Cuhlun used Avenor's ability on that small pool of water.
When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but blinding blue light.
The moment he realized he couldn't breathe, he shut his eyes and swam upward toward the glow.
Breaking through the surface, he gasped for air, his chest burning. When he finally caught his breath and looked around, he began to understand where he was.
He was in a human body—his own, in fact. That meant whatever creature he'd entered must have been intelligent enough to dream or imagine.
And dreaming meant only one thing: he had entered the Memory Realm—the place where every dreamer's test played out. Though each version differed, the difference came from imagination alone. Every being that could dream, could shape its own world, chase its own desires, and live its own story.
Cuhlun forced his thoughts to quiet. Overthinking would only trap him here. He needed focus—nothing else.
He turned toward the horizon. Above him stretched a pale blue sky; below, a deep, endless ocean. The water seemed to go on forever, swallowing the world.
The sun hung directly overhead.It didn't move.
He scanned his surroundings again, trying to sense Mind Eater. He didn't fully understand her ability, but from what he'd seen in World 774, she was always there, no matter whose mind they entered. She'd never explained how her power truly worked, but Cuhlun had pieced together fragments of its nature.
He looked down into the sea. He couldn't see the bottom. That bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
Still, fear wasn't his style—especially not here, in a realm where thoughts and emotions shaped reality.
Just as he tried to calm himself, he felt a tremor beneath the waves.
Damn it. No matter how many times he used this ability, he could never get used to this part. Why was not thinking about something the hardest thing to do!?
He kicked off, swimming as fast as he could, because he knew what that tremor meant: something born of his own imagination was rising from the depths. A creature shaped by fear itself.
He didn't dare look back—because the moment he saw it, it would become real. As long as he didn't confirm it, he still had a chance to escape.
Under the blazing, motionless sun, he swam for minutes that felt like hours.
His muscles burned, his breath hitched. The small waves rocked him endlessly. Whatever was behind him hadn't struck yet—only watching, waiting. Its existence still unproven.
Was there no salvation? Cuhlun always thought of escape. But what was salvation anyway? A word for devils and kings, perhaps. He smirked to himself—he must've read too many novels before the apocalypse.
He decided not to think about it. He simply wished for salvation—and closed his eyes.
Finally, maybe he could rest.
When Cuhlun opened his eyes again, the world was still. He felt weak but alive. Gentle waves lapped against his legs. After a while, he stood up. He was on an island.
It had worked again. Salvation always did. In this realm, thoughts became truth, and salvation was his key. As long as he believed in it, he couldn't die. So he whispered the same word in his mind, over and over: salvation, salvation, salvation…
Yet sometimes, small tricks didn't hold up for long.
He looked up—and froze.
The sun.It hadn't moved an inch. Not a fraction. And its light flickered, like a dying bulb… or the wings of a butterfly.
Cuhlun shut his eyes, imagining the sun disappearing. Then he opened them again.
Perfect. Absolutely nothing happened.
Of course not. The harder he thought about removing it, the more he was actually thinking of it. Classic paradox.
And because he'd spent so much time thinking about salvation, its opposite—chaos—had begun to take shape. The false sun, the butterfly-like shimmer… it might soon devour him.
He could end the ability and escape before that happened, but… he'd never entered water before. A body of water with this level of imagination was strange. Still, he didn't feel like puzzling it out.
So what if it was just water? He'd entered dragons, warlocks, even griffins before. This was nothing.
Just another space to fill on his list.
As he walked along the shore, another thought hit him.
The island—once vast—had shrunk. Now, it looped endlessly, a single stretch of sand repeating itself. He could circle it in a minute. The spot where he'd first woken had vanished, replaced by slick, jagged rocks.
He sighed and looked back at the ocean. "Why am I even doing this?" he muttered to himself.
When he turned again, the island was gone. Only the small rock beneath his feet remained, surrounded by endless sea and sky.
Salvation was slipping away.
Cuhlun sat down, calm but tired, trying to think his way out.
How long had it been since he'd fainted in the water and woken here? It didn't matter. Time flowed differently in dreams. Usually it matched the outside world, but this wasn't a simple creature's mind—it was something far more aware. Proof enough was that he was in a human body again.
If space was unstable here, then time probably was too.Maybe time only moved as he perceived it. Which, honestly, was kind of cool.
"If I imagine time moving backward," he wondered, "would I go to the past?"…Better not to test that theory.
He smiled faintly and leaned back against the wet rock, eyes drifting toward the still sky.
Then came another mistake.Damn it—why was he so easily distracted today? Every time he looked up, the ground changed beneath him.
He looked down again—and realized the shore was gone. He stood atop a small hill floating above an endless abyss, the ocean far below, stretching into nothingness. Only a two-meter circle of rock remained beneath his feet—the last safe point. Beyond it, pure void.
Cuhlun yawned softly. Guess it was time. He'd tried to play fair long enough.
He closed his eyes and summoned the past.
Still blind, he stood, stepped upward from the small, wet platform—and didn't fall.
Because he wasn't looking down.
And when he opened his eyes, he'd find himself standing inside the memory he'd chosen to recall.
The only question left was—could he use that memory for his own purpose?
He already knew the answer.
Of course he could.