Vincent woke up with a start, the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. His head felt heavy, a dull ache behind his eyes. He pushed aside the tangled sheets and sat up.

He stood, dragging himself to the bathroom. The cold tiles under his feet sent a slight shiver through him as he approached the sink. He turned on the faucet and splashed water onto his face, hoping it would snap him out of the dizziness. But the water was —warm, too warm. His hands froze in place. In a blink, the clear liquid turned crimson. It's blood.

Vincent stumbled back, his eyes wide as the sink overflowed, blood spilling onto the floor. He slipped, his body hitting the ground hard, but all he could see was the growing pool of red spreading around him. His heart raced in his chest, a panic tightening his throat. He tried to push himself up, but his hands slid through the blood, unable to find a grip.

Vincent looked up, and the bathroom was no where to be found, only an expanse of dirt and chaos. He was on a battlefield. Soldiers clad in medieval armor clashed in brutal combat, swords gleaming under a blood-red sky. The stench of death and decay filled the air, and the ground was soaked in blood. Horses screamed, their riders cut down by relentless steel. Bodies littered the ground, their twisted forms barely recognizable. Severed limbs, broken shields, and shattered weapons created a grotesque landscape of war.

Vincent tried to move, his hands still slick with blood, when he noticed a sword lying beside him. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, cold and heavy. He drove the blade into the ground, using it as leverage to pull himself to his feet.

He walked out of the bathroom. The toothbrush he had left in the glass by the sink was now standing upside down, balanced perfectly.

He found himself at the dinner table. The familiar setting of his childhood home should have been comforting, but the dissonance unsettled him. His mother was already there, her back to him as she prepared breakfast. The clink of plates and silverware was the only sound breaking the thick silence.

She turned toward him with a smile that never reached her eyes. "Breakfast is ready," she said, placing a plate in front of him.

On the plate was a severed human head, freshly decapitated. Its eyes were still open, its mouth twisted in the final moments of a scream. The skin was pale, blood oozing from the jagged wound at the neck, pooling on the plate like a grotesque garnish.

He reached for the fork and stabbed into the eye. The fluid within burst, spilling across the plate. The yolk of the egg is all over the plate now.

When the meal was done, he stood and walked outside. He made his way to school. On the way, he met his friend, Mark, who was already walking ahead of him. Mark turned to Vincent with a grin, chatting about meaningless things—class schedules, a movie he had seen, the usual drivel.

But Vincent wasn't listening. His gaze was focused on his own hand, the way his fingers formed the shape of a pistol, aimed at the back of Mark's head.

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Without a thought, he pulled the imaginary trigger.

Mark's head exploded into pieces, but his body kept walking, completely oblivious to what had just happened. Blood sprayed into the air, splattering against the pavement. Vincent followed, still holding his pistol-shaped hand, the blood on his face dripping slowly down. Mark's voice continued as if nothing had changed.

"Hurry up, man! School's about to start!"

They arrived at school, and Vincent found himself back in the familiar classroom. His teacher, a stern-faced man with thick glasses, called on him to stand and read aloud from the textbook. Vincent opened his book, his hand moving to the pages. But instead of words, what spilled from his mouth were not sentences, but incantations—magic spells. As he spoke, flames ignited from the book, spreading throughout the room. His classmates screamed as the fire engulfed them, their flesh burning, their bodies writhing in agony.

The teacher simply nodded. "That's good enough. You can stop now."

Vincent closed the book and sat back down. The lesson moved forward as though nothing unusual had happened. It was as ordinary as a Tuesday morning could be.

When school ended, Vincent walked home, his mind blank. With each step, the world around him began to dissolve. The streets, the buildings, the sky—all of it faded into darkness. A void closed in around him, and soon there was nothing left but darkness. No sound, no light. Just him, walking in a world that no longer existed.

But the heat in his body was rising, a slow burn building beneath his skin. His heart pounded, and his ears rang with an insistent, piercing tone. It felt like an animal instinct screaming at him to be aware, to be afraid.

Suddenly, the heat vanished, replaced by a bone-chilling cold. The ringing in his ears cut out, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake. And then, a whisper—soft, barely audible, yet so close it felt like it was right against his ear.

"I'm always here for you."

Vincent gasped, his breath ragged as he bolted upright in bed. His heart raced, his chest heaving. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he fumbled for the pill bottle on the nightstand. He popped several pills into his mouth, swallowing all at once.

His body slowly calmed, but his mind felt distant, drifting far away from the reality of his small, dark room. The sound of the phone ringing snapped him back. He picked it up.

"The hotel stay ends tomorrow. If you wish to extend it, please visit the reception."

Vincent shook his head. "No, I'll be leaving." He hung up.

After a moment, he grabbed his shirt from the chair and left the room. When he returned to the Horizon Guild building, Evan greeted him with a teasing grin.

"You were out for hours. Meeting with a girlfriend or something?" Evan joked.

Vincent's response was short as usual. "It's nothing important."

Evan chattered on about random things, speculating if they'd meet Miss Nina again. But Vincent barely listened, his mind somewhere else. "I'm going for a bath. You can go first if you want."

Evan shook his head, still smiling. "No, you go ahead. I'll wait."

As Vincent stepped into the bathroom, Evan's expression shifted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "System," he muttered to himself. "This is strange. I'm the only one who can level up with a system like this. But Vincent... Vincent's strength is different. But his stats are average for a C rank."

Evan glanced at Vincent's status window, his eyes narrowing at the strange title: The Dreamer.

"What is 'The Dreamer'?" he asked the system.

"Not registered in the database," the system replied. Evan frowned. He'd never seen anything like it.

When Vincent returned from the bath, Evan quickly snapped back to his usual demeanor. "It's my turn." he said casually, heading to the bathroom. But as Vincent watched him walk away, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him.

It was the same instinct that warned him of danger. Something about Evan felt off, even if he seemed harmless on the surface.

I need to be careful around him.