Chapter Text
What would be your last meal before you die?
A gaunt young man, with ashen-gray hair that suggested dirt, pale gray eyes, and sickly-white skin, wondered.
A rat like him didn't belong there, and he would never have imagined setting foot in such a place only to receive the contemptuous gazes of passersby.
A futile effort would yield futile results, but they were necessary in everyone's life, shaping what we call freedom.
He might be a pessimist, and yet he wanted to do his best to avoid a bad ending.
As he left the fast-food restaurant, he pulled out a small bagged package.
A simple hamburger with the most basic, or degrading, ingredients as many considered them.
That simple meal made him jump for joy, raising his hamburger to the sky as though it were a divine gift.
His actions were quite notorious, and everyone saw him as a madman.
For me, good, let the trash think what it wants. What do they know about what I've been through to have this in my hand? Aisling thought, keeping his emotions in check.
Putting down the hamburger, he finally deigned to eat it. Just then, he was bumped in the shoulder by a citizen who was more presentable and cleaner than him.
"Excuse me… Ugh."
The kind citizen looked apologetic for a second, before giving Aisling a disdainful look at his gray hair and his disheveled appearance, and walked away without further ado.
Aisling had grown up with that awful hair; many already considered it disgusting at first glance. If he had shiny silver hair, his life would be better, not this gray that looked like it had been plucked from ashes and was dull in the light.
At that moment, he didn't dwell on it much; he had said worse things to himself throughout his life. Now he stared at the ground with so much hatred and fear, and so many other emotions that he urgently needed to release… until he remembered.
"Soon… I will die."
Without realizing it, his fists were clenched tightly. He relaxed them, revealing the red marks of his fingernails on his skin.
The mere fact of knowing he would die soon didn't make him happy, didn't even bring him peace. It only gave him a break, like so many in the the underworld who simply surrendered.
How could he not?
He bent down and gathered the pieces of his hamburger, rebuilding the tower of so-called junk food.
Normally he didn't care if his food was dirty, but now he just wanted that dignity he thought he possessed and the decency not to be miserable for even a single moment.
"Whatever."
He shoved the entire hamburger into his mouth and ate it desperately, not caring how much he was throwing away and wasting.
When he finished his meal, he yawned deeply, too sleepy and tempted to take one last nap.
He resisted and slapped his cheek hard, feeling the sting and staying conscious.
He went to the nearest police station and, after a few words with an officer and a bit of panic, was taken to a secluded, reinforced area where they explained the danger he would have to overcome in the following moments.
The Nightmare Spell; the worst of blessings and the best of curses.
Soon he would enter the Dream Realm and experience his First Nightmare.
If only he could overcome it, his life would be a thousand times better.
If only he could…
Aisling had no hope. He hadn't even enjoyed that awful hamburger; the rumors about its flavor were pure promotional garbage.
What was it that he had so desperately wanted to eat but ultimately couldn't?
I want a bowl of soup.
The only food he remembered, and the worst his mother could cook, which was why he remembered its taste so vividly.
He could only beg whoever would listen : to grant him an incredible Aspect in combat, something that would reduce anyone he encountered to ashes, and make him infinitely better than everyone else.
Smiling gracelessly, he fell asleep. But not before hearing an ethereal and mysterious voice from beyond.
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial…]
* * *
The world ascended. The expanse of a desert touched the horizon; storms created whirlpools, and the sand sculpted human-like structures.
Aisling glimpsed hundreds of years in reverse and watched as the destruction and changes in the desert unfolded.
Awestruck, he forgot his desire for eternal rest, noticing on the horizon what he would recognize as a pyramid, everdistant and immutable.
"Partner, a little water?"
In the next scene, a thin man, his dark skin wrapping to his bones, offered him some water.
Despite his gaunt appearance, he wore a broad smile that conveyed good intentions.
He came from a large caravan crossing the dunes for trade. Or so he claimed.
The caravan was attacked by a Nightmare Creature that killed hundreds while thousands more were swallowed by giant whirlpools, painfully crushed alive.
Only six survivors remained: one appeared to be a seasoned warrior, another the warrior's apprentice, two young brothers, the kind fellow who offered what little water they had, and Aisling himself.
"Shit!" Aisling shouted angrily.
The first thing he did upon arriving was check his Runes, exceeding his expectations.
Name: [Aisling]
True Name: —
Rank: [Aspirant]
Soul Core: [Dormant]
Memories: —
Echoes: —
Attributes: [Sensitive Body] [Prejudiceless Mind] [Critic's Soul] [Flower's Vessel]
Aspect: [Hungry]
Aspect Description: [A Hungry One is an obsessive madman who seeks only to satiate hunger. In any case, your talent is eating.]
Even his worst-case scenarios weren't this bad.
It's the worst of curses.