Lord of Mysteries: The Forgotten Dreamer

In the boundless expanse of the Gray Fog, Klein Moretti sat upon his high-backed chair, fingers lightly tapping the armrest. Before him stretched the ancient bronze table, its surface reflecting the eerie glow of the surrounding mist. A Card of Blasphemy lay undisturbed, its symbol hidden beneath the ever-present haze.

Here, within this mysterious domain, Klein wielded an authority few could comprehend.

Instinct had brought him here, seeking the detachment of the Gray Fog after another long day navigating the perils of reality—an unusual habit for him. Only two days had passed since he and Anderson Hood left The Future—two days since Yeaia vanished.

Klein had handled many things since then, but now, he couldn't shake the realization—he hadn't seen Yeaia even once. They were in the same city, yet Yeaia's presence was completely absent. Even the unique aura he had sensed before, in the Sea of Ruins, was nowhere to be found.

Klein's brows furrowed slightly.

That person… they had faded too abruptly. As if they had never been there to begin with.

Yeaia's existence wavered, shifting between presence and absence, slipping from his grasp like a dream upon waking. Even now, Klein found it difficult to recall specific details about them—as if something, or someone, was erasing them from memory.

This was anything but normal.

'Usually, when something like this happens, ascending to the Gray Fog helps me remember—if I focus hard enough. But even that feels difficult now. I only just met them… it shouldn't be this hard to recall.'

Klein frowned.

'I've never liked anything that tampers with my memory. As a Beyonder who relies on preparation, losing information like this is a serious problem. And the more I think about it… the more certain I am—Yeaia is anything but simple.'

Klein's frown deepened before he sighed and pressed his fingers against his forehead, massaging it lightly.

'Ever since I met Yeaia, all I've done is frown… At this rate, I'm going to end up with permanent creases on my forehead,' Klein mused wryly.

With a slow exhale, Klein leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the familiar crimson stars hovering above the table. Each one represented a member of the Tarot Club, bound to this space through their mysterious connection.

He lingered for a few more minutes, his gaze drifting over the crimson stars and the ever-present gray fog. Just as he was about to leave—

That was when he saw it.

A new star.

Klein's fingers stilled.

His pupils contracted slightly as he observed the faint, flickering light that had appeared among the others. It wasn't bright or stable—more like a candle flame struggling against an unseen wind.

His mind worked quickly.

This shouldn't be possible.

A new member of the Tarot Club? That required a ritual, a formal acceptance. He had done no such thing.

'Is someone praying to me? No… if that were the case, the star wouldn't be this faint. Then is it like Mr. Hanged Man and Miss Hermit's situation? An item…? But even then, their stars weren't this weak either...'

Unless—

His gaze darkened. An unreasonable thought surfaced, one that felt strange yet instinctively right.

"Yeaia?"

The name came unbidden, yet the moment it did—it made sense.

Suddenly, a coin materialized in Klein's hand, tumbling effortlessly between his fingers before coming to a stop. He glanced down at the result of his divination—

Blank.

Somehow, impossibly, the coin revealed nothing.

How could a coin be blank?

Klein stared, his mind caught between disbelief and unease. It was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet, the emptiness felt deliberate.

Klein held back the urge to flip the coin again, certain the outcome wouldn't change.

'In all my time as a Seer, I've never seen such an absurd result. What's next? Will the coin vanish too?' Klein lampooned.

Taking a steady breath, he refocused on the faint crimson star.

He hesitated for a moment before finally reaching out to the faint crimson star.

Cautiously, he extended his spiritual perception. The star wavered under his focus—fragile yet persistent. Unlike the others, it felt incomplete, as if it didn't belong but had forced its way in nonetheless.

The moment he touched its presence, something stirred.

Half-written. Forgotten.

Klein exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the armrest. His head pulsed—not with pain, just a persistent rhythm.

He rubbed his temples, sinking into deep thought.

Something was happening.

And knowing Yeaia—even if their time together had been brief—

It was bound to be anything but small.

What have I gotten myself into this time…?

---

Yeaia awoke with a start.

The candle beside them had long since burned out, leaving only the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the window. Their head was still resting against the desk, arms sprawled over scattered notes and a single pendulum crystal lying motionless in the center.

For a moment, Yeaia didn't move.

Something felt off.

Their fingers curled slightly, brushing against the cool metal of the pendulum's chain. The memory of what happened before he fell asleep drifted back—the strange weightlessness, the fog, the overwhelming sense of something watching.

And that phrase…

Half-written. Forgotten.

Their mismatched eyes narrowed slightly.

Slowly, Yeaia sat up, shaking off the last traces of exhaustion. Their body ached from sleeping at an awkward angle, but their mind was unusually clear.

They reached for the pendulum, watching as the light caught its shifting hues.

'What… are you?'

The air in the room felt thick, almost expectant, as if awaiting an answer that had yet to be spoken.

'I probably look insane even considering talking to an inanimate object… but who cares? I'm already losing it. I'm already losing memories—talking to a pendulum won't make a difference, besides this pendulum seems different and...special.' Yeaia once again had distracting thoughts as usual.

Yeaia shook off the distraction and glanced at the pendulum again.

It was foolish, but Yeaia felt the sudden, irrational urge to ask—just as they had before falling asleep.

