Located within a vast, ruined city carved from weathered stone, the scene unfolded beneath a restless sky. Towering, impregnable walls loomed over the shattered streets, remnants of a forgotten age.
Beyond them, the sea raged—its ever-shifting currents howling like beasts. Thunderous waves battered the obsidian wall, each crash a war cry against the silence of decay.
The gargantuan walls—guardians of this impenetrable ruin—were vast enough to swallow a small vehicle whole.
Time had not eroded their purpose; thick and unyielding, they stood as monuments to forgotten craftsmanship, defiant against both man and nature.
Cracks ran like veins across their surface, but none deep enough to compromise their strength. They had endured wars, storms, and the slow, patient decay of centuries.
Kaelen had awoken to the jarring pain of impact, his body sprawled across the cold, unyielding stone of the great wall—mere meters from the edge, where the ocean's fury could have claimed him without a trace.
Each breath burned in his chest, the salt-laced wind whipping across his face as he tried to gather his thoughts.
Lying still for a moment, staring up at the ashen sky, he came to a single, sobering conclusion:
He had landed in an unfamiliar quadrant of the Dream Realm—one untouched by humanity , unmarked by reason.
He opened his runes—not for any particular purpose, but because the act brought him comfort in some strange, wordless way.
In their soft glow, he found a fragile sense of control—a reminder that he was not entirely powerless, even here.
That flicker of agency, however small, served as a tether—keeping his thoughts steady, his breath even, his mind from unraveling in the face of the unknown.
Name: Kaelen Ardent
True Name:
Rank: Dreamer
Soul Core: Dormant
Soul Fragments: [10/1000]
Memories: [ Azure Flame Kwan Dao] [Flame-Bitten Wyvern's Armor] [Abyssal Watersource][Mistwoven Shroud]
Echoes:
Attributes: [Heir of Scorched Earth] [Furnaceheart] [Veinkindled]
Aspect: [Engine of Strife]
Aspect Rank: Sacred
Aspect Abilities: [Kinetic Absorption] [Burst Channeling]
Flaw: [Combustion Threshold]
[Azure Flame Kwan Dao]
A polearm, long and sinuous, its blade gleaming with an ethereal, flickering light, as though it were forged from the very breath of a tempestuous flame. Azure silk winds around its handle, faint traces of smoke trailing from it, vanishing only to return once more, as if the air itself were caught in its wake.
Memory Rank: Awakened.
Memory Type: Weapon.
Memory Description: It is said that this weapon was crafted in the heart of a forgotten blaze, its flame never truly extinguished. Each strike it delivers is not just of steel, but of memory—a phantom fire that burns through time itself. When gripped, the wielder is not only armed but awakened, as though the flame's fury seeks to reclaim that which was lost in its past. To wield it is to invite a rage that cannot be quelled, one that scorches not only flesh but the very essence of the soul.
Enchantments: [Eternal Blaze] [Raging Inferno]
[Flame-Bitten Wyvern's Armor]
A set of armor, its plates dark as scorched obsidian, interwoven with the scales of a wyvern that perished in a storm of flame. The edges of the armor are singed, and faint embers flicker across its surface, as if the fire still clings to its form. A faint hum of ancient power emanates from it, a whisper of a beast's wrath long past but never truly extinguished.
Memory Rank: Awakened.
Memory Type: Armor.
Memory Description: Forged from the remains of a wyvern, a creature whose fiery last breath still echoes within this armor. The scales, hardened by fire, carry the spirit of the beast, its rage and fire woven into every plate. The wearer is not simply clothed in protection, but enveloped by the very fury that destroyed the wyvern. It grants unmatched strength in battle, urging its bearer to fight with the same relentless fury as the beast itself. Yet, with each clash, the weight of that fury grows heavier, a constant reminder that such power always demands its toll.
