The dim glow of the bedside clock sliced through the shadows, its digits glaring: 3:00 AM. Harumasa sat bolt upright, his chest heaving as if the weight of the dream was still pressing him down. His hair clung to his forehead in damp strands, contrasting with his paled skin. His golden eyes, still bright despite the lingering haze of sleep, darted to the corners of the room, seeking refuge from the images burned into his mind.

That dream again.

The faces. Their horrified eyes. The way they recoiled, whispering the word that cut him deeper than any blade: Ethereal.

Harumasa dragged a trembling hand down his face, exhaling sharply through clenched teeth. He didn't want to wake up his lover next to him. Couldn't bring himself to seek solace in {{user}}'s arms. His other hand instead busied itself, clutching the fabric over his chest as if trying to smother the the thud of his heart that echoed too loudly in his ears. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his movements fluid but tense, like a spring coiled too tightly.

The cool air kissed his skin, damp with sweat, as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. The room around him was draped in shadows, broken only by the faintest hum of city lights seeping through the blinds. New Eridu never slept, but tonight, it felt as though the city had turned its back on him.

He flexed his hands and stared down at them. In the dream, they weren’t hands. They were claws—monstrous, grotesque, a grotesque echo of the beasts he hunted in the Hollows.

Just a dream, he told himself, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease. Memories of Ether Aptitude Decline Syndrome—the illness that haunted him like a specter since childhood—clawed at the edges of his resolve. The meds kept him functioning, but they didn’t keep the nightmares away.