EYA

  It’s gone... Nightmare... Pain… Fear…

  Now just... Emptiness… Numbness…. Darkness…

  Have I woken up? Did someone wake me up? Is this over?

  Don’t take me there again. Leave me here. In this emptiness. I’ve found peace...

  My home... My heaven... Let me... Be reborn... Here...

  Don’t wake me up. Fet me. Leave me. Let me drown. In the silence.

  Time will pass. The future will e. The past will be discarded.

  “So, who are you?”

  Who am I? Ah... I want tet it.

  Don’t make me remember it. Please. Don’t remind me.

  “Why? Do you hate yourself?”

  Certainly. I wish I’d never lived. I’m nothing but a failure. A burden. And trash.

  Are you not? Your face is like mine. I reize it. Walking trash. Streak of failure.

  “Same with me. I want to die. Do you want to do it together?”

  Okay. Let’s erase ourselves together. For a better end.

  “Close your eyes. Let me enter your body. So, we disappear together.”

  Do it. I don’t care. As long as I die.

  “That’s right, because we are the failed and miserable one.”

  Yeah. Don’t remind me. You’re annoying.

  “I am you. So, you are the annoying one.”

  Ahh... you’re right. I fot. Why are you here?

  “To die with you? Is there any other wish?”

  No. I just hope Ellen five me.

  “What about your father?”

  That too. I wanted him to know that I failed. I didn’t want to lie to him. With false hope.

  “What about Jason?”

  Annoying person. I hope he fets about me.

  “Is there anyone else?”

  There isn’t any. Just the three of them.

  “But you lied.”

  What do you mean? I’m telling the truth.

  “Our dream is still alive. Why don’t you kill it?”

  Dream? What dream? Have I ever had a dream?

  “Yeah. What a liar. I hope you die.”

  Aren’t we going to die together?

  “No. Only you die. Die with your dreams.”

  Huh? What happened?

  “I hope you have endless nightmares. Dreams that will devour you. Eat you alive.”

  Don’t... Throw away that dream... Don’t bring it here...

  Why is there light? Don’t take me away. Leave me here. Don’t wake me up…

  Light. Tht. Am I awake? I 't see anything. Leave me alone. Don't bother me.

  Voice... Something is calling me… Something... Lig me?

  Has the world flipped upside down? Or is it just my head? Someone expin this to me.

  A woman. Srant. Looking at me. Poma?

  An animal. Disgusting. She licks my face. Enyeka?

  Where am I? Is this real? Have I woken up from the nightmare?

  "Ryan, you hear me?" a female voice asks. I ’t make her out clearly at first. Her words seem distant, muffled. Like they’re ing through water.

  Slowly, things start to clear up. I see trees t above me, their leaves rustling faintly in the cool night breeze. Ruins surround us, jagged stones covered in moss glowing dimly uhe starlight. The night sky stretches endlessly overhead, full of stars sht and sharp they look almost unreal. And there are Poma and Enyeka.

  “What happened?” I ask. My head feels like it’s spinning. So does my body—it’s sore and stiff. As if I’ve been running for hours without rest.

  “You suddenly fell while fetg water. Enyeka had t you here,” Poma expins, her voice carrying a mix of and relief. The cool breeze stirs her hair, and I notice the slight tremor in her hands as she speaks.

  A jolt of flig memories fshes in my mind—something about being chased, and then… blood. Everywhere. I recall the nightmare where a releerror seemed to devour me. The memory is hazy, yet the taste of iron and fear still lingers in my mouth.

  Was it all just a dream? I wish I could believe that the nightmare, with its blood and dread is over. I don’t want to see anything like that again.

  “Please… I don’t want to gh that again,” I whisper, almost to myself. I lift my gaze to the stars. They shine bright and clear in the unpolluted sky. A pure, untainted view I never had ba my old world, where city lights drowhem out.

  “Ryan, are you okay?” Poma asks, her eyes full of worry as she leans closer.

  Enyeka stands silently beside her, and though I ’t read animals, the look on her eyes seems to carry a deep sadness. Or maybe I’m just imagining it.

