Chapter 804: Entering the Dream

The palace, frozen in the twilight, stretched out with endless corridors—deep and shadowed—and vast, empty halls. Whispered voices of unknown origin echoed low and ominous behind every door, as if countless invisible guests were gathered within this ancient, illusory palace, endlessly feasting while maliciously scrutinizing any visitor who dared to step inside.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of footsteps broke the silence in the empty corridor.

Rosetta Augustus, ruler of the Typhon Empire, walked steadily along the corridor he had traversed countless times before. He seemed deaf to the eerie murmurs that surrounded him. His figure cast long, uneven shadows beneath the narrow windows glowing with the last light of dusk. Each shadow trembled faintly, as if about to come alive, but under the emperor’s indifferent gaze, they gradually stilled.

He reached the innermost chamber of the palace—the place where portraits of the Augustus family’s ancestors hung.

Expressionless faces were set in heavy, black frames, their cold, icy eyes fixed on Rosetta Augustus. Some of the portraits stirred to life, whispering to one another in guttural murmurs that were barely human.

Every one of these “living” portraits depicted Augustus family members from the past two centuries—those who had lived and thrived after the great collapse of the Old Imperial Capital and the curse that followed.

In contrast, the portraits of those who lived between seven hundred and two hundred years ago remained silent and still, mere cold images frozen in time.

Rosetta was used to this.

Nightmares were the product of the curse, a reflection of the cursed ones’ spiritual world. The collapse of the Old Imperial Capital two centuries ago marked a dividing line: before the collapse, the souls of the Augusti were free, and the nightmares could only project soulless illusions. After the collapse, however, the Augusti were trapped within this dream world, becoming the source of many of its strange horrors—and making the nightmare realm ever more bizarre and dangerous.

Rosetta’s gaze swept over the animated portraits, his expression cold and detached.

These were his forebears—his father’s generation, his grandfather’s. Some had been closest to him in childhood; others were the heroes of the stories he had heard since youth. But that was all in the past. Now, they were nothing more than part of this strange dream palace, a link in the curse’s chain. Any hope for familial affection or humanity in them would only bring about a swift and tragic end—an experience learned through generations of Augustus family members’ sacrifices.

Yet, as long as he maintained his reason and restrained his greed and recklessness, these nightmare shadows could still serve a purpose.

Among the living portraits, Rosetta’s grandfather, the wise Emperor George Augustus, seemed to notice something. His pale, gaunt face turned toward Rosetta, and the low, strange murmurs shifted into words clear enough to understand: “Ah, look who’s come… my dear grandson… are you well?”

Another portrait beside him stirred as well, glancing at Rosetta: “You don’t look well at all. Look how tired you are. Ruling an empire isn’t easy. Child, you should learn to manage yourself better—don’t burn out your life too soon.”

Several other portraits nearby quickly chimed in agreement.

Rosetta ignored their buzzing chatter and spoke in a flat tone: “The palace is appearing more frequently. What does that signify?”

“So cold…” the portraits murmured among themselves.

Rosetta remained expressionless.

“What change do you want? To be closer to us?” George Augustus chuckled hoarsely. “It’s a pity. Though we long for the day of family reunion, you have always refused well. This nightmare is still… far from you.”

“But other things are drawing closer to your reality…” another portrait added.

“Other things? What things?” Rosetta frowned. “Other ‘divine legacies’?”

“We don’t know,” muttered Marjorie Augustus, standing beside George. “But it seems different from us… something similar in nature and power, but only similar. Perhaps because of this ‘similarity,’ we’ve sensed it, and your curse has been somewhat reactivated.”

Listening to these vague words and pondering the clues in the real world, Rosetta’s brow furrowed deeply. At the same time, he heard his father, Marjorie Augustus, speak again: “In any case, be careful lately. Your reality seems poised for change. It may not be aimed at you, but its mere presence is enough to threaten you.”

George Augustus added, “We can’t help you directly from ‘inside’ here, but we will try to expand our senses, search for clues, and delve deeper into the dream’s historical illusions. Perhaps… we can be of some help.”

Rosetta looked up at his father and grandfather, at the older Augusti who spoke and strategized, their lively discussions offering advice. Yet he kept his cold expression and took two steps back.

Where he had stood, the patterned stone floor had quietly darkened into an inky blackness. Countless tendril-like, star-speckled writhing forms slithered out from the darkness, connecting with shadows floating in the air, twisting and reaching as if trying to grasp something.

“No need to trouble you further,” Rosetta said coldly. “Dreams belong in dreams.”

