Dreamscape, the Forest.
Within the deep reaches of the phantasmal forest, countless towering ancient trees stretched into the unseen distance. Their thick canopies intertwined, obscuring the sky, forming a verdant firmament of leaves. Beneath this leafy dome, the root-entrenched grasslands sprawled endlessly, where brilliantly colored exotic flowers gently swayed in a barely perceptible breeze.
From the treetop canopy above, shafts of light pierced downward. Clusters of white dream cocoons hung from the boughs, and from within them, countless iridescent bubbles floated between the trees.
“It feels like... the Dreamscape’s condition has been much better lately…”
Beneath one of the towering trees, Dorothy stood in her humanoid form, clad in everyday attire. Standing on the lush grass, she scanned her surroundings with thoughtful eyes before speaking.
“Thanks to Her Excellency’s blessing, the Holy Cocoon is gradually returning to health. The power of the Moth is swiftly fading, and the Butterfly is peacefully growing within the cocoon. Under the Butterfly’s influence, the Dreamscape is becoming increasingly tranquil…”
At her feet, a black cat replied respectfully. Dorothy nodded slightly, then curiously followed up.
“Because of the Butterfly’s influence? Then it seems she’s doing quite well. How long until she emerges?”
“I don’t think it’ll be long. The metamorphosis within the Holy Cocoon is nearly complete. In the best-case scenario, four or five decades; at most, a little over a century… the Butterfly will break free and take wing.”
The black cat continued respectfully. Upon hearing this, Dorothy furrowed her brows slightly.
“Four or five decades at the minimum… That feels like a long time. I’m not sure if I’ll still be around by then…”
She murmured thoughtfully. At that moment, a clear, slightly tentative voice spoke from beside her.
“By the way… Miss Scholar—um, Your Excellency… I haven’t seen Lord Paarthurnax around lately. I went to the Dragon Territory several times, but he wasn’t there…”
From her other side, a small white fox asked timidly. Dorothy responded plainly.
“Paarthurnax has completed his primary mission in the Dreamscape. He’s gone to other realms to fulfill a new task. He won’t be returning for a while.”
“Oh… I see. Thank you, Your Excellency… Without Lord Paarthurnax or Black Dog around, dreams have been really boring lately…”
The little fox drooped her ears and sounded a bit dejected. Dorothy sighed softly at the sight, then looked back to the black cat.
“Can you pinpoint it accurately?”
“Please give me a moment…”
The black cat closed its eyes and focused. After a brief silence, the space before them began to ripple. The distortion intensified, and a circular portal manifested midair, quickly expanding. Before long, a Dreamscape portal shimmered into existence before the three.
“Astonishing… Even with just a surface-level imitation, the dream anchor perfectly recreated its mystical properties and linked precisely to the intended location. A truly masterful craft…”
The black cat marveled at the portal, while Dorothy only gave a slight shrug, silently thinking, “You should know who crafted this.”
“Let’s go.”
With a quiet command, Dorothy stepped into the glowing portal, followed by the black cat and the little white fox.
Upon entering, a wave of disorientation passed over Dorothy’s vision. When it cleared, she realized the scenery had changed—still forest, but clearly not the same as before.
“This is it…”
The black cat said calmly as he emerged behind her. Not far away, suspended from a thick branch, hung a single white dream cocoon. At a glance, it looked no different from the others in the forest—but this one was their target.
“So this is… the dream cocoon of the one behind Luer…?”
Dorothy’s mind recalled her clash with the Crimson Eucharist in Igwynt. Just then, the black cat leapt onto the cocoon and began sniffing along its surface.
“Grandpa… can you tell anything?” the little fox asked curiously.
“There’s not much visible from outside. But I can confirm that barely any thought-bubbles are forming from within. Most likely, this is the dream cocoon of a trained Beyonder. We’ll have to go inside to learn more.”
As he spoke, the black cat tapped the cocoon’s surface with a paw. A black slit split open the cocoon.
“This… might belong to a high-ranking Beyonder. If they notice us… Grandpa, can you handle it?” the little fox asked anxiously.
“Don’t worry. Within this dream, even if I don’t reach Crimson-rank… I can still deal with Gold-rank Beyonders just fine. Come now, Your Excellency.”
