Cassie's appearance in the Second Nightmare was nothing like her true self.
She now walked in the form of an elegant young woman clad in an austere gown of deepest black. The dress flowed like smoke around her tall, willowy frame, whispering against the stone floors with each step. Her skin was pale as moonlight, flawless and cold, untouched by sun or sorrow—at least in appearance. A cascade of raven-black hair tumbled down her back, gleaming with subtle luster, swaying gently with every movement like it had a will of its own.
But it was her face that held the eye: not just beautiful, but haunting. There was an almost divine symmetry to her features, the kind of solemn grace carved into ancient statues. Yet her eyes were hidden, veiled by a strip of black cloth that matched her dress—a blindfold, simple and unadorned.
The contrast was unnerving.
The elegance of the dress against the stark whiteness of her skin. The softness of her features disrupted by the crude strip across her eyes. She looked like a prophet carved from alabaster and shadow, sacred and forbidden all at once.
A wide leather belt encircled her narrow waist, from which hung a single scabbard, its lacquered surface dark as pitch. Quiet Dancer. A blade as silent as its name, and just as deadly.
At first, she had felt awkward inhabiting this body. It was taller, more poised than her own, and her steps had been clumsy for a time. But a month had passed. She had adapted.
This body sworn to serve the enigmatic High Priestess of the Night Temple — the One in the North. Her days passed in quiet reverence, tending to sacred rites, walking through moonlit halls, and listening to ancient wisdom whispered like lullabies. She had been treated with respect, perhaps even warmth, and in that timeless stillness, she learned more than most ever would.
But peace, like all things in the Nightmare, never lasted.
At first, it was just whispers — harmless tales of a soothing voice echoing from within the fog, like a lullaby carried on the wind. Then the stories began to darken. People who followed that voice simply vanished, leaving no footprints in the snow. The Eyeless, ever watchful, grew wary. They feared that some wretched thing, a corrupted beast, had slithered into their sacred domain.
A priestess was sent to investigate, flanked by her protectors.
They never returned.
Then the fear bloomed into panic. The fog thickened. People vanished nightly. Hunting parties and soldiers were sent, only to disappear like dust in the wind.
Cassie, of course, knew the truth.
Mordret.
It was him — that Abomination in human form. He was using the fog, the fear, the people — strengthening himself, creating more of those cursed reflections. He wouldn't stop until there was nothing left. Until he had twisted every shadow into a weapon.
She leaned back in the old wooden chair, the faint creak echoing in the silence of her chamber. Her thoughts spiraled. Her fingers trembled lightly against the edge of the table.
Should I continue? she wondered. Was she still doing the right thing? Should I forge the weapon that could break fate itself… or abandon everything?
Her eyes narrowed. A sigh escaped her lips.
If Klaus had never appeared in her life… everything would've been so much simpler. So much easier. So much less… painful.
But he did.
And nothing was simple anymore.
How could someone like him even exist? What kind of soul dares to spit in fate's face and win? How monstrously prideful must one be to look down on fate?
He was a paradox.
Full of grief, yet endlessly hopeful. A man sculpted by sorrow, but never shaped by it. There was something beautiful about him—not in the ordinary, shallow sense. Not in flesh or form.
No, his beauty was in the way he carried his suffering without bitterness. In the way he still laughed with joy despite all he had endured. His existence was a storm—and yet, it felt like home.
She grimaced, covering her face with one hand.
"Damn it…"
The word slipped from her lips like a sigh and lingered, bitter and raw. She wasn't angry at Klaus. No, she was furious at herself. For doubting him. For questioning him. For refusing his hand when he extended it.
She was angry at herself for pushing him away.
He had helped her — without condition or complaint.
He had comforted her when her spirit broke.
He had advised her when her path became unclear.
He had shielded her when death closed in.
He had believed in her when she doubted herself most.
A bitter smile tugged at her lips. What kind of fool was she?
Did he love her?
No. A better question was—did she love him?
Perhaps. Perhaps it was love. Or maybe it was longing. A quiet yearning buried beneath the weight of duty and ambition.
She had always lived for others—for Sunny, for Nephis, for a dream to shatter the chains of fate. But… would accomplishing those goals make her happy? Would that finally be enough?
Klaus once told her, "Dreams should be your joy, not your burden."
She remembered that now. And the irony of it all was not lost on her. She, who could glimpse fragments of the future, stood uncertain of her own happiness.
Wasn't life easier before it all?
Back when she was just a girl, living quietly with her parents. No nightmares. No monsters. No endless responsibilities.
He carried regrets that could drown a lesser man, but he still smiled. Still laughed. Still lived, as if he was trying to squeeze every drop of joy out of a cursed life.
How?
How could someone so broken still shine?
The world tried to change him, but he changed the world instead — reshaping it not with brute strength, but by being himself. A hurricane of contradictions: arrogant yet gentle, insane yet brilliant, terrifying yet kind.
He wasn't like the others.
He listened.
He learned.
He admitted when he was wrong. Defended his truth when he was right. And most of all, he tried. Gods, he tried so hard to be better.
Cassie whispered the word aloud, her voice catching in her throat.
"Unbreakable, huh..."
Maybe he was.
The Dream Realm corrupted even the best of them. Twisting desire into hunger. Power into poison. Everyone thought they were right. Everyone believed they were special. Everyone drank from the cup of madness eventually.
But not Klaus.
He was... Oldest Dream...
Cassie rose from her chair and approached the window. her pale fingers brushing aside the curtain and the cold night air brushing against her skin. She looked out at the creeping fog beyond the temple walls.
Another raid would begin tonight. Another futile attempt to stop what was coming.
This place was doomed.
That much was certain. No one here would stop Mordret. No one could. He was already at work, whispering through the fog, devouring lives and twisting souls. Even the High Priestess had confessed as much. Telling Cassie that nothing could be done. That death would come for all of them, and Cassie… she should escape while she still could.
"Tonight," she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath, "everything ends."
She sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. But as she turned from the window, she froze.
The air in her chamber had turned icy.
A sudden gust of wind slammed through the open window, snuffing out half the candles in an instant. Shadows danced wildly along the walls. And then… a voice. Sinister. Smooth. Laced with amusement and mockery.
"Indeed…"