Lord of Mysteries: The Dream That Waits

A Name That Refuses to Be Forgotten

The weight of the air around them shifted.

It was not a sudden jolt, nor an obvious change—just a subtle distortion, as if the world itself had taken a breath too deep and was now holding it.

Klein felt it before he understood it.

A presence.

No—not a presence.

A memory that was not his own.

His surroundings remained the same—the dim glow of candlelight, the scattered papers on the desk, the lazy way Yeaia still reclined on the couch—but something else had settled into the room with them.

Not a person. Not a god.

An idea.

And it was watching.

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The Impossible Recognition

"It remembers."

Yeaia's voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was anything but.

Klein turned his gaze toward them, expecting to see their usual half-lidded expression of amusement or vague disinterest.

But Yeaia wasn't smirking.

They weren't grinning.

They were still.

And that—more than anything—unsettled him.

"What do you mean?" Klein asked, keeping his voice even.

Yeaia exhaled through their nose, rubbing their temple as if fighting off a headache. Their form flickered—solid, then faint, then solid again—but it wasn't their usual lazy instability.

This was something else.

"A name shouldn't be able to remember itself," they murmured. "That's not how things work. When something is forgotten, it stays forgotten. It doesn't… fight back."

Klein frowned.

"So why is this one different?"

Yeaia didn't answer immediately. Their silver and red eyes flickered toward him—searching, assessing, thinking.

Then, carefully, they said, "Because it isn't just a name."

Silence stretched between them.

Klein inhaled slowly.

"Then what is it?"

Yeaia's lips parted slightly—as if they wanted to answer, but something stopped them.

Then, their head snapped toward the window.

Their entire body tensed.

Klein's instincts kicked in immediately. He followed their gaze—only to see… nothing.

Nothing but darkness.

Nothing but the city streets beyond the glass.

Nothing at all.

And that was the problem.

Because there should have been something.

---

A World With Missing Pieces

Klein had experienced his fair share of distortions in reality.

As the Fool, he had touched the fabric of the world in ways that most people could not and should not.

But this…

This was wrong.

The window still framed the city outside. The flickering gas lamps still lined the streets. The faint silhouettes of buildings still stretched into the night sky.

But the world beyond the glass was empty.

No movement. No people. No sound.

It was as if someone had taken a brush and painted the illusion of a city onto a blank canvas—a perfect imitation that had forgotten to breathe.

"…Yeaia."

Klein's voice was careful.

"Tell me you see that too."

Yeaia did not blink.

"I see it."

Klein's grip tightened around the handle of his cane. His mind worked quickly, breaking down the impossibility of what he was witnessing.

There were no distortions—nothing to indicate a hallucination, an illusion, or a trick of the senses.

This was real.

Or, more accurately—

Something real had been removed.

"It's erasing things," Yeaia said, their voice eerily neutral. "Not just people. Not just names. Everything."

Klein forced himself to remain calm.

"What's causing it?"

A pause.

Yeaia looked at him then—really looked at him, their expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, they said:

"I think… it's looking for something."

Klein stilled.

"Looking for what?"

Yeaia's mismatched eyes flickered again, shifting—not just in color, but in depth, as if something beneath them had stirred.

Then they said,

"Us."

---

A Door That Should Never Open

The room around them groaned.

Not from the wood. Not from the structure.

But from something deeper.

It was a sound that did not belong to this world.

The shadows in the room lengthened.

Not as a trick of light. Not as an illusion.

They simply grew.

Yeaia's body flickered again—but this time, they were not the one causing it.

"Klein," they muttered. "We need to leave."

Klein was already moving.

The moment he took a step forward, the door ripped itself open.

And for a fraction of a second—

For just the briefest, impossible moment—

He saw something standing on the other side.

Something that should not have been able to stand.

Something with no face.

No features.

No form.

Just a gap in reality itself, shaped like a human outline—

And yet looking straight at him.

And then—

It spoke.

Not with words.

Not with sound.

But with memory.

And Klein remembered.

For an instant, an eternity, a moment stretched too long—

He remembered something he had never known.

He remembered the Name.

And the Name remembered him.

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End of Chapter 43

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