The Leon Palace was shrouded in the quiet stillness of night. A soft breeze passed through the grand corridors, whispering against the curtains that veiled the moon's pale glow. Within the heart of the palace, Donovan lay in his chamber, his breath steady, his expression as emotionless in slumber as it was in wakefulness. But within his mind, another reality unfolded.
Inside the boundless landscape of his subconscious, Donovan stood atop existence itself. Endless dimensions, infinite universes, and an unfathomable number of possible worlds stretched before him, each flickering like delicate threads woven into a tapestry of fate. Time itself unraveled under his gaze—hours, minutes, and seconds passed in a perfect, mechanical procession beneath his empty yellow eyes.
A mere flick of his finger altered reality. With an effortless gesture, countless worlds dissolved into nothingness, their essence obliterated without consequence. Yet, in their place, others emerged—more intricate, more refined, as if existence itself was sculpting something grander in response to his whim.
Donovan observed in silence, his expression unreadable. He took a breath—not because he needed to, but out of habit. His mind assessed the situation with surgical precision.
"I am dreaming."
He stroked his chin, the realization settling into his thoughts. However, there was something odd—an inconsistency, an anomaly within the space of his mind. His gaze shifted, scanning his surroundings until his eyes fell upon a thin, almost imperceptible boundary in the fabric of the dream itself—a dividing line, separating this realm from another.
Curiosity piqued, Donovan advanced, his steps measured and deliberate. As he approached, the dream clouded momentarily before parting, allowing him passage. The moment he crossed, he found himself standing outside his own sleeping body, still resting in his chamber, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon. His hands instinctively slipped into his pockets.
"Interesting... Normally, I exist beyond material and immaterial constraints, but since this is a dream, why not play along?"
His voice was a whisper in the void of his mind. With silent amusement, he turned away, walking through the palace with effortless grace. The walls, the floors, even the very air itself were mere suggestions of structure; he passed through them as though they did not exist, for in this state, they did not. The entire palace was his to traverse without restriction.
His aimless journey brought him to a familiar chamber. The door was meaningless—he stepped through it effortlessly, entering Angelita's room. There she lay, her breath soft and steady, her delicate features serene in the embrace of sleep. The moonlight painted her figure in gentle hues, the silk of her nightwear clinging to her frame, accentuating every curve.
Donovan's expression remained cold, unchanging, his empty yellow eyes scanning her for a moment before he took a step closer. His hand, steady and calculated, reached out and touched her forehead. With a mere thought, he slipped into her dream.
What greeted him was nothing short of a nightmare—not for her, but for him.
The ground beneath him was pink, unnervingly soft like cotton candy. The sky stretched endlessly in the same sickly hue, swirling in whimsical patterns. Trees, if they could be called that, were made of sugar-coated sweets, their branches dripping with syrup. The air itself carried a nauseatingly sweet scent.
Donovan stood still, taking it all in. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but for a moment, even he was at a loss for words. Then, at last, he exhaled.
"This... is far worse than I expected."
His voice held no frustration, only the weight of undeniable truth. He lifted his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, as though the gesture could somehow relieve the absurdity before him.
"Her imagination is painfully childish."He muttered before adding,"Of course, it is. The most significant thing about her is her chest, not her mind."
With a sigh, Donovan let his hand fall away from his face. He had seen countless realities, rewritten the fabric of existence, and wielded power beyond comprehension. Yet, in this moment, he found himself facing a challenge of an entirely different nature—the mind of a woman who dreamed in sugar-coated fantasies.
Donovan slipped his hands into his pockets and began wandering through the surreal landscape of Angelita's dream. Each step he took further deepened his discomfort. The world around him was drenched in an overwhelming pastel palette—bright pinks, soft whites, and shimmering golds. The air smelled sickeningly sweet, like freshly baked pastries and sugar-dusted confections.
Stuffed bears of unnatural sizes lined the cobblestone pathways, their beady eyes sparkling with unsettling liveliness. Small, cute animals—bunnies with oversized ears, kittens with exaggeratedly large eyes—pranced around, leaving trails of glitter in their wake. Donovan exhaled through his nose, his empty yellow eyes scanning the dream with growing irritation.
