Chapter 1297: Where Nightmares Come From

Shadow Slave

Sunny remained silent for a while, thinking…

There was a lot to think about. Although Neph's eyes were closed, he could tell that she was thoughtful, as well. The history of the Dream Realm, which they could only guess before, was revealed in front of them with stark clarity. Of course, Ananke had not witnessed all these events herself. But the tales she relayed were passed down to her from people who actually had. 'No wonder…'

No wonder Mordret had told him that the knowledge and experience Awakened brought back from their Nightmares were perhaps more important than the power and Abilities they gained. And that Legacy clans, especially those ruled by the Sovereigns, were very particular about which Seeds their scions challenged. Both Valor and Song must have accumulated a great deal of knowledge… however, that knowledge was not something just anyone could access. Even Nephis, who had been adopted into the great clan, did not seem privy to most of their secrets yet. That was only natural. After all, knowledge was the origin of power.

…According to Weaver.  And Anvil would not trust her with power until she had proven herself.

He lingered for a few moments, then looked to his right, where Ananke's mask still lay on the wooden deck. Stretching his hand, he picked it up and stared at the fearsome, demonic face. Sunny could not glimpse anything about the mask. He did not even know whether it was a Memory or a simple piece of carved wood. Glancing at Ananke, he pointed to the mask and asked:

"Is this a Divine Memory?"

She remained silent for a few moments, then slowly shook her head. "No, my Lord. This one is merely Sacred… a lesser facsimile of the true Mask of Weaver. It is a part of the ceremonial garb that we, priests and priestesses of the Nightmare Spell, wear — both to escape the gaze of our pursuers and to follow in the footsteps of our benefactor, the Demon of Fate. The more accomplished a priest was, the higher rank Memory they would be bestowed."

Ananke looked away with a faint smile. "My mother, whom I inherited this Memory from, was one of the few who received a mask of the Sacred Rank, which was the highest of honors. As for Divine Memories of the Mask of Weaver… I've never seen these holy relics. There were only ever two of them, entrusted personally to the first two who were chosen by the Demon of Fate — the High Priest and the High Priestess of the Nightmare Spell."

Sunny studied the surface of the mask some more. After a short stretch of silence, he followed his whim and asked:

"Does it have the [Where is my eye?] enchantment?"

He was curious if Ananke, as the Priestess of the Spell, could teach him how to gaze at the tapestry of fate without dying. The old woman looked at him with a surprised expression. "Where is my eye? No… no, it doesn't. But… if I may be so bold as to ask, how do you know the name of that enchantment, my Lord? This Sacred Memory of mine only possesses two. It was only the two holy Masks that possessed a third — and even then, very few ever learned about it."

Sunny hesitated for a long time, then sighed and summoned Weaver's Mask. Soon, a fearsome mask of polished black wood appeared in his left hand, identical to the one he was holding in his right. Ananke's eyes widened slightly.

"M—my Lord… is that?"

He nodded. "Yes. Ah… before you start assuming things, I am not a Priest of the Nightmare Spell, nor am I a chosen of the Demon of Fate. It's just that I found this thing a few years ago in a godforsaken pit of a cursed city. I've been stumbling on various traces of Weaver while traveling the Dream Realm, so… I guess I am curious about him. Or her. Or whatever Weaver was."

Sunny considered telling her about Blood Weave and the phalanx of the daemon in question, which he had swallowed in the Ebony Tower, but decided against it. He didn't want to give the old woman a heart attack, or put strange thoughts in her head. Her reverent attitude was already rather uncomfortable.

Ananke remained silent for a few moments, looking at the mask — and Sunny — with that same reverence. Then, she sighed softly. "My Lord… was this Memory helpful to you on your journey?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Helpful? Well… I guess it was. It saved my life a few times. Ah, but it also almost killed me a few times. In any case, I probably wouldn't be standing here without it." The old woman smiled. "...Then it was fate that guided you to it, and me to you. By Weaver's grace."

Sunny looked at her somberly. He didn't like being reminded of just how helpless he was against fate. Neither did he like the idea of being a marionette for a long-dead daemon. But he couldn't really dispute what Ananke had said. First, because it was pointless to argue faith with logic. Second… because he wasn't sure that his logic was sound. Who was to say that the damned Demon of Fate had not really arranged for various things to happen in the distant future?

'This is… distressing.'

He let out a heavy sigh, then dismissed his Weaver's Mask and put the other one on the bench near Ananke. "You shouldn't leave it lying on the deck. It is a gift from your mother, after all."

The old woman gently took the wooden mask and placed it on her lap.

"Thank you, my Lord. You are wise."

Sunny furtively glanced at her and hid a smile.

'Ha! I got one, too.'

Then, he looked at the beautiful vista of the Great River and said:

"So, when your elders entered the Tomb of Ariel, most of the priesthood of the Nightmare Spell remained outside, splintered in order to convert more carriers during the Doom War?" n))1n

Ananke simply nodded. "Yes." She seemed down, so Sunny suddenly wanted to encourage her. He thought for a few moments, and then shrugged. "Well, they've done a great job. The Nightmare Spell outlived both the daemons and the gods. In the future, it is nearly all-powerful. Ah, by the way… you said that it was very alluring to people even at the start. But what about the price? Weren't they afraid of dying in the Nightmares?"

The old woman looked at him with a hint of confusion. "Nightmares, my Lord? What do you mean? Why would people be afraid of dying in their dreams?"

At that moment, Nephis opened her eyes and turned her head, looking at Ananke silently. Sunny turned, too, his gaze becoming sharp.

'Does she not know what a Nightmare is?'

He lingered for a moment, then asked:

"Did the Spell not put people through trials, way back then?"

Ananke touched her white hair, then shook her head.

"Trials? No… I've never heard of anything like that."

Sunny blinked a couple of times. 'Now, that's new… why would Nightmares only exist in our time? That doesn't make any sense.'

Nephis seemed to share his thoughts. She remained silent for a moment, then suddenly leaned forward and asked:

"Grandmother… I have a question, then. Where exactly does the "nightmare" in the Nightmare Spell come from?"

Sunny blinked.

'What a strange question.'

The old woman stared at them in bewilderment. After a while, she said:

"That is what Weaver named it. The Demon of Fate must have had a reason, but it is not for us to know what that reason was. The Nightmare Spell… it is just what it has always been called."

Sunny and Nephis glanced at each other. The Spell was always very particular with its words, and Weaver must have been the same. There was no way that the grand creation of the nebulous daemon had been named without much thought. But what was the meaning of that name?

Neither of them knew, and Ananke didn't seem to know either. 'Damn Weaver...'