Everything was shrouded in fog.
It was as if all the sounds—waves crashing against jagged rocks, the roar of thunder, the howl of waterspouts, and the patter of rain on the reef—came flooding in all at once, the moment they touched down on the edge of the island. The black, swirling clouds above had dropped lower still, erasing even the horizon. When they looked out over the sea, they saw nothing but the cloak of mist coiled around it, concealing the storm-choked sky. Black waves surged and smashed against the coastline; beyond that, there was nothing.
"Honestly, I've never even left the continent of Belnaches, let alone ended up on some strange little island like this," Sather said as he descended slowly to the ground, unwrapping his tail from Jeanne's waist.
The rain still whispered steadily around them.
They stood at the edge of a fan-shaped tidal flat, half-submerged beneath sea and storm. Clusters of reefs rose in rings around the shore. They'd landed on the highest outcropping—like a platform barely poking above the water. Even the tallest waves couldn't reach it. Along the seaward side, several large reef slabs stood like collapsed and fractured walls.
The dim water gleamed like black glass. The sky was heavy, blanketed in low-hanging clouds that looked like a dome of dread overhead.
Jeanne brushed wet strands of hair from her face and wrapped her windblown locks once around her neck. She tore off a strip of sleeve, bit the black fabric between her teeth, and with a fluid, practiced motion, gathered her waist-length golden hair into a single ponytail.
"You know," Sather said, glancing at her with a faint trace of admiration in his eyes, "cutting it would probably be more practical. Though I'll admit, it looks a lot better than when you had short hair."
"I agree it's more convenient short. But we're in a dream," Jeanne said as she combed water from her hair with her fingers. "So I might as well do what I like."
"You're shameless," Sather remarked again.
Jeanne paused, then drew a long sword from her waist and casually stabbed it into the ground. It was silver-gray, and the hilt bore a delicate lily-shaped emblem.
She matched the sword's appearance perfectly. Her manner of speaking, however, was another matter entirely.
"So what, am I supposed to blush and tell you to stop complimenting me or I'll get embarrassed? You think I've lost my mind?"
"Well, technically, your head is full of water right now. In the literal sense."
"If you die, I'm feeding your corpse to wild dogs."
"If I die, your soul's coming with me—straight into the deepest layer of the maze."
"…How much longer do I have to stay in this nightmare?" Jeanne asked, staring at him with a thunderous expression.
"Oh, how tragic. I advise you not to think too hard about this particular nightmare. It's not ending anytime soon."
Sather shrugged and ignored her scowl. He leapt down from the reef, stepping into the sloshing waves. His bat wings folded impossibly into his back.
He looked up at her from the shallows. "Our top priority right now is this fresher nightmare at your feet," he said, making a gesture toward the lighthouse. "We should check it out first."
Jeanne pulled her sword free and jumped down beside him, splashing water everywhere.
"I feel like I'm going to suffocate."
Jeanne followed behind Sather with a grim face, her long legs wrapped in high boots up to her knees. Her sword dragged across the ground, scraping off patches of wet moss.
Ahead—at the far end of the coastal cliffs—the lighthouse stood tall and black against the night sky like a monolithic column, its top crowned with a ghostly white glow. The structure was the only visible man-made object on the island. Beyond it, there was nothing but the gray-white fog blanketing the landscape like a ghostly veil.
A narrow, winding path—barely discernible—led from the reef-strewn shallows to the top of the cliff. Mud and sand had accumulated along the trail, making the way slippery.
To their right, thick moss crept across the rocks like a web. On their left, the cliff edge plunged steeply into the sea. A single glance downward revealed jagged reefs a hundred meters below, battered by endless waves.
Though Jeanne had traversed countless treacherous terrains, this incline made her dizzy. So she clung tightly to the end of Sather's nearly two-meter-long tail, even looping it once around her wrist. The storm howled in the distance, and she ignored any grumbling the black mage might have had—pretending the wind had carried all his complaints away.
The lighthouse appeared to be made of gray bricks and stood at the very tip of a triangular cliff. It was somewhat weathered. Inside, a spiral staircase rose through dim gray walls, creating the illusion of two nested cylinders. Moist, ghostly spiderwebs clung to the interior.
At the top, Sather's eyes were drawn to the source of the light—something he had assumed was a standard oil lamp.
The apparatus had a black metal base and was encased in a massive elliptical glass shell, nearly as tall as a person. Inside, filaments of metal shimmered. The light came from within.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Arc lamp," Jeanne replied, letting go of his tail and shaking out her sore wrist. "It's something that showed up on the continent of Lecerre about a decade ago."
"Like firearms—another mundane technology?" Sather tapped the lamp, producing a sharp, clear ring. "This kind of thing hasn't reached Belnaches. So, the owner of this dream… from your homeland, maybe?"
"No," Jeanne said flatly. "Some arc lamps have made their way to your side of the world. They're just rare—and mostly ignored."
"Oh. Guess I was a little out of the loop during my years on the run," Sather muttered, adjusting the lighthouse's viewing scope. "We usually use spelllight. A small rift to the maze can sustain it indefinitely."
"And no one worries about energy leakage from the maze?" Jeanne frowned.
"Please," Sather replied without looking up. "Compared to the terrain-warping catastrophes of inter-maze warzones, a little leakage from minor spells is nothing…"
He stopped mid-sentence.
A pause. Then he turned to her, brow furrowed.
"I think… I see someone swimming out there," he said.
Astorfo had made the mistake of choosing a door—any door—and had fallen straight into an endless sea.
Unfortunately, this dream had not included the Iron Inquisitor to pluck him out of trouble.
Worse, of all the magical gear he'd gathered from three continents, not a single piece had come with him—aside from the sword strapped to his back.
Worst of all, Astorfo had no wings and no half-demon steed to carry him.
His only saving grace was that he'd sailed across many seas in the waking world—and was a strong swimmer. That alone had kept him from drowning immediately.
But it wouldn't keep him afloat for much longer.
Above him, swirling thunderclouds loomed in great spirals. The waves crashed and churned like silent giants charging into battle—yet there was no sound. No thunder. No splash. Just eerie, unnatural silence. Lightning flashed in ghostly bursts. Once or twice, it struck the surface of the water. Astorfo flinched every time.
With each flash, he saw them—waterspouts. Dozens of them. From the sunken depths to the tops of the clouds, their mirrored outlines stretched down into the ocean. Inverted. Reflected. Identical.
Then darkness returned.
He struggled not to get sucked under by the next wave and decided he'd never been this unlucky in his entire life.
Gods knew what would happen if he died here—would it carry over to the real world?
Suddenly, in that crushing silence, he heard wings beating.
He couldn't see clearly through the dark, but when the next lightning flash lit the sky and sea for just a moment—he saw it.
And in that moment, Astorfo realized something terrible:
This was truly the unluckiest moment of his life.
Why was there a demon here!?
So this was his final choice—drowning or being devoured.