The Imaginary Realm took after the visitor’s psyche.

For Dream—Remus Breaker—it was an endless plain of white desert with a nightless white sky, ending with a bluish tinge in the horizon. The sand was fine and smooth; an ideal fantasy for any beach. It was sadly wasted on Dream who forgot how to relax for a long time. In front of him was a mental protection, replaying his most recent battle—the White Tower Expedition.

When did he become like this? He knew it was before Earth’s assimilation into Phantasia. Before he needed to face Elves politics, 33 Pipsqueaks, and the prospect of punching Zeus and Ra. Even as a kid, he cared too much. Remus knew he couldn’t do everything. He understood everyone made mistakes, but that didn’t change how much failing others hurt.

Dream never forgave himself for his failings. He knew that was a flaw, but it was a flaw he had to live with. Life was a long defeat, and he would fall as many times as he needed for others to reach the ever so distant victory. Harry Potter might be a kid’s book, but it got one thing right. A battle against the darkness was a never ending relay race. No matter how many the ugly freaks and savage big bad wolf got waterboarded, they always came back with a bigger gun. Eternal duty it was to keep knocking those monsters down, and anyone who fed up could walk out the door. A true hero — or those who became one — knew the bargain with an angel was infinitely worse than dealing with the soul-sucking devil.

Such was a testament of hero, they knew the sky-high price. The true superheroes who set the bar understood the outrageous burden tasked upon them, cringed in pain, took one look at the folks cowering from the monster, made their mind, and walked proudly to face their self-inflicted punishment.

That is why justice always triumphs. The heroes aren’t just determined. They are masochists.

“So this is how it looks,” said Cytortia. The blonde watched at the review of the White Tower skirmish over his shoulder. “Damn,” she noticed the boy protecting the unconscious Charon Sol, “I will never get used to seeing the meek version of Chandra.” Cytortia turned to Dream. “Should we tell the kid about Charon?”

“No,” Dream answered immediately. “He might screw it up.”

“Screw what?” Cytortia said. “Rem, you are the one who mentally abuses Chandra into a mad vegetable.”

“I would never imagine you defending your childhood bully,” Dream said. “I know you two are fellow students, but Cy, all the other disciples of Nuwa are maniacs. Tai Tianshang is still gunning for Frisnia. Lin is pulling Starland’s strings and Karia…”

“Is too enamored with dear majestic Tai to do an intervention,” Cytortia finished Dream’s sentence. “I know, Rem. We’re on Tengen to liberate this place from my senior sister’s pipe-dream.” Cytortia pointed to the image of an unconscious Chandra. “But that doesn’t change the fact you traumatized one of the most powerful 33 Stars into a catatonic nutcase, and fixed her with a complete mental makeover.” Cytortia stood in front of Dream. “Your very presence around her might trigger a mental episode, and it will be dangerous for the kid who does not know he is playing with fire.”

“Your concern is valid,” said Dream, accepting his comrade’s opinion. “There is this saying from a game I play. Want to hear it?”

“Oh, another speech,” Cytortia was used to this. “Go on. Give me the great Rem’s motivational speech.”

“First, we learn there are right and wrong,” Rem said. “Second, we learn later that there is no right and wrong. Finally, we learn to take responsibility for our actions.” Rem looked at the replaying projection. “I went overboard and made a mistake. I believe I have a good reason, but it doesn’t justify what happened to Chandra Tianshang. The only thing I could do is take the responsibility of protecting when she couldn’t protect herself.”

“What about your recent responsibility?” Cytortia said, manipulating the image and stopping at Yuri Ushakov. “Quite a cute kid. I like him.”

Dream growled at the blonde-boy with a moderately handsome face and messy hair, “You never met him face-to-face — pessimistic, whiny, lacking in both discipline, and focus.”

“You said the same thing about me once,” Cytortia said, winking at her friend and mentor. “Give the kid a chance, like you once gave me.”

