In this dreamlike reality, these moments of unease punctuated the tapestry of tranquility. And then, his mother's laughter, once a symphony of joy, occasionally wavered, her gaze clouded by fleeting moments of confusion. A subtle wrongness tainted the air, elusive yet undeniable, as if the threads of reality were beginning to fray at the edges. His mother, once radiant and whole, now bore the fractures of decay, her form beginning to disintegrate like ashes carried away by a wayward breeze.

Midas's heart clenched in anguish, the dream world unraveling before his very eyes.

"It's always been this way," his mother's voice carried a distant echo, a haunting reminder of the dream's impermanence. "Don't you remember?"

The signs of decay were insistent, impossible to ignore—the enigmatic symbols etched into the ground, like cryptic messages waiting to be deciphered; the sky painted with hues that defied the natural order of things, an unsettling canvas of distorted reality. Midas felt a growing unease, a sense that the dream's grasp was slipping through his fingers, leaving behind an emptiness that mirrored his heart's yearning.

And then, a voice called out to him. A voice that cut through the dream, piercing the illusion with a raw intensity. "Midas! Midas!"

He turned, his heart racing, and there she was—Mori. Her voice echoed in his mind, a lifeline pulling him back from the brink. He reached out to her, the threads of the dream unraveling around him.

"Midas, wake up!"

Reality shattered like fragile glass, and Midas's consciousness was wrenched from the embrace of the dream. The corrupted manor loomed before him once more, its malevolent aura casting long shadows that danced upon the ground.

Midas gasped for air, his mind spinning from the abrupt and disorienting transition.

"Steady yourself," Mori's voice cut through the chaos, her steady gaze a lifeline amidst the turmoil. She reached out, a reassuring touch grounding him in the present moment.

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Midas nodded; his eyes still wide with the lingering enchantment of the dream. "I am here. Back in the forest," he whispered, his tone filled with bewilderment.

Mori's lips curled into a faint smile. "That's a relief. But hold on tight, because we've got a bigger problem on our hands," she added, her gaze shifting towards Boreas, who was embroiled in an unexpected and heated altercation with Neres.

The scene before them was a stark contrast to the usually composed and seasoned hunter they knew. Boreas seemed to be grappling with a conflict that transcended the physical—a battle waged both within and without. Neres, though struggling, managed to hold his own, albeit barely, against the onslaught from Boreas.

Midas's brow furrowed, concern etching lines across his face. "What in the world is happening?"

Mori's explanation came in a hurried rush, each word a puzzle piece that painted a disturbing picture. "While you were lost in that dream, Boreas... changed. He accused Neres of unspeakable acts—accusations that make no sense. He's ranting about Neres killing his family and son, even though we all know he doesn't have a son!"

Understanding dawned upon Midas like a chilling realization. It seemed that the same malevolent force that had ensnared his mind had now cast its dark shadow over Boreas. Quickly relaying this insight to Mori, Midas's mind raced to find a solution—a way to free Boreas from the clutches of this insidious control.

"We have to break this hold on him," Midas declared urgently. "Before it drives him to do something irreversible."

Mori's eyes widened, her urgency mirroring his own. "Time is slipping away. We need to act, and fast." She gestured to the perilous dance unfolding before them, where Boreas's knife and Neres's agility were locked in a dangerous contest.

Midas's satchel proved to be a lifesaver once more, surviving the dimensional upheaval intact. With swift and practiced hands, he withdrew a vial of drake root powder, his fingers working nimbly despite the urgency of the situation. A dollop of wormwut paste joined the concoction, and with a spark from his flint, the mixture ignited into a vibrant green glow.

His heart pounding, Midas lobbed the concoction toward the heart of the turmoil, where Boreas and Neres played a deadly dance. The explosion that followed was a cacophony of sound that echoed through the air, leaving a resonating ring in its wake. Midas could only hope that the disorienting blast would be enough to jolt Boreas from the grip of the entity's control.

As the echoes of the explosion subsided and the haze cleared, Midas held his breath, his gaze locked on Boreas. The veteran hunter stood, his features a mask of disorientation and confusion, as if a fog was lifting from his mind.

Mori's voice carried a note of tense anticipation. "Did it work?"