Zachary stepped out of the Gambling Den after a while. He had gone over the specifics of his plan with Aiko—carefully, intentionally vague. He couldn't risk raising suspicion; to everyone else, he was just the newcomer who'd arrived yesterday.
Most people had already cleared out, clearly shaken by the spectacle with Andel. Only the Artisans remained, waiting for him near the exit. Arlo and Mauro were in the middle of a heated argument Zachary couldn't quite catch, while Lester stared off elsewhere, a complicated expression tightening his jaw.
The trio turned as Zachary approached.
"What took you so long?" Mauro asked, already forgetting his argument.
Zachary chuckled. "I felt responsible for what happened. I wanted to see if I could compensate Aiko somehow."
Lester's brow furrowed deeper. Arlo just slapped Zachary on the back with a laugh.
"You probably got ripped off, dude," Arlo scoffed. "That girl's got a reputation—offer her a hand and she'll take the arm with it."
Zachary smiled to himself. He wasn't wrong. But if Zachary's plan unfolded the way he hoped, Aiko might turn out to be more asset than burden.
"So, what now, Mo?" Zachary asked lightly.
Lester blinked—caught off guard by the nickname—then the tension in his shoulders eased.
"Now, we're going back to work," Lester said as he looked at his companions. "We had a little time off, but now it's time to get back."
Zachary nodded. 'Well, I guess it went pretty well. Despite losing some Shards at the end, I actually doubled my original number. I managed to befriend some Artisans too. This will help me a lot when I begin searching for information.'
This had been Zachary's plan from the beginning. Lacking supernatural means of gathering information, he went for the most basic and well-known method: talking to people and asking questions.
'I mean, this will take a while, and I'll probably just learn miscellaneous things, but that's exactly what I'm here fo—'
"Wanna come?"
Zachary blinked. Mauro had leaned around Lester's shoulder, grinning. Lester shoved him back with a tired sigh.
"Can I?" Zachary asked.
Lester studied him a moment, eyes half-closed, weighing the choice. Then he shrugged.
"I don't see why not. Unlike the other groups, we Artisans don't keep our work secret—we can't, not if we take commissions from Castle residents. And you're with us, so… there's no problem."
Zachary's surprise melted into a bright, genuine smile. This was an opening—better than he expected. A way into the heart of the Castle.
"Well, I can't say no to that," he said. "I'd be honored to meet the people responsible for making life in the Bright Castle bearable."
Mauro opened his mouth to brag, only for Arlo's elbow to shut him up. Leaving the Gambling Den behind, the group began walking through the castle. It was already past noon, and the next meal would be served in around two hours.
Feeling the strange atmosphere around Lester, Zachary finally asked with a sigh, "So… what was that at the end, back at the Gambling Den?"
Lester's brows furrowed before his expression softened with a tired sigh. "Andel."
"He's a real piece of work," Arlo said with a small scowl. Surprisingly, Mauro remained quiet.
"He's always been like this," Lester continued with a sour expression. "His behavior ruins the reputation of the Hunters and Pathfinders."
"Not like it's difficult," Mauro muttered thoughtlessly, only to receive a slap on the head from Lester that echoed across the hallway.
The sound broke the tense atmosphere with laughter, while Zachary contemplated inwardly. 'Here, I agree with Mauro. Even in the novel, the Hunters were described as a very profligate group, drunk on their name and might— their actions always covered by Gemma's stature.'
Shaking his head, he decided to shift the conversation.
"So," Zachary said, turning toward Mauro, "what were you discussing so heatedly before?"
"Oh!" Mauro exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "We were arguing about who would win between an Awakened Tyrant and a Fallen Demon!"
Arlo sighed, like the topic physically hurt him. "The Brood Mother and the Burned Thrall, specifically."
"I see..." Zachary muttered. 'I don't know either of them.'
"The Brood Mother wins, easy. There's no arguing." Mauro declared like it was fact.
"It's a whole Rank below," Arlo countered.
"And two classes above," Mauro shot back immediately.
"There's no way an Awakened Tyrant defeats a Fallen Demon. The difference in raw potency is absurd." Arlo said with unexpected seriousness.
"But the Demon doesn't have any powers," Mauro insisted, lifting a finger like a professor. "It's just strong and smart. Meanwhile the Mother is strong, smart, and has access to profane powers."
