Selena sat alone in a quiet corner of the banquet hall, her back resting lightly against the cool curve of a crystalline pillar. She sipped her drink slowly—something that shimmered in hues of blue and gold, shifting flavors with each thought she had. It was supposed to calm the nerves, but her fingers still tensed slightly around the delicate glass stem.
She wasn't sure if it was the auction or the eyes.
The merchant had offered a final bow before excusing himself, gliding off to mingle among his peers or perhaps to report her presence to whomever monitored the whispers behind the Deep Sea Organization's veil. She didn't ask. She didn't need to.
Even in solitude, Selena was aware of the eyes drifting toward her.
Whispers moved like soft wind across the hall:
"That's her?"
"She bid against him?"
"Did you see her veil? She's hiding something."
It didn't matter that her posture was composed or that she sat alone, emitting no trace of hostility. She had crossed a line—bidding against one of the elite. And not just anyone.
The Bolt Thrower.
The very mention of his title commanded respect. Some called him a tempest wrapped in flesh. Others, a manipulator of thunder born from the echoes of a thousand minds. Everyone knew him. His domain was Olympus, and his power was legendary. The bid had reached 100,000 coins, a sum that only a few in the Forgotten Realm could drop without blinking.
And she had challenged that.
Selena's fingers tightened slightly on the glass again.
Across the hall, he sat amid a semi-circle of powerful Dream Lords, each one beautiful or terrifying in their own right. Yet none could distract from him. He had wild golden hair, tousled like a lion's mane, and pale silver eyes that caught the glow of the dreamlight with a glint both amused and dangerous. He laughed lightly at something one of the Dream Lords beside him said—but the amusement didn't reach his gaze.
Because his gaze… was elsewhere.
No one dared approach Selena.
Not because she was intimidating.
Not because she was unknown.
But because his gaze drifted toward her—casually, yet unmistakably. The curious, unreadable look of a predator not quite ready to pounce.
The tension in the room tightened like a string.
And still, the banquet continued.
Elsewhere, a raucous voice rose above the music.
"HAHAH! Let's party!" A large man with a booming laugh slammed his cup down on a nearby table, golden liquid sloshing from the rim. His flowing red hair caught the light like fire, and black tattoos curled along his arms and chest like war paint. The cups kept coming—brought by floating trays or summoned by force of will.
Another figure beside him, smaller and leaner with sly green eyes, scowled. "Hey, Thor, slow down! Part two's coming up—you'll miss it completely if you're blacked out!" He glanced around, then added under his breath, "And if Father hears, we're dead."
Selena's thoughts were still on the two—Thor and the one beside him, clearly siblings of some kind—when she heard a voice.
Smooth. Curious.
"So, you're ChaosCupcake, huh?"
She jerked slightly, snapping her head to the side.
A man stood next to her, brown hair, green eyes sharp with amusement, and a hat with small winged emblems that caught the faint breeze of the enchanted hall. He leaned slightly against the pillar beside her, smiling like he'd just stepped out of a storybook.
Selena internally screamed.
Externally? She remained composed.
"Well… yes," she said, her voice neutral, layered with the kind of icy charm befitting a mysterious Dream Lord.
The man didn't miss a beat. He peered closer, not at her lips or her body—like most did—but toward her eyes. Or rather, where her eyes should have been, behind the elegant veil.
"You have beautiful golden eyes, Miss ChaosCupcake," he said softly. "I'm known in the organization by the title Pathfinder. But you can call me Hermes."
That name.
Selena's mental alarms flared again. The pattern was clear now. Olympus. Thor. Hermes. Titans. Asgard. All bleeding into the Dream Realm from Earth's ancient memory. What else was lurking behind titles?
"And what's your name?" he asked.
Her voice was cool. "Why should I tell you?"
He gave her a smile that felt like sunshine wrapped in mischief. "Hmm, I don't know? Maybe… I want to make friends?"
There was something disarming about him—casual, yet observant. He wasn't like the others, circling with arrogance or concealed malice. He simply was. A breeze among hurricanes.
Selena hesitated. Then, slowly, softly, she said, "Selena."
Hermes grinned, genuinely pleased. "Oh, nice! I—"
The dreamy, echoing voice of the auctioneer cut through the hall:
"Our esteemed guests, please return to your lounges. Part Two will commence shortly."
Hermes sighed theatrically. "Well, that's a shame. I wanted to talk more."
He gave her one last look, and his expression turned just a shade more serious. "Oh—by the way," he said, stepping away, "be careful of that old man." He tilted his head toward where the Bolt Thrower sat. "He's quite the obsessive type when it comes to things he likes."
And with that, he vanished—leaving behind only a faint after-image of silver dust in the shape of wings.
Selena stared at the empty spot he left behind.
