Pacing outside the grand hall of Clan Siphon, a boy of seemingly adolescent years fiddled anxiously with his hands, each hurried step failing to calm his restless mind. His eyes darted from the illusionary birds conjured by his awakened cousins to the spider lilies his younger sister had planted months ago — anything to distract from the inevitable summons.
'Sooner or later, she's going to call me. Mother's going to call me.'
He slapped himself, fighting the wave of exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. His heart hammered, and he struggled to steady it — too fast from nerves, too slow from the encroaching sleep.
A voice, calm yet commanding, cut through his thoughts. "Solo, come in now." He slapped himself once more, forcing his weary body to obey.
The great door between the hall and the outside loomed before him. An awakened soul would open it with ease — but Solo wasn't awakened. Weighing barely 120 pounds, he pushed, strained, and sweat until the door groaned open. Inside, the chamber was vast and adorned with paintings of ancient menageries and creatures he'd only ever glimpsed in Master Siphon's room.
Nostalgia clung to the air, bittersweet, reminding him of games and laughter with his cousins. Those days were gone. "Solo, I sense you. Pick up the pace." He moved faster, through one last door, and there she was — his mother, Master Siphon of Clan Siphon.
"Hello, Mother. I see that you're healthy and strong. Why have you summoned me?"
She rose, graceful and unhurried, stepping toward him. Master Siphon wasn't just a title; she was an Ascendant — a human who survived both the First and Second Nightmares, emerging refined and powerful. Beyond Masters were the Saints of Humanity, and above them, the Sovereigns — humanity's kings, queens, and demigods on the verge of apotheosis. But Solo's mother didn't aspire for that.
She stood tall enough. Her figure blurred. One moment, she walked; the next, she towered over him.
"You contain the Nightmare Spell, don't you?"
"Yes, Mother. I thought I could resist for a week, but it's only been two days." His throat tightened under her gaze.
"I see corruption in you. Why didn't you go to the recovery hall? How many times have I told you?"
"Mother, I… I'm scared." His heart should've raced, his breath should've hitched — but instead, an unnatural calm wrapped around him, dragging him into torpor.
"I see. It's taken you faster than expected. Doctor Obel's research on spell sedation was accurate… Shame the bastard died in Antarctica."
Solo collapsed. His limbs wouldn't respond as his drowsiness grew exponentially, faster and faster at an abnormal rate.
His mother's gaze felt distant, unimportant. His words slurred. "My son… I'll watch over you during your trial. If you fail, it's a shame — but not a tragedy. Your sister will take your place. Come back alive, Solo."
He barely heard her now, the world closing in. Her lips moved, but all he heard was a high-pitched ring. His vision tunneled, his body weightless. 'Ah, I'm falling asleep. The Nightmare Spell's taken me. I'll survive. I'll grow. I'll come back and lead Clan Siphon. Who else can protect our family but me? Solo of Clan Siphon.' His eyes closed. The cold pull of the Nightmare Spell swallowed him whole. A voice — familiar, omniscient, and patient — echoed from the abyss.
[Aspirant… Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial…]