Tivian, Eastern Coast of Pritt’s Main Island.
In the nighttime over Tivian, a waning crescent moon hung brokenly in the sky, its remaining sliver seeming as if it could vanish at any moment. With the World Expo fast approaching, the moon phase in this January was also nearing its end, soon to be followed by the dark new moon.
The great city of Tivian was gradually falling into slumber beneath the endless shroud of night. But just as the entire city grew quiet, light still flickered in a blood-scented manor at its northeastern edge.
Within the former residence of Sophocles, once the royal court’s chief physician, Dorothy’s corpse marionette Ed and Misha were questioning the recently rescued Sophocles about what he knew. Through his words, Dorothy learned many secrets regarding King Charles IV of Pritt, as well as the strange madness that had appeared within the Despenser royal family three years prior.
Once the information gathering was mostly finished, Ed silently walked to the edge of the room, gazing out at the last sliver of moonlight beyond the window, as if deep in thought. At that moment, Misha walked over quietly and murmured beside him.
“If what Sophocles said is true... then His Majesty may very well be the origin point of the corruption infecting the upper echelons of the kingdom…”
Ed didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he walked back over to the sofa where Sophocles was still seated and asked.
“Did Charles IV’s abnormal behavior begin when the royal family's madness surfaced three years ago?”
“Yes... I served His Majesty for many years. Before that madness emerged, there was nothing strange about him. But from that day on, it was like he completely changed. He began distancing himself from me and others around him, becoming increasingly withdrawn aside from a few close attendants. After I submitted my report that day, I never saw him again. What I received instead was a secret order to destroy all documents related to the madness and to vacate my post... I never expected things to turn out this way.”
With a still uneasy tone, Sophocles spoke candidly. Beside him, Misha added.
“I’ve heard rumors in my family too. His Majesty has indeed been extremely reclusive in recent years, seldom appearing unless absolutely necessary. Other than frequently inspecting the construction of the Crystal Palace, he rarely left the palace.”
“The Crystal Palace’s construction... so Charles IV secluded himself, yet remained highly invested in the Expo? If I recall, wasn’t the decision to host the Expo made three years ago by the Pritt government?”
Ed asked, his brow furrowed.
“Yes, that’s another strange part,” Sophocles replied.
“After the madness incident subsided, His Majesty immediately announced a grand event to demonstrate the kingdom’s power. After several rounds of deliberation, it was decided the event would take the form of the World Expo. His Majesty himself participated in the discussions with ministers. It’s said the Crystal Palace was his own proposal.
“Afterward, he began his semi-reclusive lifestyle in earnest. He no longer concerned himself with most state affairs—except for the progress of the Expo and the construction of the Crystal Palace. That became his highest priority over the years.”
After hearing this, Ed paused, then asked.
“Back then, did those suffering from madness in the Despenser royal family exhibit symptoms of shouting about ancestors?”
“Ah… yes! Indeed they did. In the cases I handled, there were many raving about storms and ancestors—‘the ancestors have returned,’ that sort of lunacy. How did you know?”
Sophocles asked, a trace of surprise on his face.
Dorothy, listening remotely through Ed, fell into silent contemplation upon hearing this confirmation.
...
Afterward, Dorothy controlled Ed to conduct a profile reading on Sophocles, confirming he had not lied. Misha then gave Sophocles an address, instructing him to leave immediately and seek refuge in a shelter she had prepared within Tivian.
Once that was arranged, Dorothy had Ed and Misha tidy up any signs left at the scene before leaving the manor together, taking the same carriage they had arrived in.
Inside the carriage on their return trip, Misha, who was driving, spoke directly to Ed seated within.
“We’ve pretty much finished investigating Sophocles. The situation is worse than I anticipated. It seems even His Majesty has long been deeply influenced by those people.
“The current situation is extremely dire. If even His Majesty has been corrupted, how many forces within the capital’s royal family, the military, and the Serenity Bureau have already fallen into the Eight-Spired Nest’s hands? His prioritization of the World Expo after being corrupted might very well be their intention all along.
