The city whispered like it was alive.
Every step Erza took toward the Heartspire made the dreamscape more intimate. The world no longer tried to confuse him—it tried to seduce him, to convince him this was better than reality. Safer. Quieter.
"I don't like this," Lysra said, her eyes darting between buildings now shifting in design. One blink, and the storefront was a bakery; another blink, and it was a charred ruin. "It's like we're walking on the edge of someone else's memories."
"No," Auren corrected grimly. "We're walking on the edge of our own."
They reached the outer ring of the Heartspire—once Elarin's central temple, now a jagged pillar of twisted steel and flesh-veined marble. Red pulses echoed from within it like a heartbeat. The air was thick, not just with power—but grief.
Korr grunted. "Movement."
Figures stepped into view.
Dozens of them.
Not monsters. People.
Citizens. Friends. Old soldiers. Children.
Faces Erza recognized… all long dead.
They stood in perfect lines, staring blankly. Their mouths didn't move, but their voices rang out in unison:
"You're alive because we died."
Erza took a step forward, eyes narrowing.
"Who are you really?" he asked. "Memories? Ghosts? Projections?"
One of the children stepped forward—small, maybe ten years old. "We are what you carry. Every scar, every failure. Every death you couldn't stop."
"Get out of the way," Erza growled.
But the illusion did not waver. A few of the figures began weeping. Others screamed silently.
The sky above trembled—stars flickered erratically. The Leo constellation dimmed, as if the dream itself was pushing Erza away from his power.
✦ The Dreamtrap
Suddenly, the world rippled.
Seris vanished.
Then Korr.
Then Auren and Lysra.
Erza stood alone—except now, he wasn't in the city.
He was back on the field. The night the capital burned.
And across from him stood his father, the Fallen Flame King.
Unburnt. Alive.
"Son," he said, calm and heavy with presence. "You don't need to fight anymore. Come home. We can rebuild. The fire doesn't have to hurt."
Erza blinked. "You're not real."
"I am everything you want back."
"I want justice."
"You want to stop losing people."
Erza flinched.
His father stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let go of Leo. Let go of the flame. The pain will stop."
For a second, Erza's aura dimmed.
For a second… he wanted to.
But then he remembered something.
His sister. Her words that day.
"Don't carry our legacy because you have to. Carry it because it deserves to burn on."
Erza clenched his jaw.
"No."
He stepped back.
"You're not my father. You're my regret."
And then his aura snapped back to life.
With a blinding flash, the illusion shattered. The city returned. The figures vanished.
Only the Heartspire remained—and at its base, the Dream Lich finally revealed itself.
✦ The Dream Lich Appears
It was massive. Humanoid in shape, but its head was a split cancerous shell, and its body shifted constantly between flesh and shadow. Antlers of bone and tendrils of starlight extended from its back.
It did not walk.
It floated—a monarch of forgotten dreams.
"Erza Black," it hissed. "So young. So arrogant. So… full of ache."
Erza didn't flinch. "You speak like a priest."
"I speak like a truth."
The Lich extended a clawed finger.
"Your flame cannot cleanse the mind. It only destroys. I offer mercy. A place where the lost are never alone."
"You're not mercy," Erza said, flames igniting at his heels. "You're rot. Wearing nostalgia as a mask."
The Lich snarled.
And the ground tore open.
Dreambeasts poured from the streets—hundreds. Misshapen, stitched from people's worst memories.
Behind them, his squad reappeared, weapons drawn, eyes wide.
"You okay?" Seris called.
"Never better," Erza said.
Leo's light pulsed behind him.
"Form up!" he roared. "We fight not just for survival—but for sanity."
And then the battle began.
End of Chapter 24