The starry black tendrils suddenly quickened their dance, as if driven mad. The portraits, which moments ago had spoken kindly and offered help, now all glared at him in unison. Their eyes turned blood-red, their faces twisted into snarls, and their voices rose in furious reproach:

“You damned wretch! We only want to help you!”

“We mean well, but you respond with suspicion—you are doomed to be a ruthless tyrant, a foolish king who betrays his ancestors’ teachings!”

“You will be scorned by your subjects. You bring only decay to this empire. Its future is destruction!”

“Return! Return to your family, to your father and grandfather! Only we are your true kin. See yourself clearly!”

The accusations grew louder, blending into incomprehensible babble and piercing shrieks. Rosetta frowned deeply and stepped back swiftly. More tendrils appeared in the air, wildly trying to bind him in place. Yet before they could touch him, they dissolved into mist and vanished—just as dreamlike things cannot harm the living in the real world.

But Rosetta knew well: if he hesitated even slightly, showed any weakness or compromise, these tendrils would no longer be so harmless.

He finally retreated to the doorway, beyond the reach of the portraits.

“I believe your help is sincere—but it would be better if you didn’t want me to ‘reunite’ with you,” he said with a mocking tone.

Leaving those words behind, he decisively exited the room.

The dream palace’s door slammed shut, sealing the chaotic, maddening whispers inside.

Rosetta walked back along the corridor toward the palace’s outer chambers.

The portraits lining the walls came alive again—Augusti from the past two centuries appeared on their canvases, hurling curses and strange, maddening whispers at Rosetta as he passed. The twilight light from outside flickered uneasily, as if the entire palace had awakened, filled with rage.

But in the end, none of it could harm Rosetta, who resolutely rejected this nightmare. The Typhon ruler quickened his pace, leaving the most dangerous corridor and the gaze of the portraits behind.

In a relatively “normal” great hall, the ever-present low murmurs now sounded almost warm and friendly.

From deep within the palace came a faint, reluctant sigh.

It was the source of the curse—the true master of the palace.

For Rosetta, the best response to that voice was simply—no response at all.

The fading twilight light streamed through the tall glass windows, casting pale golden lattices across the hall. Unlike before, the light no longer flickered.

Rosetta exhaled softly, preparing to leave the hall and return to the palace’s outer areas.

Suddenly, his steps halted. His gaze fixed on a door at the side of the hall—the handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open just a crack.

Rosetta’s senses instantly tensed.

In this palace, every door meant danger to some degree, and those that opened on their own often bore the most malicious intent.

But not always. Sometimes, the dreams of Augustus family members connected, and when a door opened then, it could be…

A figure appeared in the doorway—a woman dressed in an elaborate black court gown, her long black hair flowing smoothly, adorned with delicate golden chains woven through her strands.

Rosetta visibly relaxed.

“Father?” Matilda’s voice trembled slightly when she saw the figure in the hall, but she relaxed upon recognizing Rosetta’s face. “You’re… dreaming too?”

“Seems we entered the dream at the same time,” Rosetta said, easing somewhat but still maintaining his imperial dignity. “It’s already midnight here.”

“I’m in the Cecil Imperial Capital, just falling asleep. It’s still some time before midnight here,” Matilda replied. “What have you been doing here? I felt the palace suddenly become… unusually restless.”

“I went to the deepest part to ask some questions,” Rosetta said briefly. “They’re probably very angry now.”

“…Did you run into danger?”

“Of course. There’s no safety here.”

No sooner had Rosetta finished speaking than a piercing shriek suddenly echoed from the corridor leading deeper into the palace. The shriek seemed to twist and churn the mind itself, leaving everyone momentarily dazed. Even the murmurs in the great hall fell silent for a brief moment.

But just as quickly, the shriek faded away, and everything returned to normal.

“…That was your brother,” Rosetta broke the silence after a few seconds. “He’s the ‘newest one’ here. Sometimes his voice manages to cut through the corridor’s barrier and reach this side.”

Matilda took a breath, whispering softly, “Brother…”

“He’s gone now, become part of this palace,” Rosetta said solemnly, her tone grave and steady. “Matilda, you must always remember the boundary between you and this place. Even if your brother, your grandfather, your uncle, and your aunt are here, you have to remember—they’re all gone. They’ve turned into ‘them’—malicious spirits that dwell here, always trying to drag you down into the deepest darkness.

“Only by keeping this in mind can you stay safe. And someday, when I too have become part of this palace, you will still be able to survive safely.”

Matilda lowered her head. “…I will remember, Father.”

Rosetta’s expression softened slightly, and she nodded. “Since we’ve met here, tell me about what you’ve seen.

“What kind of place is Cecil in your eyes?”

(End of chapter)