"Awakened Rank powers," Arlo repeated, unimpressed.
Zachary hesitated, then spoke. "Would you consider a Tyrant's minions part of its power?"
Both of them opened their mouths to fire back—then froze. Silence. Thinking. It was like watching two gears grind together for the first time in their lives.
"That's... a good question," Mauro admitted, rubbing his chin.
After a moment, Arlo nodded slowly. "Yes. It's a Tyrant's power to create minions, so... yes."
"See?" Mauro said, victorious. "Brood Mother wins."
"Not so fast. Tyrant minions are a Rank weaker. What can a bunch of Dormant beasts do to a Fallen Demon?" Arlo countered with equal confidence.
"But Dormant doesn't mean helpless!" Mauro fired back. "They can still evolve! Give the Mother time and she'll have an army of Awakened beasts!"
Arlo scoffed. "And give the Burned Thrall time and it'll evolve into a Fallen Devil. See how stupid that sounds?"
They kept going—voices rising, pride swelling. Lester watched with an amused, exhausted smile before turning to Zachary.
"Who do you think would win?"
Zachary thought for a moment. He didn't know the creatures. He didn't know their lore. But he knew the weight of a name.
"Well... I don't know the Brood Mother or the Thrall," he admitted. "But if I had to place a bet..."
He looked up, face serious.
"Then I'd bet on the Stone Saints."
Hearing his answer, the group turned to look at Zachary as if he had spoken the name of something no one should utter. Like the mere mention of it was above their grade. Their eyes showed surprise, wonder, recognition— and in Mauro's case, something that looked a lot like respect.
"Those statues?" Mauro asked, giving him an approving look. "Damn. Nice choice."
"Pretty nice," Arlo agreed with a proud nod. "That's some elite knowledge you've got."
Lester was surprised too, but for a different reason. "Stone Saints… is that what they're called? I don't think anyone's killed one to actually learn their name."
Zachary was surprised by this, but before he could ask more, Mauro stepped in.
"Yeah… only Gemma eve—" Arlo clamped a hand over his mouth before the rest could escape.
"Can we tell him?" Arlo asked, suddenly serious.
Lester stared at Zachary with half-closed eyes. Zachary held the gaze, trying not to look confused, even though he was. He hadn't expected a simple mention of the statues to snowball into something like this.
Finally, Lester sighed. "I don't see why not. If he's staying in the Castle, he'll learn sooner or later. Besides…"
He trailed off, shaking his head before whatever he was going to say could surface.
Being given the green light, Mauro rushed to Zachary's side with the excitement of a kid about to tell the coolest story he knows.
"For instance, fighting the stone statues—Stone Saints—is extremely difficult. From what we've heard, they move in coordinated groups, completely different from other Nightmare Creatures." Mauro's voice trailed off, hesitation creeping in, like saying it made it real.
"Almost like a cohort," he finished quietly.
Arlo took over. "You must've heard of Gemma by now, right? He's the leader of the Hunters and Pathfinders. Well, he organized an expedition targeting those statues."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Probably chasing a reward. A Memory, maybe even an Echo. Gods know how valuable something born from a creature like that could be."
Mauro leaned forward, excited again. "Anyway, after a whole mess of problems, the Hunters managed to isolate a single Stone Saint. The others kept watch for any more creatures, and Gemma fought it one-on-one."
Before Mauro could continue, Lester cut in. His expression had tightened again. "We don't know much about the duel. Just fragments. Things Gemma said to our boss. But from what we do know, Gemma managed to hold his ground for a while."
He swallowed. "Until things began to shift."
"The Stone Saint behaved differently from any Nightmare Creature we know, it moved with insidious purpose. With clarity. Like... like it wasn't affected by Corruption." Lester's voice trembled, just barely.
"Gemma's Aspect gives him regeneration," he continued vaguely. "And as a Lieutenant, he's incredibly skilled. The fight seemed even. Until the Stone Saint started to adapt."
The hallway went silent. Mauro and Arlo listened like it was the first time, even though Zachary could tell they had heard it before. Just the idea of an intelligent Nightmare Creature was enough to put ice in their blood.
"It learned," Lester murmured. "It adapted to Gemma's attacks that worked before. And at some point, it even started targeting his weakness."
