The wind bit against my face as I ducked beneath a collapsed street sign, the "Zone D – Residential Only" warning barely clinging to the rusted post. The outskirts don't look much different from war zones in the old archives cracked pavement, shadows that stretch too long, and people that stopped hoping years ago. I'm not sure what's worse, the sickness creeping into my sleep, or the way the air around here clings to you like you've already died and nobody told your body yet.
I vaulted over a charred bench, landing hard, my boots splashing in the stagnant water that collected in broken concrete. It was almost dawn, and the facility would open with the sun. I had to get there before the line formed, before the guards started asking too many questions. The Dreamare symptoms were rare this far out but not impossible. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. I don't want to wake up floating above my own body one night and never come back down.
My name is Kairozin Rhéon. And if I'm right if this thing inside my head is real then today might be the last day I live a normal life.
As soon as I stepped into the facility, it was bustling with people in all different shapes and sizes different colors the pre-fracture that I am from usually sticks into close groups, I do live on the outskirts where junk trash and other things have been thrown people there are barely considered people as soon as I get to line I notice people are way taller than me " get out my way" there's some mean people here as soon as I get to the front desk The clerk finally glanced up at me half-lidded eyes, chewing like a cow, her gaze flicking over me like I was just another rat that scurried in from the storm drains.
"TreoVille," she muttered, tapping away without much care. "And your name?"
"Kairozin Rhéon."
Her fingers paused. Just for a breath. Then kept moving.
The guy behind me chuckled under his breath like he'd just heard a great joke only he understood. I didn't turn around. The line smelled like rust, sweat, and cheap synth-leather jackets, and I didn't feel like getting spit on before breakfast.
"Symptoms?" the lady asked.
"Dreams," I said. "They're… not dreams anymore."
That got her attention. Her gum popped, sharp and deliberate, like a bullet casing hitting metal. She eyed me again really looked this time.
"Go to Window Twelve. You'll need to fill out a Manifestation Potential Report. Don't lie. They can tell. And if you're flagged, you don't get to come back here. Ever."
She stamped something on a thick slip of paper and slid it under the glass.
I took it without a word, but my hands were sweating now. My stomach twisted.
Window Twelve. The line was shorter there but no one was talking. People stared straight ahead, like they'd already seen what was coming. Like the Dreamare had already touched them and they were just waiting for permission to fall apart.
The room behind Window Twelve wasn't really a room. More like a sealed cube—white walls, smooth floors, and no furniture except a single metal chair in the center, bolted down like they were afraid someone might float away mid-sentence.
A woman in a coat too clean for this district stood by a terminal. Her eyes were sharp—real sharp, not fake polite—and her clipboard had my name already on it.
"Kairozin Rhéon," she said. Not a question. "Sit."
I did. The metal was cold. I tried not to squirm.
"How many days since your dreams changed?"
"Seven," I answered.
"Describe the progression. Quick summary. No poetry."
I took a breath. "First night: felt like I could smell things. Second: touched a wall and it burned. Third: I bled in the dream—woke up with the mark on my hand. Fourth and fifth: started hearing things from the real world in the dream—sirens, voices outside. Sixth: saw someone who wasn't me in the dream, but I was in their body. Seventh…" I hesitated.
She leaned in slightly. "Seventh?"
"I didn't wake up right away. I was… floating above my body for a few minutes. Watching myself sleep."
She tapped her stylus. "Any history of lucid dreaming? Schizoid effects? Parasomnia?"
"No. Nothing like that."
The woman nodded once and walked behind me. I heard a soft click, and something pressed lightly against the back of my neck—a scanner.
"You're registering minor Lucent displacement. Early onset. That lines up with your report," she said. "Not enough to cause system feedback, but enough to confirm a Dreamare signature."
She stepped back into view and held up a small badge. A silver triangle with a black spiral in the center.
"This certifies you as a Manifestation Candidate. You're being transferred immediately. No return home. No goodbye tour."
