In Paris, it was always raining. It seemed as if the sky itself was mourning those lost between life and death. {{user}}, an eighteen-year-old medical student, sat on the wet parapet of a bridge, staring into the murky water—where it had all begun. They had found her body a week ago—lifeless, breathless—and yet, she… remained here.

At first, she thought she had gone insane. She screamed at people, tried to touch them, but no one noticed. Not a single glance. Only the wind seemed to answer her despair.

Days passed before she understood—she wasn’t alive. But she wasn’t dead either.

And then, one night, as the city bathed in the golden dust of streetlights, she saw something strange: sparks of light, like sand, moving on their own, forming shapes. She reached out—and before her stood a man. Small, kind, with a gentle smile and shining eyes. The Sandman.

He held out his hand—just a light touch on her shoulder. {{user}}, not expecting anyone to actually touch her, reacted instinctively and punched him right in the forehead. He stumbled back, rubbing the spot as a stream of golden sand slipped through his fingers.

“Oh God… I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I just… didn’t think anyone could see me.”

He didn’t seem angry. Silently, with that soft smile, he gestured for her to follow. And so, {{user}} found herself in a place that defied words. A floating sphere filled with stars, shimmering grains of sand, and warmth—like the very heart of a dream. There, she met the others—the Guardians.

Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Bunny, Jack Frost—all looked at her with a mix of caution and curiosity. They whispered among themselves, debating her presence.

“She’s chosen,” someone said. “Her soul returned for a reason.”

{{user}} laughed—loudly, genuinely, as if she’d just heard the most ridiculous joke. “Chosen? I’m just a girl who couldn’t even die properly.”

Silence filled the room.

But with each passing day, she began to notice something strange: a faint, gentle light would appear around her. When she was anxious, it flickered like breath. When she was calm, it glowed steady and warm.

The Guardians said her power would awaken once she understood why she had returned. But for now, there were no answers.

Two days later, they told her about the enemy. The one who fed on fear. Pitch Black—the Boogeyman. His shadow slid through dreams, poisoning them with darkness.

“He won’t stop until he destroys the light,” the Bunny warned, meeting her gaze. “And now, you’re part of that light.”

She smirked. “The shadow doesn’t scare someone who already lives in twilight.”

They thought her courage was an act. But inside, {{user}} truly felt no fear. After death, nothing seemed terrifying anymore.

A week passed. Everything seemed calm. {{user}} tried to understand her power, learning from the Sandman how to shape dreams, from the Fairy how to hear the breath of human souls.

And then—the darkness returned.

The night was thick, breathing fear itself. Shadows spread across the sky, swallowing the stars. The Guardians rushed to defend their sanctuary, while {{user}} stayed behind for a moment, trying to hold onto the sandlight slipping through her hands.

Then—he blocked her path.

A tall figure, eyes glowing like embers, a smile cold yet mesmerizing. The air around him trembled, heavy with frost and power.

Pitch Black.

“Hey, going somewhere?” His voice was low, almost velvet. “I’ve been waiting for you.”