Chapter 2: Assembly of Ghosts
Nephis did not wake up on a floor. She woke up suspended in an infinite cathedral of silence.
The inside of the Nightmare Spell was a place that defied human comprehension. It looked like the celestial equivalent of a neural network — a boundless black void illuminated by a myriad of bright stars. Between those stars, countless strings of silver light were woven into a beautiful and inconceivably complex pattern. It was a structure neither alive nor dead; neither sentient nor mindless. It was simply a function, an infinite machine that existed in the space between dream and reality.
According to the scholars of the waking world, the Spell was acausal in nature, ignoring the laws of cause and effect. It was simply magical. But looking at it now, Nephis realized that the scholars were wrong.
The Spell wasn't ignoring cause and effect. It was desperately trying to hold them together.
Woven through the silver lattice of the Spell was a second layer — a vast, radiant eternity of twisting golden threads. These were the Strings of Fate.
Nephis felt a chill settle in her bones. She instinctively knew that if she were looking at the true Tapestry — the raw, unfiltered design of Fate itself — her mind would have already shattered, and her soul would be ash. But the Spell was shielding her. It was translating the incomprehensible truth of the universe into a visual projection, a language of light that a human mind could barely withstand.
But even through the filter, the horror was evident.
The tapestry did not look like the radiant image of legend.
It was torn and ravaged.
Nephis gripped a vibrating cable of silver light, her eyes widening. The infinity of its splendor had been mangled. Countless Strings of Fate were cut and tangled, swaying aimlessly on ghostly winds.
And they were leaking.
From the severed ends of the golden threads, a thick, pale substance was dripping into the abyss below. It looked like mercury, or perhaps liquid time. It fell in slow, heavy droplets, vanishing into the dark.
Spectral fluid.
The wound in the world was not cauterized. It was open and festering.
It was complete and utter, ineffable chaos.
She could see the threads of the past — they remained stable, untouched by the slaughter. But the threads of the present were in shambles, knotted and fraying. And the future...
Nephis looked ahead, searching for the weave of what was to come.
There was nothing.
The golden strings simply ended. They were severed, the spectral fluid pouring from them like blood from an amputated limb, dangling over an abyss of nothingness. The future did not exist anymore.
"The future..." Nephis whispered, her voice swallowed by the hum of the infinite expanse . "It isn't just broken. It has been obliterated."
The vibration under her hands spiked. The silver strings of the Spell were buzzing furiously, trying to stitch the golden wounds back together, but they had no pattern to follow.
"Nephis!"
The shout tore her eyes away from the broken sky. She spun around, balancing on the thick silver cable.
A few meters away, suspended on a junction of silver and gold, the members of the Cohort were scrambling to their feet. Effie was already on her feet, her hand gripping Kai's shoulder to keep the archer steady against the vibration of the strings. Jet stood tall, her eyes sharp and scanning the void, though her hands were empty of her glaive. Kim and Luster were huddled near the edge of the web, looking green.
But Nephis's eyes locked onto Cassie.
The blind girl was standing perfectly still, her head turning slowly to survey the mangled tapestry.
Her hands were empty, hanging limply by her sides, trembling slightly.
"Cassie?" Nephis stepped forward, careful not to look into the abyss below. "Are you hurt?"
Cassie turned to face her. The silk blindfold was gone, lost in the dissolution of the world. In its place, streaks of dried blood stained her pale cheeks, tracking down from her eyes like crimson tears.
But her eyes were no longer dark.
Usually clouded and unseeing, they were now burning with a faint, terrifying golden luminescence.
"I can see," Cassie whispered, though her voice trembled. "But... it is cold. I do not see the world, Nephis. I see the ruin."
She raised a hand, looking at her own fingers, which rippled with the Spell's light. "The Spell has forced its perception onto me. It is not showing me a vision... it is showing me the damage."
She pointed a trembling finger at the pale fluid dripping from the golden strings above.
"I see the cuts, Nephis. The strings... they are bleeding."
"Effie?"
A hesitant voice called out from the darkness. Nephis turned to see a young woman stumbling across the strings, her hand instinctively clutching at her hip for a sword that wasn't there.
Rain.
She didn't run to Nephis. Her eyes darted frantically around the void until they landed on the tall, muscular huntress.
"Effie!" Rain gasped, seeing a familiar face in the madness.
Effie immediately stepped forward, reaching out to pull the young woman into a steadying grip. "Rain? Shit, kid. You're here too?"
Rain let out a shaky breath, leaning into Effie's strength. "I was in the Song Domain. I reached for my sword, but... is this a Nightmare?"
