Ron smiled faintly, took the book, and turned away.
Outside, the library grounds drowned in silver moonlight. The air was still — too still.
He stepped into the open night, the chill brushing against his face, clutching the book to his chest as if afraid it might vanish.
He walked until he reached a lonely bench in the park and sat down. The silence pressed in.
Then, without warning — a soft pulse echoed in his mind.
[Your Supporter "???" is smiling at you]
Ron frowned but didn't respond. His gaze drifted to the sky, where clouds floated like slow-moving ghosts.
"Dream," he murmured, his voice trembling, "I kept my promise… I read what you wrote."
His eyes softened — only for pain to follow.
"I wish we could've read it together… you, me, and our daughters."
He gave a weak laugh that dissolved into the quiet.
"You don't know what it's like," he whispered, "when a house once filled with laughter turns into a graveyard."
The words dissolved into silence.
And before he knew it, sleep overtook him.
The dream was radiant — impossibly so.
A boundless blue sky stretched overhead, warm wind brushing his hair.
"Hey, Ron!" a cheerful voice called.
A young boy stood a few paces away, grinning ear to ear. "There's a girl I like!"
"I don't care," young Ron said, folding
his arms.
"I'll tell Dream you like her!"
"I don't!" Ron snapped, chasing after him.
He caught the boy — Daniel — and kicked him lightly.
"Then tell me, who's the one you like?"
"It's Sera," Daniel replied with a shy smile. "She helped me yester—"
The words fractured, the memory shattering into a thousand pieces.
Ron woke with a start.
Dawn had begun to creep through the curtains, painting the room in a gray half-light. His heart pounded in his chest.
"Daniel…" he whispered, tasting the name like something both foreign and familiar.
His gaze fell to the book resting beside him — still open, as if it had been waiting.
"That name," he muttered. "It was on the grave. And… in the book."
A chill passed through him.
"Should I open it?" he said under his breath, though his hand was already moving.
He flipped a random page.
The words stared back at him, reflecting his own thoughts — his actions, his hesitation, his fear.
He froze. Then shut the book and let it fall from his hands.
"No…" His voice cracked. "That's not possible."
The book lay on the floor, its pages fluttering as though stirred by a hidden breath.
"It's describing me," he whispered. "Everything I think… everything I do."
His mind raced.
"Dream… did you really write this?"
He pressed his palms to his temples. "Maybe that old man knows. Or maybe… my Supporter."
He looked again — and stopped breathing.
The book had opened itself once more.
The page read:
He was trapped in that dimension. He thought of how to contact the old man who brought him here — or if he should ask his Supporter for help. His eyes fell on the book again. He hesitated, then opened a random page.
Ron's body went cold.
"It's reading me," he said softly, the words barely audible. He got up and rushed to his hotel room.
The light in the room dimmed, or perhaps his eyes simply couldn't see it anymore. Shadows seemed to shift along the walls, drawn toward him.
"What is this world turning into…?" he whispered.
He rose, unsteady, and crossed to the window. Pulling the curtains open, he let the sunlight flood the room, driving the dark away.
Outside, far beyond the city gates, a royal carriage rolled into Hero Town — ornate and gleaming beneath the pale morning sun.
The sound of hooves echoed through the streets.
Ron turned his head just in time to see a grand carriage glide through the crowd, its banners fluttering like living flame. The people cheered, lining the road all the way to the castle gates.
At the entrance stood the royal family—the King, Queen, Prince, and both Princesses—bathed in the morning light.
Ron barely spared them a glance. He'd only come down to buy breakfast.
The carriage halted. Silence rippled through the air as the door opened.
An elderly man stepped out first, his white hair gleaming beneath the sunlight. Two figures followed—a young man and a woman, their posture regal, their clothes stitched with gold and sapphire threads. The crowd bowed as one.
The Elder turned slightly.
For a heartbeat, his right eye met Ron's.
Ron froze. His instincts screamed.
Behind the Elder's shoulder, something twisted—an outline of a creature made from shadows and dark energy, writhing like smoke. Its hollow eyes locked onto Ron's.
He could feel it speaking, though no words were formed.
Ron's gaze sharpened, his aura flickering to life. The Elder's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, then he smiled, turning back toward the King as if nothing had happened.
"Is something wrong, Elder?" the young man beside him asked quietly.
The Elder didn't answer. He simply kept walking, he was calm and unreadable. But the young man and woman both glanced toward Ron. Their eyes glowed faintly—gold and blue—as they tried to perceive what had caught the Elder's attention.
What they saw left them breathless.
Ron stood under the morning sun, surrounded by faint glimmers of black, crimson, and violet light. His aura pulsed like a storm barely restrained.
"Did you feel that?" the princess whispered.
The prince nodded. "Even the Elder noticed."
The Elder entered the castle, and the two followed close behind.
"That explains why he looked at him," the princess murmured.
Ron gathered his ingredients from the stall, but his thoughts lingered.
"Who were those people?" he asked the old shopkeeper.
The man smiled faintly. "Them? That's the royal family of the Song Empire."
Song Empire… Ron thought.
"That Elderly man is King Alberto himself. The young man is Prince Marcus—the second prince—and the woman is the eldest, Princess Iris."
"They look strong," Ron said.
"Strong?" The shopkeeper chuckled. "Boy, they've ruled for two thousand years. The Song Empire is the oldest and mightiest of them all."
Ron's brows lifted. Two thousand years of dominance… sustained by that dark power, perhaps. Impressive.