At first, the flood of essence came as a trickle, a thin stream seeping through the coral. Then it swelled into a torrent, rushing in all at once. Bari did not need to guess the reason why. Countless Nightmare Creatures—and perhaps even some unlucky Sleepers—had been caught off guard, swept away by the black ocean before they could find shelter. The flood was merciless, rising faster than most could react.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the rush of essence dwindled. The flow fell to nothing more than the occasional drip, a faint trickle here and there. Soon the sea above was still, settling into a black, oil-like ocean that suspended above his head like a second sky.
Bari's eyes tracked the shifting waters, studying the countless shapes drifting within. Nightmare Creatures of every size and form churned through the abyss, each more grotesque and horrifying than the last. For a long moment, he stared upward, almost mesmerized.
Then the thought struck him, how could he possibly fight them?
By swordsmanship alone, he surpassed nearly every Sleeper his age, but that was not enough. Skill with the blade could only take him so far. His Aspect was a gift of comprehension and perception — a weapon of insight, not destruction. With it, he could see through walls, pierce illusions, and unravel names and weaknesses in an instant. But knowledge alone could not bring down the abominations swimming above.
What he lacked was firepower.
At his current level, there was only one way to obtain it: through Memories. A powerful enough Memory could grant him the means to deal the damage he needed — enough to cut down anything in his way, Nightmare Creature or human.
His gaze shifted inward, to the runes that marked his existence:
Name: Bari
True Name: Will-Born
Rank: Dreamer
Soul Core: Dormant
Soul Fragments: [107/1000]
Memories: [Strider's Earrings], [Knight Armour 24], [Deceiving Pouch], [Sunset]
***
Memory: Deceiving Pouch
Memories Description: [A pouch that once belonged to a great thief.]
Memory Rank: Awakened
Memory Tier: II.
Memory Type: Tool.
Enchantments: [Light Weight], [Impossible Space]
***
Memory: Sunset
Memories Description: [A Spear was forged on a dying mountain, the last embers of dying forge. A blacksmith poured his heat and soul into his final masterpiece, even as the mountain crumbled and his essence ran dry, his indomitable conviction blazed into a spear named Sunset.]
Memory Rank: Ascended
Memory Tier: III
Memory Type: Weapon
Enchantments: [Blazing Heart]
The first two were simple enough, one's he had either gained or been gifted, the other two were practical tools he had taken from his father's hidden study. They stood apart as memories that were distinctively either utility or embodied strength
The Deceiving Pouch was an unassuming thing: a scrap of leather bound with a red string, ordinary to the eye. Yet it carried the enchantments [Light Weight] and [Impossible Space]. Together, they stripped the burden of weight from anything placed inside and expanded the pouch's capacity beyond reason. Bari had not yet found its limit. For now, the only thing it held was his father's journal — but that alone made the Memory priceless.
The second was something altogether different. The weapon his father had kept hidden, preserved, perhaps waiting for this very moment. A spear. A masterpiece.
Sunset.
When Bari summoned it, essence stirred like starlight around his hands, coalescing into form. Slowly, the weapon materialized in his grasp, its glow filling the hollow coral chamber.
The spear was perfect — neither too large nor too small, balanced precisely to his build. Its blade flared outward like a jagged sunburst, cruel ridges radiating from the centre as though mimicking the crown of a dying star. A crimson vein ran straight down the middle of the metal, pulsing faintly with inner light, as if it fed on blood and burned it into fire. The edges gleamed with ruthless sharpness, honed not for ceremony but for slaughter.
The shaft was long and sleek, coloured a deep green-black that seemed bottomless. A ribbon of crimson trailed from beneath the spearhead, fluttering in phantom winds, like a banner carried into war. Even the butt was tipped with a smaller, barbed spike — no angle of the weapon was harmless. It was not a reforged tool or a soldier's common arm. It was an armament born of defiance, a divine weapon meant to reap lives.
And yet, its enchantment was a mystery to him. [Blazing Heart].
When Bari focused on it, his Aspect whispered a single word into his mind: Conviction. But what did that mean? Strength born of belief? Power tied to determination? The more he pondered, the more uncertain he became. Was he meant to wield the spear with unshakable faith in something? A cause? A destiny?
His brow furrowed. Conviction was belief. But belief in what?
He tightened his grip, then sighed. The answer would come with time. For now, the weapon was enough.
Dismissing the spear, Bari turned his attention upward. The coral's veins carried only faint threads of essence now, hardly worth clinging to. He released his hold on the coral and rolled onto his back. Sleep tugged at him, and this time, he let it.
***
His eyes snapped open to a tremor. Vibrations rattled through the coral beneath him, strong enough to stir him instantly awake. His gaze darted upward.
The black sea was retreating.
Already the first streaks of dawn pierced the horizon, banishing the night. The tide of darkness, born at dusk, now pulled away, withdrawing back into whatever abyss had birthed it. Bari noted the pattern silently, storing it away: the black sea came with the night, and left with the morning.
Another rumble followed, this one from within his own body. His stomach growled, loud and insistent. Bari grimaced. Hunger was just as dangerous as exhaustion here — and far less forgiving.
He climbed out of the hollow, emerging into the stillness above. The world was quiet, the chaos of the flood erased as though it had never happened.
Now came the hunt.
Nightmare Creatures roamed everywhere, hundreds scattered across the land. But Bari knew better than to fight recklessly. He needed one he could take down cleanly, one that would not draw the attention of the hordes.
His eyes swept across the barren landscape until he found what he needed: two creatures locked in brutal combat a few thousand meters away. Their clash was vicious, strength battering against strength.
Bari's lips thinned into a line. By the time he reached them, only one would remain standing. And when that happened, the survivor would never see him coming.