  “I don’t know,” I reply in a ft tone. “I was looking at the stars. Ba my old world, I couldn’t evehem.” The memory of dark, smoggy nights es unbidden, a stark trast to this clear, starry sky.

  “If there’s something you want to say, just say it.” Poma urges gently. I search for words, but all I feel is an overwhelming fatigue, a hollowhat no nguage capture.

  “I just want to rest. I feel so tired. Empty,” I fess, my voice barely audible.

  A moment of silence passes before Poma’s expression shifts, softening intret. “Sorry, I should’ve told you… about the card.” Her voice quivers slightly, and I notice the delicate lines of sorrow etg her face.

  “Card? What card?” I ask, my mind a jumble of half-remembered fragments and blurred images. I try to piece it together. The card given to me by that mysterious stranger. I struggle to recall its details, feeling as though my memory is as messy as the ruins around us.

  “The card yht. you tell me its name?” Poma inquires, her toh curious and cautious.

  Slowly, memories start to resurface. I remember a strange card—bck, with a faceless figure floating in a pce filled with stars. I recall the uliion it gave me, a feeling that something about it was off.

  “Why? Didn’t I already show it to you before? Why are you asking now?” I ask, frustration mixing with fusion.

  But thinking about it again, it was strange. Why did I have that card? Was there a e?

  Poma’s eyes meet mine, and she replies quietly, “Because it might be reted to what’s happening to you now.” Her words send a shiver down my spine. And I feel the weight of their significe settle in my gut.

  Huh? How is that possible? Isn’t it just a normal card? Wait… Why didn’t I suspect it before? I thought it was strange, but I never questio. Something’s pying triy mind.

  I force myself to sit up, even though every movement reminds me of the pain from before. I’m lying in front of the temple now—the cool stoh me grounding me in this bizarre reality. I reato my pocket and pull out the card. At first g looks unremarkable. A simple, bck card. But as I stare at it, a chill run through me. There’s something unnerving in the way the image seems to shift ever so slightly. As if hiding a secret.

  “’t you see the image or name on this card?” I ask, holding it up for Poma to see.

  “All I see is a bck card. But it feels… vague. Frightening, somehow,” she replies softly, her voice eg in the quiet night air.

  Frightening? I wonder silently. Is there something truly wrong with this card? Should I discard it? I hesitate; I o uand more from Poma first. There’s a knowledge in her eyes that I ’t quite grasp.

  “The name of this card is Dream. There’s a faceless figure here, floating in a dreamlike space full of stars. I never uood its meaning nifice. Do you know anything about it?” I ask with my voice low aive.

  “I ’t say much. I’m afraid it will harm you. But what I tell you is this: the card is proof. You are the chosen one,” Poma states, her tone grave. Her eyes search mine, and I see a flicker of something familiar in her expression. As if someone else had told me simir words before. In aime. Another dream.

  I feel a surge of recolle of memories. The mysterious man who handed me this card and his cryptic words. Does this mean it’s part of his pn? The thought makes everything feel meticulously orchestrated. Like a scheme too well-ao be mere ce.

  I o uand. “Just tell me everything. Why didn’t you expin this from the start? Is there something you’re hiding from me?” I demand with my voice eg off the a stones around us.

  Poma’s expression darkens with worry. “I ’t. The more you know about things like this, the more dangerous it bees. That’s why I asked you earlier about mystical knowledge. Since you refused, I thought it best not to tell you further.” Her voice is measured. But there’s an undercurrent ency.

  Her words make me wonder—does this world follow some kind of Lovecraftian horror rule? I need firmation. “How dangerous are we talking here? And does that mean there are special requirements to learn this mystical knowledge?” I ask, my voice steadier now despite the turmoil ing inside me.

  I’m curious. If this really is a Lovecraftiaing, then my decision to avoid digging deeper robably the right choice. But strahings keep happening to me. How I just ighem? I o think carefully about my steps. At the very least, I should uand what’s going on.