The drink in her hand was forgotten.
She whispered to herself, barely audible beneath the murmurs of returning Dream Lords.
"…What did I just step into?"
------------
The moment Selena returned to her lounge, the familiar dream-fog parted gently to reveal Calisus seated where she'd left him—motionless, silent, and staring into the nothingness beyond the rippling dream-veil. He sat like a statue carved from the remnants of a forgotten thought. The soft glow of the lounge's floating lights shimmered across his white mask, casting long, unreadable shadows.
Selena let out a soft, irritated huff as she threw herself lightly onto the settee nearby, her dress whispering like distant winds across a sea of clouds.
He didn't even look at her.
She crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms, eyes flicking toward him, waiting for something—anything. But he remained unmoving. Why hadn't he come with her? She had been alone in that banquet, surrounded by titanic presences, old monsters wearing new names, and charming threats that smiled too warmly. Every interaction felt like balancing on a sword's edge, yet Calisus stayed back, haunting the lounge like a discarded shadow.
She didn't speak.
Neither did he.
The silence stretched, a stubborn thread.
Then, the velvet echo of Xena's voice boomed through the room, shattering the quiet.
"THANK YOU, OUR ESTEEMED GUESTS, FOR STICKING AROUND!"
The walls of the lounge subtly pulsed with a gentle light, reacting to her voice. Selena straightened in her seat, pushing aside the lingering emotions and slipping her mask of ChaosCupcake back into place.
"NOW WE'LL START THE ITEM AUCTION!"
"WHAT MAKES THE ITEMS SOLD IN THIS AUCTION SPECIAL IS THAT THEY COME IN SETS."
"THERE ARE ALSO SINGULAR ITEMS, TO MAKE IT FAIR FOR OUR NON-VIP CUSTOMERS."
"THESE ITEMS WERE ONCE BELONGINGS OF POWERFUL DREAMS, NIGHTMARES, AND DREAM LORDS!"
With a flick of her wrist, Selena summoned the floating bid crystal once more.
A swirl of fire, bound in crystalline memory, ignited on the auction platform.
"WITHOUT FURTHER ADO—LET US BEGIN!"
"A SWORD MADE FROM THE REMAINS OF A STRAY FIRE GIANT!"
"A NAMED S-TIER ITEM:
"ONE OF A KIND! IT'S NOT EVERY DAY YOU COME ACROSS AN ITEM FROM A DREAM BELONGING TO MUSPHELHEIM!"
The crowd stirred.
The flames of the dream-forged weapon twisted in the air like a living serpent. It radiated heat even through the protective runes of the auction window—embers whispering through dimensions, promising devastation and glory in equal measure.
"BIDDING STARTS AT 1,000 COINS!"
1,000.
1,400.
2,000.
3,200.
The numbers climbed steadily.
At 10,000 coins, the crowd began to hesitate. Not because the blade wasn't worth it—but because the real treasures, the true relics, were yet to come in the set auctions. Most Dream Lords wanted to conserve their wealth.
But not Selena.
Her voice, soft and amused, slipped into the crystal like silk.
"12,000 coins."
Gasps fluttered through the air.
"LADY CHAOSCUPCAKE STRIKES AGAIN WITH 12,000!"
"ANYONE ELSE?..."
Silence.
"CONGRATULATIONS TO LADY CHAOSCUPCAKE!"
A moment later, a glimmering light surged in her inventory. A sharp pulse echoed in the fabric of her domain as Molten Maw was transferred—a blade still holding the wrath of a fire giant, forged from a dying roar.
Selena wasted no time.
With a faint shimmer of her fingers, she summoned the blade into her hands. It was beautiful—blackened metal that pulsed with veins of molten gold, its edge singing with heat just below the threshold of destruction. She turned toward Calisus.
He hadn't moved.
She stepped closer and held the blade out toward him.
"A gift," she said simply.
He finally stirred—eyes behind the white mask rising to meet her golden ones. For a long moment, he only looked at her. And something unreadable passed between them.
Then, without a word, he reached out and took the sword with care—hands reverent, as though accepting a memory from a life he never lived.
"…Thank you," he said quietly.
She said nothing back, only sat again.
The auction continued.
Xena's voice rose once more, sweeping the room into another tide of relics and rarities.
Items flashed past: a harp carved from moon-silver and sorrow; a compass that pointed to desires rather than direction; feathers from a forgotten nightmare said to trap echoes.
But Selena's heart wasn't stirred.
She knew how to wait.
She let the rest of the auction drift past like dreamfoam on the tide, coins untouched. Her instincts whispered that the set items would be the true harvest. Or maybe it was better to keep her wealth ready—for escape, or conquest, or something yet unnamed.
So she waited.
