by collective impatience, a tall man in a dark blue uniform stepped onto the stage.
The shift was immediate.
Silence spread outward like a ripple.
He was massive.
Wide shoulders with an athletic build.
A thick, well-kept brown beard. His eyes were calm. Serious and measuring
Authority radiated from him without effort.
He scanned the hall slowly.
His gaze passed over Sunny without lingering.
That was fine.
Sunny preferred it that way.
Finally, the man reached the center of the stage and spoke.
His voice was deep.
Steady enough to anchor the entire hall.
"I am Awakened Rock. Sleepers… welcome to the Academy."
…
Awakened Rock spoke for a long time.
About Nightmares and dreams
About Citadels and gateways.
Mostly, he spoke of cost.
Of statistics.
Of survival rates that grew thinner with every rank.
Of Sleepers who never Awakened.
His voice never wavered. Not when he described entire cohorts erased in failed expeditions. Not when he mentioned that courage meant nothing without preparation. Not when he calmly informed them that most of the people in this very hall would be dead within a few years.
No dramatics.
No theatrics.
Just facts.
The Spell was not a blessing.
It was a filter.
And most people did not pass through filters intact.
He ended with a few practical instructions. Dorm assignments. Training schedules. The reality of their limited time before the winter solstice.
Then he dismissed them.
The hall slowly dissolved into noise again — conversations reigniting, tension returning in a different form. Some faces were pale now. Some forced laughter rang hollow. Some stared at the ground, doing quiet math with their own mortality.
Sunny listened.
Processed.
And then—
His stomach growled.
The only thing currently occupying his mind was vastly more immediate.
'What are they serving for supper?'
But none of that would matter on an empty stomach.
Priorities.
The Dream Realm could wait a few more hours.
Food couldn't.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Supper exceeded every expectation.
The food was obscene.
There was real meat. Not synthetic strips. Not protein gel shaped into something vaguely animal-like.
Actual meat.
And not rationed.
No one counted portions or guarded the trays.
Sleepers could eat as much as they wanted.
Rice. Fresh and steaming.
Bread. Soft, warm, real bread.
Side dishes in neat stainless containers.
Sauces.
Vegetables that hadn't come from a nutrient vat.
Fruit and Juices.
Even carbonated drinks.
Sunny stood frozen for a full three seconds.
Then he built a mountain. A careful mountain.
Layered meat with a rice foundation.
Strategic vegetable placement to maintain structural integrity.
He found an empty seat and, for a while, the world ceased to exist.
He ate with focus.
With discipline.
With efficiency born from years of scarcity.
The plate was annihilated in record time.
He leaned back slightly.
Full.
More than full.
Satiated.
He glanced at the serving stations.
'Another mountain?'
Tempting.
Extremely tempting.
But his appointment with Academy personnel was scheduled.
Regret weighed heavier than the food.
He stood up.
Left the cafeteria like a man abandoning unfinished treasure.
…
The office was small and sterile.
A desk and 2 chairs.
Soft lighting designed to feel "non-threatening."
The administrative worker across from him wore a friendly smile that looked professionally practiced.
The interview began immediately.
Just as Master Jet had warned, the offer came.
Psychological counseling.
Again. Sunny refused.
Politely and firmly.
The worker nodded without judgment and smoothly transitioned to questions about his Aspect.
He had to give them something.
Luckily, the phrasing worked in his favor.
"Would you like to tell me about the type of Aspect Ability you received? Combat, sorcery, utility?"
"I'm not sure yet. I haven't had enough time to understand it properly."
"That's alright. Are you able to directly deal damage with your Ability?"
"Probably not."
'Not for now.'
The interview continued in that rhythm.
Soft questions.
Soft answers.
By the end, Sunny had painted a clear picture.
Weak. Utility-oriented. Non-threatening and unremarkable.
He returned to his room, undressed, and collapsed onto the bed.
Sleep came easily.
…
Morning arrived bright and crisp.