Dream went silent. Suddenly, his eyes widened. He waved and manipulated the image of Yuri taken from his memory at the end of the White Tower’s battle. Dream zoomed the image in to reveal a smudge of shadow.

Cytortia also noticed the irregularities, “Either something is wrong with your mental projection or…”

Dream activated [Tenshou] and [Clairvoyance] to enhance his projected memory.

The image behind Yuri cleared, revealing two barely visible silhouettes.

“Or something hitch on the kid,” Cytortia completed her sentence. “Symphony was right.” Cytortia recalled some facts about the White Tower. “Let me guess, something the Ancient sealed underneath that place broke free when the tower collapsed and hitched on the most gullible person.”

“Or the most compatible,” Dream said, staring at the image with murderous intent. “Cy, contact Symphony. I’m going ghost-busting.”

“I thought you hated the kid,” Cytortia said.

“He is my responsibility, Cy,” Dream turned and exited the realm. “This is my duty.”

…

While Dream planned to defuse the bomb named Yuri, somewhere in Frisnia a meeting which defined the fate of an exploding nation began.

The room was a dark oriental chamber held up eight pillars entwined with sculptures of dragons. At the center of the circular wooden table, a lamp illuminated the gloomy room, clouded by darkness. Seven Eunuchs in golden robes conversed around the light-source. A woman in black clothing moderated the conversation as she endured the pain in her heart.

The moderator was a beautiful mature woman in her late thirties in mourning robes of black and silver tripping. Her black-hair was tied in a dressed knot, and her face spoke of the utter exhaustion she suffered through. She wondered why she ever bothered coming here. They had been throwing insults in circles ever since the king was laid to rest beneath the embrace of the earth. However, as Dowager Consort, it was Ruho’s task to endure this meandering council of Eunuch. Without an heir to sit on the throne, both their neighbors suffering from instability, and facing imminent threat — the nation of Frisnia was on its last leg.

The White Tower Expedition was supposed to shed light on their future direction. The victor was supposed to give them an answer to where they should head.

Ruho breathed the life out of her.

Instead of showing them a way forward, the White Tower Expedition became a disaster that left them in even murkier darkness. Both the Seven Continental Alliance (SCA), represented by Serenade Asmodella and Sonovia Da Attra, and Enma Clan, led by Shyme Enma, failed. The entire archeological site was annihilated in the battle between an unknown Reverse Beast, Orwell Mehest, and an unknown variable calling himself Dream. Kilometers around the site were drenched in curse, rendering the lands inhabitable.

Ruho knew they were up against the wall. The conflict of their neighbor, Starland, threatened to boil over with the oppressive shadow of the Tai Tianshang — Heavenly Daughter of Steel — looming over the horizon. Many had flocked to Tai’s promise of violent transition of power and a more equal world. On the opposite end, the Dark Elves’ autonomous zone protecting Frisnia’s World Tree smelled blood in the water. Ruho wished they were on better terms, but after a generation of isolation and friction, the relationship between Frisnia and Dark Elves now hung on a rapidly fraying string.

The nation was about to splinter like their fellow neighbor, Centuria, and the one man capable of holding it together, Ruho’s older brother, the Head Eunuch Migras was lost. He had been comatose ever since their first attempt to foil Tai Tianshang’s initial invasion into Frisnia.

Everything Ruho knew was on the verge of crumbling. After trekking the road of setback, and after a year of watching her brother’s failing and unresponsive body for support that would never arrive, the Dowager Consort was desperate enough to do anything.

“This is a disaster!” A bald Eunuch yelled at the lankier man. “You are the one who suggests we use the White Tower to decide. How do you plan to take responsibility for such failure?”

“I know,” contrary to the expectation, the lankier Eunuch didn’t fight back. “But can you blame me? What else could we do?”

The bald Eunuch’s face softened, “Fine, I understand we all run out of ideas.”

An elderly Eunuch glared at the baldy and lanky, “I told you to stick with SCA. They are our oldest allies.”

