Damien was born pretty lucky. As the middle child of the "Veilbound," a lesser legacy clan, expectations didn't tower over him like they did for scions of the great families. He wasn't meant to be a legend. He was expected to be moderately great — and that suited him just fine.
Truth be told, he couldn't have cared less about the Spell. Becoming a superhuman, risking his life for the sake of "humanity"… it was something he never considered. He didn't want glory. He didn't want war. He just wanted to live.
But even as a member of a minor legacy clan, he knew that fate rarely cared about what he wanted, or anyone for that matter. It was going to happen eventually. The Spell chose, and it always chose.
Still, he wasn't entirely unprepared. Tens of thousands underwent the Awakening each year — and Damien was training under a real Transcendent. His own father, no less.
So yes — he was going to survive. At least, that's what he told himself. And yet, every moment of consciousness seeped with unrelenting dread.
Now, he sat on the edge of his king-sized bed, lost in the stillness of his room. His amber eyes stared blankly into the darkness, wishing he could sleep — just for a while.
Brisk footsteps echoed from the hallway. One of the two maids. Probably Maria.
A moment later, a cheerful voice called out from the doorway.
"Damiieeennn! Time to get up! You don't want to be stuck in that suffocating room forever, do you?"
Actually, he did. The past few weeks had been a blur of sleepless nights and brutal training. He was the only active Nightmare Carrier in his family — which meant every drill, every simulation, every lesson was intensified tenfold.
Yes, the resources were generous. Yes, he had support. But that didn't make it easier. The pressure was unbearable. He was exhausted.
"Alright, alright, Maria," Damien groaned, dragging himself up."Just give me a minute."
Maria lingered in the doorway for a bit, then disappeared without another word.
Groggy and disoriented, Damien shuffled into the bathroom. He caught a quick glimpse of himself.
Damn, he thought, all that training wasn't for nothing.
His rich black hair was tousled. His lightly tanned skin gleamed faintly with sweat. His amber eyes — once soft — had sharpened. Beneath them, a new and refined body. Lean. Powerful. Efficient.
He flexed absentmindedly, then winced in embarrassment at himself and got to work on his hygiene routine.
After washing up, he pulled on a plain set of clothes and made his way downstairs.
The dining room was quiet — too quiet. Everyone was already there… except for his older sister, who was probably off in the nightmare realm doing Ascended things no one dared question.
Damien sat down quickly, hoping to avoid the weight of his father's gaze. But it found him anyway.
His father studied him for a long, still moment, then silently began to eat. Across the table, his brother Conor offered a nervous glance and followed suit.
The mansion, once filled with life, felt like a tomb. It hadn't been the same since their mother vanished in the nightmare realm a decade ago. Now with his sister bound to the government, she too had become a ghost — always away, rarely heard from.
Tension mounted with each bite.
Finally, his father spoke.
"So," he asked, voice like stone, "have you made all the necessary preparations for your first nightmare?"
Damien hesitated.
"Yeah… I guess."
The words hung in the air like ash. Conor, visibly nervous, quickly finished his meal and excused himself. He didn't wait for permission.
Only Damien and his father remained.
"You understand," his father said quietly, "that today is the day we confine you to the quarantine chamber."
Damien lowered his eyes. He had known this day was coming. He had turned sixteen five days ago. There was no stalling it any longer.
He was running out of time — and out of wakefulness.
Silence fell again. Neither spoke.
Until Amelia burst into the room, face pale, voice trembling.
"Saint Shrouded Cloak, the government requests your immediate presence! It's about the inciden—"
She didn't finish.
A crushing pressure exploded into the room — not a sound, not a light — but a presence. If the room had felt cold before, now it felt like an absolute void. Suffocating. Crippling.
Damien froze. Not physically — but utterly. Every instinct screamed not to move.
Is this what a mind attack from a Saint feels like?
Smart of Conor to leave when he did. Damn it!
"Come now, Amelia," his father said, tone almost playful."How many times must I tell you not to speak of such matters so openly?"
Amelia's face turned to stone.
"Ah, oh well. It's alright, I suppose. Just don't forget next time."
The crushing force receded. Air returned. Amelia gasped and staggered back, drenched in cold sweat.
She must have been holding her breath the entire time.
Poor woman.
After breakfast, Damien returned to his room.
Maria had told him he had three hours left.
He considered reviewing his nightmare realm notes or maybe squeezing in more training. But instead, he sighed and headed to the dojo for some light cardio.
Endurance — that's what mattered most. Endurance and the intelligence to use it.
After a brief session, he cleaned up and waited.
Eventually, Maria knocked on his door.
"It's time," she said softly.
Damien stood. They walked together, slowly, down the long hallway to the quarantine chamber.
Each step made the desire to sleep burn hotter.
"Alright," Maria said gently.
"You're here. I know you'll do just fine. Just remember what you were taught."
She smiled. It was sad.
Damien said nothing.
He strapped himself to the cold metal contraption in the center of the chamber.
Calling it a "chair" felt generous.
His vision blurred.
This is real, he thought. It's really happening.
He waited, hoping — maybe — his father would come to see him off.
He didn't.
But someone else did. Conor appeared behind the glass in the observation room.
Damien looked at his brother one last time.
Then, he closed his eyes.
He stopped resisting.
And let the Spell take him.
Strangely, it felt… serene.
Ah, he thought, how good it feels to finally sleep after nights of stimulants and restless training.
Moments passed.
Then, he heard the fated call of the spell.
The one all aspirants hear before their first dreaded descent.
"[Aspirant. Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial…]"