Morning came with a sky painted in impossible colors.
Lavender clouds streaked gold. The sun fractured into twin rays — one warm, one cold.
Jiheon stood at the window of their apartment, staring. "That's… not sunrise," he muttered.
Eunha didn't respond. She was at her desk, hands trembling over a new symbol she hadn't meant to draw.
"It's starting," she whispered.
---
⚜️
By noon, Seoul wasn't Seoul anymore.
Children pointed at creatures no one could see — until suddenly, everyone could.
Butterflies made of glass drifted through subway tunnels. Street signs changed languages mid-sentence. A woman at a café began humming — and her shadow started dancing on its own.
The world wasn't breaking. It was remembering.
Jiheon watched from the shop window, jaw tight. "You said we'd bring back imagination. You didn't mention hallucinations."
Eunha's lips curved slightly. "They're not hallucinations. They're dreams made visible. The Axis has reconnected to the collective unconscious."
"English, please," he snapped.
She met his gaze. "The world is dreaming out loud."
---
⚜️
But not all dreams were gentle.
At dusk, a sound rolled through the streets — a low hum, vibrating through the ground. Windows cracked. Pigeons scattered.
Then came the shapes.
Tall silhouettes, fluid and wrong, sliding out of alleyways like shadows learning to walk. They had no eyes, yet everyone who saw them felt seen.
Jiheon's hand went instinctively to his blade.
Eunha grabbed his wrist. "Wait."
"They're not human," he said.
"They're manifestations," she corrected. "Fragments of collective fear."
He looked at her sharply. "And you brought them here?"
She didn't answer.
---
⚜️
They stood in the empty street. The nearest dream-shape stopped — its form rippling like oil on water. Then, from its chest, a faint sound:
A sob.
Eunha stepped forward. "It's grieving."
"Grieving?" Jiheon hissed. "It looks like it's melting reality."
But as she approached, the shadow trembled — and shrank. Its form dissolved into a cloud of ink, scattering like smoke.
When it was gone, only a single feather remained — black, yet luminous.
She picked it up. "This one's name was Sorrow."
Jiheon stared. "You can name them?"
"They already have names. The world just forgot them."
---
⚜️
By nightfall, dream-creatures filled the edges of reality. Some were harmless — flickering lights that laughed like children. Others bent the air, heavy with hunger.
The government called it "a global atmospheric anomaly."
Eunha called it "the soul waking up."
Jiheon called it trouble.
He cornered her in the study, his voice low. "Tell me the truth, Eunha. How much control do you have?"
She hesitated. Then met his eyes. "Less than I want. More than they think."
"That's not an answer."
"No," she said softly. "It's a warning."
---
⚜️
Around midnight, the first nightmare arrived.
It came through the mirror.
The air rippled, then split open like silk — and out stepped a woman made of glass shards and whispers. Her voice was like broken bells.
> "Countess," she said. "You've disturbed the sleep of the world."
Jiheon drew his sword. "You'll have to go through me."
The creature tilted her head. "Ah. The knight who defied the stars."
Eunha's pulse spiked. "Who sent you?"
> "You did."
The words struck like thunder.
The nightmare's glass body cracked, revealing a second form beneath — Eunha herself, eyes gold, expression serene.
> "I am the part of you that dreams without mercy."
Then she smiled. "And I'm awake now."
---
⚜️
Jiheon lunged, blade flashing — but his strike passed through her like wind.
The reflection-Eunha flicked her wrist, and the air bent. The real Eunha staggered, coughing blood.
"She's feeding off your essence!" Jiheon shouted.
"I know!" she gasped. "She's… a fragment. The piece I suppressed when I destroyed the Axis."
The reflection's voice echoed like a song sung backward.
> "You chained imagination to morality. I unchain it."
And with a gesture, the walls bloomed with visions — countless realities overlaying one another, endless stories clawing for existence.
Each one demanded to be real.
---
⚜️
Jiheon pulled Eunha close, shielding her. "Tell me how to stop it."
She pressed her palm to his chest, whispering a rune — one she'd never used before.
> "Knight's Seal — Reversal of Bond."
The mark on his hand flared gold, and their link reversed — her essence flowing into him, stabilizing his form.
He gritted his teeth. "That'll kill you."
"It'll balance us," she whispered. "We share one dream now."
Then she smiled faintly. "If she's my nightmare, you'll have to be my sword."
He nodded once. "Then let's end this story properly."
---
⚜️
The fight wasn't physical. It was conceptual.
Each swing of Jiheon's blade shattered illusions — stories that weren't real, yet hurt like they were. He cut through memories of alternate lives, false eternities, unspoken what-ifs.
And through it all, Eunha stood at the center of the chaos, her hands weaving sigils mid-air, calling reality back to itself.
> "One world. One dream. One truth."
The reflection screamed — a sound that tore through glass and thought alike.
When it finally fell silent, Eunha collapsed into Jiheon's arms.
The world around them dimmed — colors fading back into normalcy.
---
⚜️
When she woke, it was dawn.
Jiheon was beside her, bruised but alive. Outside, the sky was blue again — just blue.
"Did we win?" he asked quietly.
She looked out the window. Children were laughing. Artists were painting. The dream-beasts had vanished.
"Yes," she said. Then, after a pause: "But something changed."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
She smiled faintly. "The world remembers us now. Not as myths — as possibilities."
He leaned closer. "So what happens next?"
Eunha reached out, touching his hand.
"Now," she said, "we teach it how to dream without destroying itself."