Does the world dream?
Perhaps it does, or perhaps it does not.
However, in the eyes of Lockhart, the master of the dream dimension, the world's dreams are real—tangible, visible, and within reach.
The world dreams the dreams of all living beings—ordinary people, wizards, magical creatures, and even the faintly conscious plants. As long as something possesses even the slightest awareness, its desires, thoughts, and emotions contribute to shaping the world's dream.
Rather than calling it the world's dream, it would be more accurate to describe it as the subconscious ocean of all life.
Within it, benevolent thoughts and dark impulses, desires and obsessions, all intertwine, forming an ever-changing realm that feeds and shapes the world itself. Just as the world influences dreams, dreams, in turn, shape the course of the world.
At this moment, a massive dark-purple vessel sails smoothly across this vast and shifting dream ocean.
The dreamscape around it is a chaotic fusion of colors, each brimming with raw emotion and energy—fiery crimson for passion, pale green for sorrow, regal gold and violet for nobility, and abyssal black for despair. Though mingled together, one hue stands out at the moment: a deep, oppressive red.
It is difficult to describe this place with mere words.
At times, it resembles an ocean, with winged fish gliding through the air and colossal sea beasts emerging briefly before vanishing into the depths. At other times, it transforms into a vast land where towering plants reach for the sky. Strange creatures roam this terrain—tigers with wings, lions with nine heads—predators stalking prey among the giant flora.
Everything here is in flux.
Time itself behaves strangely, passing both sluggishly and in an instant. What appears to be solid ground may dissolve into liquid waves without warning. A tiny sprout can suddenly explode into an enormous tree, its countless branches lashing out like tentacles, ensnaring and devouring unsuspecting creatures.
Predators may become prey in the blink of an eye—massive beasts shrinking into insignificant insects, frantically fleeing into the distance.
The only constant in this realm is change itself.
Amidst this ever-shifting landscape, the dark-purple vessel adapts.
Sometimes it takes the shape of a traditional ship, then morphs into a flying fortress or a drifting spaceship. At times, it even assumes the form of a gigantic balloon, floating along with the currents of the dream. Occasionally, it transforms into a towering giant, striding across the surreal terrain.
It appears to move aimlessly—drifting eastward, then westward, ascending into the sky, then descending onto solid ground. Yet, beneath this apparent randomness lies an intent: to fully adapt, to completely integrate into the dreamscape.
Despite its efforts, the vessel remains conspicuous, standing out starkly against the chaos of the dream world.
Even so, it does not give up.
Slowly, the ship's deep-purple hue shifts, darkening into the dominant crimson of the dreamscape. The process is sluggish, requiring immense effort and an intricate balance of energy. But little by little, it happens.
Just as the transformation is nearly complete—
The dream shifts again.
The ocean of dreams abruptly solidifies, silent and seamless, as though the waves had never existed. Then, mountains rise without a sound, emerging from nowhere and stretching endlessly into the distance.
The sudden transformation is absolute.
In an instant, the landscape has become a mountainous dream world, its colors now dominated by lush shades of green. Strange plants take root among the peaks, while bizarre creatures scurry and prowl across the jagged terrain.
And now, the once-dark-red ship stands out more than ever.
But this time, it is prepared.
Without hesitation, the vessel undergoes another transformation, reshaping itself into a colossal humanoid figure. A towering giant, easily the height of a hundred-story skyscraper. Yet, even at such an immense size, it is dwarfed by the massive peaks surrounding it.
The giant's deep-red skin begins to shift once more, darkening to a shade of green to match its new surroundings.
This time, the change is quicker.
Perhaps the dream is more stable, or perhaps the entity has encountered such shifts before and learned how to adapt. Regardless, the transformation proceeds smoothly, and before long, the dark-green giant blends almost seamlessly into the mountainous dreamscape.
For the first time, it does not stand out.
And the dream does not resist.
The giant remains motionless for a moment, as if confirming its success. Then, satisfied, it begins to move.
Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, it reaches out with massive hands, plucking dream-plants from the mountains and seizing the creatures that roam the slopes.
