chp5

The first thing he noticed upon waking was the silence—a deep, unbroken quiet that felt almost unnatural.

His body ached, as though he had been dragged across rough terrain. His armor was still on, though it was torn and battered, evidence of battles fought before his unexpected arrival.

Slowly, he pushed himself up from the simple wooden bed, his silver hair falling into his eyes as he tried to regain his bearings.

"Where… am I?"

The room was small but comfortable, its wooden interior giving off a rustic charm. The bed was soft, and there was even a small fireplace in the corner, the embers still faintly glowing.

But this place was completely unfamiliar to him.

His hands instinctively reached for his sword—only to find it missing.

His expression hardened.

"My sword, my belongings—gone."

His heart quickened, though not in fear—rather in caution. He had no idea where he was, how he got here, or who had brought him.

Forcing himself to stand, he moved toward the window, peering outside.

It was nighttime, but the sky… something was off about it.

The moon was large and luminous, bathing the landscape in a surreal, almost dreamlike glow. The stars were unusually vivid, twinkling in strange, intricate formations that didn't match any constellations he knew.

"This isn't reality, is it?"

The air felt different—not heavy, not light, but balanced, as if it were an extension of a greater will.

His instincts screamed at him.

This was no ordinary place.

Pushing open the door, he stepped outside, his boots sinking into the soft grass-covered ground.

The cottage he had woken in was perched on a gentle hill, overlooking a vast lake that shimmered under the moonlight. Nearby, a grand oak tree stood, its wide branches reaching toward the heavens like an ancient guardian of this dreamlike realm.

And beneath that tree—

Sat a woman.

She was positioned gracefully, her back resting against the trunk of the tree, her long deep-blue hair cascading down her shoulders and back, like a waterfall reflecting the cosmos.

The moonlight illuminated her form, making her veil-covered face appear ethereal.

From the side, he caught a glimpse of her slightly pointed ears—a delicate, almost otherworldly feature.

But what captivated him most were her hands.

She was weaving something into the air—glowing butterflies, translucent creatures of light, and tiny shimmering figures that danced between her fingers, as if responding to her silent command.

The sight was mesmerizing.

For a moment, he simply stood there, half in awe, half in disbelief.

"Who is she? A sorceress? A ruler of this realm?"

His curiosity overpowered his hesitation.

Slowly, he made his way up the hill, his boots sinking into the soft, dreamlike grass.

He walked carefully, not wanting to disturb her, but also unable to stop himself from approaching.

A mixture of caution and admiration filled him.

There was something otherworldly about her.

Something… powerful.

She seemed utterly focused, entirely in tune with whatever magic she was weaving.

The glowing figures flickered and danced, shifting colors, until suddenly—

She turned to him.

Her golden eyes, gleaming like molten sunlight, locked onto his own.

The illusionary creatures vanished instantly, dissolving into particles of light.

And just like that—

The moment shattered.

Silence fell between them.

He had been noticed.

-----

Eleanor's golden eyes widened slightly beneath her veil as she spotted the armored man standing at a distance, awake and alert.

What surprised her most was how quickly his wounds had healed.

"Strange… I was certain he was gravely injured."

A man should not have recovered so quickly unless he had an innate healing ability or had been affected by something within her dream domain.

Brushing aside her curiosity for now, she stood up from her spot beneath the ancient oak tree and walked toward him with graceful, measured steps.

As she neared, the man instinctively took a step back, his body tense and guarded.

Eleanor tilted her head slightly, the soft silk of her veil shifting with the movement. From his perspective, her face was completely obscured, save for the occasional glint of her golden eyes beneath the fabric.

"He's cautious… but not aggressive. That's good."

She finally spoke, her voice calm and smooth.

"Hello."

The man hesitated before answering, his golden eyes betraying his uncertainty.

"G-Greetings," he said, his voice a mix of wariness and politeness. "May I ask where I am? And who you are?"

Eleanor hummed softly, folding her hands behind her back.

"Hmm? I believe you may be rushing things a bit. Isn't it customary for an intruder to introduce themselves first?"

The man blinked, taken aback.

Then, as if suddenly realizing his own rudeness, he let out a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of his head.

"Ah! Am I the intruder? Haha, excuse me then."

His awkwardness was almost endearing.

Straightening his posture, he finally introduced himself properly.

"I am Calisus Zinedine, the Hero of the Holy Empire."