Sunny washed up in his private bathroom — still absurd to think about — and hurried toward breakfast with genuine enthusiasm.
The cafeteria was more crowded than the night before.
He filled his plate generously.
Then scanned for seating.
Only one table remained empty.
The one with the blind girl.
Sunny grimaced.
It seemed fate had paired them as outcasts.
He sighed and approached.
A social worker was guiding her gently. Sunny gave the worker a brief nod before sitting down.
He tried to ignore both of them.
Focused on food.
But then—
A sudden wave of noise.
Gasps accompanied by chairs scraping.
"What's going on?"
He looked up.
A large screen on the cafeteria wall displayed a ranked list.
Names with portraits.
From weakest to strongest.
The Academy's assessment of their batch.
Probably based on interviews.
Sunny scanned downward immediately.
Near the bottom.
'Of course.'
Second to last.
The only person ranked below him was the blind girl.
Cassia.
'So that was her name.'
But the commotion wasn't about the bottom.
It was about the top.
Sunny lifted his gaze.
Caster was second.
And above him—
A familiar silver-haired portrait.
Name: Nephis.
True Name: Changing Star.
The cafeteria froze.
"A Sleeper with a True Name? That's impossible!"
"It's not impossible. Smile of Heaven got hers in the First Nightmare, I think."
"Still…"
"Maybe she lied in the interview?"
"Are you stupid? If it was that easy, that crazy bastard from yesterday would've ranked first!"
Sunny blinked.
Rude.
But accurate.
True Names were exceptionally rare.
They meant something deeper.
Destiny acknowledged by the Spell itself.
He glanced sideways.
Caster wasn't staring at "Changing Star."
He was staring at "Nephis."
'Interesting.'
Do they know each other?
Across the cafeteria, Nephis sat alone.
Coffee in hand. Appearing as detached as ever.
As if the entire hall were background noise.
"Why don't we just ask her?"
Silence slammed down.
Everyone turned but no one moved.
Nephis looked up.
"Mmm. What?"
Even Cassia subtly tilted her head toward the sound.
Caster stepped forward.
He bowed slightly.
"Lady Nephis. I am Caster of the Han Li clan. I see your trial went well?"
'Lady?'
Sunny raised an eyebrow.
Nephis looked genuinely puzzled.
She thought for a moment.
Then smiled lightly.
"It is what it is."
Caster smiled back, a touch stiff.
"I'm glad you returned unharmed. Not that I doubted you."
"Thank you."
She returned to her coffee.
Conversation over.
Just like that.
'How mysterious.'
Sunny considered it for approximately five seconds.
Then returned to his plate.
Politics. True Names. Clan dynamics.
All fascinating.
But breakfast was getting cold.
And that was unacceptable.
A few moments later, the drama of the cafeteria faded entirely from his mind.
Chewing took priority.
As it should.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
The Wilderness Survival classroom was spacious.
Tastefully decorated.
Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with old books, preserved specimens, maps of unknown territories and hand-drawn sketches of strange plants and creatures. A faint earthy smell lingered in the air — leather, parchment, something dried and botanical.
It felt less like a classroom and more like the study of an eccentric scholar.
And it was completely empty.
Sunny paused at the doorway.
No students.
For a brief second, he wondered if he had misread the schedule.
Then he noticed the old man sitting behind a wide wooden desk.
Gloomy.
Still and watching.
The moment their eyes met, the old man perked up like a spring uncoiling.
"Come in, young man!"
He sprang to life with surprising energy.
Messy grey hair stuck out in rebellious directions. His eyes were slightly unfocused, as if perpetually chasing thoughts only he could see. Bushy eyebrows danced with every shift of expression.
"I'm Awakened Julius. You can call me Teacher Julius. Sit down, sit down! What's your name?"
"Sunless," Sunny replied flatly.
Julius froze for half a heartbeat.
"Ah! What an ominous name. Very good, very good. We deal with ominous things all the time!"
Sunny blinked.
