Kiyotaka dreamt of a city.
Or rather, the remnants of one.
Floating islands suspended in an endless sky, connected by massive chains. At the center, where the largest chains converged, there was only emptiness—a vast gap where something should have been. The surrounding islands seemed to orbit this absence, like planets around a missing star.
Suddenly, the chains began to mend. The city rebuilt itself, growing more magnificent with each passing instant. The central gap began to fill—an enormous tower descending from the upper sky, lowering itself back into place. Tall and ivory, crowned with spires that caught the light of both sun and moon. Kiyotaka realized he was watching time flow backward.
Seven great chains extended from the surrounding islands, reaching toward the tower. One by one, they connected, anchoring the ivory structure to the floating city around it.
The tower settled into its place at the heart of the realm. Gardens bloomed. White stone architecture spiraled upward. The city was whole again, speaking of an empire at its zenith.
People filled the streets and bridges. They moved toward the tower with fear and doubt etched across their faces. He saw rulers issuing decrees, soldiers burning books, figures in robes arguing. But as the vision flowed backward, their fear shifted into reverence, their doubt into purpose.
The vision accelerated further back, showing the tower in its glory, the city in its prime, until—
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial...]
***
Kiyotaka opened his eyes to the sound of children crying.
Where am I?
He was lying on a thin straw mattress in what looked like a long dormitory. Dozens of simple wooden beds lined the walls, most occupied by children of various ages. The stone walls were cold and damp, the narrow windows letting in only weak morning light. The air smelled of unwashed bodies, cheap tallow candles, and the musty scent of old stone beneath newer construction.
His body felt weaker. When he looked down at his hands, he realized they were the hands of a child—maybe twelve, thirteen at most. Thin from poor nutrition, calloused from work, and covered in tiny scars that told a whole story of hardship on their own.
They regressed my physical age... well, isn't that just great.
He sighed internally as he pushed himself up, taking stock of everything. He was wearing a simple, rough-spun tunic that had been patched way too many times to count. His feet were bare against the cold stone floor. Around him, the other kids were starting to wake up too, stirred by the distant tolling of a bell.
That's when the memories hit—not his, but the fake backstory the Nightmare had woven for him. An orphan left at a church as a baby, somewhere in a place called the Kingdom of Hope.
Kiyotaka suddenly recalled what he'd seen at the start of the dream: floating islands chained together by colossal links, and one massive island descending from above to below.
This is...
He recognized the place. It was a location in the Dream Realm known as the Chained Isles, not Kingdom of Hope.
The Dream Realm was exactly what it sounded like—a world built from dreams. Or at least, that was what people believed. The Nightmare he was experiencing now was said to be a reconstruction of the Dream Realm's past.
Great. And I don't even know which period this is from.
He couldn't help feeling a pang of regret. Knowledge was power, as the saying went. Unfortunately, he had close to nothing here.
Guess I'll have to adapt.
With that in mind, he refocused on the boy's memories.
This child had no family, no real name beyond what the priests assigned him. He'd grown up within these walls, working in exchange for scraps of food and a place to sleep, learning to read and write from charitable clergy. He existed in that awkward space between charity case and unpaid labor.
The orphanage served the local nobility and the church devoted to the Sun God, taking in unwanted children and shaping them into useful servants, scribes, or—for the lucky few—future clergy.
To be a powerless kid in a medieval religious institution... this Spell is really spoiling me.
While he was sarcastically thinking that, an older boy—maybe sixteen, with mean eyes and a badly healed scar across his cheek—kicked the foot of Kiyotaka's bed as he walked past.
"Wake up. Bell rang. You know what happens if you're late to morning prayers."
Kiyotaka glanced at him, weighing what he could do to this impolite idiot, but decided against saying anything. He simply stood and joined the stream of children shuffling toward the door.
The older boy sneered and moved on, searching for easier targets.
The orphans filed through cold stone corridors, their footsteps echoing off walls that seemed older than the structure built above them.
They emerged into a chapel—modest by noble standards, but ornate enough to remind the orphans of their place. At the front stood Brother Aldric, a portly priest with thinning hair and eyes that held more calculation than compassion.
"Line up, line up! Morning prayers, then breakfast, then your assignments for the day." He clapped his hands impatiently. "You should be grateful for the Church's charity. Out there, orphans like you would starve or worse. Here, you have purpose. Remember that."
