"Not again!"
Luciel found himself in yet another dream against his will.
'At least I'm still alive.'
His back pressed against a hard and frozen ground, the cold seeping through his clothes and into his bones like needles of ice. Yet after the searing agony of being burned alive and the crushing weight that had flattened him like a bug, this gnawing chill felt almost comforting.
Lying on a bed of cold snow, Luciel looked to his right. A silent expanse stretched infinitely toward the horizon. He turned to the left. There stood a mountain range so imposing it wore the clouds as a hat and white snow as a mantle.
He sighed, eyes shut in rebellion. He couldn't face another dream when nothing had settled yet — he hadn't known a moment's peace in three whole days. So he wished for this tranquility of snow falling unto his eyes and lips to last a little longer than usual.
'A Resonator's life is more challenging than I thought.'
But no matter. He drew a distinction between challenging and hard. A challenge always brought him joy; only when it became a matter of difficulty would it be a problem. It meant he would have served a purpose, and there was nothing left of him to do.
For a while, Luciel lay on the snow, and nothing happened. The dream didn't force a path on him like last time. While it might suggest this was a dream of his own making, he didn't believe so. It all felt too real, as though he had stepped into a page of the past.
He didn't recognize any of the structures or natural terrain — it could have been the Eastern Bloc, though he had never been there and had nothing to compare it to.
Time passed. Luciel started to feel uncomfortable by the idleness, so he pushed himself upright, although it took more effort than it should have. His limbs were stiff from the cold, which had worked its way deep into his joints while he lay motionless.
He rolled onto one side first, then pressed his fist into the snow for leverage, and rose to his feet in a slow, cranky motion, like a man piecing himself back together one part at a time.
He stood. The biting wind gnawed at his face. He figured the frostbite would be brutal if he didn't find shelter soon, but surprisingly, but there was no pain and numbness. His body reacted to the cold, but any sensation was nulled, which was drastically different than the first dream where all senses were heightened to the maximum.
He summoned Dawn in his hand, not expecting that it worked within the dream — though not entirely surprised. He turned it slowly, watching the pale light glint along its edge.
Though the more he studied the static terrain and the uneventful stillness around him, the more he doubted this was a dream. He had autonomy within the place where he could even speak, and it couldn't hurt him if it tried.
'This isn't a dream.'
The realization settled over him. Luciel took mental notes of everything around him — the mountains, the cold, the snow beneath him, the soothing embrace…
'Embrace.'
His eyes widened, and his heartbeat quickened. He raised Dawn to his chest and held it there. He stared at the sword in silence, trying to grasp something that lingered at the edge of his mind.
Then he remembered.
'Was this your doing, Dawn?'
Luciel recalled one of the Stars that Dawn possessed, [Eternal Embrace]. A deep affection for its master, and a defiant will to protect them — he was certain this world was the sword's doing.
He didn't know exactly how, or what catalyst could have enabled a sword to create its own world.
'Or maybe I have it the other way around.'
Based on all the experiences he'd shared with the sword, he came up with an educated guess: Dawn was an extension of his soul; if this was its world, then it was, by extension, his soul's world.
With a deep breath, Luciel submerged within his inner depth and searched for his Soulscape to test this theory. He stood still as a rock while letting the breeze brush his auburn hair. Despite that, all he could see was never-ending darkness and not a single spark or light.
'The Soulscape's not there.'
He had guessed it correctly. He couldn't find it because this entire realm was his Soulscape, and he was in it already. It must have been Dawn that built this sanctuary for him through the power of his soul.
"Thank you."
But it was time to wake up.
Having recognized his soul, Luciel effortlessly willed the snow to retreat with a swipe of his hand. The snowy mountains dissolved into nothingness, too. He felt like a god shaping his own world.
When everything settled and the sky cracked, he returned to a familiar place: the black waters beneath his feet, the circle of light, and his miniature star at its center. The ritual began in earnest: the water sunk and folded, the star flew at his chest and vanished.
Before he knew it, an unfamiliar sight had appeared before him.
A low ceiling of dark, cold steel. There were conduits running along the frame, pulsing with a dim blue light.
The second thing that reached him was the smell.
Clean antiseptic, sharp enough to sting the back of his throat; sterile air that carried the faint metallic tang. Under it all, a medicinal sweetness clung like a film on his tongue.
It was unmistakably a medic room smell, and he hated it with all his heart. Luciel could never get used to the smell of "clean," especially when it was artificially manufactured. He had long lived with the smell of dirt and poverty, and along the way with Bambi, the scents of the wilderness and ordinary people. He had grown quite fond of them, even though he was supposed to escape from them.
It was a contradiction he allowed himself from time to time.
Then, he heard a soft sound breaking through the silence. It was a low breath, hitched and uneven, coming from somewhere beside him.
He turned his head.
'This girl…'
Bambi sat in a chair beside his bed, her arms folded on the edge of the mattress. Her face was buried in them. She looked like she hadn't left the room since they arrived here — wherever this place was.
He decided to call her out.
"Bam—"
Her head immediately snapped up. Her red-rimmed, puffy eyes locked onto his. For a moment, she stared at him, dazed. She touched his face to see if it was real.
"Did you cr—"
Luciel barely had time to form a question before she lunged onto him in a hug.
"Ah! That hurt—wait, it doesn't…"
The bed frame groaned under the sudden weight. Her arms locked around him like a metal chain, her face buried in his shoulder.
"You idiot! Stupid! Dumbass! Dimwit! Moron! Idiot…"
'There you go.'
Just like he'd expected, she cursed him out from start to finish for pulling something like this. It felt endearing to hear her spew profanity.
"Said 'idiot' twice."
"Jackass!"
Luciel inwardly chuckled.
"You think I'd ever die from this?"
Bambi raised her head and glared at him. It gave him a better look.
Safe to say, her face was a mess. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose flushed, tears glistened on her cheeks. Her lower lip trembled between a snarl and a pout, and her breathing hitched uncontrollably.
She looked like she wanted to kill him and cry again at the same time.
A tight knot formed in his chest, equal parts guilt and relief. It was his first brush with death, and the first time he had seen Bambi cry this intensely.
"Come here."
Bambi nodded and buried her face in again. Luciel was pretty sure her snot was all over his clothes now that she'd started crying again.
It would take a few minutes for her to calm down, so he refrained from asking any questions.
In the meantime, he tried to recollect the events that happened. It wouldn't be surprising if he had severe injuries, but he came out unscathed.
'Heck, how did my clothes even survive?'
It was an existential question Luciel didn't have an answer to.
With his mind all jumbled, he figured he needed some rest before having a working brain again. He looked at Bambi with soft eyes as she held him tightly, as if he would flee if she didn't chain him down.
Maybe he should take a moment to appreciate this.