Reader's POV
---
The next morning, Jiwoon tried to cook.
Tried.
"Is… that supposed to be rice?" Ereze asked flatly, poking the charred black lump in the pot with the tip of her blade like it might lunge.
"It's called crispy base," Jiwoon said defensively, waving steam from his face. "Gourmet chefs strive for this level of burn."
"I think it just tried to bite me."
I sighed, chewing slowly on a ration bar that tasted like cardboard and regret. "Can we not start the next death trial on an empty stomach?"
Ereze's expression darkened. "You saw the map."
I nodded grimly. "The next trial isn't a fight."
Jiwoon tilted his head. "Then what is it?"
I met his eyes, the weight already pressing down.
"A grave."
---
The entrance wasn't hidden.
It waited—ancient and patient—carved into the cliff behind the dojo. A massive stone ring, like the mouth of some buried god, loomed before us. Faint symbols traced its edges, flickering with pale silver light, alive like embers.
We approached. Words formed in our vision, traced across the arc of the gate.
> "To dream is to remember. To remember is to awaken. To awaken is to bury."
"Sounds cheery," Jiwoon muttered, already drawing his sword like that could help against what waited inside.
"Dream Grave," I whispered. "Where unfinished thoughts go to die."
And then we stepped into the dark.
---
It wasn't blackness that met us.
It was worse.
Gray. A thick, choking fog of memory. Of things unsaid. Of things done too late.
The second my foot crossed the threshold, the world tilted.
My breath caught.
The cave was gone.
---
"Boss! Hey, Boss, you forgot your lunch!"
A warm hand smacked a bento box into mine.
Familiar weight. Familiar warmth.
Wait—
I was standing in a classroom. My classroom.
My seat. My desk. The faded posters. The cheap smell of chalk dust and floor polish. The Tokyo skyline shimmered outside the window.
I blinked. My school uniform clung to me like a second skin. My hands—smaller, softer.
No. No, no, no—
This wasn't real.
This was memory. A trap.
---
> "You said you'd be there for the race!"
"Liar."
"You promised you wouldn't leave."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"Why didn't you run?"
Voices from every direction. Too many. Too loud.
I turned, and each step brought a different regret crashing to life — echoes of mistakes I swore I'd buried.
This wasn't a dream.
It was guilt, sharpened into blades.
---
Through the fog, I spotted Ereze.
She stood frozen in front of a vision—her mother.
Her eyes were wide, locked in disbelief. Her mother looked almost real, framed in soft sunlight like a portrait from a forgotten past.
"You abandoned us," the vision spat, voice cold.
"No," Ereze whispered, trembling. "I was chosen. I was trying to—"
"And what did that cost you?" the vision snapped.
Her jaw clenched. Her knuckles whitened around her blade.
"EVERYTHING!" she screamed, slashing forward.
The image shattered like glass under a scream.
---
Jiwoon's trial came next.
He knelt across from a younger version of himself — bruised, ragged, arms wrapped protectively around a broken staff. His younger self glared up at him, eyes burning with pain.
"You ran," the child said. "You let them take her."
Jiwoon dropped to one knee, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes.
"I was scared," he admitted. "I was… a coward."
"No," the child said gently, stepping forward. "You were human."
They embraced.
And then the child faded, leaving behind only a warmth in the fog.
---
Me?
My dream wasn't a person.
It was a library.
An endless archive, stretching out beyond sight. Row after row of floating bookshelves spiraled into the mist above.
I walked through them, heart pounding.
Each spine bore a title.
> "What You Should Have Said"
"The Time You Hesitated"
"The Moment You Didn't Run"
"Every Silence That Hurt"
I reached out. Fingers brushed over the bindings—cold, familiar.
I pulled one.
And read.
Every line was a scar.
---
By the time we reached the grave's heart, we weren't the same.
The fog receded.
Our eyes were raw. Our breathing, slow.
But our steps—our steps were steady.
We stood before a single floating stone, etched with fresh lines of glowing script.
> "Those who remember… become real."
"Those who forget… become strong."
A prompt appeared across our interfaces:
> Carry the dream – Retain your memories. Gain wisdom.
Let it go – Forget pain. Gain strength.
Two paths.
Neither easy.
---
Ereze turned to me, voice soft. "Which do you pick?"
I looked down at my hand. The bento box was gone now, just an echo of warmth.
"I'll carry it," I said. "Even if it hurts."
Jiwoon gave a tired smile. "Strength means nothing if you don't remember why you need it."
We all made the same choice.
And the stone erupted into light, washing us clean.
---
[Trial Completed: Dream Grave]
Trait Acquired: Waking Heart
+15% resistance to mental effects
Access to shared memory nodes unlocked
A whisper followed us as we left:
> "Not all strength is muscle.
Some is choosing to remember… and still keep walking."
---
We stumbled back into daylight.
Back into the dojo.
Jiwoon was already at the stove, determined.
"Okay," he announced. "This time I boiled the rice."
Ereze raised an eyebrow. "And didn't burn it into a black hole?"
He grinned. "Progress, baby."
I took a bite.
Still terrible.
Still oddly warm.
---
We didn't know what the next trial would be.
But for the first time in what felt like ages, we laughed.
Even just a little.
And somehow, that felt like winning.