Enchantments: [Wyvern's Wrath] [Infernal Resurgence]
[Abyssal Watersource]
A vial of crystal, cold to the touch, containing a liquid that seems to shift with the subtle pulse of a faraway ocean. Its surface ripples with an unseen current, hinting at depths that are not of this world. When the liquid stirs, it hums with an ancient resonance, as though it recalls memories of places no mortal has visited.
Memory Rank: Awakened.
Memory Type: Tool.
Memory Description: The waters within this vessel are drawn from a source older than time, holding within them both life and void. They replenish, heal, and cleanse—but at a cost. The deeper one drinks, the more they are bound to the ancient rhythm of the tides, and the more they become entwined with that which lies beneath the surface.
Enchantments: [Eternal Flow] [Ocean's Resurgence]
[Mistwoven Shroud]
A pendant that carries a weightless glow, delicate as a whisper. From it, a thin veil of fog unfurls, spreading as though it were a breath exhaled from somewhere beyond the seen world. It moves softly, as though it is not bound to the material plane but flows through it.
Memory Rank: Dormant.
Memory Type: Jewelry.
Memory Description: The mist rises and curls in ways that defy expectation, hiding what it touches from those who would seek it. To be enveloped is to be lost for a time, as the fog silences and blurs the world around. Yet within it, clarity often comes at a cost—the price of a fleeting moment, and the confusion it leaves behind.
Enchantments: [Silent Haze] [Veil of Concealment]
These memories, some born from his first nightmare and others tied to his clan, all played crucial roles in shaping his survival for the trials to come. After all, an undiscovered part of the dream realm was a dangerous mystery, a potential death zone that needed to be treated with caution.
The Azure Flame Kwan Dao, obtained by defeating an undead general in his first nightmare, was his most prized possession.
Each strike it landed altered the flames around it, deepening the hue from crimson to deep azure—the weapon growing more furious with each blow.
The rest of my memories were gifts from my brothers, though I often pretended Dorian wasn't worth my time.
Truthfully, he was the most loving of us all. The Ardent Clan—new and untested—had little standing, being founded only a generation ago. Yet, we never lost our humanity. We were still a family, and we loved one another.
Kaelen's father had been a stern and ruthless man, yet caring beneath the steel.
He taught Kaelen to wield his birthright like a weapon, to be sharp and unyielding—but never without love.
It was that contradiction—fierce tenderness—that shaped him.
One of his memories had been a suggestion from Chrollo.
He'd told me to get something that could help me hide.
It stung—made me feel weak. But it was good advice.
Chrollo was my one true friend.
Even with chrollo's coldness, I never backed away. It felt comforting . He reminded me of Dorian—minus the talent and with way more snark.
Kaelen slowly rose from his prone position, his steps steady as he made his way along the massive wall. He didn't face the dark sea, but instead turned toward the interior, where a sprawling city stretched before him, its streets cloaked in darkness, as though the shadows themselves sought to avoid the attention of something lurking in the night.
From where he stood, he could see a towering castle, its white marble walls still distinctly visible against the dark twilight. Kaelen imagined how it might look in the daylight, the sunlight reflecting off its surface, casting a brilliant glow. But now, in the fading light, it was shrouded in an eerie quiet.
Beyond the castle, an imposing tower loomed—a crimson spire. Its rich red hue was too deep, too bloodlike, and just setting his gaze on it made his stomach churn.
He took a few steadying breaths, forcing himself to look away from the spire. Slowly, he made his way down the wall, his hands struggling to find purchase as he climbed the steep incline, the dark, oppressive silence around him weighing heavy with each movement.
Kaelen reached solid ground, the assault of the sea salt air no longer stinging his face, though its harshness still lingered on his skin. Now, he stood in the city streets, the semi-paved paths scarred by damage—evidence of the nightmare creatures that had wreaked havoc here. He took a few rushed yet silent steps toward a nearby building. From there, he climbed through a broken window, seeking a quiet perch to observe, rest, and plan his next move.
