The dream came again.

The flames roared, licking the sky with their merciless hunger.

Houses burned, their wooden beams collapsing into ashen rubble.

Screams pierced the air like knives, shrill and desperate, as people scattered in every direction.

Mothers clutched their children to their chests, shielding them from the onslaught of chaos.

Knights, their armor glinting in the infernal glow, fought valiantly but futilely against the onslaught of monstrous creatures.

The city was drowning in a symphony of terror and destruction.

It was the same dream, the same scene played on an endless loop.

The only things that changed were the faces, the voices, and the city itself.

Yet even amidst all this horror, I felt…nothing.

No remorse.

No sorrow.

No pity for the screaming families or the knights fighting their losing battle.

My eyes observed everything, cold and detached, as though I were a mere spectator in a theater of ruin.

Have I grown numb to it?

Perhaps.

Or perhaps I had left those emotions—the grief, the empathy—behind long ago.

I didn’t know when it started, but I could feel it now.

I was changing.

Becoming…something else.

I pushed the thought aside.

Ah, whatever.

The dream felt longer than the others.

The haze of it clung to me as though it wanted me to stay, to see something.

So, I walked.

Ignoring the chaos around me, I strolled through the burning city.

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Golems rampaged through the streets, tearing apart buildings and crushing anything in their path.

People tried to flee, but escape was a cruel illusion.

Their fear was palpable, their desperation suffocating.

But I didn’t stop.

Eventually, I came to a clearing, where a grand statue loomed over the devastation.

It was a statue of a human—a man, tall and noble, his chiseled features captured in exquisite detail.

His stone eyes gazed toward the horizon, a hand raised as if beckoning others to follow him.

Perhaps he was a hero or something like that.

A leader.

Someone important, no doubt, though it mattered little now.

Flames licked at the statue’s base, curling upward and marring the once-pristine stone.

I stared at it for a moment, wondering absently whose likeness it bore.

And then a voice sliced through the chaos.

“It is the statue of the human they called a hero.”

I turned sharply, my gaze locking onto a man who had appeared beside me.

He looked unremarkable at first—simple clothes, an average build, a face that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd.

But here, in this dream, where no one else had even acknowledged my presence, his very existence was an anomaly.

The fire seemed to recoil from him, the shadows bending unnaturally in his presence.

There was no doubt in my mind.

He was the one behind this.

The one who trapped me in these dreams.

My voice cut through the crackling flames like a blade. “Who are you?”

The man smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with something that sent a shiver through me—a mix of amusement, malice, and something deeper I couldn’t place.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

I took a step forward, my hand curling into a fist.

The air around him felt heavy, oppressive, as though the dream itself bent to his will.

But I wasn’t afraid.

I was angry.

“What do you want?” I demanded, my voice colder now.

His smile widened, and he gestured to the burning city around us.

“This,” he said simply, his tone almost playful.

“This is your story, isn’t it? Chaos, destruction… you’ve seen it all before. Felt it. Lived it.”

I frowned, unsure of what he meant.

“What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head, as though studying me. “Ah, but you don’t remember, do you? Not yet.”

Before I could respond, the world began to shift.

The flames flickered, the screams grew distant, and the ground beneath me started to crumble.

The man’s voice echoed as everything dissolved into darkness.

“Soon, Cyrus. Soon you’ll understand.”

And then I woke up, gasping for air, the echoes of his voice still ringing in my ears.

I looked around, taking in the sight of my domain.

Towering trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves casting a shimmering dance of light and shadow on the ground.

The golems, massive and tireless, moved with purpose, their heavy limbs grinding softly as they worked.

Above, perched high in his nest of twisted branches and bones, Krothe rested, his feathers gleaming darkly in the fading sunlight.

I was back in my dungeon. My sanctuary. My prison.

But those words—those cursed, cryptic words—echoed endlessly in my mind, like a blade scraping against stone:

"You will know when the time comes."

Frustration welled up inside me, hot and suffocating.

My fists clenched as I shouted into the still air.

“What the hell were you talking about?”

Krothe jolted upright, his sharp talons scraping against the wood of his perch.

He blinked down at me, startled, his black eyes glinting with confusion.

“Kaw! What’s gotten into you?” he cawed, his usual haughty tone replaced with uncertainty.

Even the golems paused, their great stone forms looming silently, heads tilted as if awaiting instruction.

The air was heavy, expectant.

“Answer me!” I roared again, my voice raw with desperation.

But the only response was silence.

Then, after a long moment, it came—a voice, smooth and distant, like a whisper carried on the wind.

"You will know when the time comes. So try to stay alive."

And then, nothing.

I stood there, trembling, my chest heaving with unspent anger.

I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but deep down, I knew there would be none.

Whoever—or whatever—had spoken was beyond my reach.

I tilted my head back, staring into the murky sky above.

The frustration was a searing ache in my chest, but I forced myself to swallow it down.

Fine.

If they wouldn’t answer me, I’d find my own way forward.

Turning away, I muttered, “If no one will tell me, I’ll just have to be ready for whatever comes.”

The waiting began.

Day after day, I threw myself into preparation.

I pushed the golems to their limits, reinforcing their forms with stronger materials and programming their movements with more precision.

I created new chimeras in the depths of the dungeon, beasts born of desperation and ingenuity.

And I trained myself, honing my body and mind until I felt the sting of exhaustion seep into my bones.

The dungeon pulsed with quiet energy, a living thing growing stronger with each passing day.

The golems moved with increased efficiency, their heavy forms casting imposing shadows.

The chimeras prowled the labyrinthine corridors, their eyes gleaming with a feral hunger.

And then, one day, it happened.

The golems reported to me about hunters belonging to Demonic guild entering my dungeon.

My chest tightened, a mix of curiosity and anticipation clawing at my insides.

They finally have come.

Now, I can't wait to be free from this dungeon confines.

And soon I'll find all the answers.