Thick clouds hung low over Dausa, a gray mist curling along the edges of its snow-blanketed streets like a lingering memory. The cold bit through the air like a truth you didn't want to hear—sharp, inescapable. The icy silence around Dausa Prison was broken only by the heavy creak of iron gates slowly parting.
Laurick Andersson stepped through them.
His short black hair carried a faint purple sheen when the weak sunlight hit it, almost like a bruise that never healed. A standard-issue gray coat hung from his shoulders, two sizes too big for his lean frame. His dark eyes flicked around nervously, absorbing the outside world as if it might shatter him at any moment.
Twelve years. Seven of them in a coma. The rest in a cell. A childhood turned into a nightmare—literally.
His fingers trembled as he clutched a small duffel bag, the only possession he carried out of Dausa Prison. A worn photo of his parents poked out the top, the edges curled and faded. His mother's smile still shined with that strange sense of certainty, like she always knew what was going to happen. Maybe she did.
Laurick didn't speak. He didn't need to.
People stared at him from a distance—guards, staff, a couple of reporters bold enough to loiter near the edge of the prison wall. One of them lifted a camera.
Click.
He flinched.
"Murderer," someone muttered. Laurick heard it anyway.
His shoulders tensed, but he said nothing. Not because he agreed. Not because he disagreed. But because it wouldn't change anything.
He walked forward, cautiously, each step as if testing the ground might collapse beneath him. He didn't fully believe the world would let him go just like that.
Then he saw her.
A woman stood at the end of the long gravel path. Wind tousled her silver-blonde hair, and her coat was lined with fire-orange trim that flickered slightly, as if the fabric was alive. She leaned against a matte-black vehicle, arms crossed and gaze focused.
Sylvi. Hero name: Embermind. Quirk: Mystical Fire — green flames with strange and mysterious properties to it.
"You Laurick Andersson?" she asked, tilting her head.
He gave a tiny nod. It was barely noticeable.
"Right," she said, stepping forward and pulling out a file. "I've been assigned to your reintegration. I'm Sylvi. You've got a long road ahead of you."
Laurick's eyes flicked up to meet hers, uncertainty in every line of his face. "You're… not scared of me?"
Sylvi paused. Then smiled faintly—warm, but not pitying. "You've already lived through your worst nightmare, right?"
He didn't answer.
"Then let's see if we can survive reality."
From the woods beyond the prison, two sets of eyes watched the interaction.
Simon, dressed in a long navy coat with his hair pulled back in a messy bun, lowered his binoculars. His expression remained neutral—passive, almost bored—but there was a glint of thought behind his stillness.
Beside him, Pringelina slurped down the last of a canned soda with a comical wheeze, her round cheeks bouncing as she sighed with satisfaction. She cracked her knuckles, each one making a distinct pop.
"Should we kill him now?" she asked lazily.
Simon didn't answer right away. Instead, he stared at Laurick as he climbed into Sylvi's car.
"No," he finally said. "Not yet. Not until we know what's really going on."
"You think Rost's keeping secrets?"
Simon's expression didn't change, but his fingers twitched.
"I don't think. I know."
As the car pulled away from Dausa Prison, Laurick dared a glance in the rearview mirror.
The gates were closing behind him.
But deep within his soul, behind layers of caution and trauma, the Nightmare Monsters stirred—restless.
And the Moon whispered:
"Freedom tastes close, Laurick. Very close."
The drive was silent.
Sylvi didn't press him with questions, and Laurick didn't offer anything. The hum of the heater and the occasional swipe of the windshield wipers against sleet were the only sounds in the car.
Outside, Dausa blurred past—clean-cut buildings, gray skies, cold people. The scars of Skandevik weren't visible here, but Laurick could feel them in the stares, in the way people moved out of the way when they saw his face through the window.
Eventually, the car turned off the main road, following a narrow, winding path through pine trees until it reached the outskirts—Bjørnevika, the quiet town that bordered Dausa's western edge. A place built by survivors, now reluctantly hosting the cause of their pain.
They stopped in front of a two-story cabin-style house. Its design was simple but warm—wooden panels, moss-covered stones, and windows that invited the outside in. Too many windows.
Laurick stepped out slowly, hugging his duffel bag tightly. Sylvi unlocked the door and gestured him inside.
"It's temporary," she said. "Until you're stable enough to reintegrate. Government-funded. And the windows are reinforced, if you're worried."
Laurick said nothing, but his hand trembled as he turned the doorknob.
The inside was cozy. Almost too cozy.
A fireplace with freshly chopped logs sat unlit in the corner. There was a small kitchen, a lounge area, and a narrow stairwell leading to an upstairs bedroom. A fridge stocked with food, shelves lined with books, and a folded hero uniform in a sealed case on the wall—the uniform once worn by his father. Laurick's eyes lingered on it, but he looked away just as quickly.
Sylvi gave him the tour, showing off the kitchen appliances and explaining how the smart lock system worked. But as they moved toward the back of the house, she gestured to a sliding glass door that led to a small backyard.
"You'll have a bit of privacy here. And fresh air. There's even a trail nearby—"
"...I'm not going outside."