“In short... things are now urgent. To save Pritt, to save His Majesty, we must act. When facing both the Eight-Spired Nest and a heavily corrupted government, the Church is likely our greatest source of support. Fortunately, rumor has it that someone important from the Court of Secrets is currently in Tivian. If we can pass on this new intelligence to them, we might be able to secure powerful reinforcements!”
As Misha spoke while driving, Ed sat quietly in the carriage, listening, yet gave no immediate reply.
After a brief pause, Misha asked.
“You... do you have a different opinion?”
She was hoping for Ed’s insights. After a moment of silence, Ed finally responded.
“A bit. I feel there are quite a few suspicious points surrounding Charles IV—not just the possibility that he’s been corrupted.”
He continued.
“According to Sophocles, Charles IV sent someone to assassinate him today in order to silence him. But Sophocles was removed from his post three years ago and has been living idly in Tivian ever since. There’s been ample time to silence him—so why wait until now, just before the Expo?”
Misha considered this, then replied.
“Hm… maybe it’s because the Eight-Spired Nest didn’t have enough control until recently. From what we’ve seen, their infiltration into the Serenity Bureau has been gradual. They couldn’t have completely controlled things from the start. The same likely applies to His Majesty—they probably only just succeeded in corrupting him to the point he would order the murder of his former court physician.”
Misha's reasoning echoed their prior analysis: the Eight-Spired Nest’s influence grew incrementally. Previously, they still had to infiltrate with spies and evade surveillance. That proved they hadn't fully controlled the Serenity Bureau back then—otherwise, their actions would have been far more reckless. But now, their reach had suddenly expanded to an unprecedented scale.
“True, their influence over the government is stronger now than ever. But let’s weigh this: which would require a deeper level of control—getting Charles IV to declare and personally oversee the organization of a massive international expo, or ordering the assassination of one man?”
After Ed posed this question, Misha’s expression tensed slightly. She realized the difficulty of orchestrating the Expo was much greater. It involved negotiations with parliament and countless officials, not to mention the logistics. Far more effort than simply issuing a secret execution order.
If Charles IV had been thoroughly controlled three years ago, why wait this long to eliminate Sophocles? The Eight-Spired Nest could’ve just sent assassins themselves. There was no need for delay. If they had controlled the king back then, the upper government of Pritt would have collapsed much sooner, rather than seeing the drawn-out back-and-forth observed last year.
“What you’re saying… does make sense,” Misha conceded.
“But maybe the reason they didn’t act before was because they didn’t see a need to. Silencing someone always leaves traces and attracts attention. Perhaps they felt it was unnecessary before. But now, with the Court of Secrets’s agents already conducting investigations in Tivian, the Eight-Spired Nest panicked—and chose to act now.”
Misha continued speaking to Ed, laying out her own perspective, and after listening, Ed responded with a shake of his finger.
“Then let me ask this… why did the Eight-Spired Nest choose a corrupted noble from Tivian to carry out the silencing, instead of using one of their own trained assassins or deathsworn?
“That Viscount Yarti, who came to kill Sophocles—sure, he’s an Apprentice-rank Beyonder, but he’s no professional assassin. Using him for such a task introduces unnecessary risks. If the Court of Secrets later traces it back to him and his identity is exposed, wouldn’t their suspicions turn toward the entire circle of nobles with royal blood in Tivian? That would only increase the chances of exposing Charles IV.
“And another thing—Sophocles said several of his former colleagues simply went missing. None of their disappearances left behind bloody crime scenes like tonight’s. A single person’s disappearance causes far less stir than the slaughter of an entire household... If the Eight-Spired Nest truly wanted to eliminate Sophocles under the Court of Secrets’s nose, they could have done it like they did with his colleagues—wait for a chance when he went out and make him disappear. Why create such a bloody scene tonight of all nights? Were they hoping it would attract even more attention?”
Ed analyzed calmly with a meaningful look, and Misha, hearing his words, found her already grim expression growing heavier. After a moment of contemplation, she spoke again, her tone serious.