Then, his steps came to a sudden halt.
Before him stood a massive pink palace, its walls glistening as though crafted from pure crystal. It radiated a soft glow, dreamlike and ethereal. But what truly disturbed him was the enormous portrait hanging above the palace entrance—an illustration of Angelita and himself, hand in hand, smiling as if lost in a fairy tale.
For the first time in a long while, Donovan's expression shifted. His eyes widened, turning stark white from sheer shock. The colors of his form drained instantly, leaving him as a black-and-white silhouette against the vibrancy of the dream world.
"Yeah... that's actually worse." He muttered inwardly, his voice as cold and hollow as ever.
Regaining his composure, Donovan pressed forward, passing through the palace walls as if they were mere illusions. The grand hall within was no different—elegantly decorated yet overwhelmingly pink, filled with floating lights and chandeliers shaped like hearts. He barely spared them a glance, moving through the corridors until he reached the back garden.
The garden mirrored the rest of this saccharine world—rolling fields of pink grass, sparkling streams that glowed under an artificial twilight. But Donovan's attention snapped to a particular scene unfolding ahead.
Behind one of the candy-like trees, he spotted her—Angelita. She stood in the garden, her long Black hair flowing like liquid silk, her figure adorned in an intricately designed white dress that shimmered softly under the dream's unnatural light. For the briefest of moments, Donovan saw another image flash in his mind—Asteria.
His body tensed.
Before he could dwell on the thought, his gaze shifted to the figure standing before Angelita.
It was him.
A perfect replica of himself, standing calmly as Angelita approached. Donovan narrowed his eyes.
"A dream projection of me?" He mused, keeping himself hidden behind the tree.
Angelita's face burned with a deep crimson blush, her hands nervously clenching the fabric of her dress. Her movements were hesitant, her breath uneven, but determination flickered in her eyes.
"H-Hey, Donovan..." Angelita's voice was soft, almost trembling.
The copy of Donovan simply stood there, expressionless yet attentive.
Angelita inhaled sharply before continuing. "It's been a long time—maybe a year and a half now—since we first met."
Her fingers twitched, her heart hammering against her ribs. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out, her delicate fingers brushing against the hand of the fake Donovan.
"What I want to say is... can you... can you go out with me?!" She finally cried out, her voice breaking with sheer embarrassment. The final words escaped her lips like a desperate plea, her entire face turning as red as a sunset.
Silence filled the garden, the air thick with tension and anticipation.
Meanwhile, the real Donovan, still hidden behind the tree, dragged his fingers down his face, exhaling sharply.
"Oh my myself... this is so embarrassing." Donovan said
The dream scape shimmered with an eerie glow, the air thick with an indescribable stillness. Angelita stood frozen in place, her breath hitching as she turned around at the sound of his voice. Her sky-blue eyes widened in disbelief as they darted between the figure of Donovan standing behind the tree and the identical copy of him right in front of her.
She blinked twice, trying to process the impossibility before her. Her mouth slowly opened, her expression shifting from shock to confusion, then to sheer embarrassment as realization struck.
"Two Donovans... that means..." she sighed, exhaling sharply before continuing in a hesitant, almost defeated voice, "...this is a dream, isn't it?"
Her cheeks flushed with heat.
Before she could react further, Donovan teleported beside her in an instant, his presence looming with an undeniable aura of power and mystery.
"Yes... yes, it is," Donovan whispered in her ear, his voice smooth, almost teasing.
Angelita shuddered, a deep chill running down her spine. Her heart pounded as she stumbled backward, waving her hands frantically as if to erase the moment.
"T-this... this isn't what it looks like!" she stammered, her voice trembling with nervous energy.
Donovan remained still, his piercing, unreadable gaze fixed on her. "I'm sure that's exactly what it looks like," he responded, his tone flat yet oddly amused.
If she could have disappeared into the ground right then and there, she would have. The sheer weight of her embarrassment crushed her, and she silently prayed that even in her dream, the earth would crack open and swallow her whole.
But instead of pressing further, Donovan sighed and reached out, gently running his fingers through her long, silky black hair. His touch was feather-light, yet it carried the weight of something deeper—something unspoken.