It does not touch the mountains themselves—perhaps knowing that disturbing the very foundation of the dreamscape would invite disaster. Instead, it carefully strips away the flora and fauna, its colossal fingers grasping handfuls of dream-matter.
With each handful, the giant's palms close, and when they reopen, everything within them has vanished. As though a hidden maw had devoured the stolen dream essence.
And still, the world does not react.
Encouraged, the giant quickens its pace, arms sweeping through the landscape, harvesting more and more dream-forms.
Then—
A shift.
A ripple in the dream.
The mountainous landscape flickers, its colors distorting. The once-solid peaks shimmer like illusions before fading away, vanishing like mirages in the desert.
The ground dissolves into nothingness.
And suddenly—
The dreamscape transforms once more.
The towering mountains are gone, replaced by an expanse of drifting, multicolored clouds. Some of these clouds sprout strange vegetation, others serve as floating islands upon which fantastic beasts roam.
Birds, great and small, flutter through the sky. Winged beasts prowl the clouds, leaping between the floating masses. The entire scene is ethereal, tranquil—almost like a child's whimsical dream.
The color dominating this dream is now pure white.
For a moment, all is peaceful.
Then, the giant is revealed.
Its dark-green form is a glaring blemish upon the pristine whiteness of the dream. A wound upon the face of an otherwise delicate and serene vision.
A single, unnatural blotch of green in an endless sea of white.
And in that moment—
The dream notices.
It awakens.
Like a slumbering guardian roused from its rest, the dream world turns its attention toward the intruder.
And it is angry.
As though catching a thief in the act of plundering its domain, the dream world trembles with fury.
Change is its nature. But theft—violation—this, it will not allow.
A storm brews within the sky of dreams.
In the vast sky, a swarm of ferocious beasts suddenly appeared, their massive wings flapping as they rapidly closed in on the dark-green giant.
Even the once serene, multicolored clouds—so peaceful and dreamlike—began to change. Spikes protruded from their soft forms, transforming them into lethal projectiles.
Without sound, the beasts surged forward, claws bared, jaws agape, as they lunged at the giant. The spiked clouds exploded as they neared, aiming to obliterate the intruder with sheer force.
Seeing this, the giant immediately broke into a sprint, maneuvering through the chaos to evade the relentless assault.
When met with an attacking beast, he simply waved an arm or kicked away any obstruction in his path. He made no effort to retaliate—resistance was futile in the dream world. Even if he were to eliminate hundreds, thousands more would take their place in the next instant.
This battle had no meaning.
Instead, his form began to flicker, growing more and more transparent.
Sensing the intruder's impending escape, the dream world grew even more furious.
The once vibrant sky darkened, shifting to ominous shades of black and gray. From above, dark-red raindrops—each carrying an aura of death—began to pour down in torrents.
For the first time, the silent dream world produced sound.
Drip.
The rain pattered against the giant's body, sizzling as it burned through his form.
Yet he did not stop.
He merely shielded himself from the worst of the downpour and continued his frantic escape, disregarding the injuries he sustained.
He had plundered the world's dream.
And now, having been caught in the act, he fled like a thief whose crime had been exposed.
The giant's transparency deepened, his form flickering between existence and nothingness. The dream world roared in defiance, its fury manifesting in the form of crackling black lightning.
The sky shattered with streaks of dark energy, bolts of destruction raining down toward the fleeing giant.
But it was too late.
Something had shifted—he had reached the threshold.
His body had become as intangible as a phantom.
The lightning, the rain, the beasts—all now passed through him harmlessly, their wrath rendered meaningless.
Then—
Puff!
With a faint pop, the giant vanished completely.
The dream world stilled.
The thunderous clouds began to dissipate, their furious storms gradually fading. The rampaging beasts and frenzied flora stilled, returning to their usual forms.
As though realizing the intruder had been repelled, the dream world exhaled.
Tranquility returned.
The landscape shifted once more—an endless, deep-blue ocean emerged, rolling waves stretching as far as the eye could see. A vast, lush earth took shape, rich with vibrant greenery. Above it, a boundless starry sky shimmered, twinkling with celestial light.
