Eight years.
That's how long it takes for a single dream to break a person.
Deryus opens his eyes—slowly. As if his eyelids are made of lead. The ceiling above him—white, sterile, cold. Fluorescent lights hum faintly, stabbing into his skull like hot needles. He doesn't recognize this ceiling. This light. Nothing but...
The dream.
Eight years trapped in his mind. Eight years trying to save Alina. Eight years of repeated failure, repeated death, repeated screams. Every day—he watches her die. Differently each time. Her body burns, shatters, melts, disappears. And he screams, screams, screams until no sound remains.
Then he wakes—inside the dream.
And starts again.
2,920 days. 2,920 deaths. 2,920 failures.
So far.
He sits. Slowly. His body heavy, as if he has aged eighty years in eight. Muscles ache. Bones groan. His skin feels... foreign. He looks at his hands. Pale. Thin. Veins protruding like a map of dry rivers. His fingers tremble—a low, constant shiver.
He tries to stop it. Clenches his hands. The shaking intensifies.
Deryus (whispering, hoarse, broken): "Is this… real?"
No one answers.
The room is silent. Cold. Metal walls. Polished white tile floors reflecting the light like shattered mirrors. A single bed—metal, plain. No windows. One door—locked. A camera in the upper-left corner—red lens staring, unblinking.
He tries to stand. His legs betray him. He collapses—knees hitting the floor. Pain is sharp, real. He pants, pressing his palms against the cold tile. Eyes closed.
Memory flickers—briefly:
Alina smiles. Her black hair flies in a wind that doesn't exist. Her green eyes shine. She reaches out. "Deryus… save me."
He runs toward her. One step. Two. Three.
The ground opens. Swallows her. One scream—short, sharp, soul-cutting.
Then silence.
Back to the present:
Deryus opens his eyes, struggling to breathe. Cold sweat covers his forehead. His heart pounds violently, as if trying to escape his chest.
Deryus (whispering): "I never… saved her."
He rises—after three attempts. Stumbles toward the door. Hands on the cold metal knob. Turns.
Locked.
Three sharp knocks. The echo fills the room. He waits.
Five seconds. Ten. Twenty.
The door opens.
A man steps in—mid-forties, glasses, pristine white coat. Smiles—a professional, cold smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
Doctor: "Hello, Deryus. How are you feeling?"
Deryus doesn't answer. His gaze flicks past the doctor. A long corridor, multiple doors. Two guards in black uniforms, batons at their sides. Expressionless.
Deryus (raspy): "Where am I?"
Doctor: "A rehabilitation facility. You… slept for a long time."
Deryus: "How long?"
Doctor (checking a digital tablet): "Eight years, two months, fourteen days."
The words drop like stones. Deryus freezes. Mouth opens slightly. No sound emerges.
Deryus: "...Eight years."
Doctor: "Yes. A rare case. Deep dream coma. Most never wake."
Deryus (gripping the doctor's wrist—suddenly strong): "Alina. Where is she?"
The doctor glances at his hand. The guards step forward. Deryus doesn't release. His ash-gray eyes burn with something close to madness.
Doctor (keeping his smile): "Who?"
Deryus: "Alina Kraith Val. My sister."
The doctor feigns thought. "Ah, yes. I don't have family records. But we can—"
Deryus (harder grip): "Where. Is. She."
A guard lifts his baton. The doctor raises his hand—signal to stop. He looks at Deryus directly. The smile fades.
Doctor: "The White Dream Tower. Northern City. But—"
Deryus releases him. One piece of information. Enough.
Deryus: "I want out."
Doctor (rubbing his wrist): "Of course. But we need the tests first. Standard procedure. We must ensure—"
Deryus: "Now."
Doctor (sighing): "Deryus, you spent eight years in a coma. Your body is weak. Your mind… needs time. You cannot—"
Deryus (interrupting, calm, deadly): "Open. The door."
Silence. The doctor looks at the guards. They exchange a glance. He sighs in frustration.
Doctor: "As you wish. But you must sign the form—"
Deryus: "I'll sign. Open the door."
---
Five minutes later, Deryus stands in another room. Smaller. Two chairs, one table. A long legal form. He doesn't read it. Signs—swift, careless.
He receives clothes—black suit, white shirt, leather shoes. Perfect fit. As if they were waiting for him.
Dressing is a struggle—his fingers tremble, refusing to cooperate. Three minutes to button the shirt. Silent curses.
He's led down a corridor. Doors line both sides, all locked. Yet behind some, sounds—moans, muffled cries, hysterical laughter.
Deryus (whispering): "How many… trapped here?"
No answer.
They reach an elevator. Enter. The doctor presses the ground floor. Doors close. Electrical hum. Elevator ascends—upwards.
Deryus watches the numbers: -5… -4… -3…
Deryus: "Were we… underground?"
