Chronicles Of The Shadow Sovereign

The forest was a labyrinth of knotted vines and decaying autumn leaves, their brittle forms crunching like bones underfoot.

The air hung thick with humidity, clinging to the travelers' skin as if the very atmosphere sought to suffocate them.

For nearly a day, the group had trudged forward, their robes sodden with sweat, their breaths labored. Among them, a student finally snapped.

"When will we finally see the Temple of Erytheia?" one of the students cried out, his voice laced with frustration. "We're all tired from walking, and you won't even let us ride our horses!"

The middle-aged instructor, a man with streaks of silver threading his temples, turned slowly. His eyes, sharp as flint, silenced the murmurs before they began. "You think this is a pilgrimage for your comfort?" he hissed. The veins in his neck pulsed, his face flushing crimson. "You believe the Dream Realm bends to *whims*?"

He paused, sweeping his gaze over the group.

"Do you all think the same?"

Silence.

The students said nothing. Their hands instinctively flew to the leather flasks at their hips, gulping tepid water to avoid his glare.

Sweat dripped from their chins, pooling in the hollows of their collarbones. The forest seemed to press inward, vines quivering as if alive, leaves rustling with secrets.

They knew better. In the Dream Realm, doubt was a poison. Desire, a compass. Their shared fixation on the Temple of Erytheia was the only thread keeping them anchored.

Without it, the forest's illusions, the way shadows slithered at the edges of vision, the whispers that weren't quite wind would have devoured them already.

The temperature in their surroundings were increasing and due to humidity, some of them even lost consciousness for some time.

These were the times when they stopped for that specific students and students have a sigh of relief for walking

Then starting praying that someone again lost consciousness and they rest for a while

The trees loomed over them, their autumn-dyed leaves whispering in the wind. Yet, despite the shifting landscape, their path never seemed to change.

They were stuck, trapped in a loop, their minds tethered to one singular thought: the Temple of Erytheia.

The dream realm was responding to their collective consciousness.

In this realm, perception shaped reality. One could walk for a month and still remain in the same place. Or with the right state of mind, they could cross an entire continent in mere moments. Time was fickle here—fluid and deceptive.

Yet, Levi was different.

Unlike them, he was alone. He had no shared consciousness to ground him.

Had it not been for the halo of light guiding him, he would have been lost in the shifting tides of the dream realm.

In the innermost ring of students, a woman with fiery red hair and light blue eyes walked in the same dazed stupor as the others.

She looked no older than twenty-five, perhaps thirty. But in this place, age meant little.

"I was thinking of taking Aeliana with me into the dream realm"... she mused bitterly. How foolish I was.

Aeliana had been left behind, in the safety of Asheville Woods, where a familiar face would watch over her. That had been the right choice. Bringing her here would have been madness.

She exhaled sharply, adjusting the strap of her pack.

She had seen this journey before—felt its weight, suffered its trials. She had reached the Temple of Erytheia once before, but she had arrived on the brink of death. She had been unprepared then. Now, she was walking that same path again.

She studied the students around her, her gaze lingering on a few familiar faces. Nobles.

Even drenched in sweat, their posture never wavered. There was no sign of true fatigue in them, no despair, no fear.

She clenched her teeth.

"Why is nature so unfair?"

The thought burned inside her like a brand.

"Why does this world pretend to be righteous when it is more lawless than any forest?"

The nobles had been trained for this from infancy. They knew how to endure.

Even if they lost their way, they would survive for weeks in the dream realm, their instincts honed to recognize its illusions. But for the rest?

She knew the difference all too well.

One who knows danger is above them will fight to surpass it. But those who do not even realize they are in danger?

They walk in circles their entire lives.

They cling to comfort, never challenging the boundaries of their existence. They waste away, mimicking the same empty habits over and over.

They are clowns, actors on a stage where the script never changes.

And when reality finally does strike them?

It cuts deeper than any blade.

Levi, unlike them, continued walking alone.

The halo of light that had guided him flickered, then vanished entirely.

His surroundings shifted—warped.

He found himself standing before an ancient staircase, its steps covered in a thin layer of snow.

Each step was jagged and uneven, weathered by time, with dark stones peeking through the frost.

A cold wind howled through the air, whispering unintelligible voices.

He ascended.

Step after step.

The journey felt endless, his boots sinking into the snow, the chill biting at his skin. Yet, he pressed forward.

At last, the steps ended, and he found himself standing on a vast, flat expanse of dark stone. The ground beneath his feet was rough, ancient, its cracks filled with ice.

And before him stood, a colossal mountain of black stone, jagged like the fangs of a beast.

A massive gate loomed at its heart, its surface carved with glowing golden runes. They pulsed faintly, shifting and reshaping like a living script.

The inscriptions told of forgotten prophecies, of binding contracts with eldritch forces, of the price of entry.

Those who passed through the gate had to endure.

Pain. Suffering. Death.

The fire within the temple roared, a golden inferno, casting long shadows against the stone.

The heat was suffocating, more intense than any sun Levi had ever known. It pressed against his skin, clawed at his breath.

Power or annihilation.

That was the choice before him.

Figures stood at the entrance, cloaked in black, their faces obscured by darkness. They did not move, did not breathe. Were they priests of an ancient order? Executioners of fate? Guardians of the temple?

Levi stepped forward, his heartbeat steady.

"Whatever lay beyond that gate, trial or torment, salvation or ruin, I would face it."

Because he had already endured pain.

He had already suffered.

And if this was the next step to rewriting his fate, then so be it.

The white halo that Levi had been following vanished, leaving him exposed, his inner self laid bare under the weight of countless unseen gazes.

He could feel them piercing into his soul, his spirit unraveling as if stripped of all defenses.

Yet, he did not flinch. He had endured this trial a hundred times before in his dream. He knew what was coming.

Before him stood twelve figures, their features indistinct, shrouded in shadows that blurred the line between past and present.

They were mere echoes of those who once were, sovereigns of ages long gone, the guardians who had ruled in their own eras.

Now, they had gathered for one purpose: to judge the man who dared step forward in the trial to become the next sovereign.

Becoming a sovereign was no mere feat. It was a fate heavier than death itself.

One of the figures spoke, his voice cold and unyielding.

"He is but a boy—a mere child."

Another shadowed figure growled, laced with suspicion.

"Who marked him? Who deemed him worthy of this path?"

A third voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the silence.

"Does he even comprehend the weight of fate? Can a child bear the burden of the Dream Realm?"

Their judgment had begun.