The words came out of Laurick like a reflex. Quiet, but sharp. His body stiffened. He stared at the ground.
Sylvi paused. "You don't have to now, but fresh air—"
"I don't go outside."
He wasn't angry. He wasn't even panicking. He was just… closed. His voice was the verbal equivalent of a locked door.
Sylvi studied him quietly. Her quirk flared just a little, subtle flickers of flame rising behind her eyes like thoughts she didn't speak out loud.
"Alright," she said finally. "Inside it is. For now."
Far beyond the house, deep in the trees, Simon crouched beside a rock, peering through a high-tech scope. Pringelina lay beside him, munching on a bag of chips, her breath slowly growing heavier as her lungs adapted to the cold air—stockpiling it.
"They look boring," she muttered. "Can we kill them now?"
"Not yet," Simon said, adjusting the lens. His pale eyes locked on Laurick through the window. "He's not in control yet. That's the point."
Pringelina rolled onto her side. "And when is yet?"
"Tonight."
A few kilometers away, in a secluded cabin near the Skandevik ruins, Rost stood before a wall covered in maps and photos. A single image of Laurick—taken earlier that morning—was marked with a glowing red sigil.
He held a small rock in his hand. Nothing special.
He threw it toward the window. It bounced harmlessly off the glass.
Then he activated his quirk.
The rock trembled. The red sigil lit up again.
And the rock shot back toward the glass—so fast it cracked the window instantly, leaving a small, sharp dent.
Rost smiled.
"By dawn," he said to himself, "the past will finally collapse."
Back in Bjørnevika, Laurick sat on the couch, shoulders hunched, hands gripping a warm mug of cocoa Sylvi had made for him. The fire now burned softly beside him.
He stared into it, seeing only shadows.
The Moon stirred inside.
"They're watching us, Laurick…"
"Let them come," said The Wizard.
"Let's play," said the Man with Long Green Hair.
Laurick said nothing aloud.
But his grip on the cup tightened.
The nightmare hadn't ended.
It had only changed rooms.
The forest surrounding Bjørnevika was dead silent. Not even the wind dared to whistle.
Simon crouched behind a cluster of pine trees, eyes scanning the cabin up ahead. His breathing was steady, heart unnaturally calm. It always was—dreamless men rarely got anxious.
Pringelina, on the other hand, was growing impatient. She exhaled through her nose in slow, deliberate huffs, her quirk quietly building pressure in her chest. She wore a black winter jacket several sizes too small, her face half-covered by a scarf that barely hid her grin.
"This is it," she whispered. "Easy in, easy out."
Simon didn't respond.
Instead, his eyes narrowed.
The air around the cabin… felt wrong.
It was subtle, like standing near a beehive you couldn't see. That slow, unsettling hum of something alive but silent. The shadows seemed to twist just a little too long before settling. The ground felt soft beneath their boots, as if they were stepping on something that didn't want to be stepped on.
Pringelina shifted uneasily. "Do you feel that?"
Simon finally nodded. "Yeah. It's like the air itself knows we're here."
"Should we pull back?"
Simon hesitated.
"No," he said flatly. "We go. But stay sharp."
And together, they moved—slowly, carefully—toward the cabin.
Inside, the fireplace had long since died down to soft glowing embers.
Sylvi sat on a chair beside the couch, watching Laurick curled up in a blanket. He hadn't touched the bed upstairs. He'd barely spoken since dinner.
He looked smaller than before—almost like a child bundled too tightly. But the real change was the smoke. Faint purple tendrils leaked from his mouth and the corners of his eyes, drifting upward like a lazy fog.
"You should try to sleep," Sylvi said gently.
Laurick didn't answer.
She leaned forward. "They said this place was secure. You're safe here, Laurick. I promise."
Still nothing.
And the smoke thickened.
It coiled around the ceiling like mist in a horror film. Sylvi shifted uncomfortably. She could feel something off about it. She'd been briefed before taking the assignment, but nothing had prepared her for how wrong this quirk felt up close.
"When he's scared," the scientists had said, "he emits a sleeping gas. Extremely potent. Induces a dream state in seconds. And from there… things get unpredictable."
Laurick began to tremble.
Sylvi crouched beside the couch. "Hey, hey—it's okay. I'm here. Whatever's scaring you, it's not real anymore."
He looked up at her slowly, eyes wide, as if he was seeing something behind her. Something crawling through the smoke. His voice was barely above a whisper.
"They're coming."
Sylvi froze.
Outside, Simon stopped dead.
His boot hovered over the ground, hesitation pinning him like ice. Pringelina bumped into him.
"What? Why—"
"Look," he said.
From the cabin's roof, faint tendrils of purple smoke were rising into the sky like haunted breath.
Pringelina stared.
"...What is that?"
Simon didn't answer. His muscles tensed.
"If you go into that smoke… you dream," he remembered.
"And if you dream… you see them."
But Simon didn't dream. He couldn't. That was his quirk—Oneiric Immunity. He'd be fine.
Probably.
Still… the pressure in the air was increasing. The wrongness was now a weight on their shoulders.
A branch snapped far behind them. But no animal had made that noise.
Simon clenched his jaw. "We proceed. No turning back."
