The sand beneath Moonlit's fingers felt coarse and unfamiliar. His heart pounded as he pushed himself up, his mind struggling to accept what he saw. The sky was an oppressive red, the sea black and restless, and shadowy figures loomed in the mist like silent sentinels.

"I… I know this place," Moonlit muttered, his breath catching in his throat. "The place, the world of shadow slave . Shadow Slave. This is real."

He stumbled to his feet, his chest heaving with panic. His hand instinctively touched his chest, where a faint mark pulsed with an otherworldly glow. The Mark of a Slave.

His thoughts raced as he pieced it together. He had been reincarnated into the cruel world of Shadow Slave, a story he had once enjoyed from the safety of his own life. But now, he was living it.

"The Nightmare," he whispered, dread creeping into his voice. "It's coming. And I'm not Sunny—I don't have a cheat core or plot armor. If I don't prepare…"

He clenched his fists. The original Moonlit, a character from the story, had perished during his first nightmare. He wouldn't let history repeat itself.

"Not this time," he growled. "I know the rules. I'll survive."

---

The hours before the Nightmare were a frantic blur. Moonlit scavenged along the shoreline, crafting a crude spear from driftwood and jagged shells. Every sound, every shadow made him flinch, but he pressed on.

"Focus," he told himself, his voice shaking. "The rules are simple: the Nightmare has logic. If I figure it out, I'll live."

When the moon rose—a massive silver disc that seemed to fill the sky—Moonlit felt an irresistible pull. The world around him dissolved, and he was transported into the Nightmare.

---

Moonlit opened his eyes to find himself on a massive, crumbling bridge suspended over an endless abyss. Below, faint whispers rose from the darkness, tugging at his thoughts like unseen hands.

"Claimant," a cold, disembodied voice announced, "prove your worth. Or fall to oblivion."

The bridge cracked and shifted beneath him, and shadowy humanoid figures emerged from the darkness. Their faces were blank, their movements jerky and unnatural.

Moonlit's heart pounded as he recognized the trial. "The Shadow Bridge," he whispered. "The original Moonlit died here. The key is the paths—they're not random. The glowing runes… they're a pattern."

The bridge split into multiple routes, some glowing with eerie symbols. Stepping onto the wrong path would lead to certain death. The shadowy figures advanced, forcing him to move.

His mind raced as he studied the runes. The symbols flickered in a sequence, leading him to the next safe platform.

"This is it," he muttered. "I just have to keep calm and follow the pattern."

But the trial was relentless. The paths shifted faster, and the figures grew more aggressive. Moonlit stumbled, his spear barely deflecting a swipe from one of the shadows.