Once on the roof, half of it sunken in, he felt fortunate to have made it this far. The silence of his perch allowed him to watch the streets below, where bizarre and terrifying creatures roamed. One, in particular, caught his eye: an enormous leech, about a meter long, its slimy skin almost translucent, its hue a sickly red, like dried blood.
Deciding he'd rather risk navigating from the rooftops than face whatever horrors lurked below, Kaelen took a deep breath and leaped to the next building, his movements fluid and practiced. And so, he continued—silent, swift, and focused on staying one step ahead of the nightmare creatures below.
The careful dance of silence and stealth had finally come to an end.
Leaping from one to the next, he moved like a shadow, barely disturbing the air around him.
Then—
Faint lights.
A sleeper camp, maybe. Refuge.
But between him and safety was an exposed square—open, vulnerable.
No shadows to hide in. No shelter. No safety.
A mad dash.
In his rush to move, he failed to notice the subtle, deliberate shift of a shadow near the edge of the plaza. A beast. Familiar in shape, but somehow wrong. He had seen its kind before—crab-like horrors, two and a half meters tall, their forms twisted into a grotesque fusion of man and nightmare. But this one was worse.
The creature struck before he had time to react.
A massive limb, shaped like a bone scythe, crashed into him with terrifying force. It didn't cut—it clobbered. The dull edge of the scythe-like appendage slammed into Kaelen's side, sending him flying. Had it used the blade's edge, he would've been cleaved clean in half.
The air was knocked from his lungs as he crashed to the ground, pain flaring across his ribs. His thoughts scrambled, but one thing was certain—he had underestimated it.
And now, he was trapped.
In front of him stood .Towering at nearly three meters, the creature was a grotesque fusion of demonic crab, centaur, and pure nightmare. Its body moved with a dreadful grace on four pairs of long, segmented legs, each ending in wicked, scythe-like blades that clicked and scraped against the broken stone of the city streets. From the center of its massive carapace jutted a humanoid torso—twisted and unnerving, encased in thick, chitinous armor like a mockery of mankind.
There was no neck—just a head grafted directly onto its shoulders. Two narrow eye slits glowed faintly from within its armor, and below them, a glistening, malformed mouth pulsed with several twitching, slimy mandibles. Where hands should have been, the creature bore two monstrous pincers, large enough to shear stone, though these were surpassed in horror by the weaponized limbs protruding from its arms—curved bone scythes, jagged and brutal, like the fangs of some ancient predator.
Its shell was black streaked with crimson, like rusted, blood-slick armor worn through centuries of slaughter. Jagged spikes jutted from its back and shoulders, giving it a silhouette that seemed to ripple with menace. Compared to the scavengers that skulked the ruins, this creature was a war beast—larger, crueler, and made for killing.
Summoning his [Azure Flame Kwan Dao] and [Flame-Bitten Wyvern's Armor], Kaelen steadied himself for the coming fight.
The familiar warmth of the Kwan Dao surged through his hands, its edge flickering with faint azure embers. The armor wrapped around him like a second skin—tattered, scorched, but defiant—its draconic scales hissing softly as they reacted to the heat of his weapon.
He planted his feet firmly. Unlike his usual sparring stance, where his weight sat on his lead foot, now it was shifted backward—centered, cautious. This wasn't a duel. It wasn't Chrollo throwing out lazy jabs and dry sarcasm between strikes.
This… thing… wasn't a combatant.
It was a predator.
The kind of monster that didn't fight for pride, or training, or even survival. It hunted. It killed. And it enjoyed the process.
Compared to the manufactured nightmares at the academy, which were all about but the professor's echos—low-rank beasts and monsters designed for training—this one felt real. Not just in form, but in its intent. It wasn't a mere simulation; it was a creature honed by instinct and evolution, not sparring routines.
And Kaelen knew—one wrong move, and he'd be little more than meat in its mandibles.
The creature lunged again, its grotesque limbs scraping against the stone as it bounded forward with terrifying speed.
Kaelen moved.
