CALAMITY : Legends Of The Chosen

Scene: "Unshackled in Slumber"

The campfire's glow flickered lower as midnight stretched over the forest canopy. Only the soft chirping of crickets and the occasional crackle of embers filled the silence.

Alex stood at the center of the Chosen's circle, eyes closed, arms outstretched. A psychic pulse radiated from her body — calm, yet unrelenting.

Alex (softly, but with absolute focus):

"There's something... foul lodged in your subconscious. It's not natural. It doesn't belong to you."

Her fingers twitched as she scanned deeper. Max raised a brow. Shojiro's hand flexed instinctively. Morgz, still pale from his earlier nightmare, flinched.

Leone (quietly):

"Is it ARAE?"

Alex opened her eyes, pupils glowing violet.

Alex:

"No. Worse. It's a Namsari. One of the Aetherial class."

A parasite of the mind. It slipped into your dreams unnoticed… and shackled your powers from the inside.

The group exchanged unsettled glances.

Zans:

"Wait… it sealed our powers? Since when?"

Alex:

"Since you were revived. Since before any of you ever fought back. It made sure none of you would reach your full potential in its world."

A low hum gathered around Alex. The psychic field she projected crackled and tightened like a dome, pinning them in place gently, like silk threads of awareness.

Alex:

"I'm going to tear it off you."

The ground beneath them vibrated. A shockwave of invisible energy surged from her body, passing through the minds of each Chosen like a blade slicing fog. One by one, the effects manifested:

Shojiro's muscle mass rippled with sudden new tension, tendons subtly adjusting as Ligament Drift activated at higher elasticity.

Leone's aura began to shimmer and split, her Phantom, Ghoul, and now Spectre form fighting for dominant sync.

Morgz's body was coated in dozens of rotating, razor-thin water droplets, now fully reactive to his instinct — his Piercing Waters primed.

Max's arms forged the skeletal frames of twin crossbows made of black lightning — each one humming like a minigun charging up.

Zans's shadow coiled like a beast behind him, Nightmare Leech mode writhing with unseen hunger.

Karl's nanites broke from his core in molecular strands, forming blades, armor, and energy projectors mid-air.

Enme's barrier flashed emerald in every direction — her soul-armor forming its first incomplete shell around her.

And then...

All eight collapsed to the ground.

Their minds descended — not into sleep... but into the Aetherial Dreamscape, the battlefield where they would now confront the being that had shackled their fate since rebirth.

The dreamscape had no sky. No ground. Just drifting fragments — floating islands of colorless memory and silent thought. Each Chosen wandered alone, trapped inside their personal subconscious realms, seeking a nightmare that refused to show its face.

"It's hiding," Alex's voice echoed telepathically to the others.

"It knows we've awakened. It's afraid of us now."

But the Namsari wasn't running. It was luring.

ZANS' DREAM — "The Playground That Never Existed"

Zans blinked.

He was standing in the middle of a sunny, grass-covered park. The air was warm. A breeze blew cherry blossoms across his chest. No shadows here. No decay. Just peace.

"Kuro…?" he whispered.

From across a meadow, a small figure came running.

A girl — delicate, with raven-black hair and pale lavender eyes — waved at him. Her dress was white. Her smile was glowing. She ran straight into his arms like a beam of light.

Kuro (laughing):

"You're late again, dummy."

Zans (quietly):

"This… isn't real."

She hugged him tighter.

Kuro:

"Maybe. But it feels real, doesn't it?"

Zans stood frozen as warmth flooded through him. He had no memory of creating this place. Yet everything was perfect — like someone had stitched his forgotten longings into a tapestry.

A park. A breeze. A day that never happened.

"This isn't her," he tried to remind himself.

"This is bait. A trap. The Namsari is in here somewhere."

But then Kuro grabbed his hand and whispered:

Kuro:

"I'm real in here, Zanzy."

She twirled in the grass, laughing.

"If you kill it… I disappear."

"If you leave… I vanish."

"But if you stay…"

She stepped forward again, resting her head on his chest.

Kuro (soft):

"You'll never be alone again."

Zans' shadow trembled behind him, unsure whether to form claws or reach out for a gentle touch.

His breathing was shallow. His body — conflicted. His soul — screaming.

Was this the Namsari? Was it using Kuro's memory to manipulate him? Or was this some shattered sliver of her essence, preserved in the broken data of his heart?

"Zans," Alex's voice pierced his mind, faint and distant. "We're converging on your dream. The Namsari's core is here."

Zans closed his eyes. His fingers clenched.

And Kuro — the dream, the illusion, or the ghost — hugged him tighter.

Kuro (whispering):

"It's okay. You don't have to be a hero here."

Just as the others begin arriving in fragmented pieces of his dream — Shojiro breaking through a wall of muscle-fibers, Karl skimming on nanite wings, Max landing in a storm of lightning — Zans stands still.

Frozen.

Haunted.

Torn.

His shadow eyes flare. Kuro's figure starts to flicker like static.

Zans (to himself):

"If I kill the Namsari… she'll never exist again."

The others shout to him.

But Zans doesn't move.

ZANS' DREAM (Part II) — "Where Shadows Sleep"

The meadow was growing quieter.

Zans still hadn't moved — caught in a paradox. His fingers trembled. Kuro had gone still in his arms, gazing up at him with those amethyst eyes, so gentle they made him ache.

Around him, his teammates began bleeding into the dreamworld — hazy at first, then clearer. Max's lightning hummed faintly. Shojiro cracked the gravity of the world just by breathing. Leone hovered with flickers of purple phasing off her skin. Even Alex's psychic veil stitched them together.

But no one dared interrupt.

They all felt it.

Something sacred was unraveling in front of them.

Kuro stepped back, still holding Zans' hands.

Her smile was no longer playful.

Kuro (softly):

"You were always going to choose the mission."

Zans' jaw clenched.

Zans:

"If you're the Namsari… if you're lying to me… then just say it."

Kuro tilted her head, her expression calm — almost proud.

She brought his hand to her cheek.

Kuro:

"You know I'm not."

Then she leaned forward and gently kissed him — a short, innocent press of lips.

A thank you.

A goodbye.

A release.

As the kiss ended, her form began to dissolve — not into data, not into sand — but into living shadow, flowing like ink down Zans' arm and into his chest.

She didn't vanish.

She returned to him.

A piece of her, real or not, becoming a part of his soul again.

Zans fell to his knees.

A breath escaped his lips like he'd been holding it for years.

Then a voice echoed in his head — her voice, faint but warm.

Kuro (echoing):

"It's hiding… inside the willow tree behind the swings."

Zans opened his eyes. His tears had dried mid-air.

He stood up slowly. The others surrounded him, unsure of what had just happened.

He pointed — calmly, directly — to the twisted dream-willow behind them.

Zans:

"There."

His voice was cold again. Focused.

But something had changed.

MOMENTUM SHIFTS

Without another word, he began walking — and the dream trembled.

The Namsari, now discovered, began to shudder. The tree twisted violently, its bark turning to eyes and claws, screeching in dream-tongue.

The illusion collapsed.

The hunt began.