"Uh… I'm sorry, Teacher. Did I come too early?"
"No, no. You're right on time."
Sunny glanced at the empty rows of seats.
"Are the other students late?"
Julius' expression soured instantly.
He grunted with contempt.
"No one else is coming. Those brutes only care about swinging fists and swords. Combat training, sparring, heroic nonsense! Very few are wise enough to value knowledge."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But you… you are different."
Sunny said nothing.
Julius squinted at him.
"So, what other courses are you taking?"
"None. For the next four weeks, I'll be fully concentrated on Wilderness Survival."
Silence.
Julius stared at him.
One second.
Two.
Five.
An entire minute passed.
Sunny began to wonder if he had accidentally triggered something.
Then—
A spark ignited in the old man's eyes.
A dangerous spark.
"Wonderful," Julius whispered.
Then louder—
"Wonderful!"
He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over a stack of maps.
"You are an astute young man! Brilliant decision! Do you know how many fools ignore survival theory? Do you know how many die because they can swing a sword but can't build a fire?"
He began pacing.
"In four whole weeks… four weeks! I will make you immortal!"
Sunny's expression didn't change.
'About that…'
Immortality again.
If Omnimorph truly functioned the way he suspected…
If adaptation truly extended even to death itself…
Then immortality was not a gift.
It was a trap.
Still.
He inclined his head slightly.
"I'm looking forward to it, Teacher."
True.
In its own way.
Because if there was one thing Sunny understood better than most in that Academy—
It was that monsters were not always the greatest threat.
Sometimes, the forest itself was enough.
…
Sunny's lessons with Teacher Julius began quietly.
There was no tension or pressure.
Just curiosity.
Sunny had already devoured everything the waking world had been willing to give him. Printed archives. Digital scraps. Basement records no one else bothered to open. History. Literature. Art.
But the Dream Realm?
That was different.
That was a whole continent of ignorance.
And Julius was more than eager to correct that.
He spoke of forgotten kingdoms swallowed by sandstorms. Of citadels carved into living stone. Of forests that moved at night. Of seas that remembered names.
Not dramatically.
Just… passionately.
Like a man describing old friends.
Then came the languages.
Dead languages and Rune dialects
Ancient scripts found etched into ruins across the Dream Realm.
Sunny raised an eyebrow.
"Doesn't the Spell translate everything?"
Julius slammed a palm onto the desk.
"The Spell is not a translator!"
His eyebrows flared indignantly.
"Do you think it has the time to express the intricacies of human speech? Nuance? Context? Cultural implication?"
He leaned forward.
"Imagine you enter a ruin seeking shelter. You find an inscription: 'Certain death ahead.'"
He held up a finger.
"There are thirty words for death in the old rune tongue! Thirty! Violent death. Lingering death. Consuming death. Corrupting death. Divine retribution. Natural decay. Soul erasure."
His eyes gleamed.
"If you can read the runes, you don't just know death awaits. You know what kind."
Sunny considered that.
Information was survival.
Specific information was power.
They studied until sunset.
Maps. Geography. Climate zones of the Dream Realm.
Predatory migration patterns.
Common mistakes that killed Sleepers before monsters ever found them.
When the sky outside dimmed into orange and purple, Julius finally clapped his hands.
"That is enough for today!"
Sunny didn't move.
He stared at the map spread across the desk.
"I want to learn more."
Julius blinked.
"Huh?"
"I said I want to keep going."
The old man stared at him carefully.
"No… I heard you. It's just… people are usually not that interested in history."
Sunny shrugged slightly.
But he was not like most people.
After exhausting every record available in the waking world's forgotten corners, he had developed something rare in the outskirts.
Interest.
Genuine curiosity.
And now he had found someone who spoke about entirely different civilizations with the same hunger he once felt reading stolen archives in a basement.
A new world that was untouched by him.
His mind leaned toward it instinctively.
Julius' expression slowly shifted.
From surprise.
To delight.