“You’re right… if the Eight-Spired Nest really wanted to silence Sophocles, there was no need for a public massacre. Disappearing him would’ve been far quieter and easier. Why would they cause such a commotion under the Court of Secrets’s watchful eye? Why would they be so eager to expose suspicion on His Majesty? That doesn’t fit their usual style...”
Confused, Misha tried to reason it out. Ed, however, smiled faintly and spoke again.
“Miss Devonshire, now think a bit further. According to what Sophocles said, Viscount Yarti arrived at his home sometime after ten tonight. They spoke for a while, and then Yarti left, only to return later with bloodlust in his eyes and begin the slaughter.
“Why would this happen? If the Eight-Spired Nest had full control over Viscount Yarti, wouldn’t they have had him kill Sophocles on the spot at ten? Why leave and return again? If he had struck then, Sophocles would never have lasted long enough for us to rescue him…”
Ed smiled calmly as he explained, and Misha’s eyes widened slightly as realization dawned on her.
“They did it on purpose… The Eight-Spired Nest anticipated our arrival. They deliberately wanted us to save Sophocles—so that Sophocles could mislead our judgment!”
She spoke with sudden clarity, quickly connecting it with details she had previously overlooked.
“My contact with Sophocles was kept secret, but not entirely undetectable. If the Eight-Spired Nest realized that members of the Pritt ‘Vigilance Faction’ were operating in Tivian, they likely began monitoring anyone we might reach out to. As the former royal physician, Sophocles would naturally be among the monitored.
“If that’s the case, then my contact with him was already exposed. They likely knew I was planning to visit tonight—and even the exact time. Ten o’clock…”
Her tone was grave as she analyzed. Ed, still smiling, added.
“Then you should be able to guess why Viscount Yarti left and returned.”
“Yes… I had agreed to meet Sophocles at ten. Viscount Yarti also arrived at ten. The Eight-Spired Nest probably sent him at that exact time with the intention of starting the bloodbath just before I arrived, letting me stumble onto the scene and rescue Sophocles.
“But… tonight, there was an unexpected change. Detective, you insisted on joining me to hear the intel from Sophocles directly. Because I had to pick you up, we were delayed and didn’t reach his home exactly at ten. The Eight-Spired Nest didn’t detect our arrival, so the assassination attempt lost its meaning—and Viscount Yarti withdrew temporarily.
“Later, as our carriage approached Sophocles’ home, some kind of lookout stationed by the Nest must have spotted us. That triggered the decision to send Yarti back to finish the act—to stage the slaughter we had missed earlier, and let us ‘rescue’ Sophocles at the critical moment.”
Misha’s voice was filled with unease as she spoke her conclusion. Ed nodded and added.
“Exactly… what you just deduced is precisely what I’ve been thinking. Which means, the situation may be far more complicated than we imagined. The Eight-Spired Nest is more cunning than we expected. We nearly fell into their trap—nearly let them lead us by the nose. Seems they’re not only trying to manipulate the Court of Secrets, but also trying to make use of you and your ‘Vigilance Faction’ as well…”
Ed concluded, and after listening to his analysis, Misha furrowed her brow and said seriously.
“They orchestrated it so that Sophocles—who only knows part of the picture—would make contact with you. Then they staged an assassination involving a noble tied to the royal family. All of this was to redirect our suspicions and actions toward Charles IV…”
“Which means… His Majesty may not actually be under the Eight-Spired Nest’s control?”
Misha asked in disbelief. Ed followed up immediately.
“There’s a high chance he isn’t. If Charles IV were already completely under their control, the Nest wouldn’t need to mislead you into being hostile toward him. His behavior may be suspicious, but we still can’t fully determine his intentions.
“Right now, it’s possible that the entire royal family in Tivian—and perhaps all nobles connected to them—have already corrupted. The upper ranks of Pritt might largely be in the Nest’s hands. But Charles IV himself? Not necessarily. I suspect he’s not on the same side… maybe even a thorn in the Nest’s side.”
