An elegant older gentleman leaned on his black cane.
Of course, like many things in the era of the Nightmare Spell, the unassuming item wasn't as simple as it looked.
Zevar had seen the old man many times twisting the handle of his cane and revealing a hidden sword…
The old man, who remained in peak physical condition despite his age and possessed ferocious strength honed through decades of relentless training, was Saint Jest of the Dagonet clan, the King's confidant.
He was also known for his peculiar True Name… Not So Funny Anymore.
'It does a surprisingly good job of summing up his character.'
In front of Jest stood another man.
Zevar was not tall but stood with a stillness that made him seem larger, like a statue carved from midnight.
His hair was black, not inky or wild, but carefully kept, and his face was framed by harsh, aristocratic lines.
But it was his eyes that unsettled most. Steel grey, cold and precise—not cruel, but unfeeling, much like, yet completely different from his latest father.
Saint Jest shook his head dejectedly.
"Goodness... It's funny how time flies. In fact, I just know there's a good joke somewhere here…"
Zevar let out a sigh, stopping the man from saying what would undoubtedly be a bad joke.
"I'd rather not hear one of your jokes right now, uncle."
After all, his life was possibly coming to an end.
'It'd be nice to at least choose the way everything ends.'
Jest's eyes widened, and he looked at him with an appalled expression.
"Goodness gracious. What is up with youths these days and their bad humour…"
Zevar shook his head dejectedly and didn't bother to offer the older man an answer.
'I don't get why he's always acting so clueless. He has to know exactly what his Flaw does.'
After a while, he asked evenly: "Will father come to see me off?"
Jest frowned, lingered for a few moments, and then shook his head.
"I'm afraid not, kid. You know Anvil, he's always busy with this and that."
Zevar simply nodded without changing his expression, having expected the answer.
"So, will it be just you and me, Uncle Jest?"
The Saint nodded.
"Yes. Me and you… Uncle Jest… Ah, Zevar, don't say things like that where someone might hear you!"
Zevar gave the Saint a deadpan stare.
"We are inside my bedroom."
"Exactly!"
Again, Zevar didn't bother replying.
Instead, he looked around his room.
The bedroom was spacious and elegant, furnished with dark mahogany pieces that spoke of the old wealth of his clan.
Heavy curtains of deep crimson hung beside tall windows, and a collection of ancient tomes on war—which he had already read—lined the shelves along one wall.
Suddenly, Jest opened his mouth and spoke again.
"How much more do you think you are going to last?"
When Zevar turned to look at his esteemed uncle, he noted his dark expression.
It was rare to see Saint Jest looking like that.
"An hour at most."
Zevar failed to suppress a mighty yawn and shook his head.
"Maybe less."
Moving closer to Zevar, Jest looked down, his handsome face turning grim and distant.
He put a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Don't worry, brat. You have a good head on your shoulders, and you've been absolutely brilliant during your training. One could even confuse you for a child of War."
Zevar cleared his throat.
"Uh, uncle. You are too close."
Jest immediately took a step back and raised his hands in surrender.
"My bad, my bad! You know how I get sometimes... Can't a man be sentimental in his old age?"
Then he scratched the back of his head and added:
"Well, a supposedly old man."
Zevar blinked.
"Sure you can, uncle. Just don't be too obvious about it?"
This time, it was Jest's turn to blink.
"What do you mean?"
Zevar sighed.
"Never mind."
Jest gave his nephew a brief look, then headed to the door.
"Shall we?"
Zevar followed in silence.
A few minutes later, he was yawning while being fastened into an elegant chair.
"Are you sure this can hold a Nightmare Creature?"
Zevar studied the wooden furniture with a dubious look.
"Absolutely, kid. Show some trust in the Great Clan Valor. I thought you'd know by now that we know what we are doing."
The room they were in was situated in the basement of the house.
However, that description was inadequate—the building's underground facilities were vast, extending deep beneath the surface.
Zevar and Saint Jest were in the specially made room for the First Nightmare, which was located at the lowest level of the house.
The room had thick armoured walls and an impregnable-looking vault door.
Jest was murmuring something, but Zevar didn't pay him any attention.
The only thing he could think about was how much he wanted to sleep.
Finally, Jest finished and after triple-checking his restraints, he gave Zevar a deep look.
"I know you know all this, but I'll say it, just in case."
'Not this again.'
Zevar tried to move a hand to protest, but neither limb budged.
"Now, now, my dear Zevar! Once your eyes close their curtains for the grand show, you'll be whisked away to your very own First Nightmare! There will be monsters, naturally—what's a good show without them? And maybe people too! But remember this crucial detail…"
Jest's eyes darkened before he continued.
"They're no more real than my best jokes. Though I confess, some argue my jokes are the real nightmare."
"You don't know that."
Jest just stared at him.
"Fine. Yes, no one understands what the Spell is or how it works, alright? But you might have to kill them, kid. So keep my words in mind."
"Uh-uh."
Zevar was getting more and more sleepy. It was becoming hard to keep up with the old man.
"Just don't forget to check your runes as soon as you wake up."
The voice of Jest sounded more and more distant.
Zevar's eyelids were so heavy that he didn't know how he was managing to keep his eyes open.
"Remember, the Spell isn't too unfair. And for your own good, you'd do well to come back with a good aspect, otherwise, Anvil might disown you."
'What?'
With that last question echoing in his mind, Zevar finally slipped into a deep slumber.
Everything became black.
And then, in the darkness, a faintly familiar voice rang:
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial…]