Doctor: "Lower floors… safer. For patients."
Deryus: "Or for prisoners?"
The doctor says nothing. Just smiles—the same cold professional smile.
0.
Doors open. Sunlight explodes. Deryus shields his eyes—pain like knives. Steps back, gasping.
Doctor: "Take your time. Your eyes need to adjust."
Deryus stands. Hand on his eyes. Breathes slowly. One. Two. Three. Ten.
Slowly, he lowers his hand. Eyes half-open. Blink. Again. Gradually, pain eases. Light becomes… bearable.
He looks.
A vast reception. Marble floors. Glass walls revealing… the city.
Deryus freezes.
The city isn't as he remembers.
Towering skyscrapers pierce the sky like metallic fingers. Architecture—classic fused with futuristic. Streets crowded—small flying cars dart between buildings. Giant floating screens flash colorful ads.
And in the distance—one tower. White. Massive. Gleaming in the sun like a fallen star.
The White Dream Tower.
Deryus stares. Long, silent moment.
Deryus (whispering): "Eight years… and the world didn't wait."
Doctor: "The world waits for no one, Deryus. Harsh lesson, but necessary."
Deryus turns. Looks at the doctor directly.
Deryus: "My family… what happened to them?"
Doctor (hesitant): "You… don't know?"
Deryus: "I was arrested at seventeen. Haven't seen anyone since."
Doctor (glancing around, ensuring privacy): "The Black Night. Six years ago. The Kraith Val family massacre. It was… all over the news."
The ground tilts. Deryus grips the reception desk—fingers white.
Deryus (voice trembling): "...Massacre?"
Doctor: "Yes. Forty-seven family members. One night. In the Southern Dream Palace. No survivors."
Deryus: "Who?"
Doctor: "No one knows. Government said accident—power generator explosion. But everyone knows the truth."
Deryus (slowly raising his head): "The truth?"
Doctor (lowering voice): "Casper Forn. The greatest dream merchant. Wanted market monopoly. Your family… rivaled him."
Casper Forn.
The name sears into Deryus's mind. Letters of fire.
Deryus: "And Alina?"
Doctor: "She wasn't in the palace that night. In the Dream Tower—special treatment. Survived. But… hasn't awakened."
Deryus: "Why?"
Doctor (shaking head): "Unknown details. Rumor is… trapped in a deep dream. No one can reach her."
Silence. Deryus stares at his hands. Still shaking. But not from weakness.
From anger.
Deryus (whispering, each word a bullet): "Forty-seven. My family. Dead. And Alina… trapped."
Doctor: "Deryus, I'm sorry. But you must understand—"
Deryus (interrupting, calm, deadly): "I understand. Perfectly."
He walks toward the massive glass door. Opens it. Automatic. Cold air hits him. Smell of city—smoke, oil, metallic, sweet and foul all at once.
Steps outside. First step in the real world in eight years.
He stops. Looks at the sky. Blue. White clouds. Bright sun. All… normal.
But Deryus knows the truth.
Nothing is normal.
The streets are crowded. Hundreds move swiftly, preoccupied, never looking at one another. Their clothes are strange—fabrics gleaming under the sun, bright colors, intricate designs. Some wear special glasses—digital lenses projecting data into the air.
Deryus walks, slowly, trying to comprehend this new world.
A massive screen on a building flashes an ad:
"Dream Safely! Casper Dream Capsules—Millions of Dreamers' Choice!"
A man's face fills the screen. Mid-fifties, white hair, perfectly styled, elegant suit, broad smile.
Casper Forn.
Deryus stops. Stares. Eyes narrow.
Deryus (whispering): "You…"
A voice behind him—close.
Woman's voice: "Deryus Kraith Val?"
He turns—hand going instinctively to his belt. No weapon. Curses internally.
A woman stands before him. Tall, slender, long black hair down to her waist. Eyes unnaturally blue, almost glowing. She wears a long gray coat, black pants, military boots.
Her face… beautiful, yet wrong. Deryus can't place it. Features seem… mismatched. Like a carefully crafted mask, but imperfect.
Deryus: "Who are you?"
Nirveth (smiling, sadly): "My name changes daily. But today… call me Nirveth."
Deryus: "What do you want?"
Nirveth: "To save you. Or use you. I haven't decided yet."
She reaches out—slowly. Deryus watches, motionless.
Nirveth: "But if you stay here… you'll be dead in ten minutes. Casper's army is coming."
Deryus: "Why?"
Nirveth: "Because you woke. And because you're a Kraith Val. That… is enough."
Deryus scans the surroundings. Nothing seems suspicious. But instinct—deep, honed by eight years of nightmares—tells him she speaks the truth.
Deryus: "And if I refuse?"
Nirveth: "You die. And Alina… remains asleep. Forever."
