The smell of old ink and dust never left the shop, even after the last candle burned out. No matter how many times Jack cleaned the shelves, the scent clung to the walls, soaked into the old wooden floors, and lingered in the air like a ghost.
As he stepped inside, he adjusted his apron and got to work, methodically dusting the bookshelves. Ten years had passed since his father vanished without a trace. He still remembered his mother's reaction—how she had wandered the streets of Blackwick for weeks, searching desperately for a man who never came home.
"Make sure to sweep the floor too, Jack," called Gareth, his mother's longtime friend and the shop's owner. The older man was wiping down a display of leather-bound tomes near the front window, his usual scowl softened by the dim lantern light.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll get to it," Jack replied with a chuckle, running a cloth over a dusty shelf.
After some time, he finished dusting and moved to the counter, stretching his sore arms. The bell above the door jingled, announcing a new customer.
"Evening, lad. How's your day been?" The man was middle-aged, draped in a heavy coat, his fingers idly tracing the spines of books.
"Not bad, sir. And you?"
"It's been decent enough," the man replied. Then, as if it were an afterthought, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. "I actually have a letter for you."
Jack straightened, his curiosity piqued. "A letter? Who's it from?"
The man smiled faintly. "Chris Leyne."
The name sent a jolt through Jack's chest. Chris Leyne? He had never heard of the name before, and yet, something about it made his skin prickle.
"A letter, huh?" Jack hesitated, glancing at the envelope. Who would send him a letter now, after all these years? Could it have something to do with his father?
The man chuckled. "Relax, lad. It won't bite."
Jack exhaled sharply and nodded. "Right. Just leave it on the counter." He pointed toward a small shelf beside the till, unwilling to open it in front of a stranger.
The man placed the letter down and gave a polite nod before leaving.
As the hours passed and the shop filled with the usual flow of customers—excited children searching for adventure novels, scholars looking for rare tomes, and weary travelers stopping in for maps—Jack found himself unable to focus. His thoughts kept circling back to the letter.
What was in it? Why now?
By the time Jack locked up for the night, the streets of Blackwick were cloaked in a damp fog. The gas lamps flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the cobbled roads. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and started the familiar walk home, the letter tucked safely in his pocket.
His footsteps echoed down the empty street.
Then, out of nowhere—a sharp tug at his shoulder.
Before Jack could react, a delicate hand snatched the letter from his coat pocket.
"What the—hey!" Jack spun around, his heart pounding.
The thief stood a few feet away, examining the envelope with an almost casual interest. She was no street rat.
She had long, golden-blonde hair, smooth and well-kept, cascading down her back like silk. Her eyes—a striking, icy blue—held a cool sharpness, as if she had already calculated every move Jack might make. Unlike the usual pickpockets of Blackwick, she wasn't dressed in rags; instead, she wore a dark navy cloak lined with silver embroidery, fastened with a simple, elegant clasp. Beneath it, a fitted white blouse and tailored trousers suggested someone used to moving swiftly, someone who didn't belong among the beggars and thieves.
She didn't look like someone who needed to steal.
"Thanks for this," she said, slipping the letter into her cloak as she turned to leave.
"Im not done speaking!" Jack warned, as he grabbed her hand, his hands gripping with utmost strength. "That letter is extremely important miss. Its the only thing I have from my dad, and i really need to know what he couldve sent to me"
"Dont be fooled mr....."
"Jack. Jack Leyne"
"Right.... Dont be fooled Mr. Jack, these letters have been appearing throughout the city, and are of utmost danger. I cannot allow you to have this letter!"
"Sorry miss, but I wasnt asking" he said, as he ripped the letter out of her hands and ran.
"Come back at once!" she screamed, as she chased him
Jack's pulse thundered in his ears as he sprinted down the narrow alleyway, the letter clutched tightly in his hand. His boots slammed against the cobblestones, his breath came in sharp gasps, and the cold air stung his lungs.
She was still behind him.
"You're really going to make me work for this, huh?" she called out, her voice far too casual for someone mid-chase.