My breath hitched. "Wait. That's it? That fast?"
"That's the law." She held out a wristband. "Put it on. You're a Drifter now. Welcome to the Trial Phase."
The door behind her slid open without a sound.
Inside was darkness. It wasn't just unlit—it felt like walking into ink. Living ink.
And somewhere beyond that, something called to me.
The darkness didn't swallow me whole like I expected.
Instead, it blinked—just once—and suddenly I was standing in a new room. Wide. Sterile. Blindingly white. Like I'd stepped inside a thought before it was finished being written.
There were others here—maybe a dozen of us. All wearing the same dull gray wristband. Some looked calm. A few looked terrified. One was throwing up in a corner. The staff didn't care.
An artificial voice buzzed overhead, too calm to be human.
"Congratulations, Initiates. You have been verified as Drifters—humans with confirmed Lucent Affliction. Your orientation will begin shortly. Remain still. Remain silent. Observation is in progress."
Cameras blinked above us—sleek little orbs hovering in place, tracking every move. I felt like meat in a glass cage.
The guy next to me was tall, taller than the rest—skin like obsidian and eyes that were too awake for someone just pulled from their life. He glanced at me, nodded once.
"You from one of the waste towns?" he asked under his breath.
"TreoVille," I replied.
"No kidding," he muttered. "Didn't think they still had survivors out there."
He offered a hand. "Name's Izen. I've already seen this room in my dreams. Twice."
Before I could answer, a wall on the far side slid open. Three figures walked in.
The one in front was a man in an all-black suit with silver threads swirling through the fabric like smoke. No ID tag, no name. Just a smile too polite to trust.
"Welcome to the Threshold," he said, voice smooth like synth-jazz. "This is the last time you'll all be in the same room, guaranteed."
He snapped his fingers. "From this point forward, your nightmares are longer private property. Let's begin."
The man in the silver-threaded suit clapped once, like a teacher starting a lesson.
"Some of you are scared," he said, circling the room. "Some of you think you'll wake up and everything will go back to how it was. It won't. You've already been claimed. The Dreamare has marked you."
He stopped in front of a boy who looked barely fifteen. "Sleep is no longer a place of rest. It's a proving ground."
He turned to the rest of us.
"You're about to enter the tutorial. It's not the real Dreamare—not yet. More like a pocket dimension curated just for you. A test of instincts. If you survive, you'll awaken. If you die…"
He smiled without warmth.
"Well, then you come back. Just not as yourself."
"Once a mind breaks in the Dream, the body doesn't stay empty. We call them Returned."
Everyone got quiet. Even Izen.
Another voice rang out through the chamber—this one digital and laced with something ancient.
"Initiate Lucent Synchronization. Beginning Group Trial."
Before anyone could react, the floor beneath our feet dissolved into black mist, and gravity flipped sideways.
I didn't fall.
I plunged—through my own thoughts, through sound, through self.
[DREAM TUTORIAL INITIATED]
When I hit the ground, it wasn't ground. It was sand, cold and wet like it had just remembered the ocean.I stood slowly.Twelve of us. Same bodies—but the air felt wrong. Charged. I could feel my skin humming.A massive ruin rose ahead, half-swallowed by mist. Sharp towers, shattered statues. Jungle creeping through stone."Objective: Reach the center of the temple and claim your Class. Only five may leave. No time limit. No second chances."A glowing message hovered in the air. Then vanished.Izen cursed under his breath. "Only five? Out of twelve?"Another Drifter—a girl with braided red hair and a dagger already in her hand—laughed low and bitter. "Guess it's a battle royale, then."And just like that, the tension snapped. Two of them broke into a sprint, one toward the temple, the other toward someone else.Steel rang.Blood spilled.Someone screamed.I didn't move—not yet. My hands were trembling, but not from fear. From recognition.This wasn't just a dream.This was the moment I found out what I really was.The temple's walls pulsed with something alive—stone veins, breathing mist, vines twitching like muscle.Everyone scattered. Some climbed. Some fought. Some prayed.I wandered.Not aimlessly—more like… confused. My heart beat too slow, like it didn't believe this was happening. The moment I stepped into the ruins, the air whispered in my ear—not just a voice. Voices. Plural. Shifting."What do you want to be?"
