The Dreaming Girl and the Man Who Walks Through Dreams

ROSE

I was trudging through a pitch-black underground passage, feeling like a side character in a tragedy that had gone off the rails.

Blood was still oozing from the gash on my back. I’d picked it up while making my grand escape—it wasn't deep enough to be fatal, but it definitely wasn't a "flesh wound" either. I really should have stopped for some proper first aid, but when you're a fugitive with a literal army on your tail, you don’t exactly get scheduled bathroom breaks, let alone medical ones.

I focused my Magic Power on the wound, doing the bare minimum to keep from leaking all over the floor, but as time ticked on, the pain just got louder and my stamina started hitting the red zone.

My breathing was ragged.

Even while I was looking over my shoulder for pursuers, my brain was stuck on a loop.

What was the right move back then? What would the "best" version of me have done?

Those were the kind of questions that didn't have answers, yet they kept spinning in my head like a broken record.

Stabbing my fiancé, Doem, had been a split-second decision. I wouldn't call it impulsive, though. I’d looked at the clock, looked at my options, and picked the one I thought was the winning hand. Or, well, I tried to.

Clearly, I’m not great at gambling.

Doem survived, and now I’m the one being hunted. Honestly, failure is just a matter of hindsight. It was my mistake for misjudging how tough Doem actually was, but that doesn't mean the choice to take him out was wrong.

I didn’t exactly have a choice. The moment I looked into the eyes of that thing that used to be my father—the King of Oriana—I knew Doem had to die. Seeing him like that, a hollowed-out puppet, turned every nasty rumor about The Cult into a cold, hard reality.

So, I drew my sword.

Was I being impulsive? Was I just being a hothead? Was I acting out of some cliché mix of panic and rage?

I really thought I was being the level-headed protagonist of my own story.

I didn't want to drag Alexia or Natsume into this mess. This had to stay an Oriana Kingdom problem. It was just an intuition, but I went with it.

And hey, maybe my political instincts weren't totally broken. Even though I failed the execution, at least the fallout stayed with me and my country. It hadn't sparked an international incident with the Midgar Kingdom yet. Subconsciously, I’d managed to avoid the absolute worst-case scenario.

But even that was just a matter of time.

Doem’s parting shout kept echoing in my ears, annoying as a recurring villain's catchphrase: “Surrender by the time the Bushin Festival ends! Otherwise, I’ll have the King of Oriana slaughter the guests!”

If he actually makes my father murder the VIPs at the Bushin Festival... it’s war. I don't know if he’s bluffing, but let’s be real—The Cult probably looks at the Oriana Kingdom as a disposable pawn in their little game.

If that’s the case...

I gnashed my teeth so hard they clicked. My face twisted with a bitter, ugly regret.

My father wasn't some legendary ruler, and the Oriana Kingdom isn't some world-shaking superpower. But he was my only father, and it was my only home.

I just wanted to protect them. That’s it.

That simple desire had curdled into a desperate, frantic mess.

I slammed my fist against the damp stone wall.

At the end of the day, I’d just let my emotions drive the bus. I’d fallen for the classic illusion that killing the bad guy solves everything. But Doem is just another disposable piece on the board. The Cult’s roots run way deeper into the Oriana Kingdom than one man. Killing him wouldn’t have solved a thing.

There had to be another way. A "perfect" choice, like some kind of magic spell that fixes the world...

I slumped down against the wall of the passage.

If I’d just played my cards right, maybe everything would be fine... I mocked myself for even thinking about "what-ifs."

It was over. I didn't even know why I was still running.

What’s the plan, Rose? Run until you hit a wall? Will running actually change the ending? Shouldn't I just give up?

Yeah... that was probably the smart move.

“Right... I should just surrender.”

I still didn't know what I should have done back then. But I finally knew what I had to do now. If I turned myself in, I could at least stop a war from starting.

The weight on my chest lightened, just a little. But it was immediately replaced by a crushing sense of loss, like I’d just watched everything I ever cared about get erased.

I pulled a crumpled Magronald's wrapper out of my pocket. The burger was long gone, but it still had that faint, nostalgic scent of cheap bread.

I thought of that black-haired boy. He must have heard about what I did. I wondered what he thought of me now.

Did he worry? Did he believe in me? Or... did he actually try to find me?

If I’d managed to kill Doem, if my father had snapped out of it... if there was a timeline where everything actually worked out... would I have been able to stay by his side?

I guess I just wanted to keep dreaming.

“I’m sorry...”

The apology felt empty. A single tear escaped and hit the floor. Every dream I’d ever built was officially in pieces.

I carefully folded the Magronald's wrapper, treating it like a holy relic, and tucked it back into my skirt. It was the last fragment of the life I wanted.

“Gah...!”

A sharp, biting pain flared in my chest. I pulled back my collar to see a bruised, blackened mark.

The mark of Possession. It had only started showing up recently.

I guess the dream was rigged from the start. I let out a hollow, self-deprecating laugh.

Then, a faint sound caught my ear.

I froze. Pursuers?

But the sound was too soft, too rhythmic for boots on stone. It was a melody. Someone was playing the piano.

“Moonlight...?”

Coming from the Land of the Arts, I knew the piece. It was a masterpiece that had even the snobs in Oriana losing their minds, and now it was floating through the gloom of the underground.

“It’s beautiful...”

The performance was haunting. It felt like someone had poured their entire existence into every single note. It was too perfect.

I stood up and started walking toward the music, drawn in like a moth to a flame.

This place was called the Royal Capital Underground Labyrinth, but it felt more like ancient Ruins. The floor changed to solid flagstone, and the walls were covered in intricate carvings and Ancient Letters.

I passed several doors, but they were all sealed tight. Maybe they needed a key, or maybe the "magic" of these Ruins had just run out of batteries centuries ago.

The music got louder.

I rounded a corner and found a massive, shattered door. The sound was pouring out from the other side.

I squeezed through a hole in the wreckage and stopped dead.

I’d stepped into a Cathedral bathed in an eerie, otherworldly glow. High above, the stained glass depicted the Three Heroes and the Dismembered Demon, casting vibrant, multicolored light across the room.

And right in the middle of it sat a grand piano.

“Shadow...”

There he was, sitting in a forgotten Cathedral at the end of the world, playing Moonlight for an audience of one.