He glanced at Zachary. "Don't ask what that weakness is. We don't know. Nobody does."
"So that was that. Gemma called it off and retreated. Better alive to fight another day."
It was like a spell broke. The tension scattered, but a heavy silence stayed with them. The truth was clear:
No matter how safe the Castle seemed… No matter how strong the Sleepers believed they were… They were still the lowest life in the Forgotten Shore. They weren't thriving. They were surviving. Something unseen allowed them to live here—but if that something ever stopped?
They would die. All of them.
Zachary exhaled slowly. He had imagined something like this. After all, he knew the truth behind the statues. 'Nether Children… they were made to fight the gods.'
He shook his head, but before the thought could settle, Lester spoke.
"Hey, Zach." He looked over with a puzzled expression. "Why did you call me 'Mo' earlier? That's not my name."
Zachary blinked—then burst out laughing, drawing the attention of the other two Artisans.
"It's just a little nickname," he said, grinning. "Mo-Lester."
He couldn't stop the smug smile from spreading. On the contrary, Lester's expression twisted with pure, wordless agony. But before he could defend himself, Arlo and Mauro exploded into laughter.
"Hahahahaha— it fits him so well!" Arlo wheezed, patting Zachary's back.
A furious flush crawled up Lester's face. He jabbed an elbow into Arlo's ribs. "It does not! I have never done anything like that in my life!"
Then he turned toward Zachary, scowl deepening. "Don't you dare use that nickname in front of the others. Ever."
The severity in his voice made all three of them gulp at once. Well… except Mauro.
"Okay… Mo," Mauro said casually.
Lester practically vibrated with murderous intent.
"I'll get you for this, Zach," he muttered, stalking ahead with a shake of his head. "Get ready for the worst nickname of your life."
Zachary laguhed only to feel a cold shiver run down his spine as he came to the realization. 'First Effie and now him... Let's better stay away something that might ruin my reputation.'
With a chuckle he watched him march off before sighing in amusement. Zachary followed, hands in his pockets, the group trailing behind. After a few minutes they reached a hallway draped with Gunlaug's banner. Turning a corner, they stopped before a wooden door guarded by two Sleepers wearing green armbands.
"Lester." One of the guards straightened the moment they approached. His eyes slid to Zachary. "And this is?"
"Don't worry. He's with us." Lester replied, giving Zachary a pointed look.
Zachary laughed inwardly, then forced himself to straighten up. He knew when to joke and when to shut up. Calling Lester 'Mo-Lester' in front of other Artisans would be suicidal. So instead, he offered a polite nod to the guards. A harmless, respectful newcomer.
For now.
Entering through the door, the sight that greeted him was nothing close to what he had imagined. Hearing about the Artisans, Zachary had pictured a massive workshop—something like an industrial plant with medieval flavor, smoke and metal and noise.
Instead, what stretched before him was a vast green plaza.
It opened like a grand ceremonial courtyard, wide and bright, framed by a continuous line of pale stone arches. The arcades followed a precise rhythm, sober in decoration yet elegant in proportion, supporting a gallery above that carried the poised symmetry of neoclassical, viceregal design. Each arch rose from sturdy columns crowned with restrained capitals—more balance than excess, more order than pride.
The arcades were alive. Small workshops lined the passageway, marked by wooden doors, fabric curtains, or wrought-iron grilles. Several were open, revealing worktables cluttered with tools, shelves overflowing with materials, and hands busy with craft. The air smelled of freshly cut wood, pigment dust, heated metal, and sacks of stored spices.
Between these workshops, almost hidden among them, were enclosed chambers built directly into the arches. Their thick stone walls and narrow windows betrayed their purpose as storerooms—cool, steady, and practical. No ornament. No vanity. Just efficiency.
At the center, the garden breathed.
Trees, plants, bushes, and flowers filled the courtyard with a deliberate order. Not a patch of soil wasted. Nothing planted by accident. Each root and petal existed for a purpose. The trees were spaced to shape the light—shade where it was needed, warmth wherever growth required it. The bushes and herbs grew in clustered patterns, supporting each other's development. Zachary couldn't name a single agricultural technique, but even he could tell this was not random.