Ed’s tone was calm, but his implication was heavy. Misha’s face grew even more perplexed as she listened.
“If that’s true… then what exactly is His Majesty doing? If he hasn’t been controlled by the Eight-Spired Nest, then why has he behaved as he has these past three years? Why suppress information about the madness… dismiss his royal physician… and throw himself into planning the Expo? Does he even know the Nest exists? Does he know they’re corrupting the very roots of the kingdom? And if he does… why hasn’t he done anything to stop it?”
Frowning deeply, Misha murmured her growing doubts aloud. Ed, hearing her, simply shrugged and replied.
“Who knows? Only Charles IV himself probably understands what he’s thinking. But if the Nest wants to manipulate you—manipulate us—into distrusting or opposing him, then we’d better not fall for it… We can’t let ourselves be used as their weapons.”
Ed’s tone was calm but firm. Misha fell silent for a moment, then said in a low voice.
“It’s risky… but it seems I now have a reason to make direct contact with His Majesty.”
After those words, she lapsed into silence. Though she had lived in the capital of Pritt for over twenty years and served the kingdom as part of its elite class, this was the first time she felt such unfamiliarity toward her own nation. The country she thought she knew so well had hidden too many secrets.
While Misha sat in quiet bewilderment, far away in her own carriage compartment, Dorothy was also deep in thought. Having received new information, she began reevaluating the situation in Tivian.
“How interesting… If Charles IV really isn’t allied with the Eight-Spired Nest, then what exactly is he planning? If he knows they’re corrupting Pritt, there should be countless ways for him to respond. At the very least, he could have asked the Church for help earlier—there’s no reason to delay until the upper echelons of Pritt are nearly completely corrupted... So what is he really up to?”
“Still, whatever Charles IV is planning, it’s clear the Nest doesn’t want him to succeed. In that case… it should be fine to lend him a hand for now.”
Dorothy considered silently, then her thoughts shifted again.
“However… if the Eight-Spired Nest is deliberately directing hostility toward Charles IV, they can’t be targeting just Misha and her ‘Vigilance Faction’. Right now in Tivian, the real power in the open is that major figure from Holy Mount... If the Nest has already made arrangements for the Vigilance side, they surely haven’t overlooked that one either…”
So pondering, Dorothy began considering whether it was time to reach out to that girl saint she had met only once before.
…
Dreamscape, somewhere in the Forest.
In the dazzling meadow beneath the canopy of towering ancient trees, a black-haired girl, who had entered the dreamscape in her true form, stood with her head raised, gazing up at the humanoid figure above—its body adorned with brilliant moth wings. Her expression was one of cold solemnity as she stared into the creature’s emotionless, colorless eyes.
“At first, I was puzzled,” Artcheli said coolly.
“How were the members of the Eight-Spired Nest able to flee so quickly into the Dreamscape for emergency escape? Turns out it was you helping them…”
She was glaring at the airborne figure—its body covered in grayish-white fuzz, thin and malformed, resembling both insect and human—as she continued.
“Leader of the Blackdream Hunting Pack, High Priest of the Moth, ‘Moth Enchantress’ Gu Mian… I had received some intelligence suggesting that the Blackdream Hunting Pack might be involved in Pritt’s affairs, but I never expected involvement at this level. For you to act personally… Did the Lady of Pain promise you something in return?
“Since when did you lot start bowing and scraping to other evil gods?”
Artcheli spoke bluntly to the nonhuman entity known as Gu Mian. After a slight pause, it replied in a voice fine and hoarse, completely unlike anything human.
“Dog of Holy Mount… Watch your tone. This is the Dreamscape—our god’s domain. It is not a place for you to strut about so brazenly…”
The warning tone in Gu Mian’s voice was unmistakable. But Artcheli merely sneered and responded with contempt.
“Your domain? Hah… That’s a joke. Wasn’t it just recently that one of your scale moths was torn apart by the Dream Dragon? And that happened right here on your supposed home turf. You didn’t even attempt retaliation. Instead, you withdrew completely for a while. And you still claim this is your domain? How shameless can you be…”
Her words were thick with ridicule. Gu Mian’s expressionless face showed no emotion, but its wings behind it trembled slightly in agitation.
