Silence.
It was a thick, heavy thing in the room, broken only by the frantic thumping of Taro's heart against his ribs. He stared, unblinking, at the glowing star in his palm. Its light pulsed in a gentle, rhythmic pattern, like a heartbeat. A living heartbeat.
His brain, still sluggish with sleep and the residual adrenaline from the… whatever that was… scrambled for a rational foothold. Expired ramen. A psychotic break. A very, very elaborate prank. Anything was better than the impossible reality of a talking piece of craft supplies.
"Senior drem-a-wha?" Taro finally managed, his voice a dry croak. His face was a mask of total, unadulterated confusion.
"A Dremapol," the star—Mexus—repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The voice was annoyingly composed, tinged with a hint of intellectual superiority. "It's not even that hard to pronounce. Dre-ma-pol."
"Forget the pronunciation!" Taro yelped, scrambling off the bed and slowly raising his hands into a clumsy, street-brawler's stance. "Who are you? And most importantly, how the hell are you talking?"
"Calm down, tough guy. Breathe." Mexus's voice was infuriatingly calm. "I suppose, given the circumstances, I owe you an explanation. I'm a Dremapol. And since you obviously have no idea what that is, I'll just go ahead and explain that, too."
"Okayyyy… go on," Taro said, still wary, his hands hovering in the air. He felt ridiculous, but the memory of the emerald energy and the glitching monsters was too vivid to ignore.
"In your waking world," Mexus began, his tone taking on a lecturing quality, "you might not know it, but there are forces that work to ensure you sleep soundly at night. We're Dremapols. The Dream Cops. Our job is to ensure peace and harmony in the dream world, to protect sleepers from the things that go bump in the actual night. I'm one of them. Mexus. At your service."
There was a beat of silence.
Then, Taro immediately burst into hysterical laughter. It was a raw, slightly unhinged sound that filled the small apartment.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha! You can't seriously expect me to believe that!" he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "So you're saying there are cops roaming around in my head when I sleep? Dream Cops? Ha ha ha! Oh God, this is as funny as me trying to have a conversation with an actual person! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
He laughed until tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, the absurdity of it all washing over him in a wave of delirious relief. It had to be a dream. A weird, continuing dream.
"Okay, okay. Laugh it up," Mexus said, utterly unperturbed by the outburst. He waited for Taro's laughter to subside into choked giggles. "But here's the thing: you're literally talking to a star. Is it really that hard to believe, after seeing this, that such a concept exists?"
Taro's laughter died in his throat. He paused, actually processing the logic. The star. The glow. The voice. The impossible dreamscape. The green energy. It was a chain of impossibilities, each one making the next slightly more plausible.
Well, he does have a point… to an extent, he thought, the cynicism in him warring with the evidence of his own eyes. But how do I know it's true? This could still be some next-level hallucination.
He moved a bit closer, peering directly at the star, his nose almost touching its glowing surface. "Alright, smart guy. How am I supposed to know anything you're saying is true? This could be a scam. You're a really articulate piece of trash."
"In your dream, Taro," Mexus exclaimed, his voice sharpening with impatience, "you literally turned into one of us!"
"Wait, what?" Taro's eyes widened, the intrigue cutting through his skepticism. The memory of the power, the suit, the sword—it had felt more real and more him than anything in his waking life.
"You totally went full Dremapol and K.O.'d those Nightdax! You think that just happens? Man, have you never had a dream before?"
"Have I… n-n… uh… hmm." Taro faltered, the memory of the powerful green energy surging through him, the feeling of absolute control, was intoxicating. "Ok, but if that's all true, then if I really was a Dremapol, why don't you look like one? Is that how all 'Senior Dremapols' look? Like a piece of craft supplies?"
The star pulsed in a way that felt exactly like a long, suffering sigh. The light dimmed for a moment, as if in exasperation.
"Well, I would look like one…" Mexus's voice was laced with a sudden, unexpected strain. "...if I had a proper body. Right now, I'm… bound to this form. It's a long story."
Taro blinked. "Bound forms? Is this even real, or did I eat expired ramen again? I knew I shouldn't have bought that discount pack…"
"I'm as real as the fist you almost threw at your math teacher last week," Mexus shot back, his tone dry.
"Screw you."
Mexus chuckled, the sound rich and oddly comforting in the strange context. "Well, the point is, I need your help. And in a way, I think you need mine."
The statement hung in the air, stark and simple. Help. No one had ever asked Taro for help. No one had ever suggested they had anything to offer him.