Deryus freezes. Stares into her eyes—directly.
Deryus: "How do you know about Alina?"
Nirveth: "I know much, Deryus. More than you can imagine. But not now. Now—we run."
A distant explosion. Deryus turns. Black smoke rises from a building four blocks away. Screams. Chaos.
Nirveth: "Too late. They've begun."
She grabs his hand—suddenly strong. Pulls him along.
---
They sprint through the streets. Nirveth leads—familiar with every alley, every turn. Deryus pants—body weak, lungs burning, legs almost giving out. Yet he doesn't stop.
Behind them—heavy footsteps. Screams. Gunfire.
Nirveth: "Don't look back! Just run!"
They duck into a narrow, dark alley. Damp walls. Cracked bricks. Piles of trash. Foul smell.
Nirveth stops at a metal door. Knocks—specific rhythm. Three knocks. Pause. Two knocks. Pause. One.
The door opens slightly. One eye peers out. Then fully.
A large man appears. Bald. Scar runs from forehead to chin. Leather jacket, military pants.
Man (deep voice): "Who is it?"
Nirveth: "The last Kraith Val."
Man (inspecting Deryus): "Weak."
Nirveth: "He will be strong."
Man (steps aside): "Enter. Quickly."
They step in. Door slams behind them—heavy metal. Multiple locks click.
A long, dark corridor. Nirveth leads. Deryus follows. Sounds—whispers, movement, something dragged along the floor.
They enter a large room. Dim oil lamps flicker. Around twenty people—sitting, standing, speaking in low voices. All turn as Deryus enters.
Their faces… worn. Scarred. Eyes broken. Survivors.
Nirveth (turning to Deryus): "Welcome to the Resistance."
Deryus doesn't reply. He scans the room, trying to understand.
A man approaches—mid-forties, thin, gray hair, sharp green eyes. Worn brown coat.
Man: "Deryus Kraith Val. A name we thought long dead."
Deryus: "Who are you?"
Man: "Phariel. Leader of what remains of the resistance against Casper."
Deryus: "The resistance?"
Phariel: "Yes. For six years. Since the Black Night. We fight. Save who we can. Take revenge… when possible."
Deryus: "And why am I here?"
Phariel (looking at Nirveth): "Explain."
Nirveth (meeting Deryus's eyes): "Because you are a dreamer. Not ordinary. A dreamer of the old empire's bloodline. And because you… are the only one strong enough to kill Casper."
Deryus laughs—short, bitter.
Deryus: "I can barely stand. How can I kill a man ruling the city?"
Nirveth: "Because you spent eight years in one dream. And lived. That means your dream power… is immense."
Deryus: "Or it means I'm… broken."
Nirveth (steps closer): "Perhaps both. But a broken survivor… is deadlier than a perfect man who dies."
Deryus stares into her eyes. Long moment. Something familiar in them. He knows her… but from where?
Deryus: "And why should I trust you?"
Phariel: "You shouldn't. But you have no choice. Casper wants you dead. Your family is gone. Your sister sleeps. And you… are alone."
The words land—one by one. Each like a knife.
Deryus closes his eyes. Breathes—deeply. One. Two. Three.
Opens them.
Deryus: "What do you want from me?"
Phariel (smiles, cold): "To become what you were born to be. A weapon."
Deryus doesn't respond. Looks around. Faces in the room—some hopeful, some doubtful, some… fearful.
Deryus: "And if I refuse?"
Phariel: "You die in the streets within two days. Or Casper catches you. Then… you'll wish you were dead."
Deryus: "A threat?"
Phariel: "Fact."
Silence. Deryus rubs his forehead—sharp, throbbing headache forming behind his eyes.
Deryus: "I need… time to think."
Nirveth: "You don't have time to think."
Deryus (turning to her, firm): "I need. To think."
Nirveth glances at Phariel. Nods slightly.
Nirveth: "Come. I'll show you… somewhere quieter."
---
She leads him through narrow, low-ceiling corridors. Damp walls. Smell of mildew and something else—old blood, maybe.
They enter a small room. Simple bed on the floor. Wooden crate as table. One candle—flickering, dim light.
Nirveth: "Not a palace. But… safe."
Deryus enters, sits on the bed—slowly. Every muscle aches. He looks at his hands. Still trembling.
Deryus (without looking at her): "How do you know me?"
Nirveth (standing by the door): "I don't know you. I know your name. Your story. But not you."
Deryus: "Why save me?"
Nirveth (hesitates briefly): "Phariel asked me. And… I needed a purpose."
Deryus (raising his head, looking at her): "Purpose?"
Nirveth: "Revenge gets boring when there's no one left to avenge. Casper… is too big. I need help."
Deryus: "And I… am the help?"
Nirveth (smiling, sad): "Or the burden. We'll see."
She closes the door gently. Deryus is alone.
