Arwyn froze for a moment, processing the information that Nathaniel gave to him.

And after, he chuckled.

“The hell is a Dream Sketcher?”

Nathaniel pointed to Arwyn’s hand with a smirk.

“Draw almost anything, then after you finish your drawing, you slam it with your same hand.” He put his hands back in the pockets of his pants. “Imagine transferring your energy to your same hand as you slam it, and it’ll come to reality.”

“Yeah, slamming after drawing and then–” He realized, just a second after the words came in his mind.

“You can draw almost everthing?!”

He quickly rushed back to is room and grabbed his sketchbook, filled with drawings of models of his made-up swords and guns.

Arwyn ran back to the living area, pencil in hand. He dropped his sketchbook and put on an arrogant smile, glancing at Nathaniel for the last time. “Alright then. Let’s put that to the test, shall we?"

Arwyn’s pencil flew across the page. His lines were sharp as he sketched. Spiky hair, the cocky grin, the infamous gi he’d seen a thousand times in manga panels.

Nathaniel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow creeping upward.

“Kid, what’re you—?”

“Shut up, I’m cooking,” Arwyn snapped, shading the Kamehameha wave blazing in Goku’s palms. “You said anything, right? Watch this.”

He slammed his hand on the sketch, Passion Energy surging through his fingertips. The paper glowed–

—and the drawing twitched.

For half a second, Goku’s eyes flickered to life, ink bleeding into color.

“What the–! It’s moving! It’s moving! Oh my goodness! It’s moving–”

Then the edges curled, and the figure collapsed into ash and static.

Silence.

“Wh– huh?”

Nathaniel burst out laughing.

“The hell?!” Arwyn kicked the sketchbook. “You said anything!”

“I said ALMOST anything,” Nathaniel wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You really thought you’d just… manifest a copyrighted anime character? That’s your big play?”

Arwyn flushed. “You didn’t say there were rules!”

“Rule one: Draw only from your type of sketching.” Nathaniel flicked the ashes of Goku’s remains off the table. “You’re a Manifestor Sketcher. You draw objects, not people. Dream Sketching’s about your imagination, not Akira Toriyama’s. Try again, genius.”

Arwyn glared at the smudged page. “So… what, I gotta make my own overpowered thing as a… ‘Manifestor whatever’?”

Nathaniel smirked. “Bingo. Objects only. Unless you wanna get sued by a dead guy’s lawyer.”

He groaned, scribbling out Goku’s smoldering corpse. “This power’s trash.”

“Nah, you’re just basic. You don’t know how to use it.” Nathaniel tossed him a fresh pencil. “Now draw something that’s yours. And PLEASE. For the love of God, don’t make it a sword. Everyone starts with swords.”

Arwyn hesitated, then grinned. “Fine. If this doesn’t work, you’re buying me ramen.”

Nathaniel snorted. “Deal. But I pick the toppings.”

So, he scribbled once again. He didn’t draw a sword, but rather he drew a gun. A Glock to be exact.

“You’re drawing… a gun now?”

Arwyn smirked, not sparing him a glance. “You got a problem?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “If your dad sees you holding a gun, don’t blame me for that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He continued scribbling, almost done.

He didn’t miss out on anything. He knew how the gun worked, nailing every piece the gun needed.

As he finished the drawing, he sighed.

Nathaniel leaned more against the wall. “...Okay, so first you try to commit copyright infringement, and now you’re making a… Glock? I swear...”

Arwyn ignored him. He was too focused on the bet. "Here goes.” Arwyn slammed the table, pushing his energy to his fist.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The page glowed once more in a yellow light. Arwyn stood up and backed up. He wanted to witness this supernatural beauty.

“Oh my god, it’s… It’s working.”

Nathaniel chuckled in silence, watching the process like he’d seen it for the millionth time.

The tip of the gun rose, and so did the trigger, then the handle. Everything was coming out of the book, just like how Arwyn imagined and drew it to be.

And as his eyes widened, the sketchbook glowed brighter and brighter.

“I can see it! I can see it!” Arwyn’s voice was in amazement, his shaking hands pointing to the glow like a little toddler that saw neon lights for the first time.

And–

The glow faded gently. The room still was exactly the same as before.

“What happened?” Arwyn’s smile turned to a slight frown as he looked at Nathaniel with disappointment.

But Nathaniel didn’t look back. He pointed at the table, gripping the diary tightly with an approving smile. “Can’t you look?”

“Huh–”

There it was. The exact same pistol he drew. His jaw dropped.

“Is that… Is that a Glock?!”

He rushed over to the table, inspecting it from every angle before concluding. “Holy shit, man. What the hell.”

Arwyn slowly reached out his hand. He tapped it at first to confirm if it was actually rock solid.

Tack! Tack!

It was. Pure solid, pure material, pure matter.

So he grabbed the gun with a gentle motion. It was heavier than he expected, and the handle felt harder, but Arwyn didn’t give in to the weight. Since he was an avid fan of gun weapons, before even wielding an actual gun, he understood the ways on how to aim and how to handle these types of weapons. He wasn't exactly perfect, arms not properly positioned, slouch posture, but he knew the idea of it.

And the first thing he did...

“Put your hands up!” Arwyn playfully said, aiming the gun at the cleanest wall of the living area. “I just–I just manifested a literal Glock. I can do whatever the hell I want. Anything I wa–”

Pak!

Nathaniel spanked the confidence out of him.

“Ouch! The hell did you do that for?”