"What do you mean?" Taro asked, the spark of wonder in his voice undeniable now.
"I need you to get me back into the dream world. That's the only way I can get back into my proper Dremapol form. Pronto."
"But how am I gonna do that? Hell, I don't even dream… em… often." It was a lie. He never dreamed. Until last night.
"Don't worry. With a Dremapol such as myself guiding you, you'll fall asleep quicker and you'll definitely dream. So, c'mon." Mexus's voice was persuasive, layered with a confidence that was infectious. "What do you say?"
Taro thought for a moment. The silence of his apartment pressed in on him. The emptiness. The predictable, crushing monotony of his days. He looked at the glowing star in his hand. It was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him.
"Hmmm. Well, I'm not gonna lie," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "If I said no, my life wouldn't get any worse. Or any better. So… why the hell not?"
"That's the spirit! Now get to bed."
"Wait, now?"
"No time like the present, rookie."
Shaking his head at the sheer insanity of it all, Taro lay down on his bed, still holding the star.
"Oh, and by the way," Mexus added, his voice softer now. "Put me near you when you sleep. I need to be close to materialize with you."
"Hmmm, alright." Taro slipped the glowing star into the breast pocket of his pajamas, right over his heart. He could feel its gentle warmth through the thin fabric.
He closed his eyes, expecting a long wait, his mind too wired to sleep. But before he could even start to ponder the profound absurdity of the situation, the world dissolved around him.
The texture of his sheets vanished. The sound of distant traffic faded. The familiar confines of his room melted away.
He was back. The same impossible, golden-skied dreamscape stretched out before him, silent and waiting.
"Great! You made it, and quick! I didn't have to use much dream power at all," Mexus's voice echoed, not from his pocket, but from a point of shimmering light hovering beside his shoulder.
"Ok, so what am I supposed to do now?" Taro asked, looking around at the curved, nauseating architecture. The place felt different without the immediate threat of Nightdax. Eerie, but charged with potential.
"Just give me some of your dream power. Just a little push, enough for me to catalyze my own transformation and get back into my Dremapol form."
"Alright then…" Taro scrunched his face, his entire body tensing with the effort of trying to… do something. Anything. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and grunted with strain.
"What the hell are you trying to do?" Mexus asked, exasperated. "Hold your shit together! Just give me some dream power! It should flow naturally!"
"If I knew how, you wouldn't still be a talking nightlight!" Taro shot back, frustration mounting.
"Oh, for the love of—ah, just transform! It'll start flowing from there!"
"Ummmmm how?!"
"You Can't Even Transform? What the hell?" Mexus's light flickered with disbelief.
"Cut me some slack! This is all new to me! Why don't people ever think twice before saying things to people like me?!"
"Alright, alright! Seems we're gonna have to do this the artificial way."
Suddenly, the air in front of Taro shimmered. A single, glowing green pill materialized out of nothing, hanging in the space between them. It hummed with the same energy as his dream-form's sword. Taro reached out and caught it. It was cool and solid in his hand.
"What's this?"
"A catalyst. It'll force your latent energy to the surface and trigger your Dremapol state. Just put it in your mouth. It'll work like magic."
"Alright." Without overthinking it—because overthinking would mean acknowledging this was all completely insane—Taro swallowed it.
The effect was instantaneous.
A torrent of raw, green energy erupted from him. It wasn't a gentle flow; it was a geyser, a volcano. It skyrocketed through the dreamscape, a pillar of emerald power that made the golden sky seem dull in comparison. The air crackled and hummed, the very fabric of the dream trembling under the output.
"How's this?!" Taro yelled over the roaring power, his voice echoing with a resonance that wasn't entirely his own. He felt incredible. Invincible.
"PERFECT!"
A flash of light, a hundred times brighter than the first one that had consumed the Nightdax, swallowed everything. The energy radiating from the epicenter was so immense it made Taro's own power feel like the tip of an iceberg.
As the light faded, a man stood where the point of light had been.
He was tall, clad in a sleek black and vibrant yellow suit, stylistically identical to Taro's own dream-form but radiating an aura of experience and casual power. He had dark, intense hair and wore a wide-brimmed straw kasa hat that shadowed his eyes, giving him an air of mysterious authority. He looked at Taro, a confident, almost smug smirk playing on his lips.
He tipped his hat.
"Thanks for that," he said, his voice now a rich, real baritone that filled the space. "The name's Mexus. Senior Dremapol. And it's good to be back."