Had the same pull reached them then? Or had exhaustion merely disguised it as coincidence?

Their lips parted, a question forming—

But before they could speak, the pendulum moved.

It wasn't a natural sway.

It swung sharply—deliberate.

'What—'

Yeaia's breath hitched. Their head dizzy and their vision blurring as the sensation of being pulled gripped them.

Then, the fog returned.

This time, it didn't creep—it rushed.

A cold, weightless sensation pulled at their consciousness, dragging them into something far beyond their small rented room in Toscarter.

---

The moment Yeaia's senses returned, they knew they were somewhere else.

The city was gone. The room, the streets, the world they knew—all had vanished.

Instead, they stood in a vast, endless expanse of gray fog.

It was neither warm nor cold, neither silent nor loud. The very air hummed with an indistinct presence, as if something beyond comprehension lurked just out of sight.

Yeaia turned slowly, trying to process what they were seeing—except there was nothing to see.

No buildings. No sky. No ground beneath their feet.

And yet, they were standing.

'Where… am I? What is this place? How did I get here?' A sense of unease crept over Yeaia, tension settling in their chest.

Yeaia didn't want to move—being suddenly brought to an unfamiliar place was unsettling enough.

'Maybe I should just lie down and sleep… Then maybe I'll wake up back in my room…'

No—what if they fell asleep and never woke up at all? That thought was even worse.

'What should I do? Stay still and hope for the best, or move and risk the unknown? If I don't move, maybe nothing will happen… but if I do, at least I might understand where I am. I might even remember something.

But is it worth it? What if I see something I'm not ready for? What if it's dangerous…?'

Their thoughts spiraled, overanalyzing every possibility. The uncertainty was suffocating.

After a long battle with their own mind, Yeaia finally made a decision.

They took a cautious step forward. The fog swirled around them, shifting subtly, like an unseen current responding to their movement.

Then, something changed.

Before them, a table materialized—ancient and bronze, its surface polished yet worn by time. Chairs lined its sides, and at the far end stood a single, imposing high-backed seat.

And in that seat—

A figure, shrouded in the endless gray fog.

A presence both distant and all-encompassing.

A man sat there, clad in a black robe, his form veiled in mist. His face remained obscured, but his eyes—deep, unreadable—shone through the gloom, locking onto Yeaia with an intensity that made them feel like nothing more than a fleeting thought in the fabric of reality.

The Fool. The name came unbidden, settling in Yeaia's mind as if it had always been there.

'How do I know 'Their' name? Are 'They' related to me? Is 'He' the one who awakened me?'

The instant Yeaia saw him, an instinctive understanding settled in their chest.

This was no ordinary person.

This was an existence that should not be named.

A being that sat beyond the veil of reality.

A god? No… something else. Something beyond.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Then, The Fool spoke.

"…You shouldn't be here."

The words sent a shiver down Yeaia's spine.

A quiet chuckle escaped their lips—dry, nervous.

"Trust me," they murmured, barely above a whisper. "I didn't plan on visiting."

'I really didn't. I wanted to leave, but I don't know how. Who knew I'd end up trespassing in a place where a being—possibly a deity—resides?

I'm not that brave. I'm not that proactive either. If given the choice, I'd rather be lying down somewhere far from here…'

The thought only made the growing weight in Yeaia's chest worse.

The Fool's gaze remained steady, unreadable.

"Then how did you?"

Yeaia hesitated.

The last thing they remembered was the pendulum—the pull, the fog, the overwhelming sense of being called.

Their grip tightened around the small object.

Honesty seemed like the only option before this deity-like presence.

Choosing their words carefully, they finally spoke, voice quiet yet steady.

"I bought this pendulum at a stall and… there was this feeling, like it was somehow connected to me. When I fell asleep, I—I think I dreamt of an endless gray fog, this place, and the words 'Half-written. Forgotten.'"

They swallowed, their throat suddenly dry.

"When I woke up, I grabbed the pendulum again, trying to understand what it was—what happened. And then… I got pulled here."

Yeaia pressed their lips together, exhaling shakily.

"…I think," they murmured, choosing their words carefully, "something is trying to remind me of what I've forgotten. At least, that's what it feels like."

As the words left their lips, a quiet relief settled over Yeaia—like a weight they hadn't realized they were carrying had finally lifted.

A faint shift in the fog.

Yeaia didn't know if it was a trick of their mind, but for a fraction of a second, they thought they saw amusement in The Fool's gaze.

"Then," he said, his voice deep and distant, carrying the weight of something beyond time, "do you wish to remember?"

Yeaia's breath caught.

That was the question, wasn't it?

They wanted to say yes.

But something within them whispered—

You might regret it.

Would remembering truly be safe? Would they still be who they were now?

What if they had been made to forget for their own safety?

No—what if their memories had been taken because they were doing something important? An enemy, an ally… someone like them?

Had they been avoiding this question all along?

Was that why they wandered aimlessly, never truly searching for answers?

And did this being—this deity-like presence—already know the truth?

Their fingers curled tightly around the pendulum.

The mist thickened, pressing in, heavy with something unseen.

And as Yeaia met The Fool's gaze, something stirred.

Something old.

Something unfinished.

Something half-written.

For the first time since they woke up in this world—

They were afraid.

Afraid of what had been forgotten.

Afraid of what still remained.