Not with brute force, but with grace—a dance of survival. His Kwan Dao carved arcs of heat through the air, the azure flame hissing with every shift. He sidestepped the first strike, the scythe limb crashing down just behind him. With a swift twist of his waist, he redirected the weapon's momentum, letting it graze harmlessly past as he spun low and swept his blade at the creature's exposed underside.
Sparks flared. The edge met the chitin with a metallic screech, but didn't bite deep.
Too thick. Too hardened.
The beast retaliated with a backhand swipe from its other scythe-limb. Kaelen leapt above it, flipping midair and landing on a half-sunken ledge. The rooftop's edge crumbled beneath his heel, but he barely adjusted, flowing like water to the next surface. Each movement was fluid, reactive—a masterful blend of instinct and observation. He noted how the creature's weight shifted before it struck.
He moved accordingly.
But even so—it kept pressing. It didn't tire. It didn't hesitate.
The square, once open, was now a cage. Rubble formed the walls. The shattered remains of merchant stalls and broken archways hemmed him in, little by little. The creature herded him—not stupidly, but methodically.
Kaelen exhaled, feeling the sting of sweat in his eyes. He circled wide, Kwan Dao glowing hotter with each clash. Every hit built upon the last, the flames rising, blue now at the edges. He stabbed, twisted, redirected. His style was not of aggression, but of elegance—a spear that spoke not in shouts, but whispers.
And still, it wasn't enough.
A scythe carved into the stone by his foot, missing him by inches. Another strike forced him back, closer to the far wall—his last escape route now blocked by crumbling stone. The creature growled, or maybe it was just its breath—a low, guttural rasp like boiling tar.
Kaelen's movements slowed.
Not from exhaustion.
From realization.
He was cornered.
There was no path left to dance through. No ledge to vault from. His blade burned bright, but the predator remained unbothered—scorched, perhaps, but still whole.
Kaelen's grip tightened on the Kwan Dao. His eyes never left the beast.
I can't win.
Not like this.
Summoning his [Mistwoven Shroud], Kaelen felt the faint sparking flickers of light gather around him—memorie taking shape, solidifying into form. Like all relics born of dreams and torment, the Shroud coalesced slowly, crawling from his subconscious, his soul sea into reality.
But the Carapace Centurion didn't wait.
With a screeching roar, it drove both of its monstrous scythes down with the fury of a beast drunk on blood. The sheer force cracked the stone beneath Kaelen's feet, sending tremors through the ground.
He had no space. No room for flourish. No elegant spirals or counter-curving arcs.
So he did the only thing he could—block.
Bracing his Kwan Dao horizontally, Kaelen planted his feet deep into the fractured ground, the impact jarring his entire frame. His arms screamed. The Azure Flame crackled violently as it strained to repel the blow. The weight was unbearable—like trying to hold up a crumbling world.
And yet he held. Even if just for a breath longer.
It was enough.
The [Mistwoven Shroud] settled on his shoulders like the breath of a ghost—cool, weightless, and silent. A half-second later, he triggered its enchantments.
Boom.
A dense explosion of mist burst from his body, swallowing the entire square in a veil of blinding white. The air thickened instantly, vision shattered into silvery haze. He could hear the Centurion screech in confusion, its claws scraping against stone as it flailed to find him.
Kaelen didn't hesitate.
He ran.
Not like a warrior. Not like a prince of a legacy clan. Not like someone trained in a dozen forms of spearwork and theory.
He ran like a dog.
Like a wounded, cornered animal. Stumbling, bleeding, desperate.
This was not cowardice.
This was survival.
He hurdled debris, vaulted over broken carts, narrowly avoiding sharp wreckage that tore through his armor. The sea salt air returned briefly as he darted through a broken corridor, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. Every instinct screamed that the Centurion was still searching, still listening, still hungry.
Legacy? Title? Honor? None of it mattered now.
Only one thing did:
"Get home. Don't die in this godless dream."