"Well then," the old man said, rubbing his hands together, "let us continue."
And so they did.
Until the room grew dark and only the desk lamp illuminated stacks of parchment and old maps.
Until Julius' voice grew hoarse.
Until Sunny's mind buzzed with unfamiliar names and ancient words.
He did not feel tired.
He felt sharpened.
As if knowledge itself were a kind of weapon.
Or armor.
Or perhaps—
A way to survive something even immortality could not solve
____________________________________________________________________________________________
As his lessons with Awakened Julius continued, Sunny didn't limit himself to books.
He trained quietly and carefully.
The first thing he confirmed was simple: darkness favored him.
Whenever the lights in his room went out, the change was immediate. Not dramatic. Not explosive. But undeniable.
His muscles felt denser.
His reactions sharpened.
His body seemed… heavier in a way that had nothing to do with weight.
If he clenched his fist in the dark, it felt like he could punch through concrete.
Of course, that was an exaggeration.
The Academy walls were designed to withstand Nightmare Creatures up to the Titan class. Sunny was many things.
But a Titan wasn't one of them.
Still.
The difference was real..
Then came [Shadebound].
At first, using it was a disaster.
The moment he opened himself to the shadows, the world fractured.
Distances warped.
Corners deepened.
Every dark patch became a second viewpoint.
It was like trying to look through a hundred keyholes at once while someone spun the house around.
He nearly threw up the first time.
The second time, he actually did.
But Sunny was stubborn.
He tried again.
And again.
And again.
Trial.
Error.
Failure.
And finally, slow improvement.
Eventually, the chaos began to organize itself.
The shadows stopped screaming.
They started whispering.
He learned to narrow the stream. To focus on one patch of darkness instead of all of them. To treat each shadow like a thread rather than an ocean.
Then something strange happened.
One night, he fell asleep.
But the shadows did not.
His body rested.
His breathing slowed.
His mind drifted.
And yet—
He was aware.
Not awake or dreaming.
Aware.
He could sense footsteps in the corridor. The faint vibration of plumbing in the walls. The subtle shift of light beneath his door.
His body slept.
The shadows kept watch.
It wasn't accurate to say he was sensing through them.
It felt more like they were informing him.
As if darkness itself had decided to report.
That realization unsettled him more than the ability ever had.
Still, usefulness outweighed discomfort.
So he began spying.
Other Sleepers.
Common areas like training halls.
The results were… disappointing.
Most conversations revolved around speculation, bragging, fear disguised as humor, and endless gossip.
Wild theories about the Dream Realm.
Arguments about rankings.
Exaggerated retellings of Nightmares.
Very little substance.
"Useless," Sunny muttered one evening, cutting the connection.
Eventually, his curiosity shifted toward something more productive.
The combat class under Awakened Rock.
Through layered shadows clinging to ceilings and walls, he observed the testing.
Each Sleeper stepped forward to punch a red impact plate.
Numbers flashed.
10
11
12
Those with combat-oriented Aspects scored higher.
15
16
17
Predictable.
Then Nephis stepped forward.
Calm.
Composed.
She struck.
16
Sunny frowned.
"I expected more," he thought.
Perhaps she wasn't using her Aspect.
Perhaps she didn't care.
Then came Caster.
Sunny almost missed it.
The punch wasn't seen—
It appeared to be a blur.
The machine hesitated.
Then displayed:
21
The room erupted in admiration and shock.
Caster bowed modestly, as if the number meant nothing.
Instructor Rock smiled.
"Not bad. Now we will move to sparring. Two volunteers."
Nephis stepped forward immediately.
A tall, heavily built Sleeper followed.
"The rules are simple," Rock said. "Make your opponent's back touch the floor or throw them out of the ring. Use whatever techniques you deem appropriate."
The muscular Sleeper attacked first.
He charged like a freight train.
A kick flashed.
And—
He was on the ground.
Nephis hadn't even shifted her stance noticeably.