Eleanor observed him carefully.

"A hero, is he?"

His title wasn't something to be taken lightly. If he was truly a hero, then he must have been someone of great strength, reputation, and possibly divine favor.

Calisus continued, his expression becoming slightly troubled as he recalled his last memories.

"The last thing I remember… I was fighting an army of otherworldly monsters—beasts I had never seen before. I managed to slay most of them, but then... a strange portal opened up beneath me, and before I could react, I was sucked in."

His golden eyes, filled with curiosity and caution, settled back on Eleanor.

"And now, I'm here."

Eleanor nodded slowly, taking in his words.

"Hmm, I see."

She then placed a delicate hand over her chest and offered him a small, polite nod.

"You may call me Selena."

She paused, before finally confirming what he likely already suspected.

"I am the owner of this domain—a domain like many in the world you are currently in."

Calisus listened intently, his expression unreadable as Eleanor continued.

"I found you lying unconscious on the ground, so I moved you to the cottage to recover."

His brows furrowed slightly.

"What is this place? And... what exactly are you?"

Eleanor considered his questions carefully before answering.

"I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for you, Calisus."

She turned her gaze toward the star-filled sky, as if contemplating something beyond his understanding.

"You are no longer in your world."

She returned her focus to him, her golden eyes glinting beneath the veil.

"This is a separate world—a world where dreams meet."

Calisus's expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening.

Eleanor continued.

"As for myself… I am merely a being of dreams."

She spread her arms slightly, motioning toward their surroundings.

"Nothing more, nothing less. In a way, I am neither real nor imaginary—but a collective of consciousness. And so are all other residents of this world."

She let her words sink in, watching for his reaction.

Calisus remained silent for a long moment.

Eleanor could see the gears turning in his head—trying to process what she had just told him.

"So... even I am just a dream here?" He finally asked, his voice quieter than before.

Eleanor shook her head.

"No. You are different."

Her voice carried a hint of mystery.

"You are not of this world. Which makes your presence here… an anomaly."

His hands clenched slightly, his mind no doubt racing with a thousand different thoughts.

Finally, she gestured for him to sit beside her.

"Come. Sit."

With a wave of her hand, a meal appeared out of thin air—materializing onto a wooden table beside them.

[Shop Inventory Summoned:]

● Soft Bread

● Spring Soup

● Fiery Chicken Breasts

● Spring Water

Calisus's eyes widened slightly at the sudden appearance of food.

"Magic?"

Eleanor, however, paid no mind to his surprise.

"Please, eat. I am eager to hear stories from your world."

---

As they ate, the two talked.

Eleanor observed Calisus as he spoke about his homeland, his battles, and his duties as a hero.

She quickly learned that he was nothing like the heroes in fairy tales—no proud, arrogant warrior who sought glory.

Instead, he was goofy, honest, and kind—his golden eyes full of life as he animatedly described his adventures, his struggles, and even his embarrassments.

"A man like him… exists?"

It was almost absurd—but somehow, his genuine nature made it believable.

And Eleanor… she found herself amused.

It was rare for her to converse with another person like this.

Her role as Dream Walker had always been one of observation, not interaction.

But here, she sat—sharing a meal and laughing at the antics of a man who came from an entirely different world.

She had no idea how he got here, nor did she have an answer for his predicament.

But one thing was clear—

He was harmless.

At least for now.

---

After their conversation, Eleanor stood up, dusting off her dress.

"Oh well, it's nice meeting you, Calisus."

The silver-haired man raised an eyebrow.

"Wait… you're leaving?"

Eleanor simply tilted her head.

"I may be the master of this domain, but I am not always here."

She turned slightly, glancing toward the cottage where he had awoken.

"If you have nowhere else to go, you may stay here."

Calisus blinked.

"Just like that?"

Eleanor hummed.

"Mhm. Consider it... a temporary arrangement."

A small smile tugged at Calisus's lips.

"Then, I'll be in your care, Selena."

Eleanor simply nodded before stepping away from him, her form slowly fading into nothingness.

Her last words echoed softly—

"See you later."

Then, just like that—

She was gone.

---

Eleanor's eyes snapped open.

Her surroundings had changed entirely.

Gone was the vast dream world—

Now, she was in her small, warm bed.

The soft glow of morning sunlight seeped through the curtains.

She was back.

Back in her real body.

