A few more times before the introduction ceremony, a couple of sleepers approached River, curious about his origins, treating him less like a human and more like an object of amusement. River brushed most of them off—if someone couldn't even acknowledge him as a person, he had no interest in giving them the time of day.
'Is being from the outskirts that surprising?'
River didn't consider people from the outskirts to be a rare breed. After all, there were about sixty to seventy million living in the outskirts. Some of them were pretty resilient, too, capable of defying all expectations.
River's gaze was subtly drawn to the broad figure of the animalistic sleeper from earlier.
Someone from River's past.
***
Two years ago…
The air was thick with ash and pollutants, a scent of decay lingering. Each breath was heavy, laced with grit, as if the very air wanted to choke the life out of him. The sky was filled with plums of smoke, factories working in mass, and no regard or concern for the civilians below. It was a world that swallowed hope, the stars hidden behind a haze of indifference.
'I can't stand this place. I can't even head out for a bit without worrying for my life.'
The outskirts were marked by death, crime dwelling in every corner. No matter where you went, there was always something to be cautious of. If you weren't careful, you could end up dead by the end of the day.
"Eat or be eaten." River coldly remarked.
He had learned to move unnoticed through these streets. He didn't stare too long at anything, didn't make himself a target, and never, never stuck his nose where it didn't belong.
But tonight, something stopped him in his tracks.
A wet noise, like meat being torn apart. A choked gurgle. Then, laughter—sharp, breathless, hungry. It was as if someone or something was on the hunt, enjoying the pleasure of toying with its prey.
'…what the hell.'
River's instincts screamed at him to turn around, to walk away and pretend he hadn't heard a damn thing. The outskirts weren't kind to the curious, and they were even crueler to the hesitant.
Despite that, River hadn't moved.
Instead, he found himself creeping forward, sticking to the shadows as he followed the sickening sounds. His stomach twisted at the metallic scent in the air. It was thick and overwhelming. The scent of blood.
The smell was strangely potent, yet the source remained out of sight, filling River's mind with thousands of what-if scenarios
'…should I really be doing this?'
Unable to hold back his morbid curiosity, he turned the corner into a narrow alleyway, staying just out of sight. But, as River took in the scene, the sight that greeted him was unexplainable.
A group of men. No, it was more accurate to say what was left of them lay scattered across the filthy pavement. Some were still twitching, others already gone, their bodies broken and torn as if a beast had gotten to them. But the one responsible wasn't some mindless monster.
At the center of the carnage stood a boy no older than fourteen, his body heaving with breathless exhilaration. His body was surprisingly athletic–an uncommon trait amongst kids in the outskirts. Blood coated his arms up to the elbows, fresh splatters staining his already-tattered clothes. He was grinning. His teeth bared, eyes burning with something primal, something wild. He flexed his fingers as if relishing the lingering warmth of his victims' blood.
'There's no way… he did all this? He looks the same age as me!'
Yet, he didn't just stop there, walking towards one of the men on the ground as he slowly attempted to crawl away, fear displayed on every inch of his face.
"Come on!"
He drawled, crouching beside the man and tilting his head. His eyes gleamed with something feral.
"You guys had so much energy when you jumped me! What happened? Wasn't this supposed to be fun?"
River knew that look. He'd seen desperation, rage, fear. But this? This was pure, unfiltered pleasure. It was as if he lusted for the battle itself, the feeling of dominating your enemies in a life-or-death battle.
The man sobbed something incoherent. But it was clear that he was begging for his life.
The kid's grin widened.
"That's what I thought."
Then, with almost lazy amusement, he slammed the man's head into the pavement. Blood splattered across the floor.
River felt his stomach churn, a twisted mix of revulsion and something he couldn't quite name. Awe? Fear? Both? It just didn't make sense how someone so young could beat a group of men twice his age.
'Who the hell is he?'
He should have run. He should have left. He should have never even listened to his stupid sense of curiosity.
Instead, he shifted his weight just slightly to get a better view, but it was just enough to cause a pebble to skid under his boot.
Then suddenly, the boy's gaze snapped toward him. His eyes narrowed as he focused intently on the spot, watching for even the slightest glimpse of movement.
And for a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, slowly, like a predator realizing its prey had just walked into its den, the kid smiled, his eyes filled with sick pleasure.
"…Oh?"
His voice was soft but thrumming with amusement.
"You just gonna stand there? I promise I won't bite."
River's hands twitched at his sides. He wasn't stupid. He knew better than to challenge someone like this. Someone who didn't fight out of necessity but because of the pleasure it gave them. It was a lost cause; he'd only have something to lose. But River wasn't quite sure he had a choice.
The kid watched him for a second longer, then let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.
"…Nah." he murmured, more to himself than to River. "You're not the type."
Then, just like that, he turned away, stepping over the broken bodies without a second glance. His silhouette disappeared as the darkness enveloped him, almost as if he had never been there in the first place. The crippled bodies of the men served as the sole proof of his existence.
River didn't follow. He knew better than to engage with a kid as bloodthirsty as that.
"What the hell just happened?"
***
River exhaled, shaking off the ghost of that memory. Even now, two years later, the scene played vividly in his mind—the blood, the laughter, the sheer, unfiltered savagery. And now, standing just across the courtyard, was that very same boy.
River's thoughts were locked on the broad-shouldered sleeper among the crowd. He had changed–grown even more imposing–but there was no mistaking it. The presence, the way he carried himself, the way others unconsciously gave him space. It was him.
And worse, the bastard had noticed him staring. It was the same feeling as watching a predator in the wild, only for it to stop mid-stride, ears twitching, aware that something was watching. A primal awareness, something beyond sight alone.
'Is that bastard even human?'
River clicked his tongue, turning away before their eyes could meet. It wasn't worth it. Whatever that kid had become, River had no interest in finding out.
Redirecting his gaze towards the stage, River noticed the sudden appearance of a man wearing a dark blue uniform walking towards the front. The man was giant in stature, his mighty physique straining at the confines of his uniform, almost bursting at the seams. His face was stoic to the point where he seemed unnaturally calm and focused. He also possessed a beautifully well-groomed brown beard that accentuated his rugged features.
The man walked towards the edge of the stage, scanning the room as he took count of the sleepers in front of him before beginning to speak.
"I am Awakened Rock. Sleepers, welcome to the Academy."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Every eye was on him, every breath held in anticipation.
"In less than a month, you will enter the Dream Realm. Some of you may believe you are ready. That your First Nightmare has prepared you for what's to come. Let me make one thing clear. You are not. The Spell does not reward arrogance. It does not care for potential or promise. The moment you believe yourself above danger, you are already dead. I have seen countless Sleepers fall to this mistake. I have seen even Masters become nothing more than another forgotten corpse. Even Saints, those who stand at the very peak of power, are not assured survival."
'Great. Really setting the mood here,' River thought dryly.
"In the next four weeks, we will train you. You will learn from some of the finest instructors in the world. But do not mistake training for protection. No one here can guarantee your safety. No title, no birthright, no name will shield you once the Spell takes hold. When the time comes, the only one responsible for your survival will be you."
A murmur ran through the crowd, subtle but telling. River glanced at the other Sleepers slightly, watching them exchange glances.
"You are not children anymore. It is unfair, but that does not change the truth. You have faced the First Nightmare, so you already know the reality of this world. Whatever innocence you had left was taken from you the moment you woke up."
Rock let those words settle, his gaze scanning the faces before him.
Then, after a pause, he continued.
"Now, we will discuss the difference between Nightmares and the Dream Realm."