"Next," Rock said cheerfully.
What followed wasn't a series of matches.
It was a demonstration.
One after another, Sleepers entered the ring.
One after another, they fell.
Nephis wasn't overwhelmingly faster.
Not visibly stronger.
But every exchange ended the same way.
Technique over force.
Timing over aggression.
Rich. Poor. Legacy. Didn't matter.
Seconds.
That's all it took.
Finally, only Caster remained.
He entered the ring with the same gentle smile.
He bowed slightly.
"Lady Nephis. Please excuse me in advance."
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them.
Then—
Caster vanished.
Not truly.
Just too fast for ordinary sight.
Sunny, watching through shadows and sharpened perception, followed the movement.
In less than a blink, Caster crossed the distance and struck.
Nephis reacted just in time, twisting her body to deflect.
The blow still clipped her shoulder, spinning her slightly.
Caster disappeared again.
His strategy was obvious: overwhelm. Exploit speed. Attack from blind angles.
He reappeared behind her, fist already committed.
Nephis seemed to prepare to strike forward—
Then changed.
At the last instant, she drove her elbow backward with terrifying precision.
"A feint," Sunny realized.
Caster's eyes widened.
He had committed fully.
Momentum owned him.
Even with his speed, inertia was law.
The elbow rushed toward his face.
He avoided it by the thinnest margin.
Barely.
Then he shifted seamlessly, hooking her leg and pushing.
Nephis fell—
But just before impact, Caster caught her collar and softened the descent.
Controlled and respectful.
The entire exchange lasted no more than two seconds.
Silence followed.
Then murmurs.
Admiration poured toward Caster.
But Sunny noticed something the others didn't.
Nephis had not used her Aspect.
Not once.
Not during testing.
Not during sparring.
And yet—
Caster, with an Ascended Aspect clearly tied to speed, had barely secured victory.
Caster knew it.
Nephis knew it.
Instructor Rock likely knew it.
And Sunny, watching from the shadows, understood it too.
The true gap between them remained hidden.
Sunny leaned back slowly.
"I wonder what her Aspect is."
The shadows around him seemed to deepen slightly.
As if they were curious as well.
…
When the introductory combat class ended, the Sleepers limped toward the showers, bruised pride mixing with actual bruises. Laughter was louder than usual — the kind people use to cover up embarrassment.
Sunny didn't follow.
He waited.
Then, once the locker room had filled, he let his shadows slip under doors and across tiles, spreading thinly along the ceiling and between benches.
He had zero interest in watching a bunch of teenagers change.
But Caster?
Caster might talk.
And sure enough, the golden boy was surrounded.
A small crowd of newly recruited admirers hovered around him, grinning like they'd personally won the duel.
"Caster, that was incredible!"
"Your Aspect is broken, right?"
"That Nephis girl didn't stand a chance!"
"True Name? Please. She's just trying too hard!"
The praise kept coming.
And with every word, Caster's expression grew darker.
Not embarrassed.
Irritated.
By the time someone laughed and called Nephis a "wannabe," something in Caster snapped.
His head lifted slowly.
His eyes turned cold.
"I might expect this kind of ignorance from them," he said evenly, voice edged with steel. "But you should know better."
The one he addressed stiffened. Unlike the others, he carried himself with the same quiet confidence Caster did.
Another Legacy.
"What?" the boy frowned. "Is there something special about that peasant girl?"
Caster blinked.
"Peasant… girl?" His voice lost all warmth. "Do you seriously not know who she is?"
The other Legacy's confusion deepened.
Caster opened his mouth, hesitated, then exhaled sharply.
"She is Nephis of the Immortal Flame clan."
The effect was immediate.
Color drained from the arrogant boy's face.
Caster didn't even look at him anymore.
"I assume I don't need to explain who her grandfather was. Or her parents. Smile of Heaven. Broken Sword."
In his room, Sunny's eyebrow lifted.
Even he knew those names.
