Chapter 132

Chapter 132: Edge of the Dream

Duncan said with a gentle smile: “Do you want to see, while awake, what the edge of your own dream looks like?”

To Shirley, the words Duncan spoke with a smile sounded like a deep temptation rising from a dark, bottomless sea trench. A shiver spread in her heart. She instinctively resisted this suggestion, yet an uncontrollable urge also rose——

In this nightmare that had tormented her for eleven years, outside this locked little room, on that street she had never seen with her own eyes eleven years ago… what was out there?

She subconsciously took a small breath and turned to look at the small window not far away.

A dull, dried-blood shade of deep crimson filled the little window, so she could not see the street outside. On that fire-lit morning eleven years ago, she had never managed to look out of the window, so in this dream the scene outside was hidden in chaotic light, impossible to make out. Even the living room outside this room was only a blur of darkness when she looked through the doorway.

The dream reflected her own memories and understanding. Eleven years ago she had not escaped this little room. Eleven years later, could she really walk out of it now?

Shirley could not help muttering under her breath: “Can someone really walk around inside their own dream… I don’t even know what’s out there at all… What if it’s all just nothing?”

Duncan’s voice came from the doorway: “A dream is a reflection of a person’s subconscious, and the subconscious often keeps ‘details’ that even the person cannot notice.” He paused, then said: “Maybe you were trapped in this room the whole time eleven years ago, but the light and shadows outside the window, the sounds, and the things your ‘instinct’ remembered have all filled in your dream. In those details, we might be able to glimpse a few clues.”

“Of course, it’s your decision. If you refuse, I won’t keep prying into your dream—I will stay here. Don’t worry, as long as I am here, this nightmare won’t go on. Sleep in peace. Tomorrow you will still have a clear, sunny morning.”

Shirley bit her lip lightly. It was as if she had to use a lot of strength just to make up her mind: “I… want to go out and take a look.”

“All right.” Duncan nodded and stepped aside to clear the doorway. “I’ll go with you.”

A Subspace Shadow, a moving calamity, had taken the initiative to say he would walk with her—this should have been a terrifying invitation, yet for some reason, this time Shirley suddenly felt relieved.

It was as if a warm light suddenly appeared in this endless dark nightmare, letting her relax just a little.

She felt she had to be insane, slowly stained by madness from living alongside an Eldritch God.

Duncan followed behind Shirley. The two of them stepped together through the wooden door of the little room and entered the living room from Shirley’s childhood memories.

Dog walked beside them as well. The Abyssal Hound looked very tense, always watching the surroundings with care. From time to time it tilted its head as if listening, paying attention to any sign of an Anomaly on the street.

Seeing this, Shirley grew curious: “Dog, what are you doing?”

Dog said in a deep voice: “Reconnaissance. We’re walking into an unknown region of a dreamwalking field… Any further, and it will be an area that doesn’t exist in your memories. In theory, the things ahead will lean more and more toward the imagination and strong emotions in your subconscious, and when fear is the main force, those imaginations and strong emotions often create some… not very friendly things.”

Shirley was surprised: “Dog, you even know that much?”

“I know a little.” Dog shook its head. “I am, after all, a proper Abyssal demon…”

Duncan did not pay attention to Shirley and Dog’s conversation. He was carefully watching the living room for any clues.

A hazy, chaotic darkness covered the small, shabby room, as if some smoke that could not be dispersed filled the air. He saw a wooden shelf by the wall, a table and chairs on one side of the living room, and an old chronometer clock hanging on the wall. The hands on its face were blurred and twisted like trembling smoke, spinning in circles without any meaning.

On the floor in the middle of the living room, he could see a patch of deep claw marks.

Those were the marks Dog had left when it broke in back then.

Other than that, there were no bloodstains in the living room, no corpses, and no trace of fire. The “fire” seemed limited to the street outside, or maybe, simply in Shirley’s subconscious, the flames had never spread into the room.

They crossed the living room and came to the front door.

The door had a huge hole smashed in it. Only the frame remained, with a few broken pieces of wood still hanging there. It was clearly another masterpiece of the Abyssal Hound.

Beyond it lay the street that had been swallowed by the fire.

