Truman felt like he was trapped in a long dream.
The dreamlike scenes were so enchanting that he didn't want to wake up. Yet, at some point, a deep sense of peace and tranquility washed over him—like the twinkling stars in a velvet night sky, eternal and still.
He opened his eyes, his gaze drawn toward the source of this quiet power—a hundred-meter-high hill. At its peak stood a grand temple, surrounded by a city that called it the Dark Citadel.
Around the citadel, countless Night Fragrance Grass and Deep Sleep Flowers swayed gently, embracing the towering divine statue at the summit.
Truman walked along the path with the worshippers. It was deep into the night—the sacred hour when followers of the Dark Goddess gathered for prayer.
Taking a deep breath, he let the fresh and subtle floral scent invigorate him. "The power to resist sleep..." he murmured.
That was why he had come—to seek the goddess's blessing!
"Lady of Misfortune, hear my plea!" Many believers whispered their prayers in the hushed, sacred atmosphere. Truman was no exception.
Choosing a quiet corner away from the crowd, he pulled out a mysterious book—the Dream Book.
This book held within it all dreams and aspirations, glowing with countless colors, its beauty beyond words.
To Truman, the Dream Book was a symbol of making wishes come true. It also served as a shield, hiding his presence from fate itself.
The book had been with him since birth, carrying an almost divine power. Now, holding it firmly, Truman whispered an ancient prayer in the language of giants:
"Higher than the stars,
Older than eternity,
O Goddess of the Night,
Mother of Secrets,
Queen of Misfortune and Fear,
Ruler of Sleep and Silence."
In this era, such words were usually associated with the Doombringer Wolf, a terrifying being who ruled over the night.
Yet, under the Dream Book's phosphorescent glow, something strange happened. Reality twisted, and instead of reaching the Doombringer, Truman's prayer connected to the divine statue before him.
He stopped chanting, waiting in silence. Then, darkness descended—a vast and boundless void.
Closing his eyes, Truman let the power take hold.
To the worshippers, the goddess's statue seemed to change, becoming more lifelike, more gentle.
And Truman?
He vanished—his figure fading like a simple sketch being erased.
When he reappeared, he was no longer in the city.
Before him stood a magnificent and ancient temple.
A figure emerged from the shadows—like a star descending from the heavens or a crimson moon piercing the night.
Draped in a flowing dark robe, adorned with shimmering lights, the figure seemed to have cut a piece of the night sky itself to wear as clothing.
Their face was hazy yet breathtakingly beautiful. Their eyes shone like stars, deep and mesmerizing.
"You've finally arrived, Pure One," the goddess said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Truman sighed. "I'm not doing well."
It had been over a month since he transitioned into this age—an era of ancient gods and mythical creatures. He had arrived in the Dark City, carrying nothing but his Dream Book.
His situation was a disaster.
He had stood out like a sore thumb among the city's devout followers, almost getting burned at the stake for being an outsider.
And in this city, ruled by the Goddess of Misfortune, his very arrival had been noticed immediately.
"If not for the Dream Book, I'd have been completely devoured by now!" Truman thought bitterly.
He had no idea how long the goddess had been observing him. And she—one of the most powerful beings, a fallen angel just one step away from divinity—could drive an entire city into madness with her mere presence.
For some reason, she had revealed her secret to him—that she too was a traveler from beyond. And now, she was here to claim what she had been waiting for.
"And this 'Pure One' title... Seriously?" Truman muttered.
The goddess simply smiled, waiting patiently, like the night itself.
Perhaps it was because of the Dream Book, or maybe because he truly was an outsider to this universe—but his soul and body remained impossibly pure.
Even when he tried experimenting with mystic potions, they left no effect on him. Instead, the potion would separate itself from his body, unable to corrupt him.
"This is ridiculous!" he thought.
But at least there was a silver lining—his purity made him immune to the corrupting madness of this world.
And that was exactly what the goddess needed.
"Have you figured out why I keep falling into deep sleep?" Truman asked, getting to the point.
For over a month, two-thirds of his time in this city had been spent sleeping—and not by choice. The condition was getting worse, pushing him toward an eternal slumber.
The goddess's voice was gentle. "It's connected to the Dream Book."
Truman nodded. "Of course... This thing is still a mystery, even to me."
The Dream Book was bound to him, making it impossible for anyone—even the goddess—to touch or examine.
After a moment of silence, Truman made his decision.
"I'll sign the contract with you," he said, locking eyes with the goddess. "You can use the Dream Book to stabilize your mind."
The goddess's expression softened. "Thank you." She spoke in perfect Chinese, confirming Truman's suspicion—her mind was also unstable.
Falling from the heavens had not erased her identity, but the madness of this world had seeped deep into her being.
"No need to thank me. I need your power too."
Truman's goal was simple: in exchange for helping her maintain her sanity, she would grant him the power to resist sleep, preventing him from slipping into an endless dream.
This power of wakefulness, something insignificant to the goddess, had now become Truman's lifeline.
He opened the Dream Book, flipping to a blank page.
Suddenly, the goddess spoke. "This may have something to do with dragons."
Truman paused. "The Dreaming Dragon?"
"No," the goddess shook her head.
Truman touched the glowing pages. The Dream Book's power felt similar to the dragon's domain of imagination, but it was different.
As he activated the book, dazzling lights erupted, forming countless shimmering bubbles—each a fragment of dreams.
The goddess extended her spirit into the book, merging with its energy.
At that moment, Truman glimpsed a terrifying vision—the goddess's true form.
Her face was devoid of humanity, filled with pure madness and detachment.
A tidal wave of insanity surged toward him.
Darkness and crimson filled his vision.
He saw pulsating flesh, writhing tendrils whipping through the air—a monstrous, cosmic nightmare.
But then, the Dream Book's glow pulsed, weaving a surreal, dreamlike harmony.
Madness did not vanish—but within the dream, it became quiet.
And for the first time, the goddess smiled.
She revealed her divine form—her black robes speckled with starlight, her body blending both holiness and terror.
This was the Goddess of Misfortune.
"I am no longer lost," she whispered.
For the first time, Truman sensed something human within her.