With that, the black cat dove into the opening. The fox quickly followed, and Dorothy, after one last glance around, entered as well.
Inside the cocoon, Dorothy felt herself plummeting through darkness. Eventually, she landed on solid ground. As the gloom gave way to dim illumination, a grotesque scene unfolded—so startling that the fox at her feet leapt back in fright.
“Ah! What is this…?”
It was a dim, spacious room. A few torches on the walls provided faint light. In the center stood a large, battered wooden table, upon which lay a grisly tableau: rows of neatly sliced meat, some still attached to pale skin, glistening wet under the firelight. Next to them was a pile of shredded organs. Blood seeped from meat and entrails alike, coating the table and dripping into the rough stone cracks below.
A large butcher block sat nearby, with saws and knives scattered atop it. Chains dangled overhead, suspending various human limbs—fingers mangled and incomplete. There were also bisected torsos. In the corner, a pile of bloodstained bones lay stacked. The air was thick with the stench of blood. Cockroaches scurried across the tabletop, and rats squeaked from the corners.
“D-Disgusting… what is this place…” the fox whimpered, fur standing on end as she huddled against Dorothy.
The black cat, now surveying the scene solemnly, spoke.
“This resembles a human slaughterhouse. Typically, only factions aligned with the Afterbirth Cult would maintain such places… Is the dreamer a member of that cult?”
“Indeed… and quite the picky one at that.”
Dorothy responded while scanning the details. From many subtle signs, she deduced that most of the victims here were female.
“So then… how shall we address such a butcher, one who has committed so much slaughter? Won’t you come introduce yourself?”
As she spoke, Dorothy gazed toward the far side of the room, where a small round table and a chair sat before a hearth. A plump figure hunched over the table, back turned to them, seemingly busy with something. Upon hearing Dorothy’s voice, he paused, then slowly turned around.
His face was bloated and round, smeared with blood, and he looked momentarily stunned—then delighted.
“Ah… guests…”
Dressed in outdated noble attire, the fat man rose and waddled over, carrying a large tray. He came before them with a grin and revealed the bloody contents.
“Come, come—have a taste. I just sliced this. It’s fresh. Don’t let it go to waste, dear guests…”
With a twisted, blood-smeared smile, the man generously offered his “meal.” The fox recoiled in terror, stumbling back. The black cat, stern and cold, interjected.
“We don’t want that. Put it down—and introduce yourself.”
“Ah… you don’t want it? Such a pity. Perhaps it wasn’t fresh enough? I could carve up something new for you…”
“I said no! Put it down now, and introduce yourself.”
The black cat snapped firmly. The man, finally complying, set the platter back on the table and gave a courteous bow.
“You may call me Borgst… a connoisseur of fine cuisine, ever awaiting guests of refined taste. My great master has entrusted me with a task—to share my menu with such guests…”
“By my command. Introduce yourself properly. That includes your origin, affiliations, rank… I don’t want to hear another word of nonsense.”
The black cat continued to speak sternly, his expression growing more composed and severe. The master of this dream, it seemed, was not fully submitting to the control of his ability—failing to provide the precise information he demanded. With renewed intensity, the black cat reinforced his command, but the reply still failed to meet his expectations.
“So the guest wishes to hear that much... then I must prepare a fine banquet to accompany our conversation. Please, allow me to set a proper table for our tasteful discussion,” said the man who called himself Borgst in an airy tone.
Upon hearing this, the little fox finally realized that something was wrong.
“Wait... this guy has no intention of following Grandpa’s instructions. He’s actually resisting the hypnosis within his own dream?!”
Shocked, the fox heightened her vigilance. At the same time, the black cat’s eyes glinted as he once more addressed Borgst, voice sharp and commanding.
“Do nothing else. Answer my question. Now!”
This time, his tone was even more forceful, and his hypnosis carried far greater strength, pressing Borgst to comply. But the man merely curled his lips into an eerie smile and replied again.
“Why the rush, dear guest... I have longed to meet you all day and night… waited here for so long. Now that you’ve finally arrived, how could I not offer the grandest feast in your honor?”