Nephis approached them, her expression softening.
Rain straightened immediately, her discipline kicking in. She bowed her head respectfully. "Lady Changing Star."
"You do not need to bow here, Rain," Nephis said gently. "Stay close to Effie."
As Nephis looked at the pair, her gaze drifted down. She noticed something strange.
Rain's shadow — the one that usually stretched naturally across the ground — was not behaving like a shadow.
It was standing upright.
The dark silhouette was detached from Rain's heels, staring intently past Effie, past Nephis, and into the central void where the fluid was pooling. It looked agitated, its edges trembling. Nephis felt a strange flicker of familiarity, a ghost of a memory she couldn't place, but the hum of the silver strings suddenly spiked.
[THE WITNESSES HAVE ARRIVED]
The voice of the Spell boomed, echoing from the stars themselves.
The web shuddered. To the right, a massive pillar of light erupted.
Anvil of Valor materialized.
He appeared standing as still and immovable as a mountain of iron. Flanking him instantly were Morgan, Saint Summer Knight, Saint Rivalen and Saint Jest.
Behind them, the members of the White Feather Clan materialized. Saint Sky Tide, Saint Roan, and their daughter, the Awakened Telle.
They did not rush to surround the King like the others. They took their places behind Anvil with a distinct, deliberate slowness. Tyris stood with her arms crossed, her expression calm yet unyielding. She stood with them out of obligation to her oaths, but her posture radiated a fierce, independent defiance.
"Father," Morgan whispered, her red eyes scanning the severed threads. "My sword... I cannot summon it."
"Be silent," Anvil commanded. He looked at the mangled tapestry, his gaze narrowing in judgment.
To the left, the darkness bloomed with the scent of dried lilies.
Ki Song formed from the light.
She did not sit on a throne. She stood tall, a figure of terrifying, breathless beauty. Her skin was the pale, flawless white of a corpse, and her lustrous black hair fell like a curtain of night around her shoulders. She wore a regal red gown that spilled onto the golden strings like a river of blood.
Her mesmerizing, eerie eyes stared into the distance, betraying a sense of hollowness, as if she had been dead for a very long time.
Before the light had even faded, her adopted daughters — the Song Sisters— were at her side. Seishan and Beastmaster took the lead, flanking their mother. Behind them, the silent and deadly figures of Moonveil, Silent Stalker, Hel, Revel, and Lonesome Howl formed a wall of beautiful, deadly flesh.
Beside them, another powerful figure materialized. A tall man clad in austere armor, possessing a mature, handsome face and cold eyes that held a somber weight. His tan skin and strange ashen hair made him an instantly striking figure. The Saint of Sorrow. He stood like a statue, placing a protective hand on the shoulder of his daughter, Tamar, who looked pale but resolute in the presence of the Supremes.
And strolling casually out of a distortion in the air between the two great armies was Mordret.
The Prince of Nothing smiled, looking from his father to his sister. "A family reunion," he drawled, dusting off his tunic. "And here I thought I'd have to burn a Citadel to get us all in one room."
Anvil did not look at him. Morgan's hand twitched toward a sword hilt that wasn't there.
"Abomination," Morgan hissed.
"Just a mirror, sister," Mordret laughed softly.
Further back, the shadows rippled.
Bloodwave, Aether, and Naeve of the House of Night materialized. They immediately formed a defensive triangle, their eyes darting between the two hostile armies of the Great Clans.
"Sovereigns," Naeve whispered, his face pale. "We are caught in a war."
"Hold position," Bloodwave ordered, though his hand drifted to where his weapon should be.
But then, the shadows deepened.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended on the Loom, distinct from the Spell's hum. It was the silence of the deep ocean, the silence of a tomb that had been sealed for an eternity.
Between the three Saints of Night, a figure stepped out of the darkness.
He did not look like a monster. He looked like a young man, barely old enough to be called an adult. He had beautiful features, dark, flawless skin, and strange, nebulous silver eyes that seemed to hold the reflection of a starless sky. He wore a luxurious, flowing tunic, and his long hair was tied back carelessly with a piece of metal wire.
Nightwalker.
The founder of the House of Night.
The man who had vanished decades ago on a voyage to the Eternal City.
"Father?" Naeve gasped, taking a stumbling step back. "You... you are alive?"
Bloodwave stiffened, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Captain?"
Nightwalker did not answer immediately. He looked around the crowded void, his silver eyes filled with a profound, exhausted irritation. He looked at the thousands of golden strings, the shouting Saints, and the looming Sovereigns.
"Too loud," Nightwalker muttered, his voice soft but carrying clearly in the silence. "Too many people."