The children lined up in practiced formation. Kiyotaka took his place near the middle, neither front nor back. A position of strategic insignificance.
As Brother Aldric began the morning liturgy—prayers to the Radiant Father, the Merciful Mother, the Seven Chain Lords—Kiyotaka focused inward, reaching for that interface Dr. Saito had mentioned.
Shimmering runes appeared in his vision, invisible to everyone else.
Name: Kiyotaka
Rank: Aspirant
Soul Core: Dormant
Memories: —
Echoes: —
Attributes: [Fated], [Mark of Divinity]
Aspect: [Wishful]
Aspect Description: [You exist in the space between dreams and reality, hope and despair. You have been touched by -unknown-. To those who carry -unknown-'s mark, wishes may be granted—though never quite in the way one expects.]
Kiyotaka read the description carefully, his expression remaining neutral even as Brother Aldric droned on about gratitude and obedience. Soon enough, he noticed something strange.
Why are parts of this... redacted?
If he could've frowned right then, he would have.
He'd never heard of anything like this being possible.
For reference: a Soul Core was the reservoir of a person's power—the internal engine for anything supernatural. Memories referred to items stored outside physical reality. Echoes were basically familiars, living entities you could summon to help. Attributes were passive abilities tied to someone's nature or affinities.
He ignored [Fated] and [Mark of Divinity] for now and focused on his Aspect.
The redacted section clearly referred to someone. Who, he didn't know. From the wording, whatever it was seemed tied to the concept of wishes—taken from his Aspect—while dream, hope, and nightmare came from its description.
Come to think of it, this kingdom's called Hope.
He tried to recall other names for the Sun God: Lord of Light, a manifestation of fire, passion, creation, and destruction. Hope didn't really sound like something that fit with that.
What he'd learned in school included the gods. They were a pantheon that once existed in the Dream Realm and had died somehow. Six of them were known to him—a strange number, given the Spell's fixation on seven. That made people speculate about a seventh being, but of course nobody could prove it.
His mind spun through theories, ranking them from most to least likely. He eventually filed them away for later and turned his attention back to the power his Aspect granted.
From the name alone—Wishful—clearly it's tied to wishes. And it looks utility-oriented.
He read the description again, parsing every phrase, feeling a growing edge of bitterness with each line.
"Wishes may be granted"—passive voice. So he wasn't the one doing the granting, at least not directly. Fine, that could've been useful.
But the next line ruined it.
"Never quite in the way one expects." Monkey's paw logic. It's a classic ironic fulfillment.
This is a nightmare.
It's the worst kind of Aspect for someone like him. Not only did he have to rely on luck to trigger it, he also had to deal with whatever unpredictable side effects followed.
It's not useless, but it's near impossible to rely on in a conventional sense.
He sighed internally and shifted his attention to the other Attributes.
Attribute: [Fated]
Attribute Description: [The strings of fate wrap tightly around you. Unlikely events, both good and bad, are drawn by your presence. There are those who are blessed, and there are those who are cursed... but rarely both.]
Attribute: [Mark of Divinity]
Attribute Description: [You bear a faint scent of divinity, as though someone briefly touched by it once, a long time ago.]
The moment he read [Fated], he nearly couldn't help himself from chuckling.
Coincidences can get freaky sometimes. [Fated] seems to have a pretty great dynamic with [Wishful]. As for [Mark of Divinity], that just strengthens the most likely guess I had about the -unknown- potential identity earlier.
He dismissed the runes just as Brother Aldric wrapped up the prayers. The children shuffled toward the dining hall—a long, drafty room with wooden tables and benches, where watery porridge was being dropped into wooden bowls.
Kiyotaka picked up his bowl and sat at the end of a table, watching quietly. Most of the children ate in resigned silence. Some of the younger ones still sniffled. The older ones wore harder expressions, as if they'd already accepted that this was simply what life was.
"Hey."
Kiyotaka looked up. A girl about his apparent age had sat down across from him—dark hair tied back practically, sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing, and a posture that suggested she knew how to handle herself despite her slight build.
Kiyotaka tilted his head slightly. He didn't recognize her well. "What?"
Catching the hint, she introduced herself quickly. "I'm Celeste. You help out in the scriptorium sometimes, right?"
"...That's right."