'Companion planting,' he guessed. 'Soil trading. One plant gives, another takes, another balances…'
Whoever built this garden had vision. Patience. Dedication. In a place like the Forgotten Shore, where everything else decayed or rotted under the weight of past catastrophes, the sight felt almost unreal. Something living, where everything else seemed trapped between memory and ruin.
Zachary stood there, overwhelmed. Seeing something this... pure, in the Dream Realm—this piece of life carved into a land of broken glories—felt wrong in the most miraculous way.
Lester watched him with a small, knowing smile and let him absorb the moment. After a minute, he tilted his head forward, signaling for Zachary to follow.
Under the arcades, the structure of the Artisans became clear. They worked as one body, but not all parts were equal. Some held Utility Aspects, and they were the core around which each workshop revolved. Their hands, tools, and powers guided the work; the others formed rings around them—assistants, aides, apprentices, or simply the willing.
They were the nucleus. Everyone else orbited.
Maybe some could contribute with their Aspects. Maybe others were just hardworking enough to matter, but the hierarchy was unmistakable. Walking through the stalls, someone called out to them.
"Lester!" A tall young man with a patchy beard waved from inside a workshop.
They headed toward him. He was sanding a wooden plank as he spoke. "About the project the Guards commissioned—it's almost ready. I just need Liam to do the finishing touches, and it'll be done."
Zachary raised an eyebrow. He had assumed Lester was just another tired Artisan in the crowd, but the way the guard straightened at his arrival, and how this man reported progress directly to him… it made Zachary reconsider who exactly he had given that nickname to.
Catching the look, Lester sighed. "This is Kaor. He's a carpenter, more or less. The tables at Aiko's? His work."
Then recognition flickered in Lester's eyes, and he grimaced. "Speaking of her… you might want to prepare for a commission soon. There were… problems in the Gambling Den."
Kaor closed his eyes like he'd just taken psychic damage. Before he could respond, something slammed into the table, knocking over a flask of white liquid. It splashed across the freshly sanded wood.
A shaky figure scrambled upright, nearly tripping over herself. Big round glasses magnified her eyes, the lenses so thick they looked like they'd been carved from bottle bottoms.
"S-Sorry!" the girl blurted, grabbing a cloth and trying to wipe the spill. She missed. Twice. Only when Kaor slid the plank directly in front of her did she manage to hit the right spot.
"This is Cera," Kaor introduced with the sigh of a man on the brink. "She… helps. I guess."
Lester gave him a light slap on the shoulder. "She does help. Her Aspect lets her change the properties of liquids. It's just that…"
"My Flaw is my eyesight," Cera finished, laughing nervously as she adjusted her glasses. Now that she was looking forward, Zachary saw hazel eyes and a messy braid streaked with sticky patches of dried glue.
"I-I help make glue. And stuff like that," she said, trying to sound proud.
Her Flaw drew attention, but her Aspect lingered in Zachary's mind. Changing the properties of liquids… that could mean more than glue. Much more.
Zachary almost said something encouraging. He even considered mentioning someone whose Flaw was literal blindness. But he knew it wasn't his place—not yet.
He noticed the rest of the group already moving on, drifting toward the next workshop. Zachary gave Cera one last glance—she was still apologizing to Kaor, tripping over her words and her own feet, completely unaware of her potential.
"See you, Jebediah," Zachary said with a crooked grin, tossing the joke over his shoulder before jogging to catch up.
They moved on through the arcades. Lester received updates on projects, schedules, and inventory. Along the way Zachary met a stonemason named Jose—or, technically, Joseph. He had to bite his cheek not to laugh at the coincidence.
Eventually, as they crossed back toward the living garden, Zachary caved to curiosity.
"So," he asked, glancing sideways, "what's your deal? Who exactly did I give such an awesome nickname to?"
Lester flinched just hearing it. "I'm… something like second in command," he admitted. "Unofficially."
"I help the boss with miscellaneous things," he added, handing Arlo a piece of parchment. "She prefers to focus on her garden. And who can blame her? It's one of the cornerstones of the Castle."
Walking through the garden, Zachary finally saw up close how well planned and designed the whole operation was. A broken fountain in a corner supplied a constant stream of water that flowed through an artificial—but strangely organic—canal. It twisted, split, and rejoined in shifting paths, almost random, yet always moving in the same direction: toward the center.
At some point, Mauro stopped following them. Maybe he had a task to take care of, or maybe he'd just gotten distracted by something shiny—both sounded plausible. After a few minutes of following the stream, they reached the heart of the garden.
