Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

In the Dreamscape’s Forest, Dorothy, in her dragon guise, looked at the small, ethereal blue orb offered by the little fox before her. She couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy in her heart, thinking that her otherwise fruitless venture into the dream world tonight had finally borne some fruit.

‘This little fox is rather sensible…’

Though delighted, Dorothy maintained a composed expression, merely nodding at the fox in acknowledgment. She silently extended a finger to touch the small blue orb, which transformed into a mist and melded into her body. Witnessing this, the fox was startled.

‘She… absorbed it directly without processing it? Not even wary of any latent poison of recognitions within? Truly befitting a high-ranking being—her mental fortitude is so overwhelming that she dismisses such minor risks from a trivial mystic transmission…’

The fox was both astonished by this act, which defied her understanding, and thrilled that the dragon had accepted her offering.

“Farewell, little one…”

With those parting words, Dorothy, her guise nearing its limit, unfurled her wings and ascended into the sky, soaring toward the distant woods. The little fox remained prostrate on the ground, respectfully watching the dragon’s departure.

…

In the real world, nighttime in Igwynt, an apartment building by Southern Sunflower Street.

Moonlight spilled into a darkened room as Dorothy slowly opened her eyes on her bed. She clutched her head and sat up groggily.

“Ugh, my head’s spinning… Was all that just a dream?”

Dorothy muttered to herself before shaking her head quickly and adding, “Of course, it was a dream—what else could it be!”

Still clad in her pajamas, Dorothy dragged her drowsy body out of bed and shuffled to the chair by her desk. She twisted the gas lamp knob and seated herself, glancing at the clock on the desk. It showed just past 1 AM.

“One o’clock… I fell asleep around midnight. I spent about an hour in my dream, most of it working on spells within my own dream-realm. My time in the Dreamscape was only around fifteen minutes, mainly because my mental strength is too weak to sustain my guise for long…”

“If not for encountering that little fox, tonight’s excursion into the Dreamscape would’ve been completely fruitless.”

Pondering this, Dorothy began recalling the mystical knowledge she had obtained from the fox. One benefit of obtaining such knowledges in the Dreamscape was that the information assimilated instantly into one’s mind without requiring any reading.

The mystical knowledge, titled “Tracing the Hidden Paths,” was an account of Dreamscape exploration penned by a Dreamscape wanderer named Alvin Royce. It documented his various adventures and experiences: evading pursuit by vicious dream creatures, getting lost in the Dreamscape, mistakenly entering others’ dreams, and having uncanny encounters with individuals from those dreams in reality.

Unlike the prior fairy-tale-like “The Dream Seeker’s Chronicles“ this record took the form of an adventure journal, lending it a degree of realism. Dorothy suspected its accounts might be true. The author, Alvin, could have been one of humanity’s early pioneers of Dreamscape exploration, as his descriptions of the real world referenced a bygone era—well before the industrial revolution.

However, the version of “Tracing the Hidden Paths” that the fox provided was incomplete, detailing only Alvin’s early explorations with little crucial information. Still, Dorothy managed to glean something useful from it.

Dreamscape Mapping—a technique Alvin devised for determining one’s coordinates within the Dreamscape. In the Dreamscape, spatial coordinates bear no relation to reality. Each entry into the Dreamscape generates a new environment entirely at random, making navigation exceptionally difficult.

Using his perception of a “massive psychic wave” emanating from the Dreamscape’s center, Alvin established a coordinate system, treating the wave’s source as both a reference point and beacon. This innovation allowed anyone to pinpoint their location within the Dreamscape, proving to be an immensely practical skill.

Thrilled at mastering this technique, Dorothy anticipated easier Dreamscape exploration in the future. Yet another detail in the journal intrigued her.

“At the center of the Dreamscape lies a radiating source—a beacon emitting a powerful psychic wave across the entire realm. What could this source be?”

After mulling over the question briefly, Dorothy dismissed it with a shake of her head. Such matters were far beyond her current reach; pondering them served no purpose.

Beyond the information from the mystical knowledge, the orb also contained faint traces of the fox’s mental imprint. These imprints were minor but resembled a “scent” within the Dreamscape. Should Dorothy roam the Dreamscape again, and if the fox were within her vicinity, she could sense its presence.

Finally, Dorothy extracted the essence from the incomplete “Tracing the Hidden Paths”, earning herself 3 points of “Revelation” and 2 points of “Shadow”.

Her current tally stood at 8 points of “Revelation,” 5 points of “Chalice,” and 4 points of “Shadow,” leaving her just one point shy of the 10 “Revelation” needed.

“Alright… just one more push! Once I obtain the ritual, I can ascend!”

Murmuring to herself, Dorothy stretched and yawned. As she prepared to sleep, she noticed something unusual. Her outstretched fingers, bathed in moonlight, glimmered faintly.

It was the ring she had always worn—a pitch-black band etched with a simple crescent moon design. Left to her by her mother, it glowed faintly in the dark.

‘It seems brighter than usual… am I imagining things?’

Though thoughtful, Dorothy soon succumbed to the weariness of her depleted mental strength.

‘Forget it, I need to sleep… no more staying up, my life depends on it.’

Drawing the curtains, she returned to bed, pulled the covers over herself, and fell into a deep sleep.

…

Elsewhere in the night, within a dimly lit room, an intricate patterned carpet adorned the floor. Miniature incense burners were strategically placed at various corners, their aromatic smoke wafting throughout the space.

At the room’s center sat a plush armchair. Reclining upon it was a young girl, seemingly around twelve or thirteen years old. She wore a silk nightgown in shades of pink and white, her slightly chubby face framed by long, curly gray hair cascading to her waist, adorned with a bow-tied headband.

Gradually, the girl’s eyelids, once sealed in slumber, began to twitch. Slowly, they opened, revealing a hint of confusion. A low, hoarse voice pulled her from her daze.

“What did you encounter in the forest, Saria? I noticed your expression while you slept wasn’t good.”

Turning toward the source of the voice, the girl named Saria spotted a black cat perched solemnly on a high stool, its gaze fixed intently upon her.

“Grandpa…”