It was the same room, filled wall-to-wall with medical equipment. Hexin slowly opened his eyes and sat up on the operating table.

A flicker of white drifted across his vision. He looked up and saw the man in the white coat—the doctor—waking at the same time. Only now, he was already standing right in front of him.

The doctor removed his thin glasses. His lead-gray eyes looked down at Hexin, filled with a storm of unreadable emotion. That cultivated air of mysterious detachment had completely vanished.

Finally, he let out a quiet breath and forced a probing smile. “You’re awake. Do you… remember what happened in the dream?”

There was tension in his voice—tension he didn’t even seem aware of. Beneath it lay contradiction, even regret. He shouldn’t have asked that. If Hexin recalled anything, it might accelerate his awakening.

When had he become so reckless?

His heart, the heart of the reborn god of calamity, still beat hot with leftover momentum from the dream. The blood in his veins surged as if the dream hadn’t yet ended.

“Dream?” Hexin blinked, puzzled. “Did I dream? Your sedative worked great—I didn’t feel a thing. Is the exam over?”

“…No. We’re only halfway done.”

—So he remembers nothing.

That was for the best. From the god of calamity’s point of view, the more clueless Hexin was, the better. And yet… for some reason, it stung.

Just moments ago, they’d released lanterns under the stars together. But now, while his own heart had shifted, Hexin remained right where he started.

The god of calamity went quiet for three whole seconds. From his eyes, Hexin could almost read something unspoken—like a silent accusation. Then the doctor abruptly turned and began fiddling with the nearest machine.

“You said that scanner wasn’t right for me earlier,” Hexin said, flipping through his memories. “Its beam was too bright. I didn’t like it.”

The god of calamity, now trying hard to compose himself, gave a mechanical smile. “Ah. My apologies. There’s still a whole row of ‘too-bright’ machines left for you—and a blood draw, too.”

“Sounds painful,” Hexin replied.

“Then please prepare yourself,” the doctor said dryly.

Hexin tried to play the sympathy card. “I’d like to request more sedation.”

The doctor snorted. “There won’t be any. Not for the rest of your life. Go find it in a dream.”

…Huh?

Hexin found it strange. Weren’t they going with the whole “I’m a kind older stranger gently guiding an innocent boy” routine earlier? Why did it feel like the god of calamity had completely dropped the act? Even the fake smile on his face looked half-hearted now—his true self slipping through, sharp and impatient. Had he given up on his plan?

Just then, the doctor strapped an instrument to Hexin’s arm. It resembled a blood pressure monitor, but in truth, it was measuring mental energy.

The device gave a dying shriek—and exploded with a loud pop.

A curl of gray smoke rose between them, wobbling in the air.

“…”

“…What was that?” Hexin asked.

“You saw nothing.” Before Hexin could even make up an excuse, the doctor was one step ahead. Calmly, he yanked the device off, subtly checking that Hexin wasn’t injured, then tossed it straight into the trash.

“Expired. Low quality.” The doctor frowned, clearly debating something. At last, he looked at Hexin and said in a strangely weighty tone, “You’re normal. Believe me.”

—Don’t think of yourself as an aberration.

Hexin smiled and nodded. “I know.”

Trying to measure a dream god with standard human tools? Of course it would blow up. That’s textbook.

He adjusted his position on the table, settling in comfortably with his chin propped on one hand, eyes lazily following the doctor around the room. “You seem different from before. Almost like you’re mad. Did I upset you?”

The doctor froze mid-motion. He glanced over and sneered, “Ran into a little bastard in a dream.”

He was grinding his teeth now. Just as he looked like he might keep going, the room’s door suddenly slid open.

Hexin watched the man’s entire demeanour change in an instant.

Gone was the sour expression. In its place was a flawless professional smile—perfectly composed, utterly insincere.

“What is it?” the doctor asked, his tone gentle, but his eyes cold. Hexin swore, just for a second, he saw a flash of intent to kill the soldier who’d entered.

“Didn’t even knock. Must be urgent?”

The soldier hesitated, visibly shaken. Some formless pressure had grazed past him a moment ago, though it vanished before he could name it. Goosebumps still clung to his arms.

He straightened up. “The test subjects and researchers brought onto the ship earlier… they all fell into some kind of unexplained sleep. We’ve sent several doctors to check, but none of them know what to do…”

“If that’s what you’re talking about,” the doctor interrupted, flicking a glance at Hexin, “then it’s already been taken care of.”

“Eh?” the soldier blinked. The next second, his wrist comm lit up.

“…What? They’ve woken up already? Oh—understood, yes. Got it…”

He ended the call and turned back to the doctor. “Looks like you were right, sir. They’ve all regained consciousness. But the researchers… they seem really shaken. Mentally unstable. The captain’s asked you to go help calm them down.”

“I see.” The doctor’s smile tightened. “I’ll make sure they’re… properly treated.”

Hexin found the phrasing a little ominous.

The god of calamity was not known for being forgiving. And while the future of those researchers looked grim, there was something darkly amusing about it too. To be singled out and remembered by a god—for better or worse—was a kind of twisted honour.

For mere mortals to be etched into a god’s memory?
That was almost… flattering.

