The dream ended.

The sleep pod slowly opened, and the dream god and beauty god cards floated gently in front of Hexin. The two cards glowed faintly with silver light, like twin moons illuminating the night sky in perfect resonance.

The dream god’s card, once monochrome, was now almost fully in color—just one final step from complete awakening.

The clock on the wall read 4:45 a.m. Hexin glanced out the window. The sky had yet to lighten.

Inside the ship, all lights were on—expected for a warship this size, which required constant operation. The crew rotated in shifts, twenty-four hours a day. There was no true night here.

But through the small window on his door, Hexin saw people rushing down the corridor, their faces strained, clearly not on routine patrol.

As expected, in the ship’s central command room, the captain, vice captain, and dozens of others were gathered around a semi-floating control screen, urgently discussing something.

Their expressions were grim. And when the scan on the screen began to show clusters of black dots, the atmosphere grew even heavier. They inhaled deeply, bracing themselves before speaking.

“It’s confirmed. There are black gates forming on this planet—more than one.”

“We have to destroy them before they open. If not, we’ll have a repeat of c927’s disaster!”

“No one needs you to remind us. We’re already working on it. If you ask me, forget scanning. Blow up anything even remotely suspicious. Don’t leave a trace!”

“No. After what happened on c927, Red Wing’s reputation is already in ruins. We’ve just started to recover. If something like that happens again, this unit will be disbanded for sure.”

“Then what do you propose? We just walk away? As if the people here wouldn’t love that.”

“Watch your mouth.”

The man who’d spoken first fell silent, clicking his tongue. He wasn’t wrong to be angry. Last time, so many of their brothers had died—Red Wing was nearly wiped out. No one else understood how terrifying abyssal variants truly were. Without that final bombing of c927, this entire star system might’ve been gone by now.

So could they afford to walk away? No. Absolutely not.

“Wake every soldier. Everyone searches for the black gates,” the captain said at last, ignoring the bickering. “And don’t spread word yet. This planet isn’t like the barren c927. We don’t have time to evacuate the population. Telling them now would only create panic… and we can’t let it spiral.”

The others exchanged glances, then nodded. “Understood.”

By the time the third search team rushed past his door, Hexin had finished checking the progress of his cards and was already dressed.

The warriors moving like the wind said nothing of their mission, but Hexin could hear the sounds of test subjects next door frantically clawing at the walls.

Just on the other side, the test subjects had suddenly become restless. Even the sedatives seemed to be wearing off. The nurses were overwhelmed.

“They’re acting like lions in their territory,” one said, trembling. “Like they’ve sensed something dangerous approaching.”

Another nurse, standing at the observation window, stamped her foot in anxiety—then suddenly thought of something.

“The boy from next door! Go get him! He’s the only one who can calm them!”

That memory—of the day he subdued them with nothing but presence—surged back, and everyone snapped to attention.

They hesitated at first, worried about waking Hexin so early, but to their surprise, he was already awake. Still a boy, younger than many of them—and yet, the moment they saw him, their frantic hearts strangely settled.

Something about him had changed. They couldn’t say exactly what, only that the once-mysterious boy now carried something more… an elusive pull. An aura that made them want to approach—but hesitate to touch.

They watched his back like glimpsing a dream too distant to reach, too sacred to claim. No one even dared speak loudly.

The moment Hexin stepped into the room, the test subjects froze. Then they surged toward him with a guttural growl.

“Careful—!”

The nurses didn’t even have time to scream. Their minds filled with images of blood, of claws ripping flesh. They were certain they’d just watched a boy get torn apart.

Damn it.
They’d been too careless. They knew the test subjects were unstable. How could they let this happen—?!

But the tragedy they braced for never came.

The monsters surrounded Hexin—not to harm, but to protect.

Tails that could shred steel curled gently around him. Wings spread wide to shield him. Those without wings knelt low, crawling to his side.

The one with emerald eyes—clearly their leader—lowered his front limbs and braced his hind legs, forming a perfect line of tension. Every scale on his back stood on end as he growled, deep and sharp.

The scene stunned everyone.

They were reminded of wolves—how the pack surrounds its most precious cub. Those slit pupils scanned the room, filled with cold alertness. Every instinct screamed danger. And they were ready. One wrong move, and those fangs would snap without hesitation.

Fangs meant to tear out throats.

Even the nurses were barely tolerated. The only reason they hadn’t been attacked was because they had brought Hexin in. That earned them a thread of mercy.

These creatures were holding back for one reason only: the return of what they saw as their treasure.

Their dream. Their god.