"Do you think you're strong?"
"What's your goal?"
"What's your ambition?"
"Who are you, Kairozin Rhéon?"
"What do you need from this world?"I laughed out loud. Couldn't help it."Well, for starters, I wanna not die," I said to the walls. "And uh… a class wouldn't hurt."Silence.Then—"No, really. What do you want?"I stopped walking. The question pressed deeper than the last."I dunno," I muttered. "I guess… I want power. Respect. Maybe… maybe to see what it's like to be the kind of guy people look up to instead of down at."A pause."What else?"The tone turned teasing now."…I mean…" I rubbed the back of my neck. "Maybe a nice harem someday? Not, like, greedy. Just… y'know. Loyalty. People who choose me. Some girls. A crew. Friends."The temple vibrated. Like it was thinking."Honest.""Naive.""Unworthy.""Not yet."Suddenly, the ceiling opened like a flower of black glass. A shadow dropped from above—too fast. I didn't even raise my arms before it slammed into me.I was thrown across the stone like a ragdoll, bones cracking. I didn't scream. I couldn't."You have no Class," the voice said coldly. "You are not ready."Everything slowed.The other Drifters were still running, claiming, transforming.But me? I was just bleeding. A message appeared in front of my cracked vision: [Lucent Synchronization Failed]Status: UNCLASSIFIED.You did not awaken a Class. You may not advance.Returned Status Imminent"No… no no no—"I scrambled up. The shadow lunged again.But before it hit, everything froze.A blue flame lit in front of me, hovering mid-air.It whispered:"You were honest. That was enough."Then the world went dark.[TUTORIAL FAILED]Subject has been extracted. Awaiting manual review.The darkness peeled away like wet paper.One blink—and I was back in the white chamber. No sand. No temple. No monsters. Just sterile walls, fluorescent light, and the cold ache of humiliation blooming behind my ribs.Everyone else was here too—some panting, some sweating, a few trembling. A few looked… different. One guy had glowing symbols spiraling up his arms now. Another girl's eyes were black with gold flecks. A handful were unconscious. Me?I was just me. Same height. Same empty hands. Same blank wristband.The man in the silver-threaded suit stood center-stage again, that same smirk tugging at his face."Well done, everyone. Or… done, at least."He began pacing slowly, letting the tension sink into our bones."That wasn't a real tutorial. More like a stress test. We call it a Mark Evaluation. A preview of potential. A little simulation of how your mind handles raw exposure to the Dreamare."Someone in the back yelled, "You said people could die!"The man didn't even flinch. "And they could have. That's what makes it a good test."He clapped his hands."Those who showed promise—reflex, aggression, clarity of will—you'll find your accommodations… upgraded. A bed that doesn't feel like a prison mat, a bathroom that isn't shared by ten. Maybe even a real meal."A low mechanical buzz filled the room. Light panels above began to blink different colors over our heads.Green. Yellow. Red.I looked up.Mine was red.Izen's was yellow. The red-haired girl with the dagger had a glowing green badge already pulsing on her chest. She didn't look surprised.The suit man pointed casually. "Green goes to Dorm Sector One. Yellow to Sector Two. Red…"He looked at me for the first time."Sector B-13. Bottom of the stack."I wanted to be angry, but the truth was, I hadn't earned anything else.He kept going."This was a starting point, not a sentence. Class awakening doesn't always happen instantly. You'll get another shot. Everyone gets at least one real Tutorial. Just make sure you're ready next time. Because that one?"He leaned in, smile gone."That one can kill you."The doors opened. Armed escorts appeared. No one said anything else.I stood and followed the ones marked for Sector B-13—gray wristbands and sunken eyes. All of us "not good enough." All of us still alive.For now.