“That Dream Dragon… merely took advantage of my absence while I was seeking my god. It attacked the young of our brood—cowardly and vile. But now I have returned. Once today’s business concludes, I will personally settle that score.
“But you—Cardinal of Secrets. You came here alone, and you’re not worried about your own safety? Still have the luxury of mockery? Aren’t you afraid you’ll never return?”
Gu Mian spoke with eerie calm. Artcheli, however, remained unfazed.
“So the Eight-Spired Nest wants you to finish me off here, huh? You seem quite confident you can actually pull it off…”
“And why shouldn’t I be? This is our domain!”
Gu Mian’s voice rose sharply. And with those words, several enormous figures dove down from the shadowed treetops above, surrounding Artcheli.
Faceless heads. Bloated and deformed abdomens stuffed with dream cocoons. Giant bodies bristling with illusory tendrils. Massive wings of psychedelic moths…
These were two full-grown pseudo-moths—mature and massive. They now encircled Artcheli alongside Gu Mian and immediately launched their assault.
With a faint shiver of their wings, Gu Mian and the pseudo-moths released a powerful hypnotic wave, a coordinated attack led by Gu Mian and amplified by the other two. This kind of wave was potent in the Dreamscape—it could lull a sleeping mind into secondary sleep, plunging it into eternal slumber.
“So… even in dreams, fatigue can reach you?”
Surrounded by the overwhelming hypnotic waves, Artcheli closed her eyes slowly, exhaustion overtaking her, and fell asleep standing upright.
Seeing her unmoving, Gu Mian extended a long, illusory tendril to coil around her—but the moment it made contact, Artcheli’s body exploded into a shadow and vanished.
“What…? That was… a fake?!”
Gu Mian was startled. In theory, real-world abilities shouldn’t work in the Dreamscape. The dreaming world had its own laws. No matter how powerful a Beyonder was in the waking world, they could only manifest dream mimicries here—engaging in close combat with basic dream forms. In contrast, beings like pseudo-moths and Gu Mian, as native Dreamscape entities, retained their full abilities and monstrous forms, granting them overwhelming superiority.
Yet Artcheli had clearly just used a real-world ability. How?
Before Gu Mian could resolve this mystery, dozens of Artchelis rose from the forest’s dim shadows. They all stared coldly at the moths below.
Clones!
The Artcheli that had been hypnotized was merely a projection. Her true self had hidden within the shadows from the start, leaving a clone to parley with Gu Mian.
As the clones emerged, they each drew a sword from their side, then leapt from the trees toward the pseudo-moths and Gu Mian in a coordinated attack. The pseudo-moths responded by flailing their many tendrils, swatting the clones from the air and dispersing them into wisps of shadow.
Despite their efficiency in eliminating the intruding clones, the pseudo-moths could not keep up. From the shadows of every branch, more Artcheli clones emerged—raining down like a storm. They quickly overwhelmed the moths’ defenses. The clones that slipped past the defenses landed on the pseudo-moths and began tearing into them with their blades, leaving numerous shallow wounds.
Writhing in pain, the pseudo-moths crashed to the ground, thrashing to dislodge the attackers—but it was futile. No sooner had one clone been thrown off than another took its place, the rain of shadows seemingly endless.
The only one who remained unshaken was Gu Mian. Its small form allowed for agile movement, and its rapid tendril strikes made short work of any approaching clone. But it too began to sense the tide turning.
Gu Mian beat its wings, sending a burst of glittering scales into the air. These quickly filled the forest space. The moment any of Artcheli’s falling clones touched the dust, they were instantly plunged into sleep and vanished upon hitting the ground.
Within moments, the wave of clones had been cleared. Just as Gu Mian began searching for Artcheli’s real body, a new anomaly erupted.
Shadows—twisted and malformed—burst from the upper treetop canopies, clinging to the tree trunks and rushing downward like liquid darkness, flooding the forest floor.
