The sun overhead had never shifted by so much as a hair.

  For sixteen years, the scene had remained the same.

  Javon floated above the sea like a ghost—unable to touch anything, unable to leave this spot, and unable to be perceived by any existence. Prolonged confinement had bred hallucinations in him: was this the real world, and reality the illusion?

  Year after year, the nearly dustless, unchanging vista had almost driven him mad. He had tried, struggled, screamed—he didn't know what sin he'd committed to deserve this torment, to be imprisoned inside his own dream!

  Javon looked up once more at the golden disk in the sky, as if nailed in place, and stared…

  Black specks suddenly surfaced across the sun's gilded face, slowly blooming into crimson blotches. Red burst through its 'skin', as though the sun were hemorrhaging from within.

  Javon's breath caught. This isn't my doing, is it? I only complained in my head—just one sentence.

  He drew a deep breath, and the salty sea wind filled his lungs.

  Javon watched the crimson spreading across the sun. His consciousness abruptly lifted—endlessly—until it seemed to reach a threshold. A roar detonated inside his skull. He saw a point of light in his mind.

  It was a sphere, hovering in perfect stillness at the very center of his consciousness. Like a crystal orb, it was filled with red mist. The instant he saw that red fog, warped afterimages and flickering flames flooded his mind, sometimes accompanied by shrill, insane laughter…

  It rotated slowly on its own, like a celestial body. With each turn, the mist within thinned by a fraction, and the crimson on the sun’s surface deepened by a fraction—until the sun became wholly red. The crystal orb in his mind turned clear again, then slowly vanished, as though it had never existed at all.

  Javon's awareness returned to itself. He raised his hands and looked at them, looked around, then tried once more to see if he could move.

  The world doesn't seem to have changed—only the sun has turned crimson. I’m still imprisoned here.

  As if in answer to his thought, beneath the crimson sunlight on the sea… splash, splash—the surface parted. A fish broke through to breathe. The moment it touched the red light, its belly flipped up and its life was snuffed out. Then its abdomen burst open; countless threadlike worms seemed to writhe beneath the flesh, devouring it in an instant, and sharp claws and teeth sprouted… while the fish’s skeleton slowly sank into the depths.

  Like a chain reaction, more and more grotesque fish vaulted from the water—some with tentacles growing from their bellies, some with only half a body left. They gathered, tearing at one another, swallowing, fusing… In the distance, a larger shadow rose. A creature like a whale became the final victor, opening its maw and gulping them down. Something nameless squirmed beneath its skin, as if a more frenzied flesh-mutation were underway…

  "This…" Faced with the sudden aberration all around him, Javon was utterly at a loss. And then, within his mind, fragments of broken information surfaced:

  I am dream, I am entropy, I am everything!

  I stand apart from all dimensions. I am beyond description, beyond comprehension!

  I am… the Creator!

  Morning sunlight spilled through the window into the room.

  Javon Sothos drew the curtains and looked up at the sky by instinct. The sun was still golden and gentle, without a trace of crimson. Javon let out a long breath. “Thank goodness... thank goodness it’s not here.” The scene in last night’s dream had been far too horrifying. For a moment, he had even suspected he had destroyed the waking world by accident.

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  Javon Sothos opened a drawer and pulled out a black notebook—his diary.

  It is known that, at present, the knights and scholars within the territory have not mastered extraordinary power.

  It is known that the Green Banyan Grandmother is merely an ordinary totem of primitive nature worship, and has never displayed any divine miracles.

  It is known that no one has traversed, in dreams, into a world that is clear and distinct.

  After changing the world, consciousness becomes extremely weak, as though it has returned to infancy.

  It is inferred that with each entry into the dream, the dream’s power becomes stronger by a degree. Long accumulation is required for a qualitative change to occur.

  Javon drew the final stroke, closed the notebook, and sighed. Last night’s outcome proved that the bead did have some effect. But when he thought of the war soon to descend upon the waking world, he still had no solution at all.

  Inside a cavern that was dark and damp.

  Pale, wax-white candles shed a dim firelight, illuminating dozens of figures shrouded in black robes.

