Vol. 2 Ch. 44: The nightmare

Author's Note:

Recurring characters:

Peter: The protagonist of the story.

Mariah: Peter's mother.

Recap:

He grinned, unable to contain his excitement about the prospects of such a system. He wondered if he could incorporate some utility skills, like silent casting, into the skill as well.

…Author's Note...

...

Peter opened his eyes. His eyes widened as he looked at his vicinity.

He stood atop a grassy ground which appeared to be the surface of a giant rock. Beyond it, everywhere he turned, water greeted him. Deep blue stretched from horizon to horizon.

He blinked, feeling the salty breeze hitting his body. Where am I? he thought. How did I get here?

The last thing that Peter could remember was going to sleep late at night after working on his IDE. Can’t be a dream…

Peter shook his head. Even lucid dreams weren’t this real. Looking down, he checked his head to see if anything was missing or changed. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. He still had all his fingers, and his body was still that of a ten-year-old.

He moved ahead to investigate further and stopped at the cliff. Looking down, all he saw were waves hitting the ground of the plateau he stood on.

“This is all a bit too real,” he muttered, looking into the ocean, a frown on his face. Considering the fact that I live in a world of magic, this can still be unreal.

Peter knew that the question wasn’t whether this was real or not, but how he could return to the inn. He looked up at the cloudy night sky, pondering a solution to his current problem.

Just then, he heard the telltale signs of a high tide. He looked down, his eyes growing wide in alarm as the water visibly started to rise. At the pace it was coming up, it would quickly swallow the little island he stood on.

He felt a gaze locked upon him, from deep in the waters, making him take an involuntary step back. A ripple broke the surface, spreading wider with every passing second. Peter’s pulse quickened as the sensation of being watched grew heavier, pressing on his chest.

He narrowed his eyes, watching as something stirred in the very depths of the dark ocean. He didn’t know how he was able to look that far deep, but there was something massive underneath the currents, watching his every move.

The air that smelled of salt just some moments ago started to smell foul. He continued watching, even as the water rose to dangerous levels, only minutes away from touching his boots. He felt that the more he watched, the more he could identify the shape.

Then—suddenly, two glowing eyes lit up in the depths, locking gaze with him. He gasped, falling back onto the grassy ground. That gaze terrified him from head to toe. What he saw in that gaze was pure chaos, unbound and unstoppable.

Suddenly, the water slowly swallowing the island, became even more horrifying.

Peter stood up, his body still shivering from what he saw in the ocean depths, and rushed toward the centre of his little island. He wanted to be as far away from the waves as possible.

He tried to think of a solution that would get him out of this situation, but nothing came to mind.

His breath came in shallow bursts as panic clawed at his mind. The sound of rushing water grew louder, waves slapping against the edges of the island with hungry persistence. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to think, but the image of those eyes burned behind his eyelids. They weren’t just looking at him—he saw desire in them, to consume him.

Peter scanned the shrinking patch of grass for anything, a rock, a branch, something that could help. Nothing. Just the endless black water surrounding him. Then the surface rippled again, and a low rumble vibrated through the ground, as if the ocean itself had spoken his name.

When it seemed like all hope was lost, help came from up above. Clouds parted, revealing five glowing moons in all their glory. They shimmered with divine might. Their glow seemed to have some effect on the waters, pushing the tide back and slowing its advance. The foul stench faded, replaced by a crisp, calming breeze that brushed against his skin like a gentle reassurance.

Peter tilted his head upward, awe replacing the fear in his chest. The moons hung like celestial guardians, their light weaving across the waves, forcing the darkness below to recoil. Yet, the peace was short-lived. Those eyes, deep in the depths, burned with silent wrath.

The ocean trembled, ripples spreading like the heartbeat of something immense and enraged. The hold that the moons in the sky had on it was slowly slipping despite their divine efforts. Shadows writhed beneath the surface, twisting and coiling like serpents desperate to break free. Each surge of the tide crept closer, devouring the grass inch by inch.

Peter’s chest tightened as he watched the light falter, the silver glow dimming against the abyss. It was as if the sea itself rejected the heavens. A low, guttural hum rose from below, vibrating through his bones. The eyes glared brighter, defiant, and the waters began to swell once more.

Tentacles rose, made entirely of water, spiralling into the air in thousands, their liquid forms shimmering under the moons’ glow. They writhed and coiled with unnatural grace before surging toward Peter, each one lashing with a will of its own, intent on dragging him into the abyss where those hateful eyes awaited.

The ground beneath his feet quaked as the first tendril slammed into the grass, splintering the soil like a whip. Peter stumbled back, heart pounding, as another shot passed his shoulder with a hiss, droplets slicing his cheek like tiny blades. He turned and ran, but there was nowhere to run—only a shrinking island and an endless sea of death.

Again, when it seemed like all hope was lost, the ground beneath him quaked, harder than before. Peter staggered, nearly losing his footing as cracks tore through the grassy surface. Then, at the island’s centre, the soil split apart, and something emerged—a sapling.

