Realm Lord

That night, Arthur dreamed with a vividness that made his chest ache. He dreamed of himself as a child, small and helpless, watching his world crumble around him. The dream forced him to relive his parents’ death in excruciating detail—every sound, every smell, every moment of pure terror that had carved itself into his soul.

His mother’s final scream echoed through the wooden planks. He felt again that desperate, clawing hope that someone—anyone—would burst through the door and save them. A hero, a neighbor, even a stranger who happened to be passing by.

But no one came.

He relived the crushing weight of that realization, the way his faith in humanity had shattered like glass. The time he spent trembling in fear, waiting for footsteps that never came, for voices that never called out to help. The devastating loneliness that followed.

The hate had grown from that moment—a seed of resentment that had taken root in his young heart and flourished. Hate for the world that had failed him, for the people who had the power to help but chose not to.

Then Arthur’s dream took a strange, disorienting turn. The scene began to replay itself, but this time the details were different. The house was unfamiliar, the voices belonged to strangers, and the child hiding wasn’t him. Yet the emotions were identical—the same desperate hope, the same crushing disappointment, the same slow death of innocence.

This time, Arthur watched from outside himself, seeing the scene unfold with the perspective of someone who understood exactly what that child was feeling. The boy’s parents fell just as his had, and the same terrible silence followed. The same waiting, the same praying for salvation that would never come.

When the dream ended, Arthur was left with a realization that hit him like a physical blow. There were others like him—people who needed saving, who were desperate for it, who were crying out into the darkness hoping someone would hear them. And while he sat here, letting his pettiness and past wounds stop him from helping, he was forcing another child to go through exactly what he had experienced.

The thought was unbearable. In his selfishness, he had become one of those people he had always despised—someone with the power to make a difference who chose to do nothing instead.

Nobody was going to save them, but he could. He could save at least one person from experiencing that soul-crushing abandonment. And even if it was just one person, even if he could spare just one child from learning that the world was full of people who would turn away when they were needed most... that would be enough.

When Arthur woke, his pillow was damp with tears he didn’t remember shedding. The dream clung to him like a second skin, and he found himself with a lot to think about. The apartment was quiet—he and Aziel were still not speaking after their explosive argument the night before, and Arthur could hear his friend moving around in the kitchen.