A young woman with short, bright hair and a dirty apron knelt in the soil, instructing another girl who was carefully tending to a patch of damp earth. The moment she felt their approach, the woman straightened and turned.
"Lester," she greeted, then her eyes landed on Zachary. "And this is?"
There was no attempt to hide the wariness in her voice and expression.
"This is Zachary Kido," Lester said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "He's a friend we met on our way to Aiko's."
"Friend?" she echoed, mildly surprised. She looked to the girl at her side. "That's enough, Shakti. Go get something to eat."
Shakti stood, waved politely at Lester, and hurried off. The tension that settled after her departure was quiet, but heavy. Zachary felt it. He was standing in front of Kido—Gunlaug's lieutenant. The woman who ran one of the few things in the Castle that actually kept people alive. And based on the look Lester shot him, this was the part where he should be careful.
Zachary stepped forward.
"Good day… miss," he said, a bit awkward. He wasn't sure how respectful he needed to be. "I don't want to sound like a suck-up, but I really do admire your work."
He turned toward the garden. Trees spaced with purpose. Plants cooperating rather than fighting for soil. The Artisans moving in rhythm—some more valuable than others, but all belonging to a system that kept them steady, alive, human.
"I'm not saying that just because it puts food on the table," Zachary continued quietly. "I'm saying it because growing something in a place that only knows how to take… that deserves respect."
A soft silence settled. Through Cinder Eyes, Zachary caught the faint nod of approval Lester tried to hide, and Kido's raised brow—not hostile anymore, just… curious.
"You do sound like a suck-up," Kido said at last.
Lester let out a quiet laugh. Zachary clicked his tongue, but didn't protest.
"But," she added, "thank you. I appreciate the words."
She turned to Lester. "So? How did things go outside?"
"Good at first," Lester answered. "Then we had a little brush with the Hunters. Andel."
Kido groaned. "Him again? I guess I'll have to speak with Gemma. Wonderful."
"Good luck with that," Lester muttered. He glanced down at the patch of soil they had been working on. "Any progress here?"
"Not in the slightest." Kido crouched again, lifting a young sprout between her fingers. "I thought Shakti might help, but the issue isn't her. The plant just isn't carrying the properties of the parents."
Zachary leaned in, watching over Lester's shoulder. Noticing his presence, Kido stood and studied him for a few seconds before sighing.
"You say he's your friend, right, Lester?" she asked.
Lester hesitated. A brief wince crossed his face, then vanished. "Yeah. He's rough around the edges… and has a terrible sense of humor, but he's not that bad."
"Hey, my humor is noth—" Zachary began, before an elbow cut him off.
Kido shook her head. "Well, it's not much of a secret anyway. My Aspect lets me alter certain properties in plants, but I have to apply the changes manually."
She spoke casually, not expecting anything from him—just explaining a known issue.
"I'm trying to pass those properties to a second generation," Kido continued, tossing the failed sprout aside. "I can pass down basic traits, but the complex ones keep slipping. Tracking each altered property through parents and offspring is getting… difficult."
Zachary nodded—understanding maybe half, but catching the last part clearly.
"Why don't you use a Punnett Square to track the traits?" he offered without thinking.
He remembered doing a pea pod experiment back in high school. Close enough, right? Sure, this involved Aspects and supernatural properties, but the structure of the problem sounded familiar. The blank looks he received from Lester and Kido told him they had no idea what he was talking about.
"Come on… basic genetics? Nothing?"
Silence.
So Zachary began explaining—Mendelian inheritance, genotypes and phenotypes, dominant and recessive traits, and probability patterns. Lester zoned out halfway through, but Kido listened sharply, eyes focused as if connecting dots she never knew existed.
'What do they even teach in the Waking World Academies?' Zachary wondered. Back in the Other World, this was high school material. But things were different now. After the Nightmare Spell, the curriculum must've changed. Kids couldn't just learn math and history—they had to learn how to survive.
'They must still teach the basics… but history might be used for strategy now. So who decides what knowledge still matters?'
Zachary questioned this before recalling the massive loss of information the Waking World suffered during the Dark Ages. This novel's Earth was more advanced than his own, with colonies on the Moon and major technological advancements. But the loss of Europe and the data centers must have been a devastating blow—especially without even considering America.