A lady wrapped in white and mystery, her sword now held by a masked shadow, sitting in silence like a storm before thunder.
The dreams whispered around her.
And she listened.
The moment the shimmering light dimmed from the last singular item, a hush fell over the hall as if the dream itself took a breath.
"AND NOW," Xena's voice rippled out again, this time with a thread of anticipation woven through, "WE PROUDLY PRESENT… THE SET ITEMS FROM A YOUNG DOMAIN THAT DIDN'T HAVE THE TIME TO GROW."
A hush gave way to murmurs.
Floating above the auction platform, the air shimmered and bent, revealing a cascading display of items suspended in spiraling light—a constellation of relics, delicate and powerful, each one exuding dormant potential. They hovered in place like memories waiting to be lived.
Xena's voice shifted into something more dramatic.
"ALL ITEMS ARE UPGRADABLE… BUT ONLY BY EXPERIENCE!!"
"WHICH MEANS—COINS WILL NOT HELP YOU HERE."
That last sentence crashed through the auction like a thunderclap.
The mood changed.
Almost instantly, most Dream Lords leaned back into their lounges with disinterest. Murmurs of dismissal swirled among them. After all, what good were experience-bound items for those who barely lifted a finger? Most Dream Lords didn't fight anymore—they commanded. They expanded. They destroyed with will and wealth. Using a weak item with the power they held would be like giving a hurricane a paper fan—it would tear itself apart.
But for the lesser attendees—the dream-bound, unaffiliated, minor Lords or strong-willed wanderers—it was like fresh meat had been thrown to a starving pack.
A murmur turned into a roar.
Groups formed instantly—alliances born from desperation, promise, and hunger. They pooled their coin stashes, whispering tactics and hoping to outbid the others.
But Selena…
Selena leaned forward.
Her golden eyes shimmered behind the veil.
While the others weighed value, she saw opportunity.
Each item in that set tugged at her—not with overwhelming power, but with possibility. They weren't relics to hold and display—they were stories waiting to be written.
Her pulse quickened.
"THE ITEMS ARE AS FOLLOWS," Xena announced, and each name was spoken like a note in a forbidden song:
> Mermaid Earrings – glimmering pieces humming with faint aquatic melody.
Wave Piercer: Spear – long and silver-blue, its tip trembling with a desire to split the sea.
Shield of Cherubim – soft in design, fierce in blessing, said to protect the heart of the pure.
Mermaid Coat – scales that glinted like starlight on ocean waves, light yet resilient.
Crocodile Armor and Weapons – brutal, earthy, and savage, echoing the roar of swamp nightmares.
Token of the Sea Speaker – a charm pulsing with old whispers, able to speak to things long drowned.
Gloves of a Perfectionist – clean white, cursed to strive for flawlessness in every strike.
Shield of Remnants – made of broken dreams that refused to fade.
Revenant Blade – cursed steel hungry for rebirth, carrying sorrow in every swing.
Nimbus – a circlet of mist, hovering like a halo.
Coat of Deep Shadows – blacker than the void, it pulled light and attention away from its wearer.
Bleeding Bouquet – flowers that bled ink, used for rituals or memory work.
Staff of Commandment – tall, regal, once wielded by a forgotten priest-king.
Mytheral Beasts Rings – a set of rings said to tether mythical beasts from dreams past.
Scroll Keeper Garment – robes that hid scrolls within folds of magic.
Shepherd Staff – gentle and ancient, it guided rather than ruled.
Selena stared at them all.
She wanted them.
All of them.
Not because they were strong now—but because she could make them strong. Each one was a seed, and she had the soil, the time, the hunger.
The first group bid 10,000 coins.
Cheers broke from the lesser attendees. Excitement danced in their eyes.
Group 2 countered with 15,000.
Then Group 1, stubborn, returned with 20,000.
Group 3 entered with a thunderous 25,000, their representative—a tall horned woman with stars in her hair—grinning with pride.
The atmosphere was electric.
Selena didn't stand. She didn't gesture dramatically.
She merely spoke one number into the crystal, her voice velvet and cruel in its ease.
"40,000."
It felt like the entire auction took a breath.
The cheering stopped. Group 3 froze. Group 1's representative looked at their companions in horror. Group 2's whispering halted mid-sentence.
"AND LADY CHAOSCUPCAKE—40,000!!!"
"ANYONE ELSE!!?"
Silence.
"CONGRATULATIONS TO LADY CHAOSCUPCAKE—THE ENTIRE SET OF F-TIER ITEMS FROM A YOUNG DREAM DOMAIN!"
Just like that, the lights shifted, and the items vanished from the stage—transferred to her domain's inventory.
Selena smiled, not wide, not smug—just enough to show she was satisfied.
Below, envy dripped from many eyes. Hatred, too. Whispers bloomed like rot.
