Chapter 1 Should We Look at the Edge of the Dream?

The words Duncan spoke with a smile felt to Shirley like a deep, dark siren call from the abyss. A shiver ran down her spine. She instinctively resisted the suggestion, yet couldn't suppress the urge—in this nightmare that had tormented her for eleven years, in this locked-down cottage, on the street she hadn't dared look at eleven years ago... what could possibly be there?

She subconsciously took a light breath and turned to look at the small window not far away.

A deep, bloodless crimson filled the small window, preventing her from seeing the street outside—on that morning eleven years ago when the fire lit everything up, she had never managed to glance out, and so in this dream, the scene outside the window was hidden in chaotic light, utterly indistinct. Even the living room outside this room looked only like a hazy darkness when she peered out from the doorway.

The dream reflected her own memories and perceptions. Eleven years ago, she couldn't escape this cottage. Could she really walk out of this room today, eleven years later?

"Can people really walk around in their dreams…" Shirley murmured to herself, "I have no idea what's out there… Could it be a void?"

"A dream is a reflection of a person's subconscious, and a person's subconscious often remembers 'details' that even they don't notice," Duncan's voice came from the doorway. "Perhaps you were trapped in this room eleven years ago, but the light and shadows outside the window, the sounds, and what you remembered through 'intuition' all fill in your dream. In these details, we may be able to glimpse some clues."

"Of course, the decision is yours. If you refuse, I won't continue to pry into your dream—I'll stay here. Don't worry, as long as I'm here, the nightmare won't continue. Sleep soundly, and tomorrow will still bring a bright morning."

Shirley bit her lip lightly, then seemed to summon a great deal of strength to make up her mind: "I… want to go out and see."

"Alright," Duncan nodded and stepped aside to clear the doorway. "I'll go with you."

An Outer God shadow, a mobile disaster, had taken the initiative to offer to walk alongside her—this should have been a terrifying invitation, yet for some reason, Shirley suddenly felt relieved.

It was as if a warm light had suddenly appeared in this endless dark nightmare, allowing her to relax a little.

She must be mad, she thought, gradually driven insane by being in the company of a god.

Duncan followed behind Shirley, and together they crossed the wooden door of the small room and entered the living room from Shirley's childhood memories.

A Gou also followed beside them. The Abyssal Hound seemed very nervous, cautiously watching the surroundings and occasionally pricking up its ears to listen for any unusual movements on the street.

Seeing this, Shirley was curious: "What are you doing, A Gou?"

"Reconnaissance," A Gou said in a deep voice. "We're entering unknown territory in the dream… Beyond this point, things will increasingly lean towards your subconscious imagination and strong emotions. And with fear as the dominant force, these imaginations and strong emotions will often generate some… less friendly things."

Shirley was surprised: "You even know this, A Gou?"

"I know a little," A Gou shook its head. "I'm a proper Abyssal Demon, after all…"

Duncan, however, didn't pay attention to Shirley and A Gou's conversation. He was carefully observing whether there were any clues in the living room.

A chaotic, hazy darkness enveloped the slightly shabby little hall, as if an ineradicable smoke filled the space. He saw the wooden shelves placed against the wall, the tables and chairs on one side of the living room, and an old-looking clock hanging on the wall. The hands on the clock face were blurred and distorted like quivering smoke, spinning around and around meaninglessly.

On the floor in the center of the living room, there was a patch of deep scratches.

Those were the marks left by A Gou when it broke in back then.

Other than that, there was no blood, no corpses, and no signs of burning in the living room—the "fire" seemed to be confined to the street outside, or perhaps it was simply because, in Shirley's subconscious, the fire had never spread into the room.

They passed through the living room and came to the front door.

The door had a large hole in it, with only the door frame and a few tattered pieces of wood still hanging on it—obviously also the Abyssal Hound's handiwork.

Beyond that was the street engulfed by the fire.

Shirley suddenly stopped.

She had already come this far, but suddenly realized what she was truly afraid of and resisting.