The body of a five-year-old girl.--

---------

The Rolls-Royce Phantom V glided through the streets like a silent predator, its polished chrome gleaming under the afternoon sun. Inside, the atmosphere was one of quiet calculation. Jeremy Donovan-Vale, ever the picture of composed authority, sat with one leg crossed over the other, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His brown eyes, sharp and unreadable, followed the passing scenery with an air of detached amusement.

Beside him, Eleanor, dressed in an elegant white dress with delicate lace trim, swung her small legs idly, the very image of childhood innocence—if one ignored the unsettling sharpness in her green eyes.

"Where are we going, Grandpa?" she asked sweetly, her voice carrying the perfect blend of curiosity and naïveté.

Jeremy turned to her with a slight smile, though his voice remained laced with cunning. "An old friend of mine invited me for tea. Every time we meet, he parades his grandchildren around, bragging about how clever they are. It's time to remind him what true excellence looks like."

Eleanor blinked, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement. If she were truly a five-year-old, she might have believed him. But she knew better. This wasn't about tea, and it certainly wasn't about friendly competition. Jeremy wanted information—threads of knowledge she could later weave into something far more useful.

"The Duval family," Jeremy continued, his voice taking on a contemplative tone, "is one of the most established names in this country. Their influence runs deep—pharmaceuticals, medicine, electronics—you name it, they have a stake in it. While we, the Donovans, clawed our way up from nothing, the Duvals have been comfortably seated at the top for generations. We are a force to be reckoned with, but they still hold the advantage of history."

Eleanor nodded, already piecing together a strategy in her mind.

Jeremy leaned forward slightly, his brown eyes glinting with something close to delight. "If I were to simplify it for you… The Donovan-Vale family is like a pod of orcas—small, but fierce. Strategic. The Duvals, however, are whales—massive, ancient, weighed down by their own size and legacy."

Eleanor's eyes sparkled with understanding, but she waited. She knew what was coming next.

Jeremy smirked. "Did you know, my little girl, that in nature, orcas hunt whale calves? When a young whale clings to its mother, a pod of orcas will surround them, forcing the mother into a desperate chase. She thinks she can outrun them, but the orcas are patient. They swim beneath the calf, mirroring the mother's movements, leading the little one to believe it's following its parent—when in reality, it's being led away."

His voice dropped slightly, as if relishing the moment.

"And then—" His hand clenched into a fist, his tone crisp and final. "They devour it. And when the mother, exhausted and broken, turns back, the rest of the pod takes her down."

Jeremy exhaled slowly, his expression softening into something almost… proud.

"Be an orca, my little girl. Like you were born to be."

Eleanor grinned, golden hair catching the soft interior lighting of the car as she chirped, "Yes, Grandpa!"

Across from them, the driver, who had been doing an excellent job pretending he didn't exist, felt a single bead of sweat roll down his temple. There was something deeply unsettling about hearing a five-year-old so cheerfully agree to be a metaphorical apex predator.

Betrayal? Out of the question.

He liked his job. He liked his life more.

Silently, he focused on the road, driving with the utmost professionalism, hoping—praying—that his existence would continue to go unnoticed.

--------

The Donovan-Vale Rolls-Royce Phantom V pulled up to the grand Duval estate, its pristine exterior reflecting the sheer opulence of the mansion before them. The estate was slightly larger than the Donovan-Vale residence—an intentional display of superiority, no doubt. Every column, every precisely manicured hedge, and every gilded window seemed to whisper, We have always been here. We always will be.

Eleanor, stepping out of the car with the practiced grace of someone far beyond her five years, took in the sight with keen eyes. Hmph. Overcompensation.

They were led inside by a butler with a stiff posture and an even stiffer expression, through gleaming marble hallways adorned with imposing oil portraits of Duvals past. The sheer extravagance of it all was enough to make an untrained guest feel small. A tactic, Eleanor noted.

Finally, they arrived at the sunroom.

Large, floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in warm afternoon light, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floors. At the center of it all sat an elderly man with white hair and sharp blue eyes, his presence exuding quiet authority.

Arthur Duval.

Seated beside him were two boys, one clearly a teenager and the other just a child—perhaps around Eleanor's age, give or take a year. Both had jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, their resemblance to Arthur unmistakable.

The older boy, Daniel, bore a polite, controlled expression, the kind of smile that was meant to please but reveal nothing. A chess player, Eleanor thought. Calculating, waiting for his turn to strike.

