Chapter 2: Thomas's Last Fantasy
The world tilted.
Dracular blinked as the hospital room warped, folding in on itself like paper burning at the edges. The air shimmered. The machine's beeping slowed. Then, silence.
A gateway bloomed beside the old man's bed—light spilling out like honey and fire. The orb pulsed in his hand, warm and alive, drawing him forward.
He stepped through the doorway.
And the world changed.
It was… paradise, but not like any paradise he'd ever imagined. The sky bled hues of lavender and gold, like it couldn't decide between sunrise and sunset. The trees around him whispered his name—not his current one, but a version lost to time. The wind carried the scent of lilac and something older, something deeper: longing.
The garden stretched endlessly, but Dracular could feel the edge—like a stage waiting for the last act of a play. Every leaf shimmered. Every sound echoed. Time moved strangely here, like it was waiting for him to speak.
He took a breath, then froze.
There, beneath a blooming cherry tree, sat a woman.
Eleanor.
She looked no older than thirty. Her skin glowed softly, untouched by time. Her eyes were the color of dusk, and when she looked up at him, the entire garden leaned forward to listen.
She smiled.
"Thomas," she whispered.
For a moment, Dracular didn't know what to say. He was still himself—awkward, unsure, a loser wearing the skin of someone meant for more. But her voice didn't leave room for hesitation. It reached inside him, pulled at something soft, something aching.
The system interface flickered in his vision.
MISSION OBJECTIVE: Fulfill the dying man's fantasy.
REQUIRED STATE: Emotional and romantic connection.
TIME REMAINING: 22h 54m
Note: Deviation from emotional core may disrupt fantasy stability.
"Thomas," she said again, rising from the bench with the grace of falling petals. "You've come back to me."
Dracular swallowed. His voice cracked as he spoke, forcing himself to become someone he wasn't.
"I never stopped looking for you," he whispered, stepping forward.
As they met beneath the tree, he offered his hand. Hers slid into his without resistance—soft, warm, trembling. She reached up, brushing his cheek.
"I dreamed you would come," she said. "But I feared it was only that—a dream."
He looked at her, truly looked. Her hair fell in waves that shimmered like spun silk. Her dress clung to her like it was stitched from the wind. She smelled like old memories—woodsmoke, rain, and Sunday mornings. There was something divine about her, but also painfully human. Fragile.
And yet, this was a lie. A beautiful one. An illusion spun from the last breath of a man on the edge of death.
Dracular's heartbeat pounded.
How was he supposed to play this role? He had never even held someone like this before, let alone loved. But she looked at him like he was everything—like he was her beginning and her end. The weight of that gaze made his knees weak.
"Will you walk with me?" she asked, her voice soft as petals falling.
He nodded. "Always."
They walked through the garden, past rivers that reflected stars instead of sky, over bridges that hummed old lullabies. Eleanor told him stories—about her childhood, her dreams, her fears. And Dracular, for the first time, felt the shape of someone else's soul against his.
She laughed, a sound so pure it made the flowers bloom faster. He laughed too, though his voice trembled. Not with fear—but with something close to awe.
And the system responded:
+20 Empathy
+1 Charisma
Fantasy Stability: 98%
Time blurred. The world deepened.
They lay beneath the cherry tree. He recited lines from poems he didn't know he remembered. She ran her fingers through his hair, humming an old song. And slowly, the air thickened—not with fear or urgency, but with need. With closeness. With the ache of two souls almost touching across a chasm of time and illusion.
She leaned close. Her breath danced across his lips. "Kiss me," she said.
And he did.
The kiss was soft at first, uncertain. But as her fingers curled against his chest, something sparked—like two worlds crashing together and finding peace in the collision. Her warmth poured into him, and his inexperience faded beneath the sheer gravity of the moment. She didn't need a master. She needed him. Or rather, the echo of Thomas he had become.
The cherry blossoms spiraled around them like snow. The sky deepened to dusk. And Dracular forgot, for a moment, who he was.
He whispered her name again and again, holding her close. And the system glowed softly:
Fantasy stability: 100%
Physical Synchronization: Complete.
XP gained: +75
As they held each other in the golden dark, Dracular felt the strange pulse of reality bending. This was fantasy—but it wasn't fake. Not entirely. The emotions were real. The memory was real. He was touching the dying heart of a man who just wanted one last goodbye.
And that, Dracular realized, was the true magic of this place.
Not power. Not sex. Not illusion.
But closure.
Suddenly, the garden began to flicker—petals freezing midair, rivers running in reverse. The system blinked a warning.
TIME REMAINING: 1 minute
Fantasy Ending. Return imminent.
Eleanor cupped his face in her hands.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For letting me feel him again. For giving him peace."
He opened his mouth to respond, but the garden shattered into light.
Return
Dracular gasped.
He was back in the hospital room. The machines were beeping steadily now—Thomas's heartbeat stronger. The old man's eyes were open, and tears streamed down his weathered face.
"Eleanor…" he whispered.
Then he smiled. Not a sad smile. Not one of regret.
But peace.
The orb in Dracular's hand cracked, then shattered into dust.
MISSION COMPLETE
+150 XP
+Charm +5, +Empathy +3
New Skill Unlocked: "Emotional Channel" – Project sincerity and receive increased response from targets.
Dracular staggered back. The world around him shifted again. The system flickered, then pulled him violently back into the godly realm.
Aftermath
He stood once more beneath the cosmic sky, surrounded by stars.
The God of Fantasy waited, calm and radiant. Deceit circled, whispering unintelligible things into the void. Hatred stood still, his burning eyes fixed on Dracular.
"You succeeded," the God of Fantasy said. "You gave peace. You touched a soul."
Dracular said nothing. He was still reeling—still feeling her warmth, her voice, the echo of love that hadn't belonged to him.
"You think this was easy," Deceit said, suddenly still. "Just a garden and a woman and a goodbye. But what happens when the fantasy is dark? When the desire is cruel?"
"Or forbidden," Hatred growled. "Will you still play hero then?"
Dracular clenched his fists.
"I don't know," he said truthfully. "But I'll try."
The God of Fantasy nodded.
"Good. Because the next fantasy won't be one of peace."
Behind him, the stars bent. A new orb descended into his hands—black and pulsing with chaotic energy.
NEXT TARGET: Unknown
FANTASY: Suppressed. Dangerous. Fragmented.
WARNING: Fantasy may resist completion. Intervention by other gods possible.
Dracular stared at the orb.
He had crossed the threshold. He was no longer the invisible boy in a cracked alley.
He was Dracular, bearer of fantasies.
And his journey had just begun.