Immortal Flame was the first human to conquer the Second Nightmare and become a Master — the kind of pioneer who didn't just survive history but carved it open.
Broken Sword went even further, becoming the first Saint after conquering the Third Nightmare.
Legends.
Living myths.
The kind of figures textbooks treated like modern-day gods.
If Caster was telling the truth, then Nephis wasn't just high-born.
She was the heir to a bloodline that had reshaped humanity's fate.
Royalty wasn't even the right word.
"Then why is she… like that?" someone asked quietly.
Caster's jaw tightened.
"Because they're all dead."
Silence fell over the locker room like a dropped curtain.
"The Immortal Flame clan is gone," he said, voice heavy now. "She's the only one left."
No one spoke after that.
The earlier mockery felt childish.
Cheap.
Caster looked down at the tiled floor, and for the first time since Sunny had started watching, the golden boy didn't look proud.
He looked… burdened.
…
Back in his room, Sunny leaned against the wall.
'What was the big deal?'
Yes, Immortal Flame and Broken Sword had been monsters.
Unmatched.
Unstoppable.
And yet their entire clan had still been wiped out.
Power that couldn't protect what mattered — what was it really worth?
Sunny exhaled slowly.
Then he walked over to the strength-testing machine.
He turned every light on.
And punched.
The machine hummed.
Paused.
Displayed:
20
Sunny blinked.
Higher than he expected.
And that was without drawing on the darkness. Without leaning into the quiet weight that filled him when the lights went out. Without touching the edge of Voidheart.
For a brief moment, temptation flickered.
Turn the lights off.
Test it properly.
See the real number.
But footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Sunny stepped back, the urge fading instantly.
Another time.
He left the lights on and slipped out, shadows trailing behind him like obedient servants.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Sunny had four weeks.
Four.
That was all the time standing between him and the Dream Realm — and whatever waited on the other side.
So he didn't waste a second.
While others socialized, speculated, panicked, or tried to look brave, Sunny studied like someone trying to outrun death. Languages. History. Geography of forgotten ruins. Fragments of survivor testimonies. Anything that might give him even a one-percent edge.
And it was working.
He started noticing things the Spell glossed over.
For example — Nephis' name.
The Spell translated it as 'Changing Star'.
Accurate.
But incomplete.
Once he understood the grammatical structure of the rune language, the meaning shifted.
It could just as easily be 'Star of Change'.
Subtle difference.
But the deeper he went, the more layered it became. There were multiple runes for "change," each carrying a slightly different implication — transformation, upheaval, decay, catastrophe.
Depending on which nuance the original rune carried, her True Name could also be read as:
'Ruinous Star'.
'Star of Misfortune'.
One word.
Entirely different destiny.
The Spell wasn't lying.
It just wasn't precise.
And in the Dream Realm, precision could mean survival.
…
His physical training progressed too.
He confirmed something new about his [Doomsayer's Ensemble].
In darkness, it hardened.
Not dramatically — but noticeably. The material felt denser, more resistant, almost like it absorbed the absence of light and converted it into durability.
He hadn't noticed it before.
Most likely the effect of the [Resonant] enchantment synchronizing with his affinity for shadows.
Meanwhile, [Shadebound] was no longer the chaotic mess it once was.
He could now spread his awareness across wide areas.
Multiple angles.
Multiple rooms.
Even while asleep.
His body would rest and the shadows would watch.
He could track footsteps, detect movement, sense doors opening.
"Don't have to worry about getting ambushed," he muttered once, half amused.
The ability still unsettled him.
But fear was better than vulnerability.
And then—
The Winter Solstice arrived.
…
The atmosphere that morning was heavy.
Oppressive.
The cafeteria, usually loud with forced jokes and hollow confidence, was nearly silent. Faces looked pale. Eyes were unfocused. Some didn't even touch their food.
Everyone knew what the solstice meant.
The Dream Realm would call.
And some of them wouldn't come back.
Sunny, however, was eating.
