Dungeon of Pride, Laplace

The air was cold and biting, and the ground beneath her feet cracked with every step she took. But that wasn't what unsettled her. It was the blood.

Her hands were covered in it, staining the white snow red.

What was going on? This was clearly a bad dream; however, for some reason, this dream felt different from the usual.

She looked down, trembling, trying to understand what had happened, but her body moved on its own, ignoring her confusion.

In front of her stood a lone figure, a shadowy silhouette against the bleak horizon. His appearance was obscured by the storm raging around them, but his presence was undeniable.

He was strong, calm, and unyielding—a stark contrast to the chaos swirling within her.

Without warning, Irene's body lunged forward, attacking the figure with relentless ferocity. Her hands, now wielding blades of ice, struck again and again, each blow powerful enough to shatter space and destroy mountains.

Yet, despite her fierce assault, the figure never retaliated. He defended himself, dodging and blocking her attacks, but never once striking back.

There were others around them watching the battle unfold. They seemed familiar, like distant memories or forgotten friends, but none of them intervened. They were held back by the mysterious figure.

It was as if he commanded the space around him, ensuring that this fight was only between the two of them. Irene's mind screamed, begging her body to stop, to understand why she was attacking this person.

But it was as if she had no control of her body or a passenger in her own body.

The dream was too vivid, too real. Every breath, every movement, every sound—it all felt as though it were happening right before her eyes.

It was clearly a dream… and yet, there was something about the figure. Something that tugged at her heart, even as she tried to tear him apart.

A sense of familiarity that she couldn't place, a connection that she couldn't understand. Why did he feel so… important?

BOOOM…

As the battle raged on, the world around them began to change. The ice spread further and further, freezing everything in its path. Trees, mountains, and even the sky itself seemed to crack and shatter under the force of the cold.

The land became a wasteland of ice and snow, devoid of life, devoid of warmth.

Huff… Huff… Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Irene's relentless assault slowed. Her body, though still not under her control, seemed to weaken, and her movements became sluggish.

In that moment, the mysterious figure stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He gently held her, stopping her from attacking.

Something was spoken; however, thanks to not being in control of her body she could not hear. It all sounded like a mumbled jumble to her. Nevertheless, thanks to that touch, she was finally able to control her body.

The icy rage that had consumed her moments ago melted away, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. Tears welled up in her eyes, and a sob caught in her throat.

She didn't understand why, but she felt as though she had lost something precious—something irreplaceable.

The figure held her tenderly and slowly lowered her to the ground. Through her blurry vision, she watched as the figure turned away from her. He faced the sky, his form slowly becoming indistinct, as if the very world around him was swallowing him up.

And then, just like that, he was gone.

The dream shattered like glass, and Irene jolted awake.

Huff… Huff… She sat up in bed, her heart pounding in her chest and her breathing ragged.

"What was that dream?" muttering to herself, she looked around. The room around her was quiet, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the window.

That said, the events of the dream still lingered in her mind—the ice, the blood, the mysterious figure…

"?" At this moment, Irene realised that tears were blocking her vision. Trembling, she quickly wiped away her tears, trying to shake the lingering sadness that clung to her heart.

This was a dream… but then what was that feeling? Unable to calm down, Irene slipped out of her room.

The cool night breeze was soothing enough to calm the turmoil in her heart. She didn't know where she should go but before she realized it, her feet were carrying her towards the most conspicuous place in the entire Forest Spring Spirit Village—the hill where the Tree of Spirit stood.

The Tree of Spirit which had grown at an astonishing rate, was unlike anything else in the village. Its long, graceful branches cascaded downward, much like those of a willow tree, yet it bore no leaves.

Instead, its branches glowed with a soft, white light, making the tree appear both ancient and ethereal. Its bark was a pale silver hue and seemed to shimmer faintly with the moonlight.

The entire tree exuded a sense of calm and serenity. What made the tree even more mesmerizing were the countless speckles of light that danced around it. They moved in gentle, rhythmic patterns, orbiting the tree.

These speckles, like tiny, wandering spirits, were drawn to the tree's otherworldly glow. They drifted through the air and around the tree, creating an almost ethereal halo that surrounded the entire area.

It was as if the tree was a beacon for souls who had lost their mortal bodies. That was the Tree of Spirits.

Irene stood there, marvelling at the scene before her. No matter how many times she saw the tree, it never fails to amaze her. Thanks to the Tree of Spirits, she was able to forget the disturbing dream she had just experienced.

Just as she was lost in thought by the soft glow of the tree of spirits, from the corner of her eyes she noticed something or rather someone.

She was not the only one here who thought of seeking the solace of the Tree of Spirits in the middle of the night.

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