Hearing this, the little fox bristled again, disbelief in her voice.
“You said… you’ve been waiting for us? Anticipating our arrival?”
“Indeed… for only when you come… can I be freed… from within the belly of my great master…”
Borgst’s cryptic words echoed in the chamber. But the black cat’s patience had already run dry. The light in his eyes flared dramatically as he launched a mental assault, attempting to extract the information he sought directly from the dream.
Under this forced intrusion, Borgst’s body wavered, nearly collapsing. His eyes, now glowing too, widened in a dazed shout.
“Ah… guest… you are a powerful Dream Thief… you seek something from me? But you cannot take it—not a thing…
“For everything I am already belongs to Him… My Master… the Eternal Devourer… no one can steal from within His belly…”
His shouts rang hollow and trance-like. Upon hearing that name, the black cat froze, and softly echoed it back.
“...The Eternal Devourer…”
The room began to tremble.
The flames in the torches quivered violently. Shadows cast upon the walls began twisting, morphing rapidly until they coalesced into the form of a massive beast. It gaped wide in greedy hunger, as if ready to devour the shadows of Dorothy, the black cat, and the little fox entirely.
“A wolf!?” the fox cried out.
“This dream is under my dominion! Begone!”
The black cat roared, unleashing his power throughout the space. In an instant, the terrifying shadow-wolf shattered into fragments, dispersed by the sheer force of his voice.
“Amazing, Grandpa!”
The fox cheered, but her celebration was short-lived. Another change surged through the scene: the entire room began to quake violently.
“What...?”
Cracks spread across the walls, and with a deafening crash, both ceiling and walls collapsed. The black cat shielded them with a burst of force, but they were still engulfed by the swirling dust and debris.
When the dust finally settled, a completely different scene unfolded before their eyes.
Above them stretched a pitch-black sky, torn by shrieking winds. Beneath it, the scarlet land rolled in hills and mounds—not of earth, but of flesh-streaked, crimson-stained bones, stacked grotesquely high. These macabre hills extended into the distance, until they vanished at a far-off horizon glowing with ominous red light.
But neither the black cat nor the fox focused on the scenery. Their stunned gazes were fixed forward, at a titanic figure towering above them.
A black hound—huge, indistinct, and vaguely spectral—stood like a mountain over the field of bones. Its stature reached nearly to the clouds. Against it, the great hills appeared utterly insignificant. Dark red sigils crawled across its body. The beast had five enormous heads, each glaring down with blood-hued malice, eyes filled with contempt for the ants below.
“Don’t look up, Saria… This is... the will of the Gluttonous Wolf! Aagh!!”
“Grandpa… I’m scared… what is that… so scary…”
The black cat’s eyes bled as he screamed in agony and squeezed them shut. He had looked—looked directly into the gaze of that divine wolf. Saria, warned just in time, avoided the beast’s stare, but even without eye contact, the crushing fear that radiated from above made her tremble uncontrollably. Were it not for the faint purple glow encircling them both, their minds would have shattered instantly.
“Ah… my Lord… great Starving Wolf… you see now, don’t you? They’ve finally come for me from within the dream…
“Devour them… grant me release… just as You promised…”
Borgst, delirious and ecstatic, opened his arms wide toward the monstrous wolf. The five massive heads sneered and responded in turn.
“Wretched…”
“Vermin…”
“Devour…”
“Reveal…”
“Secrets…”
Each word fell like a curse. Then one of the heads lowered and opened its maw, revealing teeth like jagged mountains and a throat as vast as an abyss. It lunged at the group, mouth wide to consume black cat, fox, and Borgst alike.
The black cat and Saria dared not even raise their heads. Borgst, meanwhile, welcomed the jaws as if in rapture.
BOOM!!!
Suddenly, a violent thunderclap tore through the world. A flash of blinding white lightning split the heavens, striking the open jaws of the wolf’s head. Blazing arcs engulfed it, followed by an echoing, agonized howl.
“Awooooo!!!”
The beast convulsed in pain, reeling back before collapsing onto the bloodied ground. The shock shook the earth—bone hills crumbled, triggering an avalanche of red debris.
“What… was that? It sounded like thunder…”
“No way… The Gluttonous Wolf’s will, defeated?!”