The younger boy, Oliver, on the other hand, was trying much too hard to appear mature. His little hands were folded stiffly in his lap, his expression set in a forced mask of seriousness. Ah. One of those children. He thinks acting like an adult makes him one.

Arthur's sharp eyes flickered toward Eleanor, assessing. He didn't speak to her much—just enough to gauge her reactions, watching her expressions as if she were a specimen under a magnifying glass.

"Hohoho, my friend, welcome," Arthur said, his voice smooth with the ease of an old acquaintance. Then, turning his attention back to Eleanor, he smiled. "And this must be your granddaughter. Well, hello there, little princess."

Eleanor didn't respond immediately. She just smiled ever so slightly, tilting her head as if amused by his choice of words. Princess? Really? How antiquated.

The adults settled into their seats, sipping tea from fine porcelain cups. The children, as expected, were expected to remain silent while the "real" conversations took place. Eleanor, of course, had no intention of abiding by that unspoken rule.

As the two old men exchanged pleasantries and thinly veiled jabs, Jeremy sighed dramatically, swirling his tea.

"I'm telling you, Arthur, it's all becoming dreadfully boring. The work never ends. I'd much rather take a book, a cup of tea, and retire."

Arthur smirked, leaning back in his chair with the air of a man who had already won some invisible game. "Well, that's what comes from having only daughters, my friend. If you had a son, you'd be relaxing by now, just like me."

His tone was light, but Eleanor caught the implication immediately. She was being disregarded. She was lesser in his eyes, simply because she was not a boy.

Arthur continued, gesturing proudly to his grandsons. "Look at these children. Daniel, my eldest grandson, won a national chess championship. A brilliant mind. And young Oliver here—" He patted the younger boy's shoulder with exaggerated fondness. "—just won first place in a violin competition."

Eleanor blinked slowly, letting the silence hang in the air for just a second too long.

Then, with the sweetest smile, she said, "Oh? Isn't he just… what, five? Six? Did he learn that in the womb?"

The room fell momentarily silent.

Arthur, caught completely off guard, blinked rapidly before responding on instinct. "He's seven. He won the junior contest."

"Oh, blimey," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with theatrical sarcasm.

Jeremy, sipping his tea, nearly choked with laughter. The sheer audacity of his granddaughter was delicious. Arthur, still a little startled, chuckled as well, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

"Oh my," Arthur mused, shaking his head in amusement. "You have a fiery little one, Jeremy. So bold, so intelligent."

"She's a Donovan," Jeremy said, puffing out his chest slightly. "What did you expect?"

Arthur hummed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Then, as if struck by inspiration, he leaned forward. "Now that I think about it… isn't she around Oliver's age?" His tone was casual, but Eleanor saw the trap being set before he even finished speaking.

"What do you think, Jeremy? A union between the Donovan-Vale and Duval families. If we join hands, we'd be unstoppable."

Eleanor felt something cold settle in her gut.

So that's what this is about.

Arthur wasn't just suggesting a mere alliance—he was proposing an absorption. A way to subtly fold the Donovan-Vale legacy into the Duval dynasty, ensuring that any power she might inherit would eventually belong to his family.

He thinks I'm a pawn to be moved, married off for convenience.

Her green eyes gleamed dangerously as she recalled her grandfather's words. Be the orca that devours the whale.

"And of course," Arthur continued, clearly thinking himself magnanimous, "if she prefers Daniel, she could choose him instead."

Jeremy, who had been anticipating this move for years, remained perfectly composed. He set his teacup down with practiced ease, meeting Arthur's gaze evenly.

"Hm. That's not a bad idea," he said smoothly. "But let's keep it as a word of mouth agreement. If her parents—or she herself—disagrees, then of course, it wouldn't be possible."

Arthur nodded, his expression still pleasant, though there was a tightness around his mouth. "Agreed, agreed."

Eleanor, meanwhile, merely smiled sweetly at Arthur, her small hands folded neatly in her lap.

Inside, however, she was already plotting.

Enjoy your confidence while it lasts, Arthur Duval. Because one day, I'll be the one circling.

---------

As the ornate doors of the sunroom closed behind the departing Donovan-Vale car, a lingering tension still hovered in the air. Arthur Duval, ever the composed patriarch, took a slow sip of his tea, a detached amusement playing at the edges of his expression. His sharp blue eyes, filled with the weight of decades of strategy, flickered toward his eldest grandson.