He knew she liked to hang around the scriptorium, but as far as his memories went, they'd never actually spoken. The sudden approach made him wary. This might be the first trigger for whatever objective the Nightmare wanted him to hit.
Celeste took a spoonful of porridge, grimaced at the taste, and kept eating anyway. "I came over because I want to ask you to come with me to the scriptorium later. I found something and I need someone who can read."
His false identity included being a scribe's assistant, which meant he was literate and had some access to restricted areas.
Kiyotaka didn't overthink his answer.
"Where?"
She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "In the lower storage rooms. The ones built into the old foundation." She paused. "You've been down there before, right? For the manuscript copying?"
"A few times."
"Then you've seen the old stones. The ones with the weird marks that don't match anything the Church uses." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I found something."
Before Kiyotaka could respond, Brother Aldric's voice boomed across the dining hall.
"Attention! Today we have a special announcement. Lord Cassius of House Nightveil will be visiting the orphanage to select children for service in his household. This is a great honor—those chosen will have opportunities far beyond what this institution can provide."
Murmurs rippled through the children. Kiyotaka sorted their reactions at a glance: excitement from the younger ones, fear from the older ones. The fear was noticeably more common.
"You will all be assembled in the courtyard after breakfast for inspection. Make yourselves presentable. Lord Cassius values beauty, intelligence, and obedience. Disappoint him, and you'll be sent to the work crews instead." Brother Aldric's smile was unpleasant. "And trust me, children—you don't want the work crews."
As the priest left, Celeste's expression darkened.
"Cassius. Of course it had to be today." She stood abruptly, bowl empty. "The kids chosen by him don't come back. Ever. They can't even send letters or messages. They just disappear."
"Into service," Kiyotaka said. "That's what happens with household servants."
"Is it?" She gave him a sharp look. "My older brother was selected three years ago. He knew how to write. He promised to send word once he settled in. I never heard from him again. Neither did anyone else from their group."
"Maybe he forgot."
"Maybe." But her tone said she didn't believe that for a second. "If you're smart, you'll make yourself look unimpressive and easy to overlook. I wouldn't want to be picked by that man."
She walked off before he could say anything else.
Kiyotaka sat alone with his rapidly cooling porridge, turning everything over in his head. A noble who collected orphans. Children who disappeared. An orphanage built on old foundations with strange writings.
A few possible objectives for this trial formed in his mind.
I should probably check out those markings she mentioned—if I get the chance.
The bell tolled again, summoning them to the courtyard.
The courtyard was a square of packed dirt surrounded by high stone walls. The children assembled in rough lines, about sixty of them total, ranging from as young as six to as old as seventeen. Brother Aldric and two other priests watched from the side, eyes sharp and evaluating.
A carriage arrived—sleek and black, pulled by horses that looked too well-bred for their surroundings. When the door opened, Lord Cassius emerged.
He was younger than Kiyotaka expected, maybe thirty, with sharp features and dark hair pulled back in a style that spoke of nobility. His clothing was expensive but practical—a merchant lord rather than a decorative courtier. His gaze swept across the children with quiet, calculated interest.
"Good morning, Brother Aldric," Cassius said, his voice smooth and cultured. "I trust the children are prepared?"
"Of course, my lord. All our orphans are present for your inspection."
Cassius began walking down the lines slowly, examining each child with businesslike attention. Some he dismissed with barely a glance. Others he paused before, studying their faces, occasionally asking questions.
"You, girl. What's your name?"
"M-Maria, my lord."
"Can you read?"
"A little, my lord."
"Too old. Next."
Kiyotaka watched the pattern. Cassius seemed to prefer children between ten and fourteen, with a slight emphasis on those who showed signs of education. Scribes and scholars in training, perhaps. Or simply bright enough to be trained quickly.
When Cassius reached Celeste, he stopped.
"You work in the kitchens?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Can you read?"
"No, my lord."
Cassius studied her for a moment longer. "No, but you're observant. I can tell." He made a mark in a small ledger. "You'll do."
Celeste's face remained carefully neutral, but Kiyotaka saw her hands clench.
Eventually, Cassius stopped in front of Kiyotaka.
The noble lord stared at Kiyotaka for quite long, his expression shifting from mild interest to something more focused.
"You work in the scriptorium."
"Yes, my lord."
"Can you read and write?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Both Imperial script and Church Latin?"
"Yes, my lord."
Cassius's eyes narrowed slightly. "How did an orphan learn Church Latin?"