The terrifying pressure lifted. Both the black cat and Saria opened their eyes, breathless with astonishment. Seeing the beast felled in the distance, the black cat murmured in disbelief.
Borgst, too, shouted in horror.
“My Lord!!!”
“I see… as the mentor of Luer, you’ve already been devoured by the Gluttonous Wolf. It didn’t fully digest your mind. It kept you—left you inside Him, fused with His will.
“That means anyone who enters your dream cocoon will ultimately fall into the Wolf’s domain, face the will of a god… and be crushed without mercy. For beasts like you, that’s quite the setup…”
A calm voice echoed from behind Borgst. He stiffened and turned around in shock—only to see a silver-haired girl standing silently before him.
“You… who are you…?”
“Me? I’m…”
Just as Dorothy was about to answer, a piercing howl rang across the sky. The downed wolf was back on its feet, its five heads glaring murderously forward. The one struck by lightning had fully regenerated.
“ROAR!!!”
All five heads howled together, shaking the heavens. And in answer to their call, countless blood-red demon wolves—dozens of meters tall—emerged from the bone hills, an endless tide that stretched to the horizon.
As one, the pack charged toward Dorothy’s group, fangs bared and claws outstretched, seeking to tear apart every living thing.
Dorothy herself made no movement. But when a violet gleam flashed across her eyes, thunder roared once more from the sky. Countless bolts of lightning rained down, forming a massive electrified lattice that encircled Dorothy and her companions in a shining web of power.
The blood wolves surged forward—only to be vaporized the moment they touched the grid, turned to ash by the arcs of lightning. No matter how many there were, none could penetrate the cage to reach their prey.
Seeing this, the five-headed wolf roared again. It lunged forward, all five mouths gnashing against the barrier. Each bite turned its heads to scorched cinders—yet each head rapidly regenerated anew.
Witnessing the gluttonous wolf rapidly breaching the electric net, Dorothy’s expression remained composed. She took no action to reinforce the lightning barrier and instead calmly responded to Borgst’s earlier question.
“I… am the Scribe of Thunder's Trace…”
With Dorothy’s declaration, the ground trembled anew. The piled mass of blood-red bones beneath her feet began to tumble outward. From within the mound, a colossal structure rapidly rose—prompting shock from both the little fox and the black cat.
“What is that? A monolith? Or a throne?”
“No… it’s more than that… Something else is beneath it!”
A towering stele inscribed with ancient glyphs rose from the sea of bones, and beneath it was an age-worn throne that defied proportion. The tremors didn’t cease. Beneath the throne, a massive pyramid-shaped foundation emerged, expanding outward and sweeping away the sea of blood-soaked remains.
“A throne…”
Borgst collapsed to his knees upon the increasingly vast pyramid base, staring up toward the peak—where the silver-haired girl now stood before the monumental throne. Her voice remained steady and dignified.
“I am the Reader of Ancient Scripts…”
“I am the Weaver of Fate…”
With each proclamation, Dorothy’s voice deepened. Her girlish tone transformed into a neutral resonance that seemed to pierce the soul. At the same time, her attire shifted—an elegant, flowing robe of deep violet now adorned her body, its surface rippling with ever-shifting script like the pages of a living tome. Her figure grew taller, the robe’s hood settling over her head, casting her face into total shadow—completely obscured from view.
Though Dorothy appeared to address Borgst, her true declaration was aimed at the monstrous wolf still advancing. She had spoken three titles already—two more remained unspoken, yet even this partial revelation was enough to suppress the Gluttonous Wolf.
As her declaration concluded and the Throne of Fate rose fully, the vast Dreamscape began to change.
The bloody corpse-laden ground beneath them rapidly transformed into a sea of scripts, the skeletal debris shifting into glyphs that flowed outward from the throne. These characters spread in every direction, eventually replacing the red terrain entirely.
From the newly formed sea of scripts, countless monsters emerged. With gnashing jaws and writhing tendrils, they dragged the endless tide of blood wolves beneath the surface, erasing them without a trace.
Now bereft of its minions, the five-headed wolf finally broke through the lightning net. It howled and lunged toward the towering throne—but at that moment, a massive apparition materialized above the Throne of Fate.
