Chapter 1: The F-Rank Anomaly
The biting wind whipped across the Yorkshire moors, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain. It was a typical grim evening in England, the kind that made you want to huddle by the fire with a warm drink. But tonight, Kael wasn't by the fire. He was shivering, clenching his jaw against the cold, and trying to ignore the knot of fear in his stomach.
He was a Dream Walker, or at least, he was trying to be. Barely twenty, he was a low-star, the lowest of the low, his training still raw, his understanding of the other world, the world of the nightmares, still blurry.
He looked around the room. Ten others, each as green as he, sat scattered against the perimeter. Each was a low-star walker, their faces etched with a mixture of nervous energy and forced bravado. The briefing officer, a woman with a stern face and tired eyes, called out the details of the mission.
"The trauma is classified as F-rank,' she stated, voice echoing around the room. "A newly manifested case, located in a farmhouse near the abandoned King's Cross Station. Reports indicate it's a relatively new manifestation, possibly a residual emotional imprint. You're a team of eleven, capable of handling this with appropriate caution."
Kael felt a familiar flutter of anxiety in his chest. F-Rank. The lowest of the low. Dream Walkers were categorized by stars, each representing an ability to handle trauma, based on how far they could reach into their inner self. He was a single star, barely a flicker. He had unlocked the red door, but it felt like he was walking in a dark room with a candle, always afraid of losing his light. He had heard stories of failed missions, and his gut twisted with a fear, a fear he had not addressed.
The woman continued, her voice cutting through his thoughts. "Your objective is simple: neutralize the trauma, secure the area, and report back. Any questions?
Silence. A collective nod. His stomach did an uncontrolled backflip.
He pulled at the end of his scarf. "I hope this is going to be easy"
"It's got to be, we are low star walkers, we barely made the cut," replied Liam a boy with a shy smile, Kael had always admired how Liam remained positive about the whole situation.
They were deployed in the back of a van and as it rattled through the streets of London, the view of the city was a reflection of how Kael felt inside; broken.
The drive to their destination was short, and just within four hours they reached their place.
"Right, Team Echo," their assigned handlerbarked. "This is an F-Rank Escalated Trauma, the type we deal with every other day. Likely a recent passing, maybe an old man who couldn't let go of his garden. In and out, people. No need to linger."
Kael watched the woman, her words doing little to calm his growing unease. F-Rank, she said it so casually as if this was easy. This was his first official mission, and though he'd practiced his dream walking, it was nothing compared to this. He had pushed himself for months, spent countless sleepless nights unlocking his inner self, until finally he had glimpsed the red door.
The red door. He remembered the sensation, the chilling awareness of stepping into his subconscious. It wasn't a room, not exactly. It was a corridor, a seemingly endless hallway of polished, dark wood, lit by a soft, sepia-toned light. On either side were doors he couldn't open, each humming with a barely perceptible energy. And at the end of the corridor, a single, imposing door, painted a vibrant, almost violent red. The image was so visceral, so real, it still gave him chills.
To step through it, they said, was to accept the burden, to claim the power, and to acknowledge the risk.
He swallowed, pushing the memory aside. "Let's get this over with," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.
The ten walkers pushed through the broken gate into the yard, their boots crunching on the overgrown weeds. Kael, as the last to enter, took a deep breath. He could feel the shift in the air, the subtle dissonance, like a badly tuned radio. They entered the house, the interior darker and colder than the outside. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight that penetrated the boarded-up windows.
Then it happened.
A sound, a low, guttural moan, ripped through the silence. It came from the kitchen, a room filled with rusted pots and broken crockery. A figure emerged from the shadows, its form shifting and indistinct. It was tall, gaunt, and its skin seemed to be corroding, leaving behind trails of a black, viscous substance. Its face was a mask of frozen agony, eyes empty sockets burning with an unholy light.
"Okay rookies, this is it, get into position" said the leader of the team.
The dream walkers being disciplined and afraid of dying, quickly hoped onto their feet.
Kael was no exception.
They all at the same simultaneously scattered throughout the room, quickly sorrounding the danger.
The figure, seemingly the source of the trauma stood still in confusion as it couldn't make up on which prey to attack first.
The assigned handler, with contempt towards the trauma's source, then said.
"Now everyone follow my command, we strike on the count of three, be prepared "
"1..." as the countdown began Kael heart pounded.
"2.." the creature feeling cornered, released a bestial grow.
"3-"
"Growl!"
Just when the handler was about to shout, she was suddenly interrupted.
A deep scrowl appeared on her face as she looked around her sorroundings with fear and puzzlement.
The walkers under her command also seemed to share her emotions
"Grrrg!*
"Grrrgh!*
"Grrrgh!*
Countless growls echoed through the entire place.
Kael upon hearing this couldn't help but curse out loud.
"Fuck! dogshit! Its a honet nest"
This was no F-Rank.
What followed next was gruesome to say the least.
Panic erupted. Screams filled the small farmhouse as the "escalated" began to move, too fast, too brutal, their limbs flailing like a broken marionette. Kael watched in horror as his comrades were swatted aside, their bodies thrown against the walls like ragdolls. Flesh tore, bones snapped, and the air filled with the coppery tang of blood.
He didn't have time to think, to scream, to do anything. He saw a clawed hand reach out, felt the searing pain as it ripped through his abdomen, the air leaving his lungs in a choked gasp.
The next thing that followed was his arm flying off in a certain distance, the feeling of sharp teeth gnawing on his flesh. His vision blurred, lights danced at the edge of his perception, and he knew, with a cold certainty, that this was it. He was going to die.
Darkness consumed him.
Then… there was music.
Not the music of the world. This was something else. A melody, both ethereal and powerful, that vibrated through him. It was a symphony of rebirth, a phoenix rising from the ashes, a new dawn. His body, or what was left of it, felt like it was being pieced together, bone by bone, cell by cell.