Inside Shaw's Dream World, the Silence Was Absolute.
Shaw stood in a white void—no horizon, no shadows, no life. This was his inner world—an embryonic dimension, suspended in time, waiting for his creative hand. He stretched out his fingers, trying to shape the nothingness, but nothing happened.
Rose watched from somewhere beyond, her voice echoing like a distant whisper:
"An empty world is a world without rules. Without laws. Without time. If you want to create it, you must first understand it."
He remembered the spear he had made upon waking—his first tool, its components, how it was forged, its weight and material—and before him, an identical spear appeared.
Back on the battlefield, Shaw attempted to summon his spear at the cost of a small amount of Origin energy. The weapon materialized. He tested it—throwing it, then dissipating it—and it worked. After several trials, he realized that as long as he had enough Origin energy, he could summon as many spears as he wanted. The cost to maintain them was minimal, almost imperceptible against his energy reserves—so much so that his natural recovery rate outpaced the expenditure. However, if a spear was damaged, repairing it required more energy. And since the weapon was improvised, it retained all its flaws—lack of sharpness and low durability.
Shaw closed his eyes. The Seal within him pulsed—a cold, watchful presence. He did not control the Battlefield—he never would. It was merely a passage, a labyrinth between realities. But this place… this fragment of existence inside him…
It was his.
And it was utterly still.
The First Law
Shaw took a deep breath and focused on the void.
"Let there be light."
Nothing happened.
He hadn't expected it to work. Creating something from nothing required more than words. It required knowledge.
And he had almost none.
Rose laughed, her voice like the rustling of dry leaves.
"Did you think you could simply will a world into existence? Dreamweavers are not gods, Shaw. They are architects."
Shaw ignored her taunt. He knew what he had to do.
If he couldn't create from nothing, he would steal from other worlds.
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The First Theft
The Battlefield unfolded before him like a book of torn pages. Each fissure led to a different fragment of reality—some vibrant, some dead, some beyond comprehension.
Shaw chose one at random and plunged in.
The world he landed in was a desert of black crystals, beneath a red sky streaked with static clouds. There was no wind. No sound. Only perfect geometric structures, as if someone had frozen the landscape mid-transformation.
"A dead world," Shaw murmured.
But dead or not, it still had rules.
He touched one of the crystals and felt its structure—atoms arranged in fixed, unchanging patterns. His core of Origin vibrated, recording the information.
And then, he pulled.
The crystal didn't move. Instead, its concept unraveled, flowing into Shaw like water down a drain. He didn't take the matter—he took the blueprint.
When he returned to his inner world, he raised his hand.
And an identical crystal sprouted from nothing, growing like ice on glass.
Rose watched, her expression now serious.
"You're not creating. You're copying."
Shaw looked at the crystal, then at the infinite void around him.
"It's a start."
The Price of Knowledge
The next worlds were more dangerous.
An ocean of pulsating flesh, where faceless creatures floated like jellyfish in a sea of blood.
A forest of mirrors, where distorted reflections whispered secrets in forgotten tongues.
A city of living machines, gears turning in a heartbeat rhythm.
From each, Shaw stole a fragment of truth.
—The molecular composition of water.
—The formula of gravity.
—The blueprint of an artificial sun.
Each new piece of knowledge made his inner world tremble, like a dream on the verge of waking.
But there was a problem.
The more he stole, the more the Seal inside him stirred.
He wasn't just gathering information.
He was drawing attention.
The Watchers
The first one appeared as Shaw returned from a world of shadows.
A tall figure, wrapped in black rags, its face a featureless silver mask. It did not attack. It only watched.
Shaw ignored it and moved on.
The second was waiting in the next world.
And the third.
And the fourth.
Finally, Rose explained, her voice tense:
"They are Watchers. Guardians of dimensional laws. You're disrupting the balance."
Shaw didn't care.
Until the day one of them spoke.
"Stop."
The voice didn't come from the Watcher's lips but from the air itself, as if reality were commanding him.
Shaw stared at it.
"Or what?"
The Watcher raised a hand.
And the world around Shaw unraveled.
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He woke back in his inner world, but something was wrong.
The crystal he had created was cracked.
The white void trembled, like fabric being pulled by invisible hands.
"They're trying to close your world," Rose whispered. "You don't have much time."
Shaw felt the Seal inside him pulse in warning.
He couldn't stop.
But now he knew he couldn't keep stealing recklessly.
He needed a new plan.
The answer came from where he least expected.
While exploring the edges of the Battlefield, Shaw found a fissure unlike the others.
From it came voices.
Beings resembling humans.
He approached and saw a group of figures in strange attire—some in lab coats, others in futuristic armor. They were gathered around a table, arguing in urgent tones.
"The core is unstable!"
"We need more energy!"
"If we keep going, the portal will collapse!"
Shaw watched, intrigued.
Was this a trap?
Or…
An opportunity?