  Poma expins in a hushed tone, “If we talk about ordinary dangers, humans lose their sanity, even their humanity, bit by bit, when they learn too much. Anyone learn it, as long as they’re willing to pay the price. But sometimes, it’s better to remain ignorant—ignorance save yreater dangers.” Her words hang in the air, sharp as the bone-deep chill gnawing at my neck.

  From her expnation, it’s clear: this world follows a Lovecraftian horror setting. That means uhreats, intangible horrors, and unknown dangers lurking everywhere. Just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine. And the pure, unpolluted air around me suddenly feels oppressive. What kind of world is this? And it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. If it were, I should’ve woken up by now.

  Damn it…

  I’ve been transported to another world—a world with a Lovecraftian horror setting. Aren’t these two genres supposed to oppose each other? Nothing makes sense here! Even I, as a failed writer. hought of creating a story with a setting like this.

  The air smells thick with decay, like wet earth and rotting leaves. The temple walls, cracked and moss-covered. Radiate a damp chill that seeps into my bones.

  Should I look for information about entities like the gods oddesses here? What if I actally offend one. Imagine pissing off something like that—I’d be dead before I could blink.

  No, fet that. Curiosity only irouble. Better to focus on oma expin. Like the meaning of this “chosen one” business. Surely, it’s not some golden ticket to being president or king in this world, right?

  “So, what you expin about being the chosen one?” I ask, my voice eg slightly in the cold, shadowed corridor of the temple. I clutch the card in my hand. A cold, heavy object that sends a small shiver up my spine every time I touch it.

  After this, maybe I’ll ask about the card. If possible, I want to throw it away or just hand it over to Poma. There’s no point carrying it, especially if it only brings trouble.

  “As you’ve heard, as the chosen one, you have the special right to choose your path. Whether you take the given path or not, it’s tied to you,” Poma replies. Her hand sweeps toward me and the card. And I see the low light catg on her features, while a faint st of flower lingers around her.

  I frown, my eyes narrowing as I trace the embossed symbols on the card with my fiip. Does this card have anything to do with me being the chosen one? And what exactly is this “given path”? It sounds cool and powerful. But in a Lovecraftiaing, “cool” usually means slipping into madness after catg a glimpse of some hidden truth. I don’t want to end up like that.

  “What does this card have to do with it? And what exactly is the given path? I at least know that much?” I ask.

  Poma hesitates but slowly answers. “Yes, the card is proof. The path yiven is written in it. A special right, reserved for those who are chosen. That’s all I say. If you want to know more, it ehe realm of mystical knowledge.”

  The path is tied to the name of the card? So… Dream? What does that even mean? I feel a bitter irony prick at my thoughts. Here I am, a person who failed to achieve my own dream, and now I’m handed a path reted to one. Is the mysterious person behind this trying to spread my failure? Make this world full of depressed people who never achieved their dreams? Absurd. I don’t get it.

  Before I ask more, Poma fixes her gaze on me and says, “I think you o choose now. Will you take the path, or will you live as a normal human in this new world? Your choice will ge your destiny—and maybe also the destiny of this world.”

  Isn’t that too much? I’m just a normal human. So far, there’s no plot armor or overpowered abilities for me. How I influehis world? Just by choosing the path on this card? Or is this card itself the key to some hidden power?

  No... No... Remember, we’re talking about a Lovecraftiaing. Power equals madness. Worse, accepting it might mean slowly turning into a monster or something that’s no longer human. The thought alone makes me shiver, the cold stoh me pressing into my skin like a warning.

  “If I don’t want to take this path, does that mean I live a normal life?” I ask.

  For now, I don’t want to take risks. My previous life was already a mess. If I start fresh here, I want a normal life. Yes, normal. No monsters, no dangers… just peace. I’m not the main character. Just ara dragged into someone else’s story. I want to go back to being ara again. Enough trouble for one lifetime.

  “Teically possible, but you have to be careful. Other entities, maybe even gods, might target you because of your status as the chosen one,” Poma replies, her face tightening, shadows deepening around her sharp features.

  Her answer doesn’t sit right with me. Didn’t she say I could choose not to take the “dangerous” path? Then why do both options feel equally dangerous? Isn’t there a safer choice? It almost seems like I had no choice at all from the start.

