[Dream World: Vast Horizons – Tower]
In the sprawling expanse of the Dream World, where horizons bled into infinite dreamscapes of neon plains and fractured skies, stood the largest crystalline structure known to any Dremapol—a towering monolith that pierced the auroras like a frozen spear. Its surface shimmered with iridescent veins, pulsing with an ancient energy that hummed through the air, casting prismatic reflections across the surrounding landscapes. The tower loomed solitary, a sentinel of forgotten eras, its base rooted in crystalline roots that sprawled like veins into the ground, drawing power from the Inter-Dream Gate's core. Winds whispered secrets around its spire, carrying echoes of distant battles and dreamers' sighs, the structure unyielding against the shifting realities.
Deep inside, far from the vibrant chaos of the Nexus, lay a room shrouded in impenetrable darkness—a void within a void, nearly empty, the air thick and stagnant, as if time itself had forgotten to flow. Shadows clung to every corner, devouring light, the walls absorbing sound until only silence reigned. But upon closer observation, in the heart of this abyss, sat a man—the Gate Crasher. His figure was a mere silhouette, the darkness conspiring to conceal every detail: the curve of his shoulders, the glint of his eyes, the subtle rise and fall of his breath. He was motionless, a statue carved from oblivion, his presence a weight that pressed against the room's emptiness, an enigma wrapped in mystery.
Suddenly, the heavy door creaked open with a slow, agonizing groan, the sound slicing through the silence like a blade. A sliver of light pierced the gloom, spilling across the crystalline floor in a golden cascade, enveloping the dark room inch by inch. It revealed the intruder: a man with white hair, slightly longer and swept back in smoother, more controlled spikes, short bangs framing his sharp, angular face—giving him a cool, mature aura that commanded respect. He wore a pristine white coat traced with silver veins that glimmered like frozen rivers, its high collar cutting a sharp line against the invading light. Frost-like patterns etched along the sleeves pulsed faintly with a chill energy, mirroring his composed demeanor, tendrils of cold mist trailing from the fabric. Beneath lay a dark, fitted undershirt, secured by a metallic belt that caught the light like bolts of frozen lightning, glinting with every movement. His boots struck the ground with a crisp, steady rhythm—thud, thud, thud—each step echoing with the weight of unyielding command, the air around him cooling as if winter itself had forged its own general. The entire uniform radiated cold authority, a blend of elegance and quiet menace, his presence chilling the room further.
"May I come in, Gate Crasher?" he asked, his voice smooth yet edged with ice, the words hanging in the air like frost.
The Gate Crasher nodded slightly, his silhouette shifting imperceptibly in the darkness, his voice emerging mysterious and ethereal, yet underpinned with firmness that brooked no nonsense. "Drenor Rei… it's you. So you may not."
Drenor Rei stepped inside regardless, the door creaking wider as light flooded in, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the beam. "Well, that's a shame… 'cause I'm inside anyway," he replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, his white hair catching the glow, silver veins on his coat pulsing brighter.
"Hmmmmm," the Gate Crasher released a deep, resonant sigh, the sound rumbling through the shadows like distant thunder, his form still veiled. "What business do you have with me… Drenor Rei?" His ethereal tone carried a hint of weariness, the darkness seeming to thicken around him.
Drenor Rei raised a brow, his cool eyes narrowing under the short bangs, frost patterns on his sleeves flickering. "What business?" he echoed, his voice rising with a sudden spike of anger, the chill in the room intensifying as mist coiled from his coat. "What business?" He repeated the words, louder, the echo bouncing off the unseen walls, his metallic belt glinting as he leaned forward.
"My business… is that you—the Dream World's absolutely strongest Dremapol—are doing what even during a time like this? Absolutely nothing but sitting down here 24/7, rotting in this pit of shadows!" Rei's voice thundered now, anger boiling over, his white hair whipping slightly in an unfelt breeze. "Even now… the blood of Dremapols is being shed by foreigners—spilled across the Nexus like rivers of crimson! And what have you done about it? …Nothing!" His boots stomped forward, the crisp rhythm turning aggressive, frost trailing in his wake, the light from the door casting long shadows that danced like accusations.
"Rei… you are mistaken," the Gate Crasher responded, his voice calm yet firm, the ethereal quality weaving through the darkness, undisturbed by the outburst. "Me doing nothing… is something. I am simply toughening up the Dremapols for rough times exactly like this—forging them in the fires of adversity. I have the power to instantly stop them right now, if I wanted to… sure… erase those intruders with a mere thought. But then how would the young Dremapols learn, grow, if all the time the Drenors and even the ...Almighty Gate Crasher himself were to step into such battles, shielding them from the storm? This is the best option—the crucible that tempers steel. I would also advise the rest of the Drenors to restrain from fighting too… But I leave things like that to the Nertis; they are the council after all, the weavers of fate."
Rei's voice twisted into a mixture of sickness, disgust, and disdain, his face contorting as he face-palmed himself, the slap echoing sharply. "So what… You expect us to standby and let blood flow like streams, all in the name of 'learning'?" His words dripped with venom, frost mist exploding from his coat in angry bursts. "You can't… fucking… teach dead bodies! Why don't you understand that? Goddamn it, even him—even… Taro is fighting!" His voice cracked on the name, the chill peaking, the room's temperature plummeting as ice crystals formed on the floor.
The Gate Crasher barely paid mind to Rei's tirade, his silhouette unmoving in the abyss… except for the last words. As "Taro" hung in the air, a pause stretched, the darkness seeming to listen. After a long, tense beat, he smiled—then chuckled, a low, ethereal sound that slithered through the shadows, growing into a genuine, amused laugh. "So… he's fighting too,huh… That's lovely… This is even a best-case scenario for me—and all of us, even… hehe. He should have even started sooner." His voice carried a twisted satisfaction, the chuckle echoing faintly, as if the darkness itself approved.
Rei frowned deeply, his cool eyes flashing with frustration, the frost patterns on his sleeves dimming as disappointment washed over him. He couldn't feel the point in talking anymore—the words falling into the void. Turning on his heel, his boots thudding crisply, he headed for the door, the light beckoning like an escape. But before closing it with a heavy thud, he paused, glancing back into the shadows, his voice dropping low and laced with accusation. "He's your own… You're sick." The words lingered, cold and final, before he shut the door, the creak reversing as darkness swallowed the room once more, leaving the Gate Crasher alone in his enigmatic silence.