"No way…" Kido whispered.
Zachary blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "What happened?" Lester asked, just as Shakti returned with a plate of food.
Kido stared ahead—eyes distant, breath shallow, as if listening to something nobody else could hear.
"I… I think," she said, voice trembling, "I unlocked my Aspect Legacy."
A silence followed her statement, broken only by the sound of Shakti's plate hitting the floor. The girl rushed to Kido's side with wide, shining eyes. Lester froze, surprise written across his face, and after a heartbeat he moved as well, offering his congratulations.
Zachary remained where he was. His knowledge had helped, sure, but he wasn't close enough to join the celebration. That didn't stop curiosity from crawling up his spine. So he sharpened his focus, letting Cinder Eyes drink in every detail.
Kido summoned her Legacy.
A leather-bound diary materialized in her hand, the brown cover worn at the edges. She explained, voice trembling with relief, pride, and maybe disbelief—that it wasn't a Memory, but an Echo. It could record the changes she made to a plant and then load those traits into another. And unlike her usual method, the transferred properties settled naturally, blending into the biology of the plant. The implication was simple.
The traits could be inherited.
Kido turned to him with a grateful smile. "What Abilities do you have?"
Zachary blinked, caught off guard. Still, he answered. "My Aspect grants me enhanced senses."
He didn't feel great about it. Cinder Eyes wasn't the full story of his Aspect, but he wasn't ready to share the truth. Not with them.
"I see," Kido nodded and dismissed the diary. "I'm close with Gemma. I can recommend you to the Hunters."
Lester and Shakti stiffened. Zachary felt his heart jump.
"Thanks to you, I discovered my Legacy," Kido continued. "With some training and support, you could be a full-fledged member. Consider it my thanks."
Zachary hesitated. Seconds stretched like thread.
"I really appreciate it," he said finally, "but I have to refuse. I arrived at the Castle yesterday—I'm not ready to join the Host. The benefits are great, but the responsibilities are heavy."
And beneath that, another truth lingered:
Joining the Host would lead him in a path that would take him to a place that didn't follow his original plan.
Kido didn't take offense. She smiled, almost gently.
"I respect your decision. The offer stands if you ever change your mind." Then she looked at Lester. "Call your boys. I think this is the right moment to open one of the bottles."
Lester blinked. "Are you sure? They're not ready—"
"Who cares?" Kido cut in. "I want to celebrate, and I'm not doing it with tea. Even if it's the good kind."
He sighed—half defeated, half amused—and left to find Arlo and Mauro. Kido led Zachary and Shakti across the plaza into a room tucked against the far wall. It was clearly the Artisans' headquarters. Cushioned benches circled a low table—nothing fancy, but the woodwork showed skill. Care. Pride.
From a sealed hatch, Kido pulled out a ceramic vessel covered in waxed cloth.
"Each year we make a batch of alcohol from fruits and spices," she said. "This year's batch is not ready yet, but I can't imagine celebrating with anything else."
Lester, Arlo, and Mauro returned with plates of fruit and nuts in hand. Mauro and Arlo practically bounced to sit on either side of Zachary, clapping him on the back. They congratulated him—loud, cheerful, dramatic—but Zachary could tell the truth behind their excitement.
They just wanted to taste the famous wine.
Lester uncovered the lid and began serving the drink into wooden cups. When Zachary received his, he took a small sip—and froze. The flavor hit him immediately. It was deep and layered, fruity with a trace of wood, heavy as it settled in his stomach. A soft spice followed at the end, blooming across the back of his tongue and curling up into his nose like warm smoke.
Zachary's eyes widened. It didn't have the sharp kick of alcohol from the Other World, but the craftsmanship was undeniable.
'I'm no sommelier, so how am I tasting so much?' he wondered, taking another sip. Then it clicked. Cinder Eyes. It didn't just sharpen sight—it enhanced every sense, maybe even ones he didn't have before.
The Artisans spoke around him—plans, tasks, workload, distribution. Even in celebration, their minds were on the future. Zachary didn't blame them; with Kido's Legacy, their entire operation had just changed.