Scales like granite, thorn-like backspikes, wide wings, razor talons… a dragon—larger even than the five-headed wolf—descended from above. With a mighty dive, it opened its colossal maw.
“—FUS—RO—DAH—!”
The thunderous blast that erupted was louder than any storm. Ancient words summoned immense power. A shockwave slammed into the wolf, sending it hurtling from its ascent and crashing into the sea of runes. The dragon followed immediately after, pinning the wolf beneath its massive weight.
“It’s Lord Paarthurnax!”
Seeing this, the little fox leapt and cheered from atop the platform. But the battle was not yet over.
The symbols composing the sea of scripts surged toward the fallen wolf, flooding across its massive form. Glyphs poured into its many eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouths. The wolf howled again in agony.
Standing before the monolith throne, Dorothy gazed coldly at the struggling beast and spoke with quiet indifference.
“This is not your domain. In this Dreamscape, all your resistance is futile… little mutt.”
Her insult landed with surgical cruelty. The suppressed five-headed wolf began thrashing violently. Yet no matter how it struggled, it could not escape the dragon’s crushing grasp, and eventually, its roar became one of unwilling defeat.
“Rrrraaargh!!”
Its massive form grew increasingly translucent, until finally vanishing altogether—leaving only its angry, unwilling roar echoing through the void.
With the wolf gone, the red glow on the horizon quickly faded. The sky, once pitch-black, now shimmered with starlight. Under that cosmic gleam, the wolf’s divine influence dissipated.
“The will of the Gluttonous Wolf… has faded… He actually couldn’t overcome… you…”
The black cat murmured in disbelief, now gazing at Dorothy with even deeper reverence. Dorothy, in turn, responded softly.
“At least in this dream… I can easily defeat Him.”
Her voice, still low and androgynous, carried quiet conviction. Though the Gluttonous Wolf was a complete deity, the Dreamscape was Dorothy’s domain. Having inherited most of the divinity of Heaven’s Arbiter and now seated upon the Throne of Fate, she could completely overpower the wolf’s will here. After all, the Gluttonous Wolf was more aligned with the material realm.
“I see… but, Your Excellency—you’re the Night Sky’s divine descendant, aren’t you? This kind of Revelation authority… how did you…”
The black cat questioned further, confused. But Dorothy didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her gaze toward another figure—Borgst, their target.
“Ah… the wolf… my Lord… where are you? I can’t feel You anymore… O wolf… where have You gone… please forgive me… please grant me redemption for my sins…”
Still kneeling atop the base of the pyramid, Borgst gazed blankly at the starry sky. His mind clearly broken, he searched for the Gluttonous Wolf in vain.
“So… He just spat this guy’s will out to avoid my memetic contamination?”
Dorothy analyzed the situation inwardly. Their encounter with the Gluttonous Wolf had happened because Borgst had been swallowed, and his will fused into the god’s own. By entering Borgst’s dream, they had entered the god’s as well. The Wolf had likely left part of Borgst’s will intact on purpose—so that anyone entering his dream would end up confronting the divine will.
But after being defeated, the Wolf couldn’t risk Dorothy corrupting Him with memetic contamination. The best solution was to sever the connection by ejecting Borgst’s spirit altogether. Since Dorothy had accessed the Wolf’s mind through Borgst, expelling him severed that link.
“That mutt really spat him out fast. Who knows if he scattered pieces of his domain all over in the process—probably left the Mother of Chalice to clean up the mess…”
She mused silently. The grand robe she wore faded from her body, her stature shrinking until her usual girlish form returned. She refocused on Borgst.
“More and more mysteries wrapped around this guy… With his current state of mind, questioning him directly would be tedious. So… let’s do this instead…”
With a casual wave of her hand, the dazed Borgst’s body began to fracture, glowing cracks spreading across him. From within burst streams of purple light.
“Ugh… the wolf…”
With a stumble and wide-eyed gaze, Borgst suddenly shattered—his form dissolving into fluttering pages of illusionary paper that hovered midair, then assembled neatly before Dorothy.