"Daniel," he said, his voice smooth yet carrying an undercurrent of something weighty. "What do you think of the Donovan girl? How old do you believe she is?"

Daniel, ever the analytical one, glanced toward his grandfather before shifting his gaze to the fine porcelain cup in his hands. His mind replayed the brief interaction with Eleanor—the way she sat there, composed, almost indifferent to his and Oliver's presence. Unlike most children, who would either chatter incessantly or sit nervously in the presence of powerful adults, Eleanor had exuded an air of silent authority.

"She's quite daring… and mature," he admitted, his brows slightly furrowing in contemplation. "Even though we were seated right across from her, she didn't acknowledge us. It wasn't out of rudeness, but rather... an intentional dismissal. She chose to ignore us while appearing perfectly polite, quietly sipping her tea as if we were beneath her notice. But despite that act, she was clearly listening to every word exchanged between you and her grandfather. She never truly disengaged from the conversation."

He paused, tapping his fingers against the porcelain. "If I had to guess… I'd say she's ten? If she had a slightly larger build, I might even think she was my age."

At his side, Oliver remained quiet, absorbing every word of his older brother's analysis. The seven-year-old's blue eyes were narrowed in deep thought, trying to piece together the details himself. But before he could fully formulate his own response, Arthur let out a deep chuckle, setting his tea down with a quiet clink.

"Ohohoho, excellent observation, my boy," Arthur said, a note of approval in his tone. "But you're wrong on one thing. She's not ten."

Daniel's brow furrowed slightly.

"She's five years old."

The room fell into stunned silence.

Daniel's normally composed face shifted into one of pure astonishment, his eyes widening a fraction as he processed the information. Five? That small girl—who carried herself with more grace and control than most nobles—was younger than Oliver?

Oliver, meanwhile, experienced something he had never felt before. A strange, unsettling emotion bubbled inside him—one he had no words for, but it burned in his chest all the same. Jealousy.

It gnawed at him.

In his short life, he had been the prodigy. The Duval heir, praised for his talents, his violin skills, his achievements. He had basked in the admiration of adults, treated as something special. Yet, here was this child—not just a girl, but a girl younger than him—who carried herself with the presence of someone far beyond her years. She had effortlessly commanded the room without even speaking much. Even his grandfather, a man rarely impressed, had acknowledged her sharpness.

Oliver's small hands curled into fists in his lap. He hated that feeling.

Arthur, amused by their reactions, leaned back in his chair, his cane resting lightly in his hand. His expression, though calm, held a certain gravity.

"You see, Daniel," he said, his voice smooth and instructive, "those Donovans… they're the sharks of the business world."

Daniel refocused, pushing aside his initial shock to listen intently.

"If you so much as turn your back on them for a moment, they'll cut you to shreds. They rose from nothing—a name that held no weight decades ago—and look at them now. They're a threat. An annoying competitor. Ruthless in their work, unafraid to dip their feet into the muddiest waters."

He stirred his tea absently, his voice taking on an almost philosophical tone.

"Now, why do you think we, the esteemed Duval family, whose noble roots trace back generations, whose influence spans industries, even bother associating with them?" He smirked knowingly. "Because it is far better to keep a dangerous predator close than to let it roam free beyond our reach."

Daniel remained silent, absorbing every word.

Arthur's smirk deepened as he leaned forward slightly, his piercing blue eyes settling on both grandsons.

"That girl," he continued, "she has her grandfather's sharpness. She's already walking in his shadow, already being molded into the future head of the Donovan-Vale Group. And mark my words, she will inherit it sooner or later."

A pause. Then, his voice lowered, holding a quiet but deadly weight.

"So what I'm telling you both is simple—gain her favor and swallow the shark whole before it outgrows you. Or…" He set his cup down with a quiet finality. "Find a way to destroy it."

Daniel's blue eyes darkened, his mind already spinning through the implications. He understood the weight of his grandfather's words.

This wasn't just business. This was war.

He nodded silently, acknowledging the command without hesitation.

Oliver, still young, didn't fully grasp the intricacies of the conversation, but he understood the importance of it. His little fists tightened further.

I refuse to be beneath her, he thought to himself.

Arthur, pleased with their reactions, leaned back with a satisfied smile, picking up his tea once more.

"Good boys," he murmured, his amusement returning. "Now, finish your tea before it gets cold."