  “Mother of Nature, Queen of the Forest, source of myriad lives! With fervent devotion, I offer you sacrifice—enemy blood, prey flesh, and the bones of our forebears!”

  “Grant me harvest, grant me youth, grant me strength...”

  The leading figure prayed loudly. He was Theodore—Javon’s biological father, and the lord here. With a silver dagger in hand, he carved a plump piece of venison and laid it upon the stone altar. Dark-red blood ran down through the seams of the stone platform.

  Javon Sothos watched the bloody offering, his expression devout. In measured motions, he followed along step by step, dutifully performing the role of the “lord’s second son.” When the sacrifice ended, Javon followed the others out of the gloomy cave.

  Fresh air rushed to meet him, yet it could not dispel the lingering stench of blood in his nostrils. Javon looked back. The cave sat directly beneath an enormous banyan tree. Its vast crown blotted out the sky; countless aerial roots hung from its branches, and ten thousand tendrils burrowed deep into the stone walls, forming a spectacle that was profoundly uncanny.

  In the distance, sunlight was brilliant, the blue sky cloudless. At the end of a road strewn with mud and broken stone stood a cluster of European-style buildings, built largely from logs. Black ravens wheeled across the sky, crying out with hoarse, ugly voices. One raven, a tube bound to its leg, landed atop the castle’s high tower. A hand reached out from the window and took the tube from its leg.

  “A messenger raven has arrived. Something important must be happening in the castle.” Seeing this, Javon understood at once.

  Sure enough, at the castle gates, the waiting scholar handed over a letter. Theodore snatched it up and scanned it quickly. His violet eyes gradually filled with fury, and he said in a low voice, “The Davis family of the Upper Green Forest intends to dissolve the sacred betrothal signed beneath the banyan tree. This is a declaration of war!”

  The atmosphere froze instantly. And Colin’s anger was written plainly across his face—Colin was Theodore’s eldest son, and the fiancé bound by that betrothal.

  Javon stood in a corner, calmly observing it all. He knew the betrothal was only the fuse. The true reason was profit—specifically, the papermaking workshop he had “gifted” his father. Because of that, the two families had clashed repeatedly. The betrothal itself represented mutual compromise, but now immense profit had made the Davis family turn on them. Dissolving the engagement was merely the pretext to begin the war!

  “The Davis family is not satisfied with our previous proposal,” Theodore said. “They are like greedy jackals—they want more!”

  He drew his dagger and drove it into the wooden table. The dagger’s hilt trembled without ceasing.

  “We will make them understand they have made a colossal mistake!”

  The men in the hall began to howl barbarously, Colin the most fervent of all. The argument dragged on for a long time. At last, Theodore’s gaze settled on him.

  “Javon, you are sixteen now. It’s time to go to the battlefield and earn the merits that belong to you.”

  “Yes, Father.” Javon fell silent for a moment, then nodded and accepted.

  Advance, retreat, leap...

  Chop, thrust, parry...

  Javon gripped a cruciform sword and trained with meticulous focus. Thinking of the war approaching, he felt a tight anxiety. He set the light cruciform sword aside, stared at the weapon rack for a long time, then picked up a greatsword instead.

  He continued to swing in the training ground until exhaustion hollowed him out. Then he stopped, sat down on the earth, and panted. Great drops of sweat fell from his brow and sank into the soil.

  Night fell.

  Javon lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, a powerful sense of unreality tightening in his chest.

  The waking world was about to meet bloodshed and death—yet in another world, he had changed the sun with his own hands.

  He closed his eyes.

  His body fell once more.

  The same darkness, the same weightlessness. When he opened his eyes, he saw a dark sea. Blood, scales, scraps of flesh... floated upon the surface. He raised his head and saw a night sky like black velvet, and... a crimson moon!

  It was enchanting and beautiful, shedding a scarlet light like a sun.

  Tonight, Javon sensed something had changed. He discovered he could move. He tested it—shifted a short distance.

  “Finally...” Javon murmured. He searched his memory for the subtle difference. “It seems... all change begins with changing the sun...”

  Sixteen years of imprisonment had finally revealed an opening. “It seems my life in the dream world won’t be so boring anymore.”