He shifted his stance, and Nephis noticed something that made her skin crawl.
Every other person in the Loom cast a faint shadow on the golden strings. Even the Dead.
Nightwalker did not.
He stood in the light, but the space beneath his feet was empty. He was a man who had been stripped of his shade, immortal and cursed.
"He is not here," Nightwalker observed, sounding relieved. He glanced at Anvil and Ki Song with the weary recognition of an equal. "Just the noisy ones."
"Nightwalker," Anvil said, his apathy cracking for a second time. "We thought you dead."
"I was," the young man replied simply. "Many times."
But before the conversation could continue, the Spell interrupted.
Near the center of the web, the silver strings twisted violently. Two figures fell out of the light.
"My books!"
Professor Julius scrambled to his knees, frantically checking the pockets of his robe. Beth was beside him, clutching a stylus like a dagger, looking as if she might hyperventilate.
"Professor? Beth?"
Effie broke formation first, striding over with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes, though her relief was palpable. She recognized them instantly — not just as important figures, but as the regulars who frequented the same cafe she did.
"Well, damn," Effie said, offering a hand to pull Beth up. "I guess the Brilliant Emporium is closed today, huh? Usually, we just meet over waffles, not... whatever this is."
Beth blinked, steadying herself against Effie's arm. "Lady Effie? I... I was just cataloging the new hydro-engine schematics..."
Jet moved up beside Effie, her gaze sharp and professional. She looked at the young woman with a nod of recognition.
"Chief Bethany," Jet said, her voice calm amidst the chaos. "And Professor Julius. It is good to see you both alive."
Julius adjusted his crooked glasses, looking up at the torn sky. "Saint Jet! I must say... the wilderness survival curriculum never prepared me for this."
"Stay behind us," Jet ordered, her eyes hard as she looked at the Sovereigns.
Nephis moved to stand beside Jet, her presence a silent declaration: These two are under my protection.
Then, the light changed.
It stopped shining and began to drip. Thick, spectral fluid oozed from the severed ends of the golden strings, smelling of ancient dust and the ozone of a storm that had ended eons ago.
[INITIATING RECONSTRUCTION.] [ACCESSING ARCHIVE: REALM OF DEATH.]
"Realm of Death?" Rain whispered.
From the pooling gold, shadowy figures began to rise. They did not form instantly. They were woven thread by thread, like a tapestry being stitched in fast motion.
The first was an elderly woman with long white hair, dressed in the simple, rough tunic of a river-farer. She held a polished wooden oar like a sacred staff, her tan face etched with a spiderweb of wrinkles — the map of a lifetime spent waiting for the chosen.
Ananke.
She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the strange starlight of the Loom. Unlike the others, there was no fear in her expression, only a profound, humble reverence. She looked at the silver strings not as a cage, but as a miracle.
"The Great Weaver's design..." she murmured, bowing her head slightly to the empty air.
Then, her gaze landed on the white-haired girl standing on the silver string.
"Lady Nephis?" Ananke whispered, her voice rasping with the dust of the Great River.
She took a hesitant step forward, her expression crumbling into a mix of hope and grief. "The mist... it has lifted. Did we make it? Did we finally reach Fallen Grace?"
Before Nephis could answer, a towering figure rose from the light.
He was a handsome man with strong facial features and fierce, downturned eyebrows. He was tall and imposing, with broad shoulders and a strong-willed, angular face. His hair was arranged in a long braid, and he wore an archaic robe that seemed both simple and regal.
Daeron of the Twilight Sea.
He stood taller than any human, radiating a pressure so vast and ancient that even Anvil of Valor and Ki Song instinctively took a step back.
But Daeron did not look at the Sovereigns. His slit pupils dilated as they locked onto a figure forming from the light beside him — a rare beauty with dewy dark skin and azure robes.
Windflower.
Daeron froze. The giant, who had fought gods and monsters, began to tremble.
"My girl," he choked out, his voice cracking like thunder. "You... you are awake?"
Windflower turned. She looked at the father she had not seen since he sealed her away to save her from Corruption. "Father?" she whispered, tears spilling from her eyes. "Is the nightmare over? Are we free?"
Daeron leaned down, ignoring the Sovereigns. He reached out to embrace the daughter he had lost to time. "I am here, child. I am here."
Next came a figure that made the very light of the Spell bend.
A beautiful woman wearing a simple red tunic formed from the gold. She had chestnut hair that streamed down like silk and eyes that shone like two silver stars. She held no weapon, yet her presence was so vast it seemed to permeate the entire hall. It was as though the silver strings of the Spell curved slightly to be closer to her, as if she didn't exist in the world, but the world existed around her.