Shirley suddenly stopped walking.

She had already come this far, yet all at once she realized what she was truly afraid of and resisting.

“Shirley?” Dog noticed her hesitation and looked up at her in curiosity.

Shirley bit down hard on her lip as if she had not heard Dog. She stared fixedly at the street outside the door, at the thin fog filled with warped red light. Every cell in her body, every nerve, seemed to tighten, shrink back, and tremble with fear.

It was as if she saw her parents, who had gone out that day and never come back, lying fallen in front of the house. She did not even dare to picture what that scene would look like, did not dare imagine what would happen the moment she stepped out.

Then she heard the soft clink of chains.

Dog took the lead and walked forward, stretched its head to look toward the street, then pulled back.

“Shirley, it’s fine. There’s nothing scary outside. Even if there is… you can’t see it anymore.”

Shirley looked in some surprise at the Abyssal Hound’s empty eye sockets. She pressed her lips together: “Thanks.”

Then she took a step forward and walked out of the doorway of her home from eleven years ago.

The street was filled with a thin mist. In the sparse, dark-red fog she could vaguely make out the outlines of houses and streetlamps, and the warped, uneven surface of the road.

Buildings in the distance shook unnaturally in the fog. The fire had already burned them down to bare frames, black or dark red in color. Their edges trembled like formless flames, and from somewhere came the crackle and pop of exploding timbers, as if the blaze was still spreading in places they could not see.

Fine sparks, dust, and ash floated in the air, mixed with a choking smell.

Duncan frowned slightly.

The flames on the street had died out. Only the traces of burning remained. The ash everywhere and the suspicious melted heaps in the corners of the street proved that the great fire had been real.

But he did not see any clues that might be related to fragments of the Sun.

But when he thought again, that also seemed normal. After all, this was only Shirley’s dream, a stage woven together from her memories, understanding, and imagination, not a true restoration of everything as it had been eleven years ago.

With that thought, he walked slowly beside Shirley along the street that had been burned by the fire.

Suddenly, his steps stopped.

Shirley turned back in surprise: “Mr. Duncan?”

Duncan frowned and waved his hand lightly, tilting his head to listen to the sounds around them.

Just now, it seemed he had heard a faint voice whisper something by his ear.

He tried to make it out for a long moment, then suddenly walked toward a pile of ash by the roadside.

It was a twisted heap of black ash, with some charred fragments mixed in that seemed not entirely burned. Next to the ash a few embers still glowed. If one looked very carefully, one could just barely see that the heap of ash faintly formed the shape of a curled-up… “person”.

Duncan stared at the ash for a long time, then slowly bent down and tilted his head, performing a Listening Rite——

“…I… don’t want to die…”

The heap of ash whispered softly.

Duncan’s eyes opened a little wider.

And Shirley, who was close behind him, also heard the whisper. The girl’s reaction was much more direct:

“What the hell is this?!”

Duncan glanced back at her, and Shirley quickly changed her wording: “Uh, I mean, this is really scary…”

“…I still liked your straightforward version better just now.” Duncan’s mouth twitched. In truth, the whisper from the ash had startled him too, but Shirley’s shout had completely covered that. Then his gaze fell on the many other heaps of ash along the street.

Soft, continuous, overlapping whispers drifted with the floating ash and sparks down the street, reaching his and Shirley’s ears.

“I don’t want to die…” “Help…” “…Go home…” “Somebody help…”

A chilling feeling spread from deep in the heart. Shirley moved closer to Dog without thinking, feeling every muscle in her body tighten.

She dared to swing a demon hound around to fight cultists, but she had little resistance against this kind of pure eerie strangeness.

Besides, this was still her own nightmare. The hardest thing for a person to fight is always the fear in their own heart.

But just then, she suddenly felt confused:

[Is this really my nightmare?]

[Is this really just a dream? At this “edge of the dream” that had already gone far beyond my memories and understanding, why would these “voices calling for help” appear, voices I should never have touched or even been able to imagine?]

Shirley instinctively looked toward Duncan, only to see him also turning his gaze. His deep eyes were full of scrutiny and thought.

“This might not be a simple dream.”

Duncan said in a low voice.