[Sector B-13 – 48 Hours After Evaluation]
They didn't really call it a cell.But it was a cell.Cement walls, flickering light, one mattress for every three people, and a rank odor that smelled like sour sweat and desperation. Food came through a slot twice a day—bland, gray protein blocks. Water tasted like static.Someone had scratched the word "FODDER" into the metal door.I was lying on a mattress that probably had more stains than threads, hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling."I miss trash," I muttered. "At least back in TreoVille, I had a little corner to myself. I didn't have to listen to six different kinds of snoring."One of the other guys—bald, twitchy, smelled like regret—grunted from his bunk. "Shut up."I turned to the wall and whispered dramatically, "They hate me because I'm sexy."There was silence. Then a faint giggle. Across the room, a girl leaned against the wall, arms crossed. She had short black hair and eyes like wet asphalt—used to disappointment.She raised an eyebrow. "Sexy, huh? You're like five feet of bad decisions.""I'm five-eight," I snapped. "On a good day. And that's called being compact. Streamlined. Tactical."She snorted. "More like disposable."I grinned. "You keep flirting like that, I might start thinking we're soulmates.""Try thinking less."I winked, then immediately ruined the mood by sighing.Truth was… it sucked down here.No privacy. No training gear. No mentors. The ones who passed their evaluation were already getting visits from Lucent instructors, some even walking around with starter gear. Us? We got pity, if we were lucky. Neglect if we weren't.But no one came back dead.Which meant the real tutorial hadn't started yet.And in here, time was dragging.Later that night, after lights-out, I was curled up in my corner, trying to remember the sound of music. Or laughter. Or boobs.God, I missed boobs.Not just for the reason people thought. But because boobs usually came attached to people. Warm people. Soft people. People who'd hold you if you cracked.All I had now were gray walls and the buzz of anxiety.A whisper hit my ears again. Same voice as before."What do you want, Kairozin Rhéon?"I didn't sit up. Just stared at the ceiling."I want to matter. I want someone to look at me and not think I'm a mistake."Silence."Then make yourself matter.""The Dream is watching."And just like that, the whisper vanished.But a faint glow was pulsing from the inside of my wristband. Faint blue, soft like moonlight.It hadn't done that before.
[POV: Lyssa Verane – Sector One]
Luxury was a lie—but Sector One was close enough to fool you.Private room. Real shower. Meal tokens. Even a little access to the local net. No windows, though. They didn't trust anyone that much.Lyssa sat on the floor, barefoot, sharpening her dagger by lantern light. The blade sang with each stroke.She didn't need a bed to relax. She needed control.Control kept you alive.Still, her thoughts kept circling back—not to the tutorial, not to the others who made it, but to him.The short one. Big mouth. Trash-town accent. Kairozin.He hadn't done anything worth remembering. No flashy kills. No dramatic outbursts.But he had made her laugh.That was rare.He'd fumbled the trial. Made a fool of himself. Failed to awaken. Got thrown into the reject sector. But… he'd answered the voice the same way she had.Honestly.While the others shouted about strength and revenge and power and greatness, he'd said—"I want a harem… and some real friends."It should've been pathetic.It wasn't.It was human.And weirdly… it stuck with her.She leaned her head back against the cold wall, blowing a strand of red hair out of her face. The blade slipped back into its sheath with a satisfying click."Wonder if he's still alive down there."There was a terminal in her room—basic access only. She stood up, tapped the interface, pulled up the public trainee registry. Tiered by color. A list of all twelve from her group.She scrolled until she saw his name.Kairozin Rhéon – Status: Unclassified (Red-Tier / Awaiting Tutorial Access)"Unclassified," she murmured. "Means no Arts. No Aspect. No Class."Yet.She didn't know why she saved the name. Just tapped it twice, added it to her "Observation List." It'd notify her if his status changed.Maybe she was curious.Or maybe she just wanted to see if someone that honest could actually survive.