'If this really is their last day in the waking world,' he thought while chewing, 'They should at least enjoy a decent meal.'
He paused mid-bite.
Wait.
'Isn't today my birthday?'
He blinked.
It was.
Last year, on this exact day, he had shattered both his arms before walking into a police station.
A strange tradition.
'Should I keep it going?'
He considered it.
Briefly.
He went to the restroom.
When he returned, both his forearms were wrapped in black ribbon.
The fabric was pitch-dark, decorated with intricate silver-white patterns like constellations stitched into night itself. It had come with the [Doomsayer's Ensemble], but he'd never used it properly before.
It could wrap tightly around his arms, between his fingers, across his palms — seamless and precise.
It hid everything underneath.
Even scent.
A few Sleepers glanced at him, then dismissed it as cosmetic flair.
None of them looked twice.
Just as he was about to stand, the blind girl seated beside him turned her head.
Not in his direction.
At him.
Sunny instinctively glanced over his shoulder.
No one.
He looked back.
"What is it?"
She hesitated.
Her blue eyes were unfocused — yet strangely precise, as if she were seeing something no one else could.
Ten seconds passed.
Then she spoke.
"Happy Birthday."
Sunny froze.
Shock rippled through him.
'How does she know?'
He had never told anyone.
Not once.
"Th-Thank you," he managed.
She nodded once and turned away.
That was it.
No explanation.
Sunny stared at her profile.
'I don't like that,' he thought.
What kind of Aspect lets someone know things like that?
Premonition?
Perception?
Fate?
Whatever it was, it wasn't normal.
And in the Dream Realm, abnormal could mean terrifying.
…
Soon after, Instructor Rock gathered them.
No motivational speech.
No theatrics.
Just a steady march through sterile hallways toward the Hollows.
The massive structures loomed like open graves.
Another thirty minutes passed in near silence.
Then the Sleepers were guided into their pods.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
In one room, the blind girl — Cassia — stood alone in the sterile white chamber.
Cassia moved slowly, palms sliding along cold metal walls, fingers brushing over cables and unfamiliar machinery as if trying to build a map in her mind before everything changed.
But there was no map for this.
Only uncertainty.
Her breathing grew uneven. Tears slipped down her delicate, doll-like face, silent and unstoppable. For someone who had never seen the world, the Dream Realm was still something terrifyingly vast — and she was about to be thrown into it blind.
Literally.
…
In another room, a golden-haired Legacy stared at the floor.
Caster stood perfectly still, shoulders rigid, hands trembling ever so slightly.
His lips moved.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The same phrase.
Over and over.
Too quiet for anyone to hear.
Too urgent to stop.
The confident smile was gone.
The poise and charm stripped away.
Underneath it all was a young man who understood exactly what the solstice meant — and knew that pedigree and praise meant nothing inside a Nightmare.
He wasn't afraid of losing.
He was afraid of failing.
And that fear made his hands shake.
…
Elsewhere, Nephis stood in silence.
The last daughter of the Immortal Flame clan looked down at her hands.
Beneath her skin, something glowed.
Soft at first.
Then brighter.
White radiance pulsed through her veins like liquid starlight, leaking through flesh in faint halos.
Her jaw tightened.
Her fingers curled.
Pain.
Not the sharp kind.
But deep and ancient.
Like something inside her was trying to claw its way out.
Her face twisted, but she didn't make a sound.
No tears.
No trembling.
Just endurance.
Whatever burned within her — legacy, power, curse — she bore it alone.
As she always had.
…
And then there was another room.
Quiet.
Still.
A pale young man stood in front of a pod.
Sunny's lips moved faintly, as though reciting a poem only he could hear.
Not a prayer.
Just words.
When he finished, he opened his eyes.
Looked at the pod.
There were no tears.
There was no trembling.
Only calculation.
He stepped inside.
Lay down.
Closed his eyes.
And let himself fall asleep.
The Winter Solstice claimed them all.
But each of them met it differently.