The cycle resumed.
Predators and prey intertwined, shifting back and forth—forever changing, embodying all the justice and evil, beauty and ugliness of the world.
Kamar Taj: The Hidden Sanctuary
Above the clouds, on a floating landmass formed of condensed white mist, a magnificent palace stood, towering and resplendent.
At its grand entrance, a golden plaque gleamed in the ethereal light.
At the heart of the palace lay the Dream Palace. Though its grand doors remained firmly shut, brilliant streams of multicolored light seeped through the cracks, a testament to the power contained within.
Inside, seated cross-legged in the very center of the hall, was Gilderoy Lockhart.
His sapphire-blue eyes flickered open, and for a fleeting moment, they shimmered with dreamlight—phantom hues swirling like remnants of another world. Then, just as quickly, the glow faded, returning to their usual clarity.
A sigh escaped his lips.
"What happened in the Muggle world this time?"
A trace of exasperation colored his otherwise calm tone.
The dream world was inextricably tied to the thoughts and emotions of all living beings. Every flicker of consciousness, every shift in collective emotion, contributed to its ebb and flow.
Thus, when a major event shook the world of the living, the dream world inevitably reacted—often in unpredictable ways.
According to Lockhart's research, Muggles were the most unstable force in this equation. Unlike the wizarding world, where magic dictated stability, Muggle societies were ever-changing, their collective emotions volatile and reactive.
Wars, propaganda, mass hysteria—these were the catalysts that sent the dream world spiraling into chaos.
More often than not, Lockhart found himself forcefully expelled from the dreamscape due to their influence.
The most ridiculous instance?
A debate in Britain regarding gender identity politics.
'Man is not man, woman is not woman—if you believe it, then it is.'
Such a trivial matter, yet the dream world had reacted so violently that it had forcibly rejected him.
Lockhart had never been so tempted to cast a mass Obliviate and Confundus Charm on an entire nation.
Though he found the situation utterly absurd, he also understood that world peace was his ultimate priority.
He, Gilderoy Lockhart, guardian of world order, had a duty to maintain stability.
For only through stability could he continue harvesting the origin of the dream world, expanding his dominion over the dream dimension.
That was why, after Kamar Taj's grand opening ceremony, he had deliberately withdrawn from public affairs, minimizing his influence on world events.
He had even dispatched Kamar Taj's wizards to subtly manipulate the minds of key Muggle leaders—gently nudging them away from war, unrest, and radical policies.
All in the name of peace.
All in the name of stability.
If there was anyone deserving of a Nobel Peace Prize, it was him.
Because only through this delicate balance could he steal the world's dream essence in peace.
Lockhart's musings were interrupted by a soft, melodic voice.
A ripple in space, and a spectral figure materialized before him.
Dream Spirit Lilith.
With a respectful bow, the ethereal being spoke:
"Great Creator of Dreams, after thorough examination, the recent disturbances in the dream world do not appear to be linked to the Muggle world."
"Although ideological shifts have been observed across Muggle nations, none were significant enough to incite such drastic fluctuations."
"Instead, attention must be directed toward the wizarding world. This dream world disturbance is likely a reflection of the current chaos unfolding within it."
Lockhart's gaze sharpened.
"Go on."
"Through analysis, it has been determined that your frequent and escalating plundering of the world's dream essence has drawn the attention of the world's consciousness."
"It is highly probable that the world itself has begun to perceive you as a threat—and is now actively attempting to erase your existence."
"In the real world, this translates into the following events:
Lord Voldemort has deviated from his original plans and now harbors strong hostility toward you.
Grindelwald appears to be seeking an alliance with Dumbledore against Kamar Taj.
The British Ministry of Magic is undergoing secretive internal changes, likely targeting you as well.
Hearing Lilith's report, Lockhart closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
As expected.
Good things always took time.
One could not hope to steal from the world itself without inviting retaliation.
If he had chosen this path, he should have long been prepared for the consequences.
A wry smirk formed on his lips.
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