The injured pseudo-moths, still recovering from their earlier wounds, were just about to lift off again when the shadows reached the ground and transformed into dozens of long shadow-spikes, thrusting toward the pseudo-moths' own shadows.
In the Dreamscape, pseudo-moths were physical entities and thus cast shadows. Although the light here came from faint sources, the shadow cast by their prone forms was distinct enough.
The instant their shadows were pierced, their huge bodies erupted with massive puncture wounds—as if they’d been simultaneously impaled by dozens of spears. Both pseudo-moths let out shrill, agonized screeches and collapsed to the ground in agony.
While some shadows had attacked the pseudo-moths, others had begun targeting Gu Mian. However, since Gu Mian was airborne—and the Dreamscape lacked any singular, strong light source—it did not cast a distinct shadow while aloft, making it difficult for Artcheli’s shadows to strike directly.
But Artcheli wasn’t aiming for Gu Mian’s shadow this time.
Instead, the spike-like shadows gathered on the ground and the surfaces of nearby giant trees below Gu Mian began to rise. Detached from their anchoring surfaces, the shadows transformed into solid, pitch-black “shadow spikes,” thrusting toward Gu Mian suspended mid-air.
Shifting from two-dimensional to three-dimensional, the shadowy spikes grew like slender branches—rapidly extending upward from the shadow-covered surfaces. These spikes were extremely fine, twisting and turning as they stretched through the narrowest gaps between the airborne dust and Gu Mian’s glittering scale powder. They converged on Gu Mian in a barrage from all directions, striking at every blind spot—leaving it nowhere to flee.
Seeing this, Gu Mian wrapped itself in its wings to defend against the onslaught. Though the sharp spikes struck its cocooned form, they failed to pierce its wings and instead pinned it in place, immobilizing it.
In that moment, Gu Mian grasped the nature of Artcheli’s abilities.
“This is... a Realm-Invasion type ability? So that’s how you’re able to use powers within the Dreamscape…”
Shielded by its wings, Gu Mian analyzed the situation. The truth was simple: Artcheli’s shadow powers originated from a separate inner realm. In the waking world, she could channel this realm’s power through shadows to interfere with the material world—essentially using her shadows as gateways.
While most mystical powers involved inner realms to some degree, Artcheli’s reliance was unusually high. In the waking world, she channeled her inner realm into the present; here in the Dreamscape, she was simply channeling it into another realm. It was still the same process of intrusion—only into a different layer of reality.
This kind of ability would normally be countered by decree-based laws like Anna’s judgment incantations, but it worked exceptionally well in other inner realms—especially in the Dreamscape. In the real world, Artcheli often needed to bolster her power using Lanterns and other tools to strengthen her shadow realm’s connection. But in the Dreamscape—a realm much closer in “distance” to her inner realm than the waking world—she could channel its power far more easily, without relying on a light source to create strong shadows.
This proximity to the dreamscape was precisely why Artcheli dared to challenge Gu Mian on its own turf.
“Troublesome... A Saint of the Church... Even in the Dreamscape, defeating her won’t be easy. Even if I manage it, the cost may be too steep…”
“In that case... I’ll have to move on to the backup plan…”
Still encased in its wings, Gu Mian reached out a hand. With a glimmer of light, two shards of broken black jade appeared in its palm.
Meanwhile, the shadow spikes embedded in Gu Mian’s wings began to change. They rapidly flattened and spread like ink, seeping across the surface of its resplendent wings. The three-dimensional spikes reverted into a two-dimensional film, adhering tightly to the moth-like wings.
Then they began to slither—flowing along the creases and folds of the wings, ignoring physical obstacles, creeping inward. They seemed to be attempting to breach Gu Mian’s defense by penetrating from within.
Trapped inside its own defensive cocoon, Gu Mian had no way to escape.
Realizing the danger, it abruptly spread its wings and tore them off, discarding them entirely to avoid being engulfed by Artcheli’s shadows.
