The oppressive darkness of the decaying forest pressed in on Ren from all sides. Each step he took was accompanied by the squelch of decomposing foliage beneath his feet and the distant, haunting calls of unseen creatures. The air was thick, laden with the scent of rot and the metallic tang of something far more sinister.
Ren's mind raced as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was collapsing in his room, the searing pain and the strange greenish glow blooming across his chest. Now, he found himself in this nightmarish realm, guided only by the cryptic words of a hooded figure.
"Survive the nightmare, and you shall be reborn."
He had heard the stories. Everyone had. Of those who disappeared for days and returned... changed. Some said it was divine selection, others called it a curse. The Nightmare Spell was both feared and revered—an ancient power that marked the chosen and thrust them into a world forged from their own fears and memories. A Sleeper was born only through survival.
And Ren knew now—this was it.
As he ventured deeper into the forest, the trees grew denser, their twisted branches forming a nearly impenetrable canopy overhead. Shadows danced and flickered, playing tricks on his vision. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, set his nerves on edge.
Suddenly, a faint glow caught his attention. Through the tangled underbrush, he glimpsed the outline of a structure—a dilapidated shrine, its once-pristine walls now covered in moss and creeping vines. The glow emanated from within, pulsing rhythmically like a heartbeat.
Drawn by an inexplicable urge, Ren approached the shrine. The entrance was framed by two crumbling pillars, each adorned with faded carvings of serpents entwined around blooming flowers. The symbolism was not lost on him; it mirrored the mark now etched into his skin.
Inside, the air was stagnant. At the center of the shrine stood a stone basin, filled with a glowing, viscous liquid. As Ren stepped toward it, the shadows deepened. A whisper, almost imperceptible, brushed against his ears:
"This is your Nightmare. Survive… or die."
No more riddles. No more guides. Just the truth.
As he looked into the basin, the surface rippled—and then, suddenly, it pulled him under.
Ren was no longer in the shrine. The world twisted again. He stood on the outskirts of Lianhua, younger and uncertain. Around him, the sky boiled with unnatural clouds. Creatures moved in the corner of his eye—always just out of sight.
He saw himself being mocked by the children, rejected again and again. He relived the loneliness, the whispers, the silent fear of everyone who saw his faintly veined arms and too-bright eyes.
But the nightmare wasn't content with memories.
A scream tore through the air.
He turned.
His mother, Mei Lin, stood at the village boundary, her face contorted in horror. Twisting vines had erupted from the earth, black and oozing, slithering up her legs and torso. From the Mire, a monstrous figure emerged—a corrupted beast resembling the snake-creature Ren had fled from, but now gargantuan and pulsing with rot. Dozens of glowing white eyes opened across its length, each one locking onto him.
"Save her," the Nightmare whispered. "If you can."
Ren didn't think. He ran.
The vines lashed out at him as he approached. Thorns ripped into his arms and legs, but he pushed forward, driven by pure instinct. Reaching his mother's side, he tried to tear the vines away, but they coiled tighter.
The snake-beast struck.
A massive fang shot toward Ren. At the last moment, he raised his hand—and something responded.
From his wrist, where the strange sigil had been etched, green energy flared to life. The poison within him boiled outward, forming a barrier. The fang impacted with a sickening crunch, and the creature recoiled.
His surroundings shifted again.
Now he stood alone in the Mire, facing the beast in full. His hands glowed with toxic light, and for the first time, he felt it—power. A connection to this place. To the rot. He was no longer repelled by it; it answered to him.
The serpent lunged.
Ren moved on instinct, ducking beneath the strike and plunging his hand into the soft underbelly of the creature. He felt the poison bloom from his fingers, coursing into its body. The beast screamed—an otherworldly, gurgling sound—and then collapsed.
Silence fell.
From the carcass of the beast, a flickering wisp of shadow rose. It drifted toward Ren and hovered above his chest. Without hesitation, the wisp merged into him. He felt it—an immense surge of heat, then a cold that reached into his marrow.
The mark on his wrist blazed brightly, then dimmed.
A whisper filled his head, ancient and final:
"Soul Core obtained. Divine Aspect registered."
A bloom of ghostly white flowers erupted from the corpse of the beast, their petals dripping black nectar. In the center of them, a pulsing green seed appeared and vanished into Ren's chest.
Then—darkness.
---
Ren awoke with a gasp, bolting upright in his room. Morning sunlight streamed through the window. His body was slick with sweat, his heart thundering in his chest. But something was different.
He felt stronger.
His vision was sharper, his hearing more acute. And there, on his wrist, the mark pulsed faintly with sickly green light.
A whisper echoed softly within him:
"Sleeper. Aspect: Blooming Blight."
He stared at his hands. He could still feel the shadowy fragment nestled within his soul, coiled like a seed waiting to grow.
He had survived the Nightmare. He had become a Sleeper.
He stood slowly, legs shaking from more than exhaustion. There was a power in him now. Not just strange herbs and whispers of decay—but something primal.
The Blight had chosen him.
And it had only just begun to bloom.