With a brilliant flash, Vin reappeared on the stone floor of the unlit hot spring, its open roof exposing the night sky above. He immediately began to fall unconscious, but Bonely, his skeleton assistant, became active again after concealing its existence around the great being. It yelled for him to stay awake or, at the very least, find someone safer to crash. After the destruction of the sun halo, there was no doubt going to be scouts searching for the one responsible.

  It was no use. Vin had passed his limit. His eyes shut, and once they did, they didn't reopen. The last sensation he felt was Bonely slipping from his back and two bony hands desperately pulling his wrist and tugging his body forward.

  Within seconds, Vin was back in his dreamscape. It took different forms depending on his physical and spiritual condition. Sometimes bright and friendly, other times, like now, it was dark, oppressive, and ominous, like a nightmare.

  A shadow fell over all the flowers, staining their color gray. The tunnel of plants he was in had an opening at the top, so he looked up at a dim sky; what used to be a cordial sun was reduced to a small star no brighter than a moon.

  Each subsequent dream grew longer. Now, it wasn't just a blink; he could begin to wander the early parts of the setting before waking up. His mind was usually between two extremes of contemplative or vacant at that time. This time, he just drifted through the garden aimlessly, his steps soft against the mossy path. There was an unnatural stillness that choked the air, and the colors of the flowers were stale, yet he enjoyed that scene. It resonated with his current mood, which was dreary, with little aspiration of seeing any more light.

  The best thing to come from becoming a so-called Stray, someone who inherited qualities of God's, was the ability to be alone in this space. It was the only place he could hide from a world hell-bent on torturing him. His refuge.

  Vin let his guard melt and took thoughtless steps down a dark path of beautifully dull flowers. It was delightful at first; truly, it was. But, like all good things in his life, it became threatened-

  It was faint at first, easily overlooked by the rustle of leaves. However, he began to discern whispers that slithered through the tunnel alongside him like vines.

  Vin froze and listened closely while looking at the shadowy corner ahead of him. The murmmers were growing louder, now accompanied by soft, deliberate footsteps against the concrete ground.

  His stomach twisted into an inextricable knot. He wasn't scared about what had been in that garden with him; it was a simple matter of how. This place wasn't a dream that manifested randomness; it was a safe setting of his mind's creation.

  Something was very wrong.

  Vine squinted his eyes to decipher the darkness and see what or who had been approaching. Soon, figures emerged from around the corner of the tunnel, their dark shapes slowly coming into focus.

  Elves.

  Their pale faces looked smooth and cold, their smiles serene and inviting under the pale light of the weak star. They multiplied in an instant, quickly surrounding him on all sides. A woman in a magnificent white wedding dress stepped up first, cradling a delicate flower bouquet in her hands, its pastel petals shimmering like frost.

  "We've been waiting for you," she communicated directly to his mind to bypass the language barrier. "At last, our savior. Please save us from this realm."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Vin's throat tightened. Something felt frightfully familiar about these voices- off in a way he couldn't describe. Even the freezing hollow sensation that crawled underneath his skin was nothing new, but he couldn't pinpoint where he'd felt this.

  The beautiful Elven bride in front of the others rose within arms reach of him, a delighted smile painted across her porcelain face. A casual breeze rattled the flowers in her hands, and a single petal broke free.

  It fell slowly, unnaturally slow, spiraling down like a weightless snowflake. Vin's gaze followed it, his breath disturbed as it descended through a dense gray mist that had rolled in underneath their feet.

  It landed gracefully. But then, as Vin watched it, the petal began to alter. Began to age rapidly, decaying into a bone-gray mush as if sickened. The disturbing process drove him a step back, and when he looked back up, the world had warped.

  The faces of the Elves were no longer serene. Their flesh began to shed, revealing brittle, rotting bone. Their eyes hollowed into empty pits that glowed faintly with a sickly red light. Every flower the woman in front of him held was now decayed, on the verge of turning into dust. Her smile stretched grotesquely, her jaw unhinging with a wet snap as she communicated again, "Please, I wish to leave."

  Her white dress was now filthy, covered with filth, holes, and squirming insects. Her now dirty hands gripped the flower even tighter, and the others joined her in a slow advance, their voices a guttural chant that seemed to vibrate inside Vin's skull. The plants all around them twisted, their once-fragrant scent replaced by the stench of decay.

  Vin had no words; his anxious face just snapped hurriedly left and right in thought of how to escape. There were none. There was nothing he could do as the wall of bodies constricted, pressing him until he could no longer see light.

  The bride's smile died, and with a saddened yell, she rushed him. Vin grunted, then threw the most ferocious punch he could, which sent the head of the undead woman flying off into dense mist. Many more flooded him, and he fought with all his might before being forced to the ground.

  These figures overpowered him, their rotten faces not angry or even trying to inflict harm. Just anguished. Pleading.

  A cold and unyielding hand clamped around his ankle, another around his throat, and many more gripping him desperately for something.

  Something. But what, what did they want? WHAT!?

  Vin screamed, entirely lost in the sea of moving corpses. The last bit of light was snuffed out by decomposing corpses, leaving him in complete, harrowing darkness.

  The last thing he saw was the flower the woman carried, its petals now blackened and dripping with blood.

  <>

  He woke with a violent jolt, gasping for air in the suffocating darkness of a roofless tight space. His skin ached where the hands had grasped him, though there were no wounds. For moments after, he could still smell the scent of rot, and for a moment, he swore he heard the faint whispers of the damned.

  They departed with a chilling promise, a declaration. They vowed the city's defenses would soon fall, and come the following night, they would stand before him, face to face, to claim what they believed was rightfully theirs.

  This wasn't the first time he heard these voices. He was sure this evil had woken him up the previous night, too. But this wasn't just any bad dream...

  His mind was infiltrated.

  Their words bothered him. One line in particular was disturbing. "At last, our savior. Please save us from this realm."

  This realm. As in the Archival Dimension. Shades created by the admin weren't designed to know they were a part of a tale, a simulation.

  Those undead weren't shades.

  What the librarian said during their meeting was evidence of his theory. She said this was an active story. It wasn't reserved for just the Ravenour group; others could enter- or had already done so.

  They were Adventurers like him who entered the Archival Dimension willingly or perhaps also by force. And now, by some curse, they continued to wander after they died. If it happened to the Elves, the same fate could befall him and the Ravenours. Whatever the case, he prayed that he would never encounter evil powerful enough to corrupt mortals and make them undead.

  He might have done the Ravenours he sacrificed with flames a favor- it was far better to cease existing entirely than to linger as a vengeful wraith, cursed to wander in torment.