Who is she?
Why spend that much on beginner gear?
Is she mad? Or worse—dangerous?
Even the Dream Lords tilted their heads now.
Curious.
From beside her, Calisus turned slightly, watching her without comment.
Selena sat back, veil still intact, hand brushing across her inventory with a whisper of joy.
Selena leaned back in her velvet-cushioned lounge chair, the warmth of satisfaction still lingering beneath her skin. Her fingers drummed lightly on the armrest, her mind wandering across the endless possibilities her newly acquired items offered. Each one was a puzzle piece to something greater, something she hadn't yet named—but could feel deep in her bones.
The auction hall shimmered in soft hues of violet and silver, casting gentle shadows on her veiled face as she stared at the stage with quiet amusement. She had spent almost all of her coins—just 4,000 remained. More than enough for trinkets, perhaps, but far from the firepower now beginning to ripple through the space.
She felt it before she saw it.
Calisus was watching her.
Turning her head slowly, Selena met his gaze.
His eyes weren't blank, exactly. They were distant. As if his mind had stepped out of the room and was wandering the deeper layers of the dream.
"What's wrong? Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice low and soft—intimate, but alert.
Calisus didn't look at her at first. His white mask, which he wore out of necessity rather than pride, caught the candlelight.
"No, nothing. I..." He paused. A beat too long.
"I just have too much to think about."
Selena didn't press him. She tilted her head slightly, waiting. When he said nothing more, she offered a nod.
"Let's talk once we return to the domain."
"Hmm. Sure." His voice was barely audible above the growing buzz.
But the silence didn't last long.
The lights flickered, the air grew heavy.
Xena's voice boomed again, this time with all the force of a herald calling gods to war.
"NOW… A SET OF ITEMS—ONE OF A KIND!"
"THESE ARE THE ITEMS FOUND IN THE UNEXPLORED PARTS OF OUR FORSAKEN REALM!!"
A murmur spread like a crack in still water.
The forsaken realm was legend—untouched, unscripted, and dangerous beyond measure. No maps. No rules. Only whispers.
"ITEMS WITH THE TIME ELEMENT!"
"OUR ANALYZERS COULD ONLY CONCLUDE LITTLE—BUT ITS POTENTIAL IS AS HIGH AS ANY TIMEBOUND ARTIFACT!"
The hall erupted into a different kind of silence—the kind that comes before a thunderstorm.
Selena's spine straightened slightly. She wasn't bidding, not now, but her curiosity was piqued.
Time items were the rarest class of relics—more scarce than light or death, more volatile than shadow or chaos. They didn't belong to anyone. They simply appeared, when and where they willed.
The opening bid shattered any illusion of restraint.
"BOLT THROWER—50,000 COINS!"
Selena's eyes sharpened under her veil.
The wild-haired lion in the other lounge, still surrounded by sycophants and hangers-on, had moved. He had set the tone.
Another voice followed.
"RICHE OF THE NIGHT—70,000!"
A dream lord draped in dark silks and silver chains, skin pale as paper, his voice like falling snow.
"THE SUN'S EYE—90,000!"
Blazing golden robes lit from within. The Dream Lord who ruled solar constructs and desert winds—his voice thundered like a distant sunquake.
"I'M ODIN—150,000!"
This one earned gasps. A tall, stoic being cloaked in feathers and steel, flanked by two ghostly wolves and a raven perched on his shoulder. His presence alone lowered the room's temperature.
But then…
"ONE FACE, MILLION EYES—200,000!"
A figure robed in mirrors, their voice a chorus. Their face changed every time you blinked. No one knew if they were one, or many, or something in between.
And finally—
"TITAN OF TIME—990,000 COINS!"
Silence.
Time itself seemed to pause.
Even the lights dimmed, as if the realm itself recognized the sheer weight of that number. Nearly a million coins. Not even a round number—990,000. A flex of intent. Precision. Confidence.
Even Selena's breath caught for a moment.
She turned to Calisus. He was frozen too, eyes narrowed beneath his mask.
"What monsters," she whispered.
He nodded slowly.
"This world is way too dangerous."
Down below, in the pit of the auction hall, the non-Lords—the wanderers, the coin-hustlers, the dream crawlers—had fallen completely still. They didn't cheer. They didn't whisper. They didn't even hope. The sheer scale of coin on display had separated them from this moment like ants watching storms tear through a mountain range.
The lounge holders were playing on a different plane.
THE lords among lords
Selena said nothing more. She just sat there, hands folded gently on her lap, eyes half-lidded behind her veil.
She hadn't even flinched.
And yet in her chest, her heart whispered something ancient—
You're not ready yet.
But someday.
Someday, they would hear her number.
And it would silence the room all the same.