"Father Benedict taught me, my lord. He said I had an aptitude for languages."
"I see." Cassius made a mark in his ledger. "Do you sleep well, boy?"
The question was so unexpected that Kiyotaka actually paused before answering.
"Well enough, my lord."
"No nightmares? Trouble falling asleep?"
What kind of question is that?
"Sometimes, my lord. Like anyone."
"Hmm." Cassius closed his ledger. "You'll do as well."
By the time the inspection ended, Cassius had selected eight children total—including Kiyotaka and Celeste. They were separated from the others and told to gather their meager belongings quickly. Which meant one thing: his plan to look through those strange texts was dead in the water. He wouldn't be getting another chance.
In the dormitory, as Kiyotaka rolled up his spare tunic, Celeste appeared beside him.
"He asked you about sleep," she whispered urgently. "He asked me too, earlier, when you weren't listening. Why would he care about that?"
"I don't know."
"This whole thing is creepy." She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "We should run. During the journey, we could—"
"And go where?" Kiyotaka kept his voice level. "We're children with no money, no connections, and no knowledge of the surrounding area. We'd be caught or dead within a day."
"So we just go along with it? Let him take us to whatever he has planned?"
"We could survive, observe, and learn what we're dealing with." He tied his bundle. "Running blindly accomplishes nothing."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Forget it. Do what you want."
Before he could respond, a priest called for them to assemble in the courtyard again.
The eight selected children were loaded into the carriage—cramped but not unbearable. Cassius rode on horseback beside them, and four armed guards accompanied the procession.
As they pulled away from the orphanage, Kiyotaka looked out the small window. The building shrank into the distance, its old stone foundation fading from view.
One of the younger children, a boy maybe ten years old, started crying quietly.
"I want to go back," he whimpered. "Please, I want to go back."
None of the guards responded. Cassius didn't even glance in their direction.
Celeste put an arm around the boy's shoulders, murmuring something comforting that Kiyotaka couldn't quite hear.
The journey continued in tense silence.
After about two hours, they left the main road and turned onto a narrow path that wound upward into forested hills. The guards became more alert, hands resting on their weapons.
"Bandits?" one of the guards whispered.
"Wolves," another replied. "These hills are full of them."
But they encountered neither. The path simply climbed higher, the trees growing denser, until finally they emerged into a clearing.
Lord Cassius's estate loomed before them.
It wasn't a castle, exactly. More of a fortified manor house, built in an older style than the churches and buildings in the city below. The walls were thick and windowless on the lower levels, with narrow slits for archers higher up. Probably meant for defense.
But what caught Kiyotaka's attention was the foundation.
Like the orphanage, this structure was built over something older. He could see it in the way the structure didn't match the slope of the land, and how some of the stones at the base were a different color and texture from the ones above.
The carriage stopped at the main gate. Guards opened it from inside, and they were ushered into a courtyard—smaller than the orphanage's, but better maintained.
Cassius dismounted and addressed them for the first time since departure.
"You will be fed and shown to your quarters. Tomorrow, your training begins. You will learn your duties, and you will perform them well. I value obedience, competence, and discretion." His gaze swept across them. "Serve me faithfully, and you will be treated fairly. Disappoint me, and you will regret it. Am I understood?"
"Yes, my lord," they chorused automatically.
"Good. Now follow the housekeeper."
An older woman appeared—severe-looking, with gray hair pulled back tightly. She led them inside without a word.
The interior was cleaner than the orphanage but colder. Stone floors, minimal decoration, everything functional rather than comfortable. They were taken to a dormitory similar to what they'd left—one large room with multiple beds—and told to wait.
After the housekeeper left, the children immediately began whispering among themselves. Speculation, fear, attempts at reassurance.
Kiyotaka ignored them. Instead, he examined the room closely: the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Checking for the same irregularities he had noticed outside.
Cassius's strange questions about sleep still lingered in his mind. Combined with the mention of writings under the orphanage and now another building sitting on the same type of foundation... the pattern was becoming hard to ignore. Either that, or he is overthinking it.
From what he remembered from school about Dream Realm theory, buildings this old weren't just historical relics; they could be tied to the supernatural.
For example, maybe this manor was never originally Lord Cassius's. Like the orphanage, it might once have been a religious structure. Places like that tended to hold onto spiritual residue even long after being repurposed. Kind of like an abandoned house where a happy family was murdered years ago—rumored to be haunted because of the lingering tragedy.