[POV: Kairozin Rhéon – 7 Sector B-13 | Night]
I wasn't dreaming.I was falling.No warning. No sleep transition. No awareness.Just blink—then boom.Wind screaming past me. Cold on my face. Void below me.Then—CRASH.I landed on my side, hard enough to rattle my lungs. The ground was wet stone. I coughed, spat blood, rolled onto my back.Black sky. Red moon. No stars.And a voice, not from the outside, but from inside my own head:"Dream Initiation Detected."
"Unclassified Ascender: Kairozin Rhéon."
"Tutorial Prematurely Triggered."I sat up with a groan, bones aching, heart hammering."Wait—wait, what?"This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to start. Not for another three weeks. I hadn't been trained. I didn't even get my room upgraded.I looked around.Twisting black forest. Trees made of bone. Ground breathing beneath moss. In the distance, something was dragging chains. The air reeked of copper and rot.I checked my wristband.It wasn't glowing anymore."No class detected.""No Aspect awakened.""No weapons issued."Just me.Me, and a Dream that felt too real."Objective: Reach the Lantern Tree before sunrise."
"Condition: You must not be seen by the 'Shepherds.'"
"Penalty for failure: Integration into Dreamfauna."I felt my heart drop into my stomach.I'd read the pamphlets. Watched the training videos. Integration meant monsterfication.If I died here… I didn't die. I came back wrong. No longer human.I stood up, legs shaking, adrenaline fighting the fear crawling up my spine."…Okay," I whispered. "Okay. Just stealth. Just reach the tree. Don't get caught. Easy."A low wail echoed through the trees.Not human. Not animal.Hungry.I didn't wait. I bolted into the forest, heart screaming in my chest.
[Somewhere Else | The Dream]
Something stirred.Deep in the layers of the Dreamare, a silent observer opened one eye.A black sun blinked once in the void."A seed… bloomed early.""Let's see if it survives the frost."
[POV: Kairozin Rhéon – Premature Dream Tutorial: Night 1]
"Dream Soul."I didn't know why I said it. It just felt right.Like the words were hiding behind my tongue, waiting to escape.Then the air around me shivered—not with wind, but with meaning.And just like that, it answered.A glowing screen didn't appear. No smooth UI. Just… etchings—burned across my sight. Symbols I shouldn't understand, but did.Like my brain had always known them, just forgotten until now.TITLE: NoneCLASS: NoneCLASS POTENTIAL: —PATH: Less Than HumanSOUL CORE: UnrefinedART: DIRTNo one notices you. No one cares. Your presence is negligible, like dirt beneath their feet. Even your footsteps are silent. You are nothing.""Fate's threads coil tightly around you. Extraordinary events—both fortunate and tragic—are drawn to your presence. Some are blessed, others cursed… but few bear both." RANK: InsignificantI read it twice.Then again.Then I laughed. Out loud.It was either that or scream."DIRT? Really?" I hissed, rubbing my temples. "I don't even get sand? Not even mud?"It wasn't even the Class that bothered me—it was that line:Class Potential: —Nothing.That wasn't normal. Even the losers in the dorms had "Low," or "Variable," or "Unknown." Nobody had a dash. A blank. A void.Path: Less Than Human.Yeah. That tracked.And yet… I didn't feel dead.I felt awake.Like my veins were wired wrong and the Dream had shoved me in anyway. I didn't belong here, but the Dream didn't care. It had grabbed me.And now?Now I had one Art.Dirt.I crouched, pressing my palm into the mossy stone.Nothing happened.But the air… shifted.My heartbeat slowed.The crunch of my boots. The rustle of leaves. Even my own breath—quieter.It wasn't magic. It was… absence.I didn't disappear. I just stopped mattering.The monsters didn't notice dirt.The world didn't notice dirt.But dirt?Dirt could get anywhere.Somewhere behind me, a heavy bell tolled once.In the distance, torchlight flickered—tall shadows moving between the bone trees.The Shepherds were here.They moved without footsteps.Searching.Feeding.I sank lower into the forest floor, my heart still, my thoughts like coiled wire.If they couldn't see me—because I wasn't worth seeing—then maybe…Just maybe…I could survive this.