Solvane.
The War Maiden looked around, her charming smile not quite reaching her silver eyes. Her gaze landed on the phalanx of Valor Saints — the descendants of War God.
She didn't draw a weapon. She didn't threaten them. She simply tilted her head, observing Anvil of Valor with the terrifying, ecstatic gaze of a zealot seeing a miracle.
"Oh?" Solvane murmured, her voice melodic and soft. "The blood of War flows here. How... nostalgic."
She stepped closer to the edge of her string, radiating a suffocating aura of sanctity that made the Saints of Valor flinch.
"You carry the blessing of my God," she said, her eyes locked on Anvil. "And you have climbed high... higher than I ever did. A King of Swords... yes. I can feel the sharpness of your soul from here. It is... exquisite."
She smiled, a beautiful, chilling expression. "Do not fear, follower of War. I, Solvane, am nothing if not merciful."
Then, a laugh echoed — carefree and utterly unhinged.
"Merciful? You? Ha! That is the best joke I have heard in a thousand years!"
A young man with moonlight woven into his hair materialized, sitting comfortably on a conjured chair of golden light. He wore extravagantly colorful silk garments, and his raven-black hair was immaculate. On his forehead, the symbol of a crescent moon shone softly.
Noctis.
He took a sip from an empty goblet, his beautiful grey eyes sparkling with jovial, manic light as he grinned at Solvane, then at Anvil.
"Don't listen to her, stranger," Noctis drawled, waving his hand dismissively. "Her definition of mercy usually involves chains and eternity. Trust me, I would know!"
"Oh... where are my manners?" Noctis grinned, spreading his arms wide. "I didn't even introduce myself! Rejoice, stranger... you are in the brilliant presence of Noctis, the great Sorcerer of the East!"
He leaned forward, inspecting the King of Swords with the curiosity one might show a particularly dull rock.
"But you... you look terrible! So stiff. So serious." Noctis shook his head theatrically. "You look like a man who has forgotten the joy of a good scheme. Or perhaps you just need better wine?"
Then, the Sorcerer's nose twitched. He spun his chair around in the air, his grey eyes locking onto Ki Song.
The Queen of Worms stared back with her dead, hollow eyes.
Noctis blinked. His grin widened, though it took on a sharper edge.
"And you, my dear corpse," Noctis drawled, sniffing the air. "You smell like the moonlit woods. You smell like... family."
He looked her up and down, taking in the red gown and the dead stillness of her presence.
"The Beast God's lineage," Noctis mused, tapping his chin. "My great-grandmother Moon would be horrified to see her bloodline looking so... moldy. Tell me, do you bite?"
Ki Song's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of ancient annoyance crossing her face.
"I rule," she rasped.
"Close enough!" Noctis laughed, raising his empty cup to her.
But there was one more.
[SUBJECT: EURYS OF THE NINE | STATUS: IMMORTAL (CURSED)]
A bleached human skull tumbled out of the light, hitting Anvil of Valor's boot.
Anvil looked down, cold apathy on his face.
The skull ignited with ghostly red flames. "Watch where you're standing, you tin can!"
Anvil's eyes narrowed. He exerted his Authority, but the skull merely chattered its teeth. "Oh, don't try that 'Supreme' nonsense with me. I walked with the Gods before your great-grandmother was born."
He swiveled to face Nephis. "You. The Nephilim. I thought I smelled something revolting."
He rolled his jaw. "Did you drag me here? I told you in the desert, I only want to sleep."
"I didn't bring you here," Nephis said.
Eurys stared at her, a flicker of dark amusement crossing his skeletal features. "Still alive, I see. Stubborn thing. You promised to carry that burden of yours to the end. I suppose you haven't broken it yet."
"I keep my promises," Nephis replied.
"Good," Eurys mocked, looking back at the Sovereigns. "Because these ones look like they've forgotten theirs. Puffed up like peacocks. False gods squatting in the ruins of their betters."
Anvil's eyes grew cold. He unleashed his Will.
"Silence, wretch."
The pressure slammed into the silver strings, intending to crush the insolent skull.
[WARNING]
The Spell didn't shout. It simply stated a fact.
[VIOLENCE IS PROHIBITED IN THE ARCHIVE]
[ASPECT ABILITIES: SUSPENDED]
[AUTHORITY: NULLIFIED]
Anvil's Will struck the silver air and vanished instantly. There was no explosion, no resistance. It was simply... erased.
For a moment, there was absolute silence.