Across the table, Arlo kept giving Mauro warning glances, making sure he didn't accidentally say Lester's cursed nickname. Zachary snorted into his cup, biting down on a nut and washing it down with another sip. His thoughts drifted to the Other World—late nights out, cheap drinks after hard projects, pool halls filled with chalk dust and bad decisions.
"You know what this Castle needs?" Zachary blurted.
Every head turned.
"A billiard table."
He waited for the expected spark of enthusiasm—especially from Mauro and Arlo. But instead, he got blank stares. Doubtful ones. They didn't even know what he meant.
"Come on, don't do this to me." Zachary dragged a hand down his face. "Are you really going to tell me none of you know what billiard is?"
They all shook their heads.
"Didn't you ditch your last class at the Academy to go play with your friends?" Zachary pressed.
"If my parents knew I ditched classes at the Academy, they would have killed me," Kido said, sipping her drink.
"I never went to an Academy," Lester added, calm as ever.
"I ditched classes once," Mauro admitted. "Went to a Dream Pod café instead."
Zachary sighed, already feeling the headache forming. But he refused to give up.
"Alright," he said, setting his cup down with the gravitas of a prophet. "Listen up, ladies and gentlemen. I'm about to present the greatest investment opportunity of your lives."
He began explaining—tables, cushions, balls, cue sticks; angles, pockets, trick shots, bragging rights. He outlined the game, the appeal, the good-natured violence of competition. And definitely not—absolutely, definitely not—because he wanted to play billiard in the Dream Realm.
This was business. Totally business.
Finishing her drink, Kido chuckled quietly.
"You know, Zach… hearing you talk about building something in a place known for destroying…" She paused, eyes growing distant. "It reminded me of an old goal of mine."
At her words, Lester and Shakti turned to her—serious, almost startled. This wasn't something she talked about lightly. Bringing it up now, in front of Zachary, meant something.
"The Forgotten Shore…" Kido murmured, fingers circling the rim of her cup. "It's a hellish place. And once, I dreamed of building a little piece of heaven here."
Silence fell. The Artisans hung on her words; Zachary did too. The novel had never mentioned this, so he listened carefully—more carefully than he expected. He was so focused he even forgot to joke about the song reference. Kido exhaled, her voice steady but heavy.
"As Gunlaug's lieutenant, my hands are tied. His system… it's harsh, but it keeps the balance. I won't say it's useless—it keeps this place standing. But when I look at the Outer Settlement…" Her jaw tightened. "It hurts. We survive, barely. But that's not living."
She lifted her gaze, eyes sharpening like blades. "But I keep asking myself—shouldn't we try? Not just as Sleepers, but as humans? This place is already broken. Shouldn't we at least find strength in each other?"
The table absorbed her words like dry earth taking water. Lester looked especially moved; years of experience weighed in his expression. For a moment, the Forgotten Shore didn't feel like ruins—it felt like a wound. Zachary, however, had one intrusive thought.
'Fucking commies.' he lampooned inwardly, before regaining his composure.
Still, her dream explained so much. In the book, once Gunlaug died, Kido stood alongside Gemma during the civil war. Hearing her speak now… Zachary felt the tragedy of it. She only wanted to make this forgotten corner of the Dream Realm better. Maybe she wasn't meant to lead Sleepers out of hell—but she wanted to give them a reason to keep walking.
But that raised a question:
'Why does Gemma support her so much?' Zachary wondered. 'He was devastated when she died… was it loyalty, or something more?'
"I'm surprised you shared this with him, Kido," Lester said, pouring himself another cup.
She smiled faintly. "Honestly? I was wary of him at first. There was… something about him."
"A feeling of danger, right?" Lester cut in, voice rising slightly. "Of wrongness."
Zachary stiffened. Mauro and Arlo, who hadn't picked up on anything earlier, were suddenly staring too.
"I don't really feel anything…" Mauro muttered, leaning close to Zachary's face—only for Zachary to shove him away.
"I thought I imagined it," Lester continued. "But if Kido felt it too… maybe it's real."
Zachary kept his expression neutral while popping a nut into his mouth. Inside, his mind raced.
'It's the [Blasphemer] Attribute. It has to be.' If only powerful or perceptive people sensed it, that explained why Mauro and Arlo noticed nothing.
'I wonder if Nephis felt it too…' he thought, a chill settling in his chest.
"Well," Zachary said, breaking the tension with a bright smile, "I guess I'm just a charming person."