Yet Artcheli did not relent. The shadows clinging to the severed wings quickly reformed into a solid black silhouette in mid-air—a pitch-black clone of Artcheli—which immediately slashed down toward Gu Mian with a sword.
At that moment, the light on Gu Mian’s jade fragments abruptly dimmed.
And then, something Artcheli hadn’t anticipated occurred.
A vast white mist suddenly surged across the forest floor, completely engulfing her field of vision. A dense fog filled the world around her, obscuring everything. Gu Mian vanished into it.
In shadow form, Artcheli slashed toward where Gu Mian had been—but struck only air. There was nothing left in the misty whiteness. No figure. No sign. Only fog.
She landed back on the ground and immediately raised her guard, scanning the surroundings for an ambush. But to her surprise, her senses revealed nothing—not even a trace of Gu Mian or the injured pseudo-moths.
“This fog… What is it?”
She thought tensely as she stayed alert. As the head of the Church’s Court of Secrets, Artcheli had an exceptional sense of direction—but now, she was overwhelmed by a strong sense of disorientation. She couldn’t make sense of her surroundings at all. It was the first time she had experienced anything like this.
The thick white fog and faint silhouettes of colossal trees around her reminded her of an image shown to her days earlier by the Queen of Night Sky—a vision of a giant cocoon enveloped in forest fog. The fog now surrounding her felt eerily similar.
“Something’s wrong… I can’t stay here…”
Recognizing the danger, Artcheli decided to abandon her mission to kill or capture the Blackdream Hunting Pack’s leader or recover Harold. She prepared to exit the Dreamscape.
For her, traversing between realms was normally a simple matter.
She activated her power—her form flickered—and she vanished from her spot.
Yet when she reappeared…
She was still surrounded by white mist.
Opening her eyes again, she found herself still amidst the fog and faint outlines of giant trees.
“What…?”
She muttered in disbelief, eyes widening. She had clearly executed her return to the waking world—so why was she still here?
Uneasy, Artcheli attempted the return once more. Her figure faded, only to reappear again—still within the same misty realm.
She had changed locations… but not left. She was still trapped inside this blanketed dream.
Her face darkened. She tried again. And again. Each time, the result was the same.
Even when she tried shifting into the inner realm her power was drawn from—she emerged in the fog once more.
At this point, Artcheli realized a terrifying truth:
Any attempt at "travel"—even spatial transfers—would end with her looping back into the fog. This mist didn’t just disorient; it severed all escape routes. Even realm traversal couldn’t overcome it.
She had been lost.
Trapped in the fog. Trapped in the Dreamscape.
“This fog… It was created by the power of a god…”
Standing still in the blank whiteness, Artcheli grimly concluded. She could no longer return to the waking world through her own power.
This level of fog—capable of concealing all orientation, even disrupting realm travel—could only have been forged by divine power.
“Fog of the Dream God…? And it had to happen now… Is this one of their plans? Why has such a dangerous area suddenly emerged in the Dreamscape? We’ve never received any intel suggesting the Dream God was stirring…”
“And how did the Blackdream members hide this fog until now? How did they escape through it?”
Looking around at the thick mist, anxiety welled up within Artcheli. It was now impossible for her to escape on her own. All she could do was wait for reinforcements.
Fortunately, she had subordinates waiting in the waking world. If she failed to return for long enough, they would surely report to Holy Mount. Among the relics left behind by the Holy See, there were tools that could help locate and rescue her—provided the other Cardinals were willing to act.
In any case, Pritt’s corruption needed to be reported to Holy Mount anyway. Once the Cardinals were notified, they might mobilize. They wouldn’t just rescue her—they would take full control of the heavily corrupted Despenser royal family.
With Prince Harold of the Serenity Bureau already fallen so deeply, who knew how far the rot had spread?
Once the Cardinals arrived—from Charles IV down to the lowliest nobles—none of them would escape judgment. This World Expo would likely be shut down entirely.
Such were Artcheli’s thoughts as she let out a faint sigh. Then, she resumed cautiously exploring her surroundings, seeking a way out, and waiting for her fellow Cardinals to arrive in Tivian.