Many millennia ago, the eternal enemies Life and Death, fell in love, plunging the universe into chaos. And out of this illicit union were born the sleepless twins: Dream and Nightmare.

Some say that dreams are like windows that allow us to look into our past lives, while nightmares are disturbing reflections of our countless deaths. Many try to offer vague mystical explanations, while others dismiss them as vagrant thoughts.

But when Life and Death meet again, their children come out to play with the mortal man for one last time. And together they create a memory that lingers past death.

It is this Last Memory that reveals all his secrets and unravels every mystery of his departing soul.

However, this Last Memory only answered to a chosen few. Dreamwalkers, they called them. Mystics gifted with the rarest Talent: the ability to lift the veil of sleep and cross over to the world beyond.

There were only a handful of these special individuals in Somnium, but few dared to meddle in the affairs of the deceased. Most preferred to peddle their trade on safer waters. However, for the right price, a reckless few were always ready to offer their services.

***

It was a bleak winter morning. The sky was overcast with parched gray clouds and the streets were draped in a light carpet of freshly fallen snow.

Inside a modest two-bedroom apartment, a woman in her early thirties was hanging from the ceiling with a gray noose around her neck.

She looked beautiful even in death, with her chubby cheeks flushed white and her auburn locks blowing in the soft dying wind that whistled through the shattered windowpane on her left.

Dressed in a pretty pink negligee, she was dangling three feet above the ground, with a wooden stool lying right under her legs.

"Seal the apartment. I don't want any of those meddlesome journalists anywhere near the scene," a burly middle-aged man sporting a brown mustache and wearing a gray overcoat instructed the cops gathered at the scene.

The two younger uniformed policemen obeyed at once and secured the apartment door with a yellow tape bearing the words, 'Faros Police Department'.

Faros was a quiet port city on the western side of Merantis, the largest country in the continent of Somnium. Due to the squabbling street gangs and the rapid influx of illegal immigrants from the sea, the place had one of the highest crime rates in the country.

However, this didn't look like a crime scene at all. Everything pointed in the direction of an open and shut suicide case. The only reason so many cops had got involved was because this woman was connected to the FPD's top brass.

"Bring her down and check if there are any fingerprints on her body," the man in the gray overcoat spoke again. He was about to get up and take a closer look at the furniture in the room when a strange visitor showed up at the door.

Standing outside the apartment was an athletic young man with raven-black locks. He was dressed in a black leather jacket with a buttoned white shirt underneath, and his lean legs were wrapped in cuffed black jeans paired with black combat boots.

Before anyone could stop him, the man in the leather jacket tore the tape at the entrance and walked into the apartment with an air of complete nonchalance.

However, instead of being angry, the man in the gray overcoat looked relieved. "I'm surprised you showed up in this weather. I thought you preferred to sleep till noon."

The young man in the black leather jacket completely ignored the officer and headed straight for the woman's corpse.

"What do you make of that?" the officer asked, putting his hands inside his overcoat pockets and staring at the victim.

"It doesn't matter what I think, detective. You'll learn the truth soon enough," the young man replied.

"I really hope you know what you're doing, Xander," the detective retorted. "There are people who don't like to involve Dreamwalkers in such investigations."

It was true that most of the citizens of Merantis had little faith in the Dreamwalkers, and Xander wasn't just any Dreamwalker. He was one of those rare few who earned a living by meddling in the most gruesome and twisted cases.

Xander's unconventional ways and utter disregard for morals and societal norms had earned him the moniker of 'The Black Vulture' among the inner circle of cops and investigation agencies.

His ill-repute followed him like a shadow wherever he went, but due to his unusual talents, Detective Locksley still called on him whenever he was in a pickle.

"If you mess this up, the whole department will be on my ass. There is no room for error," the Detective reiterated.

"Detective Locksley, if you want I can just walk away. It's your call," Xander replied, taking a good look at the woman's corpse.

"There's no need for that attitude," the detective huffed. "Get to work and find out what you can. She is related to the Chief. I can't afford to screw this one up."

"My price is non-negotiable. Ten thousand vireks."

"God, why is it always about money with you?" Detective Locksley asked in an annoyed tone. "Don't you feel any sense of social responsibility?"

"Social responsibility doesn't pay my bills, detective. Ten thousand vireks. Not a miren more, not a miren less."

"Fine," the detective muttered in annoyance. "Just do your job."

That was all the encouragement Xander needed to get to work. Unzipping his jacket, he took out a silver pocket watch attached to a platinum fob chain. The hands of the watch were moving perfectly till now, but they suddenly stopped as he held it in front of the woman's corpse.

Xander looked at his watch with keen concentration, almost holding his breath. A minute passed in silence, and then the hands started moving again. But they moved in reverse this time. His eyes immediately widened and he stepped back.

"It's a nightmare. She's been murdered," he announced, shoving his pocket watch back inside his jacket.

"What?" Detective Locksley questioned in shock. "We had to break into the apartment. It was locked from the inside. There was no one else here. This looks like suicide to me."

"You wouldn't call me if you were so sure. The Chronica doesn't lie, detective," Xander replied without taking his eyes off the woman's corpse.

The Chronica was among a Dreamwalker's most prized possessions. Though it looked just like an ordinary pocket watch, there was nothing ordinary about its workings. It was a beacon which guided the Dreamwalkers in the right direction, helping them unravel the many mysteries of the veiled world.

"Who killed her? And how?" the detective asked.

"I'm about to get to that part." Xander sat down on the tiled floor with his legs crossed, one on top of the other. With his left hand, he reached into his jacket's inner pocket and took out a black crystal ball.

As soon as he placed it on the ground, dark gray clouds started swirling inside the crystal ware. Xander looked straight at the corpse and took a deep breath before closing his eyes shut.

At first, he looked as still as a statue, but after a few seconds, his whole body started convulsing. His eyes remained shut tightly, but his head was suddenly thrown back. He kept shaking feverishly, his clenched teeth chattering behind his parched lips.

And then it all stopped.

A faint black ring appeared on the floor around Xander. It gradually darkened, and dense black smoke started billowing out of it.

The black crystal placed on the ground shattered to pieces, releasing the gray clouds trapped within. A surge of energy rushed at Xander and entered his body. The very next moment, the whole room filled with smoke, and the cops were forced to step outside.

By using the black crystal, Xander had created a portal to the world beyond. However, he couldn't travel to the other side in his corporeal form, so he split his soul into two halves, freeing himself from the shackles of the real world.

A part of Xander's soul remained inside his body, while the other half crossed over to the Infinite Void—a plane between life and death.