Jack didn't waste breath replying—instead, he grabbed the nearest thing in reach.
With a sharp twist, he snatched a wooden crate from a stack of supplies and threw it behind him.
The crate splintered across the alleyway, blocking her path.
For half a second, Jack thought he'd bought himself some time—until he heard her voice right behind him.
"Really? That's the best you've got?"
She hadn't stopped. She had vaulted clean over the wreckage, barely losing speed.
Jack gritted his teeth. "Alright. Let's see how you handle this."
He made a sharp turn into a crowded marketplace, weaving between stunned merchants and shouting pedestrians. His fingers hooked onto a fruit cart, yanking it down as he passed.
A cascade of apples and pears spilled onto the street.
A startled vendor cried out. "Hey! Watch it!"
Behind him, the girl skidded—her boot crunching into an apple. For a brief moment, she tilted dangerously—but instead of falling, she twisted midair and flipped over the mess, landing in a full sprint.
Jack groaned. "Oh, come on!"
He was running out of ideas—and energy. His legs burned, his lungs ached, and his grip on the letter was slick with sweat.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an open doorway.
An apartment.
Without hesitation, he lunged inside.
Jack tumbled onto a rug-covered floor, nearly knocking over a chair as he rolled to his feet.
A family of four sat at a dinner table, forks frozen mid-air, staring at him in shock.
The father—a man with a bushy mustache—blinked. "Uh—"
"Sorry! Wrong house!" Jack blurted, already bolting for the door.
Before anyone could react, the girl crashed in right after him, landing in a perfect crouch.
She dusted herself off, gave the family a polite nod, and casually said, "Lovely place you've got here."
Then she took off after Jack.
"Who the hell are these people?!" the mother shrieked as the two of them barreled through the apartment and out the front door.
Jack's legs burned. His muscles screamed for him to stop, but he couldn't—not yet.
He stumbled into the old warehouse district, his boots kicking up dust and grime. Towering storage buildings surrounded him, their broken windows and rusted doors looming like the hollowed-out bones of a long-dead beast.
Jack saw an open warehouse door ahead and dashed inside, the darkness swallowing him whole.
Bad move.
The moment he skidded to a stop, he realized his mistake—there was nowhere left to run.
The girl strolled in after him, her breathing steady. She wasn't even winded.
"You gave me a decent chase," she admitted, rolling her shoulders. "But you should've known—you can't outrun me."
Jack took a step back, his heart still hammering. "So what now? You gonna kill me over a letter?"
She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her icy blue eyes. "That depends. Are you going to hand it over?"
Jack's fingers tightened around the letter. He swallowed hard. He wasn't done yet.
Suddenly, a glowing light seared through the envelope, unleashing a blinding radiance throughout the warehouse.
"Tssch— I was too late to stop it!" the girl said, shielding her eyes from the overwhelming glow.
From the envelope, skeletal hands emerged, followed by a massive skeleton rising before Jack and the girl.
JACK LEYNE, YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO UNDERGO YOUR TRIAL... YOUR NIGHTMARE.
"What the—" Jack started, but the girl interrupted him.
"Listen, my name is Roxy. You're about to experience something called A Dream. You don't have much time, but you must survive at all costs. I'll be waiting for you!"
"Hold on, wai—!" Jack shouted, but before he could finish, the giant skeleton seized him and swallowed him whole.
Jack woke abruptly from his slumber. He had no idea how long he had been asleep—minutes, hours, days, years, decades, centuries, eons.
Lifting his head, he looked around and found himself surrounded by an endless expanse of darkness, dense fog swirling around him.
"Where the hell am I?"
As he pushed himself off the ground, the earth trembled violently beneath him, shifting into sand. The sand morphed, twisting into strange, shifting shapes.
"What the hell is wrong with this sand?"
He reached down, grasping a handful. The grains twisted and contorted in his grip, shifting into countless forms, bending and contracting in ways that defied reason.
"Well, I should probably find a way out of here. The girl... What was her name again? Oh, right... Roxy. She said this is A Dream, huh? Doesn't seem so bad."