The underbelly of the city had forgotten sunlight.
A ceiling of smog pressed down on the slums like a curse, swallowing every stray ray before it ever touched the ground. The brick walls sweated grime. The air tasted like metal and rot.
Against one such wall, a young man huddled like a discarded shadow.
Sunniless—whatever name he'd once had had long been beaten out of him—was all angles and exhaustion. Skin pale like old parchment. Eyes sunken from sleepless nights carved by fear rather than time. His tattered pajama shirt clung to him like a dying memory, stained with dirt, alley-blood, and the city's cruelty.
In his trembling hands, he held treasure.
A loaf of bread.
Still warm.
He had stolen it moments earlier, sprinting through the slums with a feral desperation. Tomorrow, they would drag him to the gallows for a murder he didn't commit. A frame job so obvious it hurt to think about—so he tried not to. He was already condemned. So why not commit one small sin in return?
"...My last meal," he whispered, lifting it to his lips.
CRRK—!
The crust split beneath his bite, releasing a wave of soft, buttery warmth. The simple taste hit him like a lullaby. He devoured another mouthful, crumbs falling like golden snow across his dirt-smeared shirt.
"This… is good," he murmured around a full mouth.
One rare moment of peace in a world determined to deny him even that.
Of course, fate—vicious, theatrical, and bored—was not amused.
WHOOOOOSH—!!!
A violent gust of wind tore through the alley like a screaming ghost, slamming garbage cans, rattling window shutters.
The loaf ripped itself from his hands.
"Ah—hey!"
Sunniless lunged for it.
PLUP—SPLSH.
It bounced once, twice… straight into a puddle of oily black water before the shadows swallowed it whole.
He stared, jaw slack.
"...Dammit. What is my luck today?"
His hoarse voice cracked like an old hinge.
He pushed himself upright, swaying slightly. His legs shook the way worn-out streetlights flickered before dying. Black hair, messy and overgrown, fell into his eyes—eyes too tired to care.
He needed sleep.
He couldn't afford sleep.
Both truths strangled him at once.
The rumors had crawled across the world like a plague.
The Nightmare Curse.
A phenomenon that began as whispers on forums… then ripped entire nations into panic.
People falling asleep and never waking.
Others surviving only to return broken—speaking of twisted realms forged from fear itself, where monsters with glass-teeth hunted you in labyrinths that breathed.
Governments called for "preparedness programs."
Schools became training camps.
Teenagers drilled in combat and survival tactics as if the apocalypse had already arrived.
Rich families hired mercenaries to tutor their children.
The poor?
They joked about it at first…
…until their children went to bed one night and didn't come back.
Sunniless had scoffed with them. Conspiracy nonsense… clickbait… viral marketing.
But the videos—
The trembling survivors—
The hollow eyes—
The trembling voices describing dark voids and whispering walls—
Those didn't look fake.
And now…
He hadn't slept in six days.
Caffeine.
Dumpster stimulants.
Anything to keep the darkness out.
Because deep down, under all the cynicism and street-grit, he feared one thing:
What if I'm next?
You never knew you were chosen until you closed your eyes.
And tomorrow, the executioner would force him to do exactly that.
His vision flickered.
A phantom shadow crawled across the corner of his sight—hallucination or omen, he couldn't tell anymore.
If he didn't find help soon, he'd collapse before the noose found him.
There was a police station two blocks away.
Stupid idea. Terrible idea.
But they had files.
Records on curse victims.
Maybe even an insight—
Or at least a holding cell where someone could kick him awake if he started slipping into the Nightmare.
"...Fuck it."
He staggered forward, feet bare against the cold pavement.
TSSK… TSSK…
Streetlights buzzed overhead like dying fireflies.
Sirens wailed in the distance, warped by the wind.
And then—
—hheeheehee…
A whisper.
Soft.
Wrong.
Like laughter from under the bed.
Sunniless froze.
Heart thudding against his ribs.
The wind picked up again, howling like something hungry.
He quickened his pace.
The world tilted.
His vision pulsed at the edges.
Sleep was coming.
Whether he wanted it or not.
And when it did…
The Nightmare would be waiting.