A Eunuch wearing a glass stood against the elder, “Really? Are you kidding me, old man? They look down at us. With Centuria and Starland going up in smoke, we lack the leverage to bargain with those selfish freaks.” The glass looked around the room. “Let's be honest here, Tengen, as a whole, is barely qualified to stand even with the seven other superpowers. And do I need to remind you that the Grand Empire’s capital — the Venistalis — had been devastated by Orwell Mehest. The SCA can barely save themselves, much less us.”

“And you are proposing we sell ourselves to the Enma Clan,” the elderly Eunuch said. “Are we planning to join the Demonic Continent as an Enma’s attack dog?”

“I know Xerxes,” a Eunuch with a goatee spoke. “I can vouch for him.”

“But Xerxes Enma isn’t the one in charge of that damn family, is he?” the elderly Eunuch said. “The Enma Clan is hardly monolithic. Can we trust that a simple charge in the regime won’t turn us into the second Demonic Continent.”

The goatee and glasses slumped on their chair, defeated.

A Eunuch with a monocle chipped in, “I propose the Holy—”

“If you said Holy Grace Church, I will kick your ass,” said the bald Eunuch, with the entire room nodding in agreement.

It was then the seventh Eunuch, a portly man, made his pitch, “I suggest we award the one who actually solved the White Tower Expedition.”

The lanky Eunuch turned toward his buddy in surprise. “You mean Orwell Mehest.”

The entire room from Ruho to all the Eunuch — the elder, monocle, glasses, goatee and bald — turned their attention to the two.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” said the portly Eunuch. “He trashed the 33 Stars and the Reverse Beast. Plus, I heard he is a man of character.”

“He killed millions in Venistalis and crippled the Grand Empire,” the elderly Eunuch pointed out. “A fellow member of SCA.”

It was the glass who came to Orwell’s defense, “But didn’t the Grand Empire throw the first stone? They wiped out the Deathless Clan during their expansion. I remembered the Deathless Clan was aiding the resistance against their inhumane transgression when the Grand Empire murdered them.”

The bald Eunuch had to agree, “Yes, that happens.” He further added to Orwell’s credibility. “I heard Orwell signed a peace agreement to end the feud with the Grand Empire after he annihilated Venistalis. After the ceasefire, he did pretty much pull all of his activity from the Grand Empire. You can say anything about him, but Orwell is proving to be a man of his word.”

The goatee added his opinion, “I don’t know about that, but we are putting the fate of Frisnia on the table here. If we turn to Orwell, it will risk antagonizing the SCA and will bring the Divine Fist’s attention to us. Does Orwell Mehest worth it?”

It was the baldy who answered the question, “Normally, I will say you have a point, but according to our intelligence report, Orwell is building the force of his own. They are calling themselves Diogenesis. This paramilitary group is ballooning its force, but they are still very much a mystery.”

The monocle Eunuch tried to push his idea again, “The Holy—”

The elderly Eunuch threw a book at the monocle, hitting his head with a painful thud, “Just how much is the damned Church paying you to make this dumb decision. That entire faction is cancerous.” The elderly Eunuch turned to the group. “I will agree that Orwell has something going for him, but siding with him means offending almost every group.”

“Every group who wants to eat us,” the lanky Eunuch pointed out.

“How about we invite them all to gauge the reaction,” the Dowager Consort Ruho decided. “We need to know about Orwell and the international response against him. I suggest we invited all of them to the Annual International Trade Fair in Danghai”

“Dowager Consort,” the elder Eunuch sweated. “But the risk — the Isle of Knowledge, the Divine Fist, Enma Clan, and the SCA representatives will be there.”

“That is why it is the best place to gauge our decision,” Ruho replied. “We can see how Orwell dealt with this battlefield.”

…

It was this decision which set the greatest, unlikeliest alliance in the history of Phantasia into motion. The Raid of Danghai was the legendary start of the stories told in Phantasia for a thousand years to come — an opening act of the Wild Hunt War.