Ars Storia felt something cold and sharp pierce his chest. The pain was so real, so piercing that he couldn't breathe. The black shadowy figure stood above him, his eyes blank and expressionless, and from his dark hand, a sword blade stabbed into Ars' small body.
Blood flowed. Cold.
His eyes widened, his body trembled. The ticking of the clock could be heard slowly, getting slower... slower... until finally everything disappeared into silence.
Then, suddenly—
Ars woke up.
His heart was pounding, his breath was short. His body was soaked with sweat, and his hands gripped the blanket tightly. His chest felt tight, as if the stab from the dream had still left a mark there. He looked around his dorm room.
Empty.
There was no one. No black figure. No blood. Just the same darkness as before, only the sound of the wind rustling softly outside the window.
"...Dream?"
His small voice was barely audible. But even though he tried to convince himself that it was just an illusion, his body still trembled. The sensation still lingered—pain, fear, and the silence that seemed to swallow him.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. But when he opened them again, something made him shiver.
The previously closed window was now slightly ajar.
And on the cold wooden floor, there were wet footprints leading to his bed.
Ars Storia didn't move. He didn't dare make a sound.
That dream... was it really just a dream?