Arthur stood frozen, staring at the body he now possessed.
"Wow… at least I look a little handsome this time," he muttered, grinning at his reflection. "When I wake, I must write this dream down—archive it, treasure it!"
He paused, reconsidering. "No, not just the archives. I'll summon the entire Senate Cabinet and tell them myself. Yeah… and anyone who dares not to listen will be fired!"
A laugh escaped him. "I'm the king! Hahaha! This dream better be fun. First thing—I'll find myself a queen of the dream. The lover of the dream!"
But suddenly, the laughter faded. "Wait… why do I feel pain?"
In dreams we are supposed to feel no pain....arthur was shocked
Shards of ice pierced his chest. He tore them out; the wounds healed instantly—but something felt… off.
Closing his eyes, he dove deep into the region between soul and spirit.
Inside, he saw a burning flame flickering in the darkness, and a lifeless body lying before it.
As he stepped closer, shadows quivered—and a colossal dragon descended.
It was massive. Grayish wings, smoky like fog, eyes ancient and primal. The beast coiled around the body, a silent guardian.
Arthur smirked. "So this is the dragon I've tamed in my dream? Not bad… not bad at all."
He circled carefully, observing the dragon's protective stance. "Hmm… the flames are fading. Something's wrong here."
Then, a distant voice echoed through the darkness:
"Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?"
Arthur froze. A tamed dragon speaking to the soul of its master? He had never witnessed anything like this.
He shook his head. "Definitely a dream. Nothing here makes sense."
He withdrew, returning to his meditating body.
Opening his eyes, he saw a young man, about his age, tears streaking his cheeks.
Arthur blinked. He didn't recognize him at all.
"Anyone who makes a dream this confusing has no sense of fairness," he muttered. "I should at least remember who this boy is!"
Before he could speak further, the teen rushed forward and embraced him tightly.
"I'm sorry," the boy cried. "Even if everyone thinks you killed Uncle Kalimantan, I know you didn't. Even Benny… he was sorry. He thought signing those papers was the only way to ease your pain. He said life is worth more than money, more than inheritance."
Arthur fell silent. He knew Kalimantan—the founder of the Hunts family, a man of immense wealth and power.
"So he's dead," Arthur murmured. "Damn… I never had time to pay my respects."
He shook his head. "Wait… this is a dream. That means I can change it!"
He laughed. "Now I'm living Kalimantan's life! And this boy… he calls him Uncle Kalimantan, huh?"
He sighed. "I was never close to him. Barely followed family affairs. Three wives, all trash—married me only to be queens. I never had true love."
He slapped his cheeks lightly. "Focus, Arthur. Dreams carry warnings. When I wake, I'll call a meeting. I'll tell the council I met Kalimantan in a dream! Let's see their faces then."
The teen spoke again. "Kyle! Are you even listening?"
Blinking, Arthur realized: "Kyle… that's my name here."
He smiled faintly. "Yeah… yeah, brother."
The boy took his hand. Together, they started walking—but suddenly stopped.
A strange vibration rippled through the hall. Energy surged—unstable, wild.
Arthur froze. He knew this feeling. A portal was about to appear. Years of war had taught him to sense energy like a sixth sense.
The guards burst in, breaking their trance, bowing deeply.
"In honor of Young Master Kyle Hunts and Young Master Ozacus Hunt!"
Arthur's grin widened. "Rich, handsome, and noble? Hahaha! What a dream! And this one… he even cares for me!"
He crossed his arms. "But those damned papers… I need to understand everything before I wake. The council already hates me. They've never respected me. Even at thirty-five, they treat me like a child. To hell with them!"
"Brother!" Ozacus gasped. "Did you just curse?"
Arthur laughed so hard even the guards chuckled. Together, they stepped outside.
---
But inside, ripples surged. A portal tore open.
A man in a crimson robe, marked with white patches and a glowing moon emblem, emerged. Behind him, soldiers in crimson armor carried the same sigil.
The robed man raised his staff; the soldiers knelt.
"We serve the God of the Moon, Arma," they chanted, "under the Invoker Priest Zeus!"
The priest smiled coldly. "Ah… so they told you my name."
He turned his glowing eyes to them. "The sacred blood has been sacrificed to the God of the Moon. We are here to curse the chosen vessel—the boy in charge."
His staff gleamed blue, then white, trailing ancient runes through the air. The light formed the image of Kyle.
The soldiers chanted again:
"May the God of the Moon purify us for the holy task!"
Suddenly, the Invoker froze. A dark, suffocating presence filled the room.
"On your feet!" he barked.
Each guard sliced their own palm; blood poured forth and solidified into twin crimson blades. Their eyes burned like moons.
The Invoker struck the ground with his staff—white energy erupted.
At the entrance stood a figure cloaked in darkness, crimson eyes burning like Arthur's own.
The Invoker's voice trembled. "Look what we have here… the Devil of the Moon himself."
He raised his staff. "You're just a soul! Your true body is chained by the God of the Moon. You have no anchor to return!"
The devil laughed—a chilling, endless sound.
"Do you think I don't know who you are, Zeus?" he said. "I came for your soul. I am here to end your life…and destroy your false god. I won't let you curse my vessel, Kyle. He carries the soul of my servant Arthur. And I'll reclaim his true body."
He raised his hand; shadows trailed like smoke.
"When the lunar eclipse comes, your god's blessings will vanish. His power will fade. On that day, my chains will break. I am Amra, God of Death—the Devil of the Moon—and the one who will end your life. Remember my name… for no one lives to tell a tale of death!"
His laughter echoed—cold, divine, eternal.
"Hahaha! You are all dead. And dead men tell no tales!"