Realm Lord
Chapter 189: A Dream Again

Chapter 189: A Dream Again

The hours stretched endlessly like a river of molten lead, each minute seeming to drag with the weight of their collective exhaustion and trauma. The landscape outside continued its monotonous parade of desolation. The sun climbed higher in the sky, its rays growing warmer and more insistent as the morning progressed into afternoon, yet inside the vehicle, time seemed suspended in a haze of weariness and lingering shock.

Cara’s hands had begun to tremble almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel, the fine tremors becoming more pronounced with each passing hour. Dark circles shadowed her eyes like bruises, and her normally sharp gaze had taken on the glassy quality of someone running purely on adrenaline and stubborn determination. She’d been driving for nearly eighteen hours straight, her body pushed far beyond its natural limits by the desperate need to put distance between them and the nightmare they’d escaped.

The toll of the previous night was written clearly across her features—in the tight lines around her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged despite her efforts to maintain proper posture, and the increasingly frequent moments where her eyelids would flutter as if her body was trying to steal microseconds of rest. Her breathing had become shallow and irregular, punctuated by small sighs that spoke of someone fighting a losing battle against complete physical and mental exhaustion.

Finally, as the sun reached its zenith and began its lazy descent toward the western horizon, Cara could no longer ignore the warnings her body was sending. The road had begun to blur at the edges of her vision, and twice she’d felt her head begin to nod before jerking herself back to alertness with a start that sent her heart racing. She knew the signs well enough to recognize that continuing to drive in her current state would be more dangerous than any creature they might encounter on the road.

With a deep, shuddering sigh that seemed to come from the very core of her being, she guided the vehicle to the side of the road. The tires crunched softly against the gravel shoulder as she brought them to a stop beneath the dubious shade of a cluster of dead trees. The engine ticked softly as it began to cool, the sound oddly comforting in its mechanical normalcy.

"I need to rest," she announced to her companions, her voice hoarse and strained. "Just for a little while. I can’t... I can’t keep going like this." There was no shame in the admission, only the practical acknowledgment of human limitations that had kept her alive this long in a world that showed no mercy to the weak or foolish.

She rummaged through their supplies, producing a meager collection of preserved rations and a precious bottle of clean water. The food was far from appetizing—dried meat that had the texture of leather and nutrient bars that tasted like compressed cardboard—but here, sustenance was measured by necessity rather than pleasure.

Arthur had fallen into a deep sleep in the passenger seat, his body finally surrendering to the exhaustion that had been building. His head was tilted at an awkward angle against the window, and a thin line of drool had escaped from the corner of his mouth, creating a small wet spot on his shirt. For once, his face was peaceful, free from the constant tension and wariness that had become his default expression. His breathing was deep and even, the kind of profound sleep that spoke of a mind and body pushed beyond their limits finally finding respite.

Or at least, it appeared to be restful sleep from the outside. But inside Arthur’s unconscious mind, a very different reality was taking shape.

The transition was sudden and disorienting, like falling through the floor of the waking world into something far more sinister. One moment there was the gentle rocking of the stationary vehicle and the warm press of sunlight through glass, and the next he was standing in that familiar, terrible place—the black void that had been haunting his dreams.

The darkness here was absolute, not merely the absence of light but something that seemed to actively devour illumination. It pressed against him from all sides like a living thing, cold and suffocating and filled with malevolent intent. The void stretched endlessly in all directions, without floor or ceiling or walls, leaving him suspended in a space that defied all natural laws and human comprehension.

And then, the voice began to speak.

The sound cut through the oppressive silence like a blade, but the words themselves remained maddeningly unclear. Static seemed to overlay every syllable, creating a cacophony of electronic noise that made the voice sound as if it were being transmitted through damaged equipment from some impossibly distant place. The tone was wrong too—neither fully human nor entirely inhuman, but something that existed in the uncomfortable space between the two.

Arthur strained to make out individual words, to grasp some fragment of meaning from the garbled transmission, but it was like trying to hold water in his bare hands. The harder he concentrated, the more the words seemed to slip away from him, dissolving into meaningless noise that left him with nothing but the growing certainty that whatever the voice was trying to tell him, it was something of vital importance.

The frustration built within him like pressure in a sealed container, growing more intense with each incomprehensible syllable.

Filled with anger at being toyed with once again, at being made helpless in his own dreams, Arthur summoned every ounce of strength and willpower he possessed. He tried to scream, to give voice to his rage and frustration, to somehow break through the barriers that held him trapped in this nightmarish realm. He fought against the invisible bonds that kept him motionless, straining against them with every fiber of his being.

But there was no luck, no breakthrough, no moment of triumph. His voice, if it made any sound at all, was swallowed by the infinite darkness. His struggles were meaningless against forces that operated by rules he didn’t understand and couldn’t hope to overcome. The void remained unchanged, indifferent to his efforts, and the voice continued its maddening monologue without pause or acknowledgment of his presence.

As his scream of frustration and desperation echoed uselessly into the abyss, Arthur felt his consciousness being violently wrenched away from the dream world. The transition was jarring and violent, like being pulled through a keyhole at tremendous speed, and when awareness returned to him, the sight that greeted his opening eyes left him in complete confusion and disarray.

There he was, standing upright in the confines of the vehicle, his body rigid with tension and his muscles coiled like springs. Myah had grabbed one of his arms and was holding it with both of her hands, her knuckles white with the effort of restraining him. Her face was pale with shock and concern. Aziel, despite his wounded condition, had seized his other arm and was using his considerable strength to keep Arthur from moving, though the strain was clearly visible in the tight lines around his eyes and the way his bandages had begun to show fresh spots of red.

Cara stood directly in front of him, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of this new crisis. Her expression was a mixture of concern and grim determination, the look of someone prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect herself and her companions. Her stance was that of a fighter ready for battle, balanced and alert despite the bone-deep weariness that had been weighing her down moments before.

It was then that Arthur became aware of the weight in his hands, the familiar heft of his odachi materialized. The blade gleamed with an inner light that seemed to drink in the surrounding illumination. Around him, shadows writhed and coiled like living things, extending from his body in dark tendrils that defied natural law.

"Arthur, what the hell!" Aziel’s voice was raw with alarm and confusion.

The sound of his friend’s voice, familiar and real and anchored in the waking world, seemed to pierce through the haze that had clouded Arthur’s consciousness. Like a man emerging from deep water, he felt awareness flooding back into his mind, washing away the lingering effects of whatever had possessed him. With conscious effort, he allowed his soul sword to dissipate, the blade fading into nothingness as if it had never existed. The shadows that had been writhing around him retreated like living things seeking shelter, melting back into the natural darkness where they belonged.

Immediately, he relaxed his muscles, letting the tension flow out of his body like water from a broken dam. The transformation was visible and immediate—where moments before had stood something dangerous and barely controlled, now there was simply a confused and frightened young man struggling to understand what had happened to him.

Sensing the change in his demeanor, Aziel and Myah slowly and tentatively released their grip on his arms, though they remained close enough to restrain him again if necessary. They took careful steps backward, never taking their eyes off him, ready to act if whatever had seized him returned. The wariness in their movements spoke to just how frightening his unconscious display had been.