Molly’s face lingered for a heartbeat longer, fading into dust before his eyes. Her stunned expression was the last thing he saw before it, too, dissolved into nothing.

The tears on his face were real.

He wiped them away with the sleeve of his worn cotton jacket. “Now I understand,” he murmured hoarsely. “Why people trapped in a dream refuse to wake up… even when they know it’s not real.”

From the moment he’d stepped into the yard, he’d known he was under Valerie’s spell. But everything—the smells, the warmth, the sound of laughter—had been too real. It struck directly at the softest part of his heart.

Even knowing it was false, he had wanted to stay.

But as a Level Five upper-tier psychic awakener, he forced himself awake by sheer will. The longer he lingered, the harder it became to tell illusion from reality.

The scene faded, but the world around him didn’t return to normal.

He now stood in a ruined city. Empty streets stretched endlessly ahead, buildings broken and burned, their windows shattered. The sky hung low and pale red, like dried blood.

Old newspapers and scraps of trash fluttered through the air, caught in a restless wind that howled between the buildings.

It was utterly silent—too silent.

Charles’ jaw tightened. “A dreamscape,” he muttered. “This just got harder.”

He looked down the endless, yellowed streets. A chilling thought crept into his mind. Maybe everyone’s been pulled in.

After a long, heavy silence, Charles steadied his breathing, summoned his psychic energy, and began walking through the deserted city.

........

The road wound on, and his voice continued telling the story—calmly, almost casually—as if none of what had happened had shaken him. The others listened, cracking jokes now and then to keep the tension at bay.

Axel stayed quiet, but he felt the weight in Charles’ tone. At the end of the road, the village finally came into view.

Rice Village lay beneath them—quiet, simple, and utterly peaceful. A few women were gathered at the entrance, chatting about harvests, dowries, and the usual village gossip.

Then Axel froze.

In a small courtyard nearby, a man stood under the eaves, smiling faintly. He raised a hand in greeting.

“Long time no see.”

Axel’s relaxed expression vanished. His heart skipped a beat, his mind suddenly blank.

The man was tall and slender, dressed in a pale white windbreaker. He looked exactly as Axel remembered—soft-spoken, gentle, a quiet sadness in his eyes.

“Dad…” Axel’s voice cracked.

“Thank you,” the man said, wiping at his eyes. “For all your hard work these years. Come on, son. Come home.”

He reached out a hand.

Behind him, the door swung open.

Annabelle stood there, wearing a pink apron printed with cartoon rabbits, a steaming dish in her hands. Her smile was warm and bright.

“Brother, you’re back!” she called, running to him.

Axel stepped forward like a sleepwalker. The fire crackled softly in the hearth. Papers were scattered across a wooden table, where a man was tidying them up.

“I’ve been swamped with work lately,” his father said, smiling up at him. “But next month, I’ll finally have time to take you to the amusement park.”

Seeing Axel’s dazed expression, his father frowned slightly. “What’s wrong? You look exhausted. Sit down—eat something first.”

The smell of home-cooked food filled the room. Axel couldn’t move.

......

Axel watched Annabelle cheerfully enjoying the food on the table, her laughter soft and familiar. His heart wavered for a moment—then slowly, the trance began to fade.

He looked around the room again. Everything seemed perfectly real—the light, the scent of food, even the tiny scratches on the wooden table. And yet…

He shook his head. “If this is a dream, then it’s too perfect. Too fake.”

Both Annabelle and the man turned to him, confused by his words.

Axel took a breath. His mind buzzed—and in the next instant, everything shattered like glass.

He was back.

Inside the ancient tree, the sapling of the Heavenly Spirit Fruit swayed gently, its branches rustling as a cool breeze wrapped around his body.

“So it wasn’t the dream that was fake,” he murmured. “It was this little thing’s doing.”

He stared calmly at the fading fragments of illusion, not moving. He had no idea when he’d been pulled into the dream. Thinking back on it now sent a chill through him.

Even when his teammates vanished—even when his father appeared—he hadn’t sensed anything wrong.

“Maybe that’s the terrifying thing about dreams,” Axel muttered. “You don’t question them while you’re in them.”

Dreams are built from the subconscious—woven from what the mind hides deepest. What seems strange when you wake feels utterly normal while you’re dreaming.

Slowly, the dream world crumbled around him.

“According to Mr. Charles,” Axel thought, “when Valerie uses her illusion ability, her aura gets exposed. Someone must have noticed by now… they’ll try to kill her soon.”

He thought he’d returned to the real world. But when the haze cleared, his surroundings left him speechless.

The sky was soaked in a pale red mist. All around stretched endless, empty streets—rows of abandoned buildings, shattered windows, cars burned to skeletons. It looked like a city that had fallen from glory into ruin.

The road stretched endlessly forward.

“Where the hell is this?” he muttered. “This wasn’t in any of the intel.”

He didn’t move right away. Instead, he steadied himself, channeling the Force through his body—ready for anything.

“Could this be… a nightmare?”

He began walking forward, every step cautious.

Then, a presence appeared behind him.

Axel spun around instantly, muscles tensing—only to freeze.

“Mr. Charles?”

Charles stood there, his usual warmth gone. His face was grave, shadowed by fatigue. But when he saw Axel, his eyes widened in surprise.

“Axel—you actually broke free on your own?!” He rushed over, and a powerful wave of psychic energy swept across Axel like a gust of wind.

Charles exhaled in relief. “It’s really you. You’re not part of the illusion.”

Axel nodded slowly. “Mr. Charles… what’s going on? Where are we?”

The mental probe hadn’t hurt him, and the sapling in his body stayed silent. That alone was reassuring.

Charles looked around at the crumbling streets, his weathered face grim. “We’re still inside Valerie’s dream,” he said quietly.

Axel’s brow furrowed. “Valerie’s a Level Six Awakener?”

Charles hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “If she were Level Six, we’d already be dead. She’d have created a deep-level illusion I couldn’t break. No… she must’ve gotten her hands on a B+ grade Original Instrument—the Dream Space.”

He paused, his tone growing heavier. “That artifact doesn’t increase her power—it just expands the range of her illusions. That’s why she could pull us all in at once.”

Axel frowned. He’d never faced anything like this before and had no idea how to fight it.

“But Mr. Charles,” he said, “if you broke out of your dream, shouldn’t that have pulled you back to reality?”

Charles nodded slowly. “Normally, yes. But the Dream Space doesn’t work like that. It first traps everyone in a vast shallow dream—a shared layer of illusion. Then, from within that, Valerie drags each of us into our own individual dream or nightmare.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Besides the two of us, Vince and the others are still trapped somewhere in this shallow layer. We have to pull them out before they sink too deep. Once they lose themselves completely…” His voice grew grim. “…Valerie will consume their minds. Their souls will die with them.”

Axel’s chest tightened. He glanced around at the lifeless streets—burned-out cars, scraps of newspaper swirling through the wind. Not a sound but the moaning of the breeze. How the hell were they supposed to find anyone in this?

Charles caught his worried look and gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t panic. I can roughly sense where they are. But forcibly pulling someone out of a dream takes a massive toll.” He met Axel’s eyes. “I’ll need you to feed me energy while I do it.”