Even when the test subjects had lost control before, the nurses had only faced mindless, frenzied monsters. But now—these monsters were terrifyingly lucid. Each pair of slit-pupiled eyes gleamed with cold, rational intelligence. They understood the humans’ every move. And it was clear—they were capable of thinking, of feeling, perhaps no less than any human.

That was what made them so much more frightening.

Everyone instinctively raised their hands above their heads and moved back as lightly as possible, barely making a sound. Under the icy, unwavering stares of the creatures, they retreated step by careful step. It wasn’t until they were three meters away that they realized their backs were soaked in cold sweat.

“You…” one of them ventured, eyes flicking nervously to the boy, face drawn with visible worry and hesitation.

But even that glance was too much for the test subjects.

“Grgh—” One let out a low, restrained growl and unfurled its wings.

The atmosphere was stretched to the breaking point. Not a single person dared speak again.

And yet, in that moment of suffocating tension, Hexin seemed to understand something. He blinked in sudden clarity, then reached out casually and patted the wing of a nearby griffin-like subject. “I’m fine. Don’t be scared.”

The boy clearly knew what he was doing—an expert in comforting creatures, no doubt someone who often coaxed cats and dogs. His pale fingers scratched gently under the beast’s chin.

And just like that, the griffin—stiff as a statue a second ago—melted into a puddle, flopping over with a soft whimper. Warm wings curled around Hexin, fluffy white feathers and a broad, velvety chest pressed close.

Everyone: “…?”

The green-eyed subject, clearly their leader, lashed its tail in irritation. Taciturn by nature, it didn’t speak—but let out a deep, primal roar that carried its meaning loud and clear: you spineless fool—now is not the time to get cozy! our mission is to protect him!

The dream god, still not fully awakened, wasn’t all that different from a normal human. The test subjects didn’t truly understand his identity. They had lived their entire lives in labs—how could they possibly know? All they had to go on was instinct, a hazy, overwhelming feeling.

Something dangerous was coming—something like them, but not. Something filthier. More twisted. Something that should not exist.

And so, they had awoken in panic and rushed to his side.
They couldn’t let it near him.
They couldn’t let anything hurt him.
They had to protect him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Hexin said softly, amused. He looked at the griffin who had tumbled over and was now upright again, glaring at him with silent, bruised pride. So Hexin turned around and generously gave the green-eyed leader a pat on the scales as well.

Even in a moment when vigilance was crucial, the leader froze. And just like that, he understood why the griffin had collapsed.

“Do you know where the soldiers went?” Hexin asked the stunned crowd, now standing nearby.

“Ah—uh…” They snapped to attention, as if waking from a trance. One nurse stammered, “We’re not really sure. Something about an emergency mission… But the medical unit’s been ordered on standby. Is there… is there a battle coming?”

They looked increasingly confused as they spoke. There’d been no reports of pirates or hostile fleets near this star sector. Everything outside still looked peaceful. Ships came and went at the port like always. It didn’t feel like danger at all.

Hexin gave no reaction on the surface, but internally, he shook his head.

These test subjects, born from the abyss, were only sensitive to things from the same place.

It must be a black gate—a rift connecting this world to the abyss. Like a mirror to the gates of the divine domain. But unlike that singular, fixed gate, black gates could appear anywhere, in any size or shape. Their numbers and locations were unpredictable—like natural disasters, difficult to trace or pattern.

Hexin hadn’t sensed it earlier—not because he lacked perception, but because, from the dream god’s perspective, only the abyss itself stood out. Everything else—the branches extending from it—barely registered.

Ordinary people, though, didn’t see it that way.

Bang—

The door burst open.

All heads turned. The doctor strode in with quick, purposeful steps.

He walked straight to Hexin and grabbed his arm. “Come with me.”

The test subjects exploded.

Teeth bared, they launched themselves forward. This time, their aggression was real.

The nurses were about to scream, throats tightening for the shriek—

But the doctor simply raised a hand.

No one but Hexin even saw the movement. And in the blink of an eye, the charging creatures were thrown back.

He hadn’t used lethal force—though the resulting crater in the wall suggested he easily could have. The test subjects were tough; they weren’t seriously harmed. Just stunned.

Chunks of debris fell from the ceiling. Dust rained onto open mouths.

Their thoughts were a rollercoaster. First Hexin, now this doctor—was either of them even human?

Across from them, Hexin quietly twisted his arm and slipped from the man’s grasp. He looked up, brow slightly raised. “Where are you taking me?”

The man froze. Then slowly looked down at him, his expression a storm of hesitation and turmoil—like he’d just lived through a three-hundred-page drama in his head.

Finally, he took a deep breath. Resolved.

“This place is dangerous. You can’t stay on this planet.”

“Trust me—leave now.”