“His spirit… was fully datafied…”
The black cat whispered gravely. He understood exactly what Dorothy was doing—she had decomposed Borgst’s spirit into fragmented information, allowing her to read it like a library.
Dorothy prepared to read. But as she scanned the phantom pages, she suddenly paused.
One page stood out—it was strange. Countless faces flickered rapidly across its surface.
She drew it out, floating it before her for closer inspection. The flickering faces were almost all female. And in one flashing instant, she spotted a familiar one.
“Darlene…”
She murmured with deep interest. Activating her power once more, she watched as the phantom pages began to reassemble—quickly reshaping themselves into a new human form.
Unlike the grotesque Borgst, what now appeared was entirely different.
“Eh? It’s a beautiful lady now… What’s going on?”
The little fox blinked, staring curiously at the elegant, dazed woman in a gown. But the black cat answered with a solemn tone.
“This man’s spirit… it contains the wills of others… and not just one or two…”
Gazing at the dazed woman before her, Dorothy’s expression turned grave. She spoke again in her original voice.
“You’re… Adèle Briouze’s mentor, Darlene?”
“I am… and I am not… I am a part… but not the whole…”
The woman with Darlene’s face responded to Dorothy. Her voice seemed to contain countless overlapping tones, a chorus of many female voices speaking at once.
“What exactly are you?”
Dorothy pressed on, and the woman continued in a dazed voice.
“I am… we are… fragments of will and memory… lingering desires in flesh, gathered into a chaotic consciousness… desperate… to reverse a dire fate…”
“Explain your existence more precisely. How exactly were you born?”
Dorothy questioned further. The woman fell silent for a moment, then finally replied after careful thought.
“I am… we are… the desires left in the flesh of the Flower Mistress’s followers… The Beast King’s servants once scoured the continent to hunt and capture the surviving followers of the Flower Goddess, to seize their sacred relics, devour their bodies… and torment their minds…
“This spiritual vessel—Borgst, the Dread Devourer Direwolf—was the lead hunter in this massacre. He was obsessed with us, the Desire Dancers… with our flesh, rich in both spirituality and longing. He craved us more than any devourer ever could. He was addicted to our flavor, desiring to savor us completely, from top to bottom…”
The woman spoke in a hollow daze. Hearing her words, the little fox shivered, while Dorothy’s expression twitched slightly as she recalled the sight of the hanging female limbs in Borgst’s dream chamber.
“Why was the Wolfblood Society hunting you all across the land?”
Dorothy asked next, and the woman responded, her voice echoing with layered resonance.
“To fulfill the Mother of Chalice’s orders—to seek the treasure preserved by the Flower Mistress… a precious legacy once passed down from the Mother of Abundance… held in secret by a branch of the Flowery Order… intended one day to be used as a weapon against the Mother of Chalice… and She coveted it as well.
“Borgst… was the Wolf Lair’s foremost hunter in this mission. The entire Afterbirth Cult’s three sects supported him to scour the land, hunting us down. Although retrieving the treasure was his primary goal, Borgst became obsessed with our taste during the hunt. Wherever he went, every Desire Dancer was devoured. Even those captured by other direwolves were stolen by him to be feasted upon. He devoured more of us than any other, many times over…
“The Flowery Order was forced into seclusion across hidden sanctums. Yet somehow, the Wolf Lair discovered our shelters and eliminated them one by one…
“One day… Borgst finally succeeded. At a seaside Flower Temple, while gnawing on a Flower Priestess, he discovered the sacred treasure—a mystical text passed down from the Abundance Church. After years of hunting, he had finally completed his mission… fulfilling the will of the Beast King and the Mother of Chalice alike.”
The woman murmured softly. Dorothy, as if guessing something, followed up seriously.
“But… Borgst didn’t hand over the text, did he?”
“He didn’t? But why? Wasn’t that his entire mission?”
The little fox asked curiously, and the woman with Darlene’s face responded in that same dazed tone.
“Because… by then, Borgst… couldn’t bear to give up our flavor anymore…
“To hand over the mystical text meant the hunt would end. He would no longer have the full backing of the cult to scour the land for Flower Sanctums… he would cease being a hunter, and with that, lose his steady supply of us…
“Borgst, the chief hunter of the Wolf Lair, had become addicted to our taste. So the moment he held the mystical text, he hesitated. He feared that once the mission ended, he’d never savor us again. He believed there must still be more Flower Sanctums out there. To stop before devouring them all would be… wasteful.”