Lying down. Ceiling above—rough stone, cracked. Faces appear in his mind. Alina. Mother. Father. Grandfather. Forty-seven people—all dead while he slept.
He closes his eyes.
Deryus (whispering): "Eight years… lost. And my family… gone."
Something rises in his chest. Anger? Grief? He doesn't know. Mixed into a choking, heavy mass.
His hand clenches—fingers digging into his palm. Sharp, focused pain. Makes him feel something.
Deryus: "Casper Forn… I will find you."
But as the words leave his mouth, he knows the truth.
He is weak. Body broken. Mind fractured. No strength, no weapon, no army.
Nothing.
Except anger.
And maybe… maybe that's enough.
---
Hours pass. Perhaps more. Deryus doesn't sleep. Just lies, staring at the ceiling. Trying to understand this new world.
A knock at the door. Three light taps.
Deryus: "Come in."
The door opens. Nirveth enters, carrying a tray—bread, cheese, water.
Nirveth: "You must eat. Your body needs—"
Deryus (sitting slowly): "Tell me something."
Nirveth (placing the tray): "What?"
Deryus: "Your face. Why… does it look wrong?"
Nirveth freezes. Stares at him—long. Then smiles—sad, broken.
Nirveth: "Because it's not mine."
Deryus: "What do you mean?"
Nirveth (sits on the crate): "I'm a dreamer. My ability… steals forms. I enter dreams, take faces, wear them as masks. But… nothing's perfect. Always something… off."
Deryus: "And why do this?"
Nirveth (looking at her hands): "Because I don't remember my real face."
The words fall—quiet, heavy.
Deryus studies her—differently now. Not suspicion. Something closer… to understanding.
Deryus: "How many?"
Nirveth: "How many what?"
Deryus: "How many faces have you stolen?"
Nirveth (laughs, bitterly): "I stopped counting at one hundred."
Deryus: "And you don't remember… which was yours?"
Nirveth (shakes head slowly): "No. Sometimes… I look in the mirror. See a face. Beautiful. Strange. And wonder: is this me? Or someone else?"
Deryus: "And what do you do?"
Nirveth (eyes glinting in candlelight): "Change it. Because not knowing… is better than lying."
Silence. Long. Heavy.
Deryus reaches for bread. Bites. Flavorless. Like paper. But he eats. Body requires it.
Deryus: "How do I get strong?"
Nirveth (raising an eyebrow): "Decided?"
Deryus: "I haven't decided. But if I die… I'd rather die standing."
Nirveth (smiles—genuine this time): "Good. Then… tomorrow we begin."
Deryus: "Begin what?"
Nirveth: "Training. Rebuilding your body. Awakening your dream power. Learning… how to kill."
Deryus: "I know how to kill."
Nirveth (staring into his eyes, sharp): "In dreams? In reality? Or both at once?"
Deryus: (silent)
Nirveth: "That's what I thought. You will learn. Or die. Simple."
She stands. Walks toward the door. Pauses, turns.
Nirveth: "Advice, Deryus. In this world… the weak die. The strong kill. The clever… hide. Choose which you will be."
Deryus: "And you? Which one are you?"
Nirveth (smiles—dark): "All three. And that… is why I'm still alive."
She leaves. Door closes.
Deryus remains alone. Eats slowly. Thinks.
Deryus (whispering): "The weak die. The strong kill. The clever hide."
He puts down the bread. Looks at his hands.
Deryus: "Then… I will be all four. Weak pretending strong. Strong hiding weakness. Clever acting foolish. And the fool… knowing when to be clever."
He closes his eyes. Breathes deeply.
Deryus: "Alina… wait. I'm coming. I will save you. And then…"
Eyes open. Cold. Deadly.
Deryus: "I will burn this world."
---
Elsewhere, in a towering skyscraper piercing the clouds, a man stands before a massive window. Watching the city below—countless lights, countless lives, all… under his control.
White hair. Impeccable suit. Red wine glass—dark as blood.
Casper Forn.
A man enters—kneels.
Man: "Sir. Deryus Kraith Val… awake. Escaped."
Casper doesn't turn. Sips—small, deliberate.
Casper (soft, calm): "Escaped? Or allowed to escape?"
Man (hesitant): "I… don't understand, sir."
Casper (turning slowly): "The mouse that escapes… leads you to the hole. And the hole… is where the rest of the mice hide."
Man: "Shall we follow him?"
Casper: "No. Let him go. Let him play hero. Let him dream of revenge."
Man: "And why, sir?"
Casper (smiles—cold, predatory): "Because hope… makes the fall sweeter."
He returns to the window. Eyes on the White Tower in the distance.
Casper: "Deryus Kraith Val… welcome to my world. Let's see… how long you last."
Sips one last time. Smiles.
Casper: "A new game… begins."