Morgan took a step back, her face draining of color as she looked at her father. The King of Swords frowned, looking at his own hand. For the first time in decades, his absolute power had been ignored. The invincible logic of the Sovereigns had shattered against the higher law of the Spell.
Fear began to ripple through the assembly. If a Supreme could be neutered so easily, then none of them were safe.
"If strength is useless," a calm voice cut through the terrified silence, "then we must use words."
The Sovereigns turned.
Nephis stepped forward. She did not look at Anvil or Ki Song. She looked up at the infinite, starry void, her expression hard and calculating. While the others were paralyzed by the loss of their power, she was already adapting.
"Answer me!" Nephis demanded, her voice ringing clear in the cathedral of silence. "Where are we?"
The runes hung in the air, burning with a cold, blue light.
[LOCATION: THE LOOM OF FATE | SECTOR 01]
"The Loom..." Mordret murmured, stepping up beside Nephis, his eyes gleaming with intellectual hunger. "And who, exactly, is important enough to drag us all here?"
[THE MISSING VARIABLE]
At those words, a flicker of movement in her periphery caught Nephis's eye.
She glanced down at Rain. The young woman was staring up at the blue runes, oblivious to the ground beneath her feet. But her shadow...
The dark silhouette stretching out from Rain's heels was not lying still.
It rippled.
The movement wasn't a natural fluctuation of light. The shadow's edges were sharp and defined, yet the figure was convulsing. It hunched over, its shoulders shaking in a rhythmic, silent spasm.
Nephis stared at it, a frown creasing her brow.
For a fleeting, irrational second, the motion didn't look like a glitch in the Spell's projection. It looked... human. It looked like someone doubled over, shaking with silent, uncontrollable mirth.
'Mockery,' a stray thought whispered in Nephis's mind. 'It looks like it is mocking us.'
She felt a phantom sensation — a memory of a voice she couldn't recall, dry and sarcastic, laughing at the absurdity of the world.
"Teacher?" Rain whispered, noticing Nephis's intensity. "Is something wrong?"
Nephis blinked, and the feeling vanished. She looked back at the shadow, but it was just a flat, dark shape again, stretching motionless across the silver string.
"No," Nephis said quietly, though the unease lingered in her gut. "It is nothing. Just a trick of the light."
"Why can't I leave?" Ki Song demanded, her voice like dry leaves, breaking the moment.
[ERROR. CAUSALITY INCOMPLETE. DEPARTURE IMPOSSIBLE UNTIL REINTEGRATION.]
"Reintegration of what?" Daeron rumbled, rising from his knees, his serpent eyes narrowing as he shielded Windflower.
The Spell did not answer further. Instead, the torn golden strings beneath their feet began to shift. The Shadow at Rain's feet remained perfectly still now, staring intently at the center of the void where the darkness was beginning to swirl into white.
[WITNESSES ASSEMBLED]
[INITIATING PLAYBACK]
[RECORD: 01 - THE SLAVE]
The golden void shattered.
The warmth, the sterility, and the light vanished.
A blast of freezing wind slammed into them, so real that Nephis felt the moisture freeze on her lashes. The smell of old blood, rotting stone, and sulfur filled their lungs.
Nephis blinked, and when she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the Loom. She was standing on the side of a jagged, black mountain, surrounded by a sea of frozen corpses.
The world was hyper-realistic. She could see every snowflake, every rust spot on the collars of the dead slaves.
But in the center of the scene, there was a flaw.
There, shivering in the snow, dressed in nothing but rags, was a small, emaciated figure.
But unlike the sharp reality of the mountain, the boy was... wrong.
His form wavered violently, like a reflection in disturbed water. One moment he was a solid human boy, the next he was a silhouette of shifting shadows and blurring edges. The light of the sun seemed to bend around him, refusing to touch his skin. The Spell was struggling to render him, fighting against the void where his Fate should have been.
He was not a person. He was a contradiction in the world's logic.
Nephis narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on his face, but it was a smear of darkness and uncertainty.
All she could see clearly were his hands. They were blue with cold, clutching the heavy, broken lengths of rusty chain that dangled from his shackled wrists.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
jmas
jmas Well... I planned for 2,000 words, but the cast just kept growing! This chapter ended up being a 4,000+ word mega-chapter.
I couldn't bring myself to split up the arrival of the different characters. Seeing these characters interact with each other was too much fun to cut short. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Schedule: Due to my midterms, there will only be one additional chapter this weekend, where we finally dive into the first Nightmare.
Who had the best entrance? Personally, I loved writing Noctis. Let me know in the comments!
Thanks for reading!
— New chapter is coming soon — Write a review
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