Koyote sat cross-legged in the real world, staring at the flickering lantern light.
Summoning my believers directly?
No... too sudden. Too cheap. He didn't look godly — he looked like a sleep-deprived cosplayer with half a plan.
So instead, he hatched a better idea. Something subtler. More theatrical.
He would invade their dreams. Twist their subconscious, not their reality. And host a banquet.
A Dream Banquet.
He closed his eyes, focused—and somewhere between thought and slumber, he stepped into the fog of the Dreamscape.
---
Five believers stood beneath a sky the color of bruised twilight — swirling with purple-black mist. They didn't know why they had been summoned.
The Tier 5 catalyst stood at the center, spine stiff.
1 Tier 3 flanked him, twitching with unease.
Then—
The sky cracked.
From the ceiling of fog, a figure descended.
Boots touched the ground with a hush, like the closing of a book.
And instantly, without command or word, they all bowed.
Their bodies obeyed before their minds caught up.
He was not human — not fully.
Four black feathered wings trailed behind him, dark and vast, shifting like veils caught in a current.
They didn't flap. They drifted.
Like a dying eclipse.
Twin horns, curved and obsidian, spiraled from his head — sharp and elegant, like blades forged from shadow.
Above him, a halo of jagged purple flame spun slowly —
A broken crown made from starfire and fallen stars, whispering of forgotten constellations.
He wore a black suit, clean-cut and immaculate — too perfect for mortal tailoring.
A black tie hung straight like a noose of elegance.
Bandages coiled around his wrists — old, bloodless, twitching with sentient hunger.
Whips in disguise.
Then he spoke.
No thunder. No theatrics.
Just certainty.
Just command.
"You may refer to me as… the Dreamweaver."
Said the angel with horns.
The demon who wears a halo.
The man once called Zhang Wei.
Koyote Heraclides.
Legacy of Gandalf.
the boy who has seen an other world.
Someone beyond human.
Or simply—
- The Dreamweaver.