He stared in disbelief as it pushed upward, growing faster than his eyes could follow. In seconds, it became a towering trunk, thick as a fortress wall, its bark glowing faintly with veins of silver light. Branches unfurled like the arms of a titan, leaves shimmering with the same radiance as the moons above. The island expanded with it, stabilising beneath his feet, no longer sinking but rising.

Roots burst from the base of the colossal tree, ripping through the soil with a sound like splitting stone. They shot outward in every direction, thick and sinewy, glowing with the same lunar radiance as the bark. With a speed that defied nature, they lunged toward the writhing tentacles, coiling around them in a violent embrace.

The water constructs thrashed, whipping and curling, but the roots held firm, digging deeper as if drawing strength from the island itself. Every captured tentacle dissolved into harmless spray, but for each one destroyed, more rose from the black sea. The battle between wood and water raged at the edge of the island, a living barricade forming between Peter and the abyss.

For the first time since the nightmare began, Peter could breathe—but only for a moment. The eyes below still glared, and the ocean’s fury showed no sign of ending.

The roots and tentacles writhed in a vicious struggle, tearing through earth and water alike. For every tendril the glowing roots subdued, two more rose in its place, slamming against the island’s edge with crushing force. The moons burned brighter, their silver beams cascading down like spears of light, but the ocean surged back, its will unbroken. Even the colossal tree groaned as if straining under the weight of the relentless assault.

Peter backed toward the trunk, clutching its bark as the battlefield around him roared with chaos. The tentacles pushed harder, forcing their way through the wall of roots inch by inch, spraying saltwater across the grass. It was only a matter of time before they broke through.

Then, cutting through the thunder of waves and the groan of wood, came a piercing cry—a sound sharp and fierce, like the tearing of the sky. Peter’s head snapped upward just as a streak of blazing crimson tore through the clouds.

A bird wreathed in living flame descended with wings spread wide, each beat scattering embers like sparks of dawn. Its fiery plumage shimmered with unbearable heat, casting the island in a golden glow. As it soared low over the raging waters, steam erupted in great billows, hissing like a thousand serpents in agony.

Dozens of tentacles dissolved instantly, their liquid forms boiling away under the creature’s blazing aura. Every flap of its wings unleashed a wave of scorching heat, carving a path of molten defiance across the ocean’s surface. The very air shimmered, rippling as if the sky itself burned in reverence to its presence.

For the second time, the relentless advance faltered. The writhing tide recoiled, thrashing in fury, as the fiery bird circled the island like a guardian sun, its cry echoing like a war trumpet across the dark expanse.

For a heartbeat, Peter believed they might win. But then, from the far edge of the chaos, a single tentacle burst through the burning mist, larger, faster, more furious than the rest.

It surged forward like a spear, slicing through roots and flame alike, droplets sizzling as they struck the scorched ground. Peter froze, breath caught in his throat as the massive tendril closed the distance, its shadow swallowing him whole.

Just as it was about to crash down, he woke up.

His eyes flew open, chest heaving, drenched in cold sweat. The roar of the ocean, the stench of salt, the fiery cry, all gone, replaced by the stillness of the night.

“What happened?” His mother asked, getting up from her bed and sitting down beside him. She leaned forward and hugged him lightly from the side, her other hand rising to wipe the sweat from his forehead with a gentle touch.

“Did you have a bad dream?” She softly asked, patting his back.

Peter sighed, his heartbeat slowly calming down. He closed his eyes for a second to gather himself. “Seems like it,” he said, giving her a weak smile.

“What was it about?” Mariah asked, passing him a glass filled with water.

“It was…,” Peter frowned. “I…can’t remember…” He tried harder, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t remember any detail about the dream.

Peter stared at the water for a moment before taking a slow sip. The cool liquid slid down his throat, grounding him a little, yet the unease clung stubbornly to his chest. It was like trying to grasp mist with bare hands—he knew something had been there, something important, but it dissolved every time he reached for it.

He shook his head and set the glass down on the bedside table. “It’s gone,” he murmured, frustration pricking at the edge of his voice.

Mariah’s hand lingered on his shoulder, warm and steady. “Dreams can be like that,” she said softly. “Don’t let it trouble you too much.”

Peter kept his gaze on the faint ripples in the glass, jaw tightening. If it was just a dream, why did his heart still feel like it had been running for miles? Why did his skin feel cold despite the blanket draped over his legs?

He pulled in a breath and exhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts to quiet. There was no sense in chasing shadows. Whatever it was, it was gone now.

Mariah gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before speaking again. “Do you want to talk about something else? Maybe it’ll help.”

Peter shook his head. “No… I’m fine. Just need to sleep.”

She studied him for a moment, her brow softening, then gave a small nod. “Alright. Try to rest.”

He managed a faint smile as she stood and crossed back to her own bed, the wooden floor creaking softly under her steps.

Peter lay back and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Across the room, Mariah settled under her own covers with a gentle rustle. “Thanks, Mom,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Always,” she replied, her tone warm and certain, even in the dark.

For a while, neither spoke. Peter stared at the ceiling until his eyelids grew heavy, letting the warmth of the blanket and the familiar comfort of her nearness pull him back toward sleep.

…End of Chapter…