“Put your gun down!”

She pressed her hand down on the barrel of the rifle. The muzzle pointed to the floor of the vehicle.

“You didn’t see that?! His hair changed—I swear it was blonde just a moment ago!”

Even to the most charitable witness, it was clear this man was teetering on the edge of insanity.

The officer shot a skeptical glare at her colleague. Her attention then returned to the black-haired boy, whose head hung at an awkward angle as he was resting along the wall of the vehicle.

“I am not crazy!”

The man’s voice erupted with fear. He raised his rifle again, the weapon rattling in his shaky hands. The metal caught the faint flicker of light within the cramped confines of the armored vehicle.

"What is wrong with you? His hair was always black!"

The woman’s tried to anchor him in reality, but her attempts were futile; the man was beguiled by his own irrationality.

"I know what happens next! One of those Nightmares will burst out of that boy’s skin—I've seen it before! And our bullets won’t even scratch it. We're going to die!”

A chuckle escaped the lips of the man that sat silently across from the officers the entire ride. The man in question was definitely an awakened of one of the most prestigious ranks.

For those afflicted by the spell, beauty was soon to become a standard. Even the notable scar trailing down his face and his distinct white hair, he was still undeniably beautiful.

“Are you serious?” The Master smirked, ruffling up the unconscious boy's hair.

“You’re overreacting! This is just a clueless brat who has no idea of the trouble he’s caused. I almost feel sorry for him, don’t you?”

The man gradually calmed from his panic. Master Cael was right; it was merely a foolish kid, and if it came down to it, Master Cael would swiftly handle the Nightmare creature.

“I guess you are right…”

The man chuckled slightly, laughing at the absurdity of his behavior. “I’m sorry for freaking out—”

As his laughter faded, Zerin slowly blinked his heavy-lidded eyes open. His vision sharpened, revealing two individuals sitting in front of him, wearing an alternate variation of body armor.

The two officers looked as though they had seen a ghost rise from the dead. They froze, speechless.

Zerin gaze dropped to his lap, revealing his hands tightly bound by steel cuffs. He tugged at the restraints, feeling the sharp bite of the metal against his wrists.

Where was he? Who were these people? As if the cuffs weren't enough to prove he had no power, suddenly, the cold edge of a blade pressed against his neck.

“Stop moving…”

Zerin’s eyes glanced towards the source of the commanding voice and landed on a man with striking features: long white hair pulled into a ponytail and a prominent scar trailing beneath his right eye, vanishing beneath the collar of his shirt. Zerin’s gaze then shifted to the blade, which appeared completely transparent, like glass.

Cael took precautions, as this had happened to him before. Just when you think they have completed The First Nightmare and you are all relaxed, that's when they tend to emerge. He wasn't taking that chance, but once he saw Zerin's reaction, he smiled.

“Looks like you’re still in there. Good…”

Cael withdrew the sword from Zerin’s neck, and it swiftly vanished into a white mist.

Cael looked at the boy's face; it intrigued him. Usually, they would awaken with varying emotions—fear, happiness, gratefulness, etc.—but this boy’s emotions seemed almost vacant.

“Tell me your name, kid.” Cael said, breaking the silence.

“My name is Zer—”

Zerin was abruptly cut off by a sharp pain radiating through his shoulder. He looked down, eyes widening in shock, and felt his strength drain as he slumped against Cael.

With a clatter, the man dropped the rifle onto the floor of the vehicle.

“You idiot!” Cael yelled, twisting Zerin’s unconscious body to locate where the shot had landed. His eyes fell upon a tranquilizer dart embedded in Zerin’s shoulder, eliciting a sigh of relief from the Master. At least it was just a tranquilizer.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The officer’s eyes widened, his hands raised defensively as he stammered, “I’m sorry, sir!”

He gently lowered Zerin’s body with caution, resting the boy’s head softly on the other side of the bench. He glanced down at the boy's rising and falling chest before pulling the tranquilizer from his shoulder and tossing it aside on the floor.

Cael then brought a hand to his forehead in a face-palm and, with a soft sigh, he spoke.

“I should have just taken the kid myself.”

Hours later, Zerin’s eyes opened once again, instantly met with a harsh, sterile brightness. The fluorescent lights above him buzzed incessantly, making his head throb. He blinked rapidly, to adjust to the blinding light, only to then realize he was restrained once again.

In front of him, a man sat across the metal table. just to simply say that he looked upset was an understatement.

The bald man’s prominent brow jutted out sharply, amplifying his already intimidating presence. As the man’s jaw tightened, Zerin could see the muscles in his face ripple.

“Finally awake? Did you enjoy your sleep? Because I certainly didn’t!”

The man barked, his voice booming as he abruptly stood from the desk.

The absurdity of the series of statements and questions was almost comical. He didn't know the man at all, so why was this man’s sleeplessness his problem? Zerin looked up at the man for some sort of explanation.

“What the hell are you looking at, you brat?”

He slammed his fist against the metal table, creating a deafening crash that sounded like thunder. Zerin winced slightly as the sound rattled his ears.