"Angelita," he murmured, "I have many responsibilities... from this universe to countless others. You understand that, don't you?"
Her expression softened, the excitement in her chest dimming into something more melancholic. "Y-yes," she nodded, voice barely above a whisper.
Donovan exhaled, as if contemplating something. Then, with a rare, almost divine smile, he said, "But… maybe I'll take a closer look at what you're dreaming about. Maybe then, I'll make a decision about your feelings. I promise."
Her heart skipped a beat. The warmth in his voice, the sincerity in his words—it was enough to melt away her lingering embarrassment. She looked into his golden, empty eyes and felt a renewed sense of hope. A soft smile graced her lips, and she nodded, this time with genuine happiness.
Donovan, however, let out a small sigh. "Now… let's get out of this dream. It's starting to get unsettling."
Angelita nodded, but just as Donovan was about to leave the dream, his gaze shifted toward his duplicate. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the figure, his instincts instantly kicking in. Something felt… off.
Before he could utter a single word, the duplicate clenched its fist.
Then, in an instant, it launched a devastating punch straight at Donovan's face.
The impact never came.
Donovan had caught the strike effortlessly with his palm.
A deep silence followed.
The copy staggered back slightly, as if shocked by Donovan's effortless defense. But Donovan wasn't paying attention to his duplicate anymore—his focus was on his own hand. A deep frown etched across his face as he turned his palm over, examining the eerie black cracks now running through it. The fractures resembled shattered glass, dark and ominous, pulsing with an energy that shouldn't exist.
"Hey, Angelita…" Donovan muttered, still studying his damaged hand. "Exactly how strong do you imagine me to be in your dreams?"
Angelita hesitated, biting her lip before answering. "Well… to… beyond my imagination."
Donovan clicked his tongue. "That's a problem."
He flexed his fingers, allowing the residual energy from the impact to dissipate. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a hint of curiosity in his gaze. "Alright, I'll deal with it."
Without another word, he raised his palm toward his copy.
At first, nothing happened. Then, with slow, deliberate pressure, he began to squeeze.
The duplicate shuddered violently, its form distorting as if being pulled toward a single point. The very space around it trembled, warping unnaturally. Its body compressed further and further, shrinking into an infinitely small singularity.
Then—
A deafening explosion of raw energy erupted, sending shockwaves rippling through the dreamscape.
From the aftermath, a pitch-black hole materialized before them, an abyss of absolute nothingness that swallowed all light and matter. Its presence alone sent a shiver down Angelita's spine.
Her breath hitched. "How… how did this happen?" she murmured, still staring at the black hole in awe. "How did you do that?"
Donovan remained calm, his tone carrying the weight of absolute knowledge. "It's simple… In classical physics, if an object is infinitely compressed into a single point, it creates a gravitational singularity—a phenomenon found in black holes. At that point, density and pressure reach infinity, and all known laws of physics collapse."
Angelita gulped. "So… you just crushed him into one spot?"
Donovan smirked slightly. "Exactly."
A beat of silence passed before he sighed again. "Now wake up. This dream is starting to irritate me."
Angelita nodded and focused. The dreamscape flickered, fading away.
Donovan's eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of his room. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead. Despite it being just a dream, something about it still lingered within him.
Just as he settled back against the bed, a soft knock came from the door.
"Come in," he called out.
The door creaked open, revealing Angelita standing there, looking slightly sheepish.
"Can I at least sleep over today?" she asked, crossing her arms with a small pout. "You completely ruined my dream."
Donovan exhaled heavily but didn't protest. He simply turned over and patted the space beside him.
Angelita beamed and practically jumped onto the bed, settling beside him with an undeniable sense of comfort. She closed her eyes, her breathing slowing as sleep took over.
Donovan watched her for a moment, then spoke softly. "Hey, Angelita… I have a request. I want you to—"
He stopped.
She was already asleep.
A rare softness crossed his face as he pulled the blanket over her. He lingered for a second before lying back down.
"Well… maybe it's not time yet. Just rest. Take your time."
With that, he closed his eyes, allowing the silence to settle once more.