The woman spoke slowly, and Dorothy then remarked frankly.
“But a mere moment of hesitation isn’t enough to make a Crimson-rank Beyonder take such a reckless risk… You all must have had a hand in it.”
“Exactly so.”
The woman nodded, then elaborated.
“What dwelled within our flesh wasn’t just spirituality… but desire. A spirit’s strength is not only in the mind—but also in the body… because we were Beyonders of Chalice and Revelation both.
“Borgst, by devouring our flesh, was also consuming our desires, our thoughts. Though each morsel offered only a trace of spirit, he ate far too much… The thoughts of countless victims accumulated and grew inside him—and thus, I… we… were born.
“We hid deep within Borgst’s mind, concealing ourselves to the utmost. We knew our weakness and acted with great caution—only in the most critical moment would we intervene. When Borgst found the mystical text, that was our moment…
“At that exact moment, as he hesitated, we secretly intensified his desire—his hunger for our flesh. And in that moment, he chose not to submit the text… so he could feast a little longer on the Desire Dancers.”
The woman spoke in a gentle, drifting tone. Her surreal tale left both the fox and the black cat frozen. Dorothy, however, already seemed to anticipate what came next.
“And then, you found a way to get the mystical text sent away anyway?”
“Yes… It was a subtle manipulation of Borgst’s psyche… Once he decided to keep the text, he was immediately filled with fear. He worried someone in the Wolf Lair, perhaps a higher-up, might sense the artifact’s presence. He feared the divine intuition of his god might pass over the lair and expose him. Yet he couldn’t bear to destroy the text. He planned to savor the Desire Dancers to his fill, then offer it later as a tribute. His reluctance to let go was so firm, even we couldn’t shake it…
“Heh… Under our influence, it never even occurred to him that he could just use the text as an offering to convince the cult to keep letting him eat Desire Dancers...”
The woman gave a soft chuckle. Dorothy could hear a trace of pride in her tone.
“So, we guided his thoughts—to find someone to safeguard the text, promising to retrieve it later. Borgst didn’t trust anyone in the cult, so he randomly picked a nearby mortal, quickly elevated him to the same Beyonder path, made him a loyal admirer, and entrusted him with the text.
“Oh… and when Borgst gave the text to his little lackey, we intervened again—tinkering with his mind to make him anxious about ‘what if something happened’ to that underling. That made him hand over his precious cane along with the text.
“During the exchange, we greatly amplified his tension, making him agitated and rushed. His words became muddled, his instructions unclear. He told the lackey: ‘I’ll give you a treasure, keep it safe, and return it to me someday.’ But his urgency made him forget to describe what the treasure looked like… what it was… what it did…
“Heh… So in the end, under our manipulation, Borgst handed over both the cane and the text—without ever making clear which one was the real treasure. The lackey assumed the weapon was the treasure meant to protect him, and the text was just some trivial add-on…
“Our goal was simple: since Borgst wouldn’t give up the mystical text, we’d trick him into thinking he had placed it somewhere safe. And that mortal, thinking it unimportant, would eventually discard it—letting it sink into the sea of worldly dust, far from the Afterbirth Cult… far from the Blood Chalice…”
“After that,” the woman continued, “we stayed hidden deep in Borgst’s mind, minimizing our power. We watched as he devoured more and more of our kin, trying to secretly aid some when possible. And from within the Afterbirth Cult, we observed their schemes—especially the plan to target the Flower Mistress’s place of slumber… the Fragrant Cradle…
“We had hoped to remain hidden in Borgst, using him to continue our work from inside the cult. But fate had other plans. One day, the truth came to light—Borgst’s betrayal was uncovered. In terror and accompanied only by our whispers, he faced the wrath of the Wolf God.”
As the woman finished, Dorothy’s eyes widened faintly in surprise. Everything she had just heard was immensely valuable—but one detail in particular stood out above the rest.
“The Flower Mistress’s place of slumber… the Flower Goddess… She’s not dead!”