"Not bad for your first try," Nathaniel said, nodding at the gun. "But that little party trick cost you, kid. Feel that headache yet? The… hollowness behind your eyes?"

Arwyn frowned, rubbing his temple. Now that he mentioned it, his skull did ache faintly, like he’d pulled an all-nighter just binge-drawing.

"That’s your Passion Energy tank hitting E," Nathaniel continued, tapping Arwyn’s sketchbook. "Every sketch drains you. Bigger the creation, the bigger the drain. That Glock? Psh, basic. Try sketching a tank right now, and you’ll pass out before the treads form. Damn, maybe even die trying."

Arwyn squinted, blinking to at least ease some of the ache. "So… it’s like… a mana bar?"

"Yeah, sure, if your mana bar’s fueled by caffeine and existential crises." Nathaniel snatched the Glock, dissolving it into ink with a flick of his wrist.

"You wanna make more than pop guns? Train your focus. Channel your passion—not just your panic."

Arwyn bristled. "I wasn’t panicking—"

"Kid, you were sweating like a sinner in church." Nathaniel tossed him a chocolate bar from his pocket. "Eat. Sugar helps. And next time? Start smaller. Sketch a bullet before you try the whole damn gun. You forgot to make some ammo."

Arwyn unwrapped the chocolate, grudgingly impressed. "How do I get more… energy?"

"Practice. Sleep. Don’t be an idiot." Nathaniel paused, his tone softening. "And care about what you draw. This isn’t a photocopier. It’s your soul on paper. The more you pour into it, the more it’ll take… and the more it’ll give back."

Nathaniel finally pushed himself off the wall, walking out the door like nothing just happened. But before he did, he froze, mid-step. He gave Arwyn the diary.

“Oh yeah, Arwyn. You owe some ramen later.”

As Arwyn got the diary, he cleaned up the mess, as if the two of them swapped roles in the household. “Yeah whatever.”

As he brought his cereal bowl to the kitchen, he asked. “By the way, what’s that about when you asked me about a serpentine ring or something?”

He should’ve gone over to the next room to mop, but his question made him turn his shoe. “Those are the Dreamer Rings. I need four of them. I already got three.”

“For what though?”

Nathaniel sighed. “I need to go back home.”

Arwyn stopped. He turned his head. “Home? Where?”

“Terra Incognita.”

Arwyn’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the diary. “What’s Terra Incognita?”

Nathaniel froze mid-step, his back still turned. The pendant around his neck pulsed faintly, its emerald eyes glowing like a warning. “You’re not ready for that yet, kid.”

“Bullshit. You’re in my house, talking about my family’s diary, and I’m supposed to just… trust you?” Arwyn snapped, flipping through the journal’s brittle pages. “There’s more here, isn’t there?”

Nathaniel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He gestured to the diary. “Read the entry under Generation 4: Fauna Delacroix. Go on.”

Arwyn’s fingers trembled as he found the page. The ink shifted slightly under his touch, swirling into a new passage:

Delacroix Diary – Generation 4: Fauna

Terra Incognita isn’t a place. It’s a bridge.

Where dreams and reality collide, where every sketch ever abandoned or erased lingers. We call them Erasures. Twisted, half-alive creations that hunger for what they were denied. They’re why we need the Dreamer Rings.

Four rings, forged from the first Dream Sketcher’s tears. Each holds a fragment of Terra Incognita’s laws:

The Ring of Chronos : Binds time. Without it, Erasures bleed into the past.

The Ring of Gaia : Anchors space. Without it, cities crumble into sketchbook pages.

The Ring of Eos : Guards life. Without it… well, you’ve seen what happens to those who cross the Satsumas.

The Ring of Nyx : Commands death. Without it, the dead don’t stay buried.

We lost them centuries ago. Now the Erasures are spilling into your world. For what, I don’t know. The four of those rings unlock the pathway between Earth and Terra Incognita. Without this, the barrier will–

The entry cut off abruptly, the rest of the page blackened by ash.

“Satsumas..? My mother’s family?” His lips trembled a bit, scared as if the walls were closing in on him. His hands were sweating, shaking as he held the big diary.

Nathaniel’s head turned rapidly. “Your mother’s family are the Satsumas?!”

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

With a chuckle, Nathaniel smirked mischievously. “Could your uncle possibly be a man named… Cedric Satsuma?”

Arwyn’s breath hitched. “Cedric? My uncle? What does he have to do with this?”

Nathaniel turned, his expression grim. “He’s not your uncle. He’s an Erasurer. Someone who destroys sketches to steal their power. Does your uncle wear a ring?”

Now that Arwyn thought of it, Cedric did wear a ring.

Emerald eyes, serpentine.

“He… did.”

Nathaniel nodded, his smile widening. “That’s… That’s it. The Ring of Nyx.”

Arwyn’s mind raced. Cedric’s smirk, the way he’d lingered outside Arlene’s room… That’s why.

Nathaniel pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, revealing three rings: one shimmering with gold (Chronos), another with vines coiled around it (Gaia), and a third glowing faintly blue (Eos). “He’s been manipulating generations of Delacroixs. Your mother’s death? That wasn’t an accident. It was on purpose.”

Arwyn’s blood ran cold. “You know what, let’s just talk about this at a more appropriate time. Maybe when we eat some ramen?”

Nathaniel’s posture softened. With a wave and a laugh, he nodded. “Sounds good.”

But at that moment, Arwyn questioned everything.