Inside, Laurick's head was buried in his knees now.
"The Moon's talking again," he muttered. "He says I should let them out. That they'll protect me."
Sylvi placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ignore it."
"I can't. They're watching me. All of them."
The smoke grew thicker, filling the room in slow pulses like a heartbeat.
Suddenly, the lights flickered.
Sylvi turned sharply toward the window, her senses flaring. Something moved just beyond the glass.
"They're here," Laurick whispered again.
And from somewhere deep inside the fog swirling in his chest, The Wizard's voice echoed:
"Shall I greet the guests, Laurick? Or shall we play one more waiting game?"
Outside, Simon reached the edge of the house. His gloved hand pressed against the wall, searching for the silent breach point.
Then he saw something in the reflection of the window.
A figure—tall, hunched, and glowing faintly purple—just standing in the middle of the room, watching Laurick.
It hadn't been there a second ago.
Simon blinked. Checked again.
Gone.
He stepped back.
For the first time in years…
Simon felt uneasy.
Back inside, Sylvi's flame flared in her chest, reacting to the overwhelming dread in the room.
She stood up quickly. "Laurick, listen to me. If you don't calm down—"
"I can't!" he screamed, tears spilling down his face. "They're too loud!"
And with a sudden gust, the purple smoke exploded outward, flooding the room in a thick, choking haze.
Sylvi coughed, staggering back.
Then—a voice whispered through the fog.
"Let us out, Laurick. You don't have to suffer alone anymore."
And somewhere deep in the fog, something opened its eyes.
The cabin had become a tomb of silence, swallowed by purple fog.
Sylvi stumbled backward, arms flailing for balance as the gas overwhelmed her senses. Her flame flickered weakly on her fingertips, sputtering against the encroaching haze. Her vision tunneled. Her thoughts scattered like ashes in wind.
And then—
Darkness.
[Nightmare Sequence – Sylvi]
She stood in a hallway made of mirrors.
Each one reflected a different version of herself—laughing, crying, burned, broken. Some wore her hero suit, standing tall. Others were hunched over, sobbing. In one, she was dead, charred like coal.
She moved forward, hands trembling.
The hallway stretched endlessly, but her feet moved on their own. A child's voice echoed through the mirrors:
"You didn't save him."
Sylvi turned—there was no one there.
"You failed him. Like you always do."
The mirrors suddenly cracked, spiderwebbing from the center. Her own reflection began to bleed from the eyes, mouth curled into a mocking grin.
"You couldn't even protect yourself."
She screamed.
[Reality – Inside the Cabin]
Sylvi's body slumped to the floor with a dull thud, eyes fluttering shut. Her quirk sparked violently one last time before going dim.
A red light suddenly flared to life on a small panel tucked above the kitchen cabinets.
ALERT: HERO LIFE SIGN STABILITY – CRITICAL.
SECURITY TEAM NOTIFIED. ETA: 8 MINUTES.
Laurick barely noticed. He was curled on the couch, body trembling like a trapped animal, eyes wide with terror but seeing nothing of the real world. The smoke thickened, now leaking through the walls and vents like the cabin was alive and weeping fear.
And then—
Bang.
The front door was kicked open.
Simon stepped inside.
The smoke coiled toward him like curious fingers… then recoiled.
Unaffected, he strode forward with calm precision, his boots crunching against the glass of a shattered photo frame. His eyes scanned the scene:
Sylvi, unconscious.Laurick, near-catatonic.Fog curling in every direction, thick and oppressive.
He didn't pause.
"Laurick Andersson," he said coldly. "I've come to end you."
Behind him, Pringelina waddled in with confidence. "Finally! Took long enough—"
She took one breath.
One.
And her eyes widened.
She gasped, her lungs automatically drawing in the fog like a vacuum. Within seconds, her face paled, her body swayed—and then she dropped like a rock.
[Nightmare Sequence – Pringelina]
She was in a white room.
Empty. Perfectly clean. No smells, no color, no sound.
Her body was thin. Too thin. The curves she'd always known—gone. Her breathing felt sharp, jagged. She tried to inhale—nothing came.
From behind, a voice whispered:
"You're just air. Nothing else. That's all you've ever been."
She screamed. No sound came out.
Mirrors appeared on the walls. All of them showed her choking—stripped of everything. Weak. Powerless.
Unseen laughter echoed around her like thunder.
[Reality – Inside the Cabin]
Simon stood above her, watching as she convulsed slightly.
He didn't kneel to help.
He didn't speak.
Instead, he turned to Laurick, who now sat motionless, his head turned slightly in Simon's direction.
"Can you hear me?" Simon asked.
Laurick didn't respond—but the smoke did. It pulled away from Simon's path like an intelligent creature, avoiding him instinctively.
Simon narrowed his eyes. "So… this is the source."
He looked at the ceiling. The walls. The very air was alive with him—Laurick's terror made manifest.
And for the first time, Simon didn't feel like a predator.
He felt like an intruder.
Outside, the first lights of the security team flashed through the trees—red strobes flickering through mist.
Time was running out.
Simon's hand slipped into his coat.
His fingers curled around a dart.