New Art: SHADOW OF DIRT
You are still nothing—but now you choose when, where, and how. You see the threads a second before they're pulled. You do not step into fate. You walk beside it.
The moment it bloomed inside me—like a pulse of anti-light—I understood. Not just what the Shepherds were. Not just what the Dream expected of me. But something deeper.
The others were dreaming their way into something greater. Farmers. Slaves. Soldiers. Their past lives shaping their futures.
Me?
I had no life before.
No titles. No bloodline. No gods whispering in my sleep.
I was born in a trash heap, raised on crusted metal and bitterness.
And this Dream didn't know what to do with me.
So it labeled me nothing.
Now?
I was going to become everything it feared.I watched the Shepherd from the tree line.
Twelve feet tall. Its skin was ivory bark, split open where ribs should've been. Its head was a lantern—no eyes, just swaying fire—casting warping shadows on the ground.
I could feel the threads of its next movement before it made them.
A twist of the leg. A flick of the claw. I felt them in the dirt around my feet like pressure waves, long before the air shifted.
Precognition.
But that wasn't enough.
I didn't have a weapon. I didn't have a class. My limbs were thin and tired. I was nothing but hate wrapped in skin.
Still…
I took the first step.
Then another.
Then I ran.The Shepherd turned.
It saw me.
And for the first time… it didn't look through me.
It focused.
With a guttural click, it raised its massive cleaver arm, the bone edge gleaming.
I ducked under the first swing, barely—my shoulder tearing open on impact with a tree trunk. My vision went white, but I kept moving.
It roared like static and shattered glass.
Another swing—my ankle twisted wrong beneath me, crack. I fell, rolled, bit back a scream.
You are insignificant.
Not now.
Not now.
I lunged forward, grabbed a jagged branch, and stabbed it upward into the Shepherd's side.
The branch snapped.
The Shepherd didn't even flinch.
Its lantern head flared and a wave of crushing force threw me backward—I hit a boulder hard, my ribs folding, my mind almost blacking out.
I coughed blood.
My legs didn't respond.I could've given up.
Maybe I should've.
But I saw something then—my shadow, on the wall behind me.
It wasn't mine.
It stood up while I was still down.
And it pointed.
Up. Toward the lantern.
My soul flared.
Even shadows can burn.
I pulled myself forward.
Fingernails broke against stone. My left leg wouldn't move. I screamed as I dragged it behind me.
The Shepherd approached.
No hurry.
It was done.
I'd be devoured, my soul recycled into a nightmare, my body left in a cell somewhere in the real world, twitching and brain-dead.
But I wasn't done.
I tore the bone shard from my shoulder—screaming—and shoved it through my dead leg, locking it stiff like a crutch.
I stood.
I stood.
One eye swollen. One arm limp. One leg dragging.
But I stood.
The Shepherd raised its cleaver for the final blow.
I leapt into the swing.
My precognition flared.
I twisted at just the right moment—and climbed the blade as it came down.
Blood poured from my mouth, my ears, my leg buckling—but I reached the lantern.
And with every last bit of me, I shoved the broken bone shard deep into the flame.
The light shattered.The Shepherd screamed—not a death cry. A rage cry.
It swatted at its own head, fire leaking down like molten sorrow.
I fell with it—crashing into the dirt like a meteor.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't see.
Only thing I knew—
You have slain a Shepherd.
Corruption Path Confirmed.
Art Evolution Available.
I smiled through the blood.
"Not dirt anymore," I whispered, unconsciousness finally claiming me.
"Now I'm the shadow that kills gods."