"Shirley?" A Gou noticed Shirley's hesitation and looked up curiously.

Shirley bit her lip tightly, as if she hadn't heard A Gou's words. She stared fixedly at the street outside the door, looking at the thin mist filled with distorted red light, feeling every cell, every nerve in her body tense, shrink back, and fear.

She seemed to see her parents, who had never returned after going out, falling right in front of the house. She didn't even dare to imagine what that would look like, didn't dare to imagine what would happen if she stepped out.

Then she heard the sound of chains jingling.

A Gou took the initiative to walk forward, peered out at the street, then retracted its head.

"Shirley, it's okay, there's nothing scary outside, or… I can't see it."

Shirley looked at the Abyssal Hound's empty eye sockets with some surprise. She pursed her lips: "Thank you."

Then she stepped out, stepping out of her home from eleven years ago.

The street was filled with a layer of mist. In the thin, dark red mist, she could vaguely see the outlines of houses and streetlights, as well as the distorted and undulating road surface.

5:38 PM?

The buildings in the distance trembled unnaturally in the mist. They had been burned into frameworks in that fire, appearing in black or dark red hues, with edges undulating like shapeless flames. From time to time, there was a crackling sound from who-knew-where, as if the fire was still spreading in unseen places.

Tiny sparks, dust, and ashes floated in the air, mixed with a choking smell.

Duncan frowned slightly.

The fire on the street had been extinguished, leaving only the traces of the burning. The ubiquitous ashes and the suspicious piles of molten material in the corners of the street proved the fire's reality.

But he didn't see any clues that might be related to the Sun Fragment.

But on second thought, that seemed quite normal—this was, after all, just Shirley's dream, a stage woven from her memories, perceptions, and imagination, not a true return to eleven years ago.

With that in mind, he followed Shirley and slowly walked down the street that had been burned by the fire.

Suddenly, he stopped.

Shirley turned back in surprise: "Mr. Duncan?"

Duncan frowned and waved his hand, listening carefully to the surrounding sounds.

Just now, he seemed to have heard a faint voice whispering something in his ear.

He carefully distinguished it for a long time, then suddenly walked towards a pile of ashes by the roadside.

It was a pile of twisted black ash, mixed with some charred fragments that seemed not to have been completely burned. There were even still-burning embers next to the ash. If you looked closely, you could vaguely see that this pile of ash vaguely resembled a curled up… "person."

Duncan stared at the ashes for a long time, then slowly bent down and listened carefully—

"...I… don't want to die…"

The pile of ashes whispered.

Duncan's eyes widened slightly.

And Shirley, who was closely following behind him, also heard this whisper. The girl's reaction was a little more direct:

"What the f\*ck is that?!"

Duncan turned his head slightly, and Shirley quickly adjusted her wording: "Um, I mean, that's so scary…"

"...I still prefer your straightforward self from before," Duncan's mouth twitched. Actually, he had been startled by the ashes' whispers, but it had been completely drowned out by Shirley's exclamation. Then, his gaze fell on the more piles of ashes on the street.

Soft, continuous, and overlapping whispers drifted in with the ashes and sparks floating on the street, reaching his and Shirley's ears.

"I don't want to die..." "Help..." "...Go home..." "Someone help..."

A chilling sensation spread in her heart. Shirley subconsciously leaned closer to A Gou, feeling her muscles tighten.

She dared to swing a demon hound and fight cultists to the death, but lacked resistance to this kind of pure weirdness and evil.

What's more, this was her own nightmare—the hardest thing for a person to fight is always the terror in their own heart.

But at that moment, she suddenly felt confused:

Was this really her nightmare?

Was this really just a dream? On this "edge of the dream" that had already moved far away from her memories and perceptions, why were these "cries for help" appearing that she shouldn't have been able to come into contact with or even imagine?

Shirley subconsciously looked at Duncan, only to see that he was also turning his gaze over, his deep eyes filled with scrutiny and thought.

"This may not be just a dream," Duncan said in a deep voice.