Something similar could easily be lurking in his First Nightmare.
Hearing Celeste's vague explanation about the missing orphans, he'd already considered the simplest possibility. For example, they might've been sacrificed for whatever was hidden here. If they're all dead, they could never return or inform the living about their conditions, unless the people who sacrificed them knew and somehow decided to deliver it to the outside world. Which he finds it hard to believe.
"You see it too."
He turned. Celeste had moved to stand beside him, looking at the same section of wall he'd been studying—where newer mortar filled cracks in older stone.
"This whole place is built on the same kind of foundation as the orphanage," she said quietly. "I'm sure that whatever Lord Cassius is doing to the orphanage is connected to that."
"That's a bold assumption based on architectural similarities."
"Is it?" She gave him a sharp look. "You're not stupid. Don't pretend to be. You've noticed things don't add up here. The questions about sleep, the way he looked at us, and of course, the fact that kids don't come back."
"And what do you propose we do with these observations?"
"I don't know yet. But we should stick together and watch each other's backs." She paused. "In case whatever's here decides to come up."
Kiyotaka said nothing, but filed the comment away. Celeste clearly suspected something beyond simple exploitation of child labor. Whether that suspicion was justified or just fear-driven paranoia remained to be seen.
A bell rang somewhere in the estate. Dinner, presumably.
The housekeeper returned and led them to a dining hall—better appointed than the orphanage's, with actual meat in the stew alongside vegetables and decent bread.
They ate in silence, watched over by guards who stood at each exit.
After the meal, they were shown the basics: where the kitchens were, where the laundry was, where the privies were. A brief tour of the areas they'd be allowed to access.
Kiyotaka noted carefully which areas they were not shown. The lower levels. The eastern wing. Anywhere that might lead down to those older foundations.
It could've been for normal reasons—storage, staff-only sections, areas under repair.
Or it could've been exactly what he was worried about.
That night, lying on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, he stared at the ceiling, thinking about his next step.
...I should try to check the areas they kept from us... but how? From what I saw, everything is guarded tightly.
Should I test my Aspect for that? The problem is I don't know what the price will be...
He could already picture the kind of "price" the Spell might demand: maybe he'd gain access, but lose his sense of time, or start forgetting small details at the worst possible moments. Subtle effects when they first hit—far less subtle once the consequences caught up. A very monkey's-paw kind of trade.
Kiyotaka couldn't help letting out a resigned sigh.
This is a real nightmare for me...
He disliked relying on that Aspect for a good reason. It ran opposite to everything about the way he operated. He dealt in probabilities and controlled margins—things he could measure and predict. Throwing himself into an ability that demanded some vague "price" felt reckless in a way he couldn't stomach. It removed the part of the equation he depended on most: knowing what he was stepping into.
Trusting a supernatural bargain without understanding the cost wasn't just risky. It was a gamble where you only realized how badly you'd miscalculated once it was far too late to undo anything.
Still, he would have to lean on it sooner or later. If he hesitated too long, that window might close.
At some point, he had shut his eyes.
When he went into deep sleep, he dreamed of a nightmare.
***
A/N: If you've read Shadow Slave, you'll immediately recognize the Nightmare setting and where his power comes from. If you haven't, I still hopefully made it entertaining enough to follow. And even for those who have read it, I added a few mysteries of my own so you won't get bored or feel like you're just rereading the original.
Light spoiler territory here: [Fated] and [Mark of Divinity] are Attributes similar to what a certain character—or a few characters—have. And I have this weird obsession with avoiding anything that feels too close to canon, to the point I've wasted hours overthinking how to make things "different."
Simple similarities are fine, but those two Attributes come with some heavy connotations. But again... I'm probably overthinking this shit.
For a protagonist, having [Fated] is acceptable (expected, even), and [Mark of Divinity] isn't that big of a deal anyway.
I originally added a new Attribute for him as an Aspirant, but realized it was more or less the same thing as [Mark of Divinity], lol.
You can guess the theme I'm aiming for with his First Nightmare by now.
Next chapter would probably drop sometime next week, minimum 5,000 words, like promised. Details are below.
Fanfic Update Schedule: Weekly (Sunday) & 5,000 words minimum
Words Count: 3,981 (5,977)