Researchers: Absolutely not! Don’t come any closer—aaahhh!!!

“You’re coming with us.” The doctor spoke to Hexin, but his gaze had already shifted away. He turned to the nearby soldier and said, “His tests are complete. All values are within normal range. He’s not the type of test subject prone to berserking, nor is he some suspicious infiltrator. All other possibilities have been ruled out. If you’ve still got questions, take them up with me.”

The soldier blinked, momentarily stunned by the unexpected authority in the doctor’s tone. After a pause, he nodded reflexively. “Ah… okay. I’ll report to the captain.”

While the soldier had his back turned, Hexin cast the doctor a half-smiling glance and whispered, “Didn’t you say the test was only halfway through?”

The doctor gave him a look that said ha. It wasn’t halfway—it hadn’t even started, and he had already…

“And who was it whining about pain and inconvenience earlier?” The god of calamity dropped the fake smile the moment the soldier wasn’t looking, giving Hexin a dark glare.

—You think I’m jumping through hoops for myself?

According to protocol, once a test subject was confirmed safe, they were assigned a personal room. All subjects were kept in the same area, alongside the detained researchers. Since the doctor was going there to check on the “patients,” and Hexin was headed there to receive his “temporary housing,” it made sense for them to go together.

The ship’s interior was, aside from its sheer scale, remarkably plain.

Endless white walls stretched on and on, their sterile brightness exhausting to the eyes. Faint green data streams pulsed across the surfaces. Compared to this blank backdrop, the guards stationed every so often became the only spots of colour. Each one nodded slightly as they passed, some throwing curious glances toward Hexin, their eyes wide with barely concealed confusion.

After weaving through corridor after corridor and taking two vertical lift pods, they finally reached their destination.

This floor had been specially repurposed and split into two zones. One side was a steel-barred prison—the “iron window tears” kind. The other was an isolated ward area.

The former held the researchers. The latter was for the test subjects.

Before Hexin and the doctor arrived, the captain—driven to his wits’ end by the researchers’ hysterical muttering and howling—had put them all down with a round of sedatives, one injection per person.

“Doctor! You’re here!” The captain caught sight of the white coat and visibly relaxed. Even having witnessed this before, the contrast still amazed Hexin. Like a rabbit trusting a snake.

“Please take a look at them. Some believe the researchers might be suffering from some kind of mental contamination, and I think that’s plausible. We don’t have the luxury of proper facilities here—just keep them alive until they can stand trial.”

The doctor glanced briefly at Hexin, then nodded and went to work, calmly beginning his checks with practiced ease. Watching his back from afar, Hexin had to admit—he really looked the part.

Just then, a stir came from the other wing.

Hexin turned his head slightly and saw the test subjects, each peering out through the small glass windows in their doors, their eyes glistening with tears.

…Huh. This batch really was special. Even after waking up, they still recognized him.

“What’s wrong with them? A-are they about to go berserk again?” The nurses on duty took a step back in unison, hair standing on end, their silent screams nearly audible.

These particular “patients” were far too much to handle, and fate had unfortunately handed the job to them.

But the expected explosion of violence never came.

Not one test subject acted aggressively.

Their eyes passed right over the people in front of them, locked solely on Hexin as he approached.

One of them—the tailed one with the lake-green eyes—pressed himself against the tiny window, squashing his face so hard it looked like a flattened pancake.

The guards who had been ready to fire froze. Guns half-raised, they glanced at each other in confusion.

And then Hexin walked forward—maybe it was his presence, or just the way he carried himself—but no one stopped him. He placed his palm gently on the glass.

Inside, the monstrous creatures—beasts who could’ve torn everything apart—seemed instantly soothed.

And they… smiled.

A smile like that on faces so warped was disturbing, almost grotesque. But no one could find their voice.

They watched in stunned silence as the experiment subjects nudged their heads against the glass, their movements gentle, almost reverent. Their slitted pupils shimmered with emotion—bright and full, undeniable.

And for the first time, everyone understood—

These were once human.

The green-eyed subject mouthed something. Then, in a low, wind-like voice, he spoke—unexpectedly pleasant and clear:

“…Thank you.”

The emotional impact hit so hard, no one had time to register how respectful that phrase had been.

The nurse assigned to that subject slapped a hand over her mouth, completely shocked.

It was the first time she’d ever heard one of them speak.

She’d honestly thought they had no feelings—certainly no language. But now… she and everyone else realized: these beings had full, intact human thoughts. Knowledge. Memories.

They simply chose not to speak.

They hated what had been done to them. Hated what they had become. But toward the boy standing outside, they showed nothing but gentleness.

Hexin smiled, and for a fleeting second, his eyes softened with a kindness that no one on this ship could have resisted.

He was calming a child.
Don’t be afraid. I’m here.

Where there are dreams, the dream god will always be present.
Where the dream god is, there are dreams.
If the world is too cruel—hide your heart in a dream. He will protect it for you.

Everyone watching instinctively understood—if not for the glass between them, these creatures would have dropped to their knees at the boy’s feet, shedding tears of peace and joy.

They weren’t just test subjects.

They had found their god.