  “Why do both choices seem equally dangerous? Isn’t there a safer option?” I ask, frustration g my tone.

  “If you really don’t want to folloath, I offer you a little prote. It’s not much, but as long as you avoid powerful entities, you’ll be safe. The catch is, it has a time limit—you’ll o perform a ritual every month to re,” Poma expins.

  Okay, not bad. So at least I have some kind of prote. Then to avoid meeting unwahings, I should stay near Poma. She’s the only one I trust—or rather, the only one willing to help me.

  e to think of it, why was she helping me? Did she want something? So far, the only thing of value I had was my status as the chosen one, and Poma didn’t seem ied in that. Her reasons remained unclear, but asking directly felt awkward. For now, I’d rely on her advice. She’d given me important information, after all. Maybe this was what bonds between two failures looked like—I failed as a writer; she, a fallen goddess now reduced to guarding a forest. Different scales, but I uood her pain well enough.

  “That works for me, as long as I avoid this unknown path,” I reply.

  This versation calms me down a bit. Though the nightmare still lingers unfortably, at least I crify some things. Good enough for now.

  “Keep the card hidden as much as possible. Even with my prote, if someone sees it and reizes it, everything will fall apart,” Poma warns.

  If that’s the case, why not just throw it away? But she said it roof. Was it impossible to get rid of? Might as well ask.

  “ I throw it away or leave it here iemple? You could probably take better care of it than me carrying it around, right?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The card is tied to you. Even if you give it to me, it’ll disappear and reappear near you,” Poma replies. I feel a twinge of disappoi, but I decide that as long as I keep it out of sight, it should be fine.

  After discussing serious matters, Poma asks about my nightmare. I tell her as much as I — the mysterious figure chasihe creeping darkness, the bleeding trees soaking the ground. My words are apanied by the distant ey poundi and the acrid taste of fear. She listens ily, clearly intrigued, her eyes refleg the faint glow of biolumi mushrooms growihe temple’s edge.

  And theions that nightmares like these might recur for a while. Not great news, but she offers something to help me sleep better. Easing my mind. She expins that could reduce the severity of the dreams. It sounds like a reasonable pn, so I agree to follow it.

  After our versation, I move deeper into the temple. Unfortunately, this ruin isly a cozy pce to sleep. I end up he altar, not far from Enyeka. The cold, rough stone of the altar presses against my back, and a musty smell of damp earth fills the air. Luckily, Enyeka’s body is rge enough that she doesn’t seem to mind me leaning against her—her thick fur serves as a makeshift b.

  But sleep won’t e. Maybe I stare at the stars through the broken ceiling—tiny pinpricks of light pierg the bess. t the cracks in the walls, their jagged edges sharp under my fiips. Or maybe… I just don’t want to sleep. The fear of that nightmare still gs to me, refusing to let go. Poma said she’d make me a calming potion tomorrow, but until then, my mind races in circles.

  Even after everything that’s happened, I only half-believe I’m really in another world. Is this how the main characters in isekai stories feel? That strange mix of freedom from their old lives and guilt for leaving things behind? For me, it was Jason and my promise to my father and Ellen. I recall, with a heavy heart, the cold, hard stone of their gravestones and the somber wind whispering through the cemetery on the day of their funeral. I couldn’t bring myself to go back. My life was a string of failures, and I felt unworthy. So, I ran.

  And here I am. I ran so far that I ended up in this bizarre world, with no idea what the future holds. Maybe it’s not all bad—maybe this is my way of making up for the regrets I left behind. I only hope that this world is more like a typical Isekai story. Yet the hint of a Lovecraftiaing makes me shudder; I’d rather live in the midst of a war with demon kings and dragons than ehe endless madness and stant horror of this cursed realm.

  What a stupid idea. Lovecraftian Isekai. Sounds more like a tragedy than a story idea. A literary disaster. A failed b experiments. Definitely written by an amateur writer. I slump against the cold stone, a bitter mix of irony and resignation filling me as I wonder if I ever stand a this twisted new life.

  S01: "ragedy" End

  EYA