A calm, measured voice crackled to life from the speakers in the corners of the room.

“Go easy, Isaac… he is still under protection as an adolescent,” the disembodied voice stated.

The man’s face grew more furious as he set his sights on the camera nestled in the corner of the room, his anger etching even deeper lines into his features.

“Then why don’t you deal with this yourself? I’ve had enough of this shit!”

Isaac pointed his finger at the camera, as if he were singling out the disembodied voice through the circuitry.

"Isaac then continued, 'And this isn’t just a simple mistake! This could have resulted in hundreds, if not thousands, of lives being lost in our busiest districts. We have a zero-tolerance policy for a reason!'”

The speakers crackled back to life with a sharp squelch. After a brief, charged pause, the disembodied voice spoke again.

“Understood. We will send her in… Take the week off, Isaac.”

“Oh! So now you want to bring in your fucking pony? Fine by me!” Issac shot back, his words spilling over with over-the-top sarcasm. The veins in his neck bulged as his anger flared.

“I barely got a single wink of fucking sleep in this hellish week! And you woke me up for this when she was already here?!”

The voice on the speaker responded, “She was busy… Just never mind. Have a good week off, Isaac.”

Isaac’s brows knitted together in a tight furrow, shooting one final glare at Zerin. With a sharp exhale, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the interrogation room, the door slamming shut behind him with a bang that echoed off the bleached walls.

Zerin sat there, still bound to the cold metal chair, confusion swirling in his mind.

After what felt like an eternity of the constant humming from the fluorescent lights above, the interrogation doors swung open with a creak. In stepped a woman clad in a crisp office dress that hugged her figure with an air of professionalism. She exuded a polished demeanor, her hair neatly twisted into a tight bun that elegantly framed her delicate features. Her glasses perched stylishly on her nose. The makeup she wore was subtle yet effective, enhancing her natural beauty without overwhelming it and highlighting her high cheekbones and soft smile.

Each step was purposeful, accompanied by the sharp click of her heels against the cold, hard tile floor in a rhythmic cadence that drew Zerin’s attention. A clipboard was tucked securely under one arm, and as she approached, a warm smile spread across her face.

“Hello, Zerin…” she greeted him with a smooth and inviting voice.

Zerin blinked, searching her face for answers.

“How do you know my name?” He asked, the question tumbling from his lips.

Her smile widened slightly, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. She raised an eyebrow playfully, clearly amused by his reaction, the corners of her mouth lifted up, somehow softening the seriousness of the moment.

“Oh, I just browsed your file,” she said casually, her tone light and conversational.

“There was very little information, but I see you currently live in an orphanage in the Ninth District, right?

“Ninth District?” Zerin echoed. the term felt foreign on his tongue, as if it belonged to another world.

“Yes, that's what it says in your file,” she replied, glancing down as she turned over the single page on her clipboard.

The mention of the Ninth District held no significance for him; it was just a random name.

“Do you serve the gods?” he asked suddenly.

“...Serve the gods? Uh, I would like to think so…” A slight, puzzled smile played at the corner of her lips. She found the question intriguing but nevertheless absurd.

“I mean… they are dead, right?” she added.

Zerin's eyes widened at those words.

'Dead?'

Zerin knew very well that Goddess was dead. But hearing that all the gods were dead, including the Shadow God—whom he believed was responsible for what happened in the lands of the Goddess—was a shock to him.

The speakers returned with a squelch.

The woman's ears perked up as she prepared to listen.

“Jerika, stay on topic,” the voice commanded.

“Right… Stay on topic…” Jerika murmured with a nod, her voice barely above a whisper.

She narrowed her focus back on Zerin.

“Alright, let’s start from the beginning. What happened in The First Nightmare?”

She studied his face briefly, wondering why he had that clueless expression.

“What is the first thing you recall?” she asked, approaching it from a different angle.

“I remember waking up in the land of the goddess,” he said plainly.

Zerin glanced around the room before speaking.

"Where am I now?"

Jerika’s eyes widened in disbelief as she looked at his face. The realization struck her like a bolt of lightning: Zerin didn’t know about the real world. Something happened within the First Nightmare, which rendered him completely void of any recollection of his life before it.

She clicked her pen against the clipboard repeatedly as her mind scrambled. The sharp, jarring sound echoed through the sterile room.

Her unwavering gaze locked onto him. “Tell me what you remember.”

Zerin’s gaze shifted up to the speakers mounted in the corner.

“Are they going to listen?”

“Yes…” Jerika replied, her face softening slightly. She understood the weight of the scrutiny he would be under.

“It's unavoidable, I’m sorry. But if you answer truthfully, we will do our best to help you restore your memory to the best of our ability. Hopefully, this will lead to a full recovery. Deal?”

With that, she extended her hand across the cold metal table. Zerin hesitated for a moment, but he accepted.

With his hands cuffed, he reached over and shook her hand. As their hands connected, an electric spark traveled up his arm.

"First, let's get those off of you, then we can get to it, okay?"