JAWS • DECEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JAWS

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Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws

The dream has been coming in waves for those new to Sleep's touch, as a shoreline that never stays still. As a sky that never remembers to include its stars. Beneath it all, there is a voice. Her voice: silk-sweet, coaxing from just beyond the approaching wave that towers like a moving mountain. She tells you to come home. She promises it won't hurt, even if she never tells you what waits beneath. You see the shape just before the dream ends: a massive black tidal wave, yawning wide and black until it looks like a pair of jaws breaking upon you. You don't have time to resist.

You and your veteran Vessels will awaken in water.

There is no surface. No bottom. No sky. No sound but your own heartbeat and the echoes of water being slashed though, dull and endless in the still, frigid dark. You are suspended, weightless— Some may have difficulty to breathe without inhaling water the first few times, while those aligned with the waves will feel it come like second nature. Once you acclimate yourself, you'll notice that around you drift glowing filaments; thin, pulsing threads that coil like jellyfish tendrils, softly luminescent. They curl and twist through the water, and when you look closer, you realize: they show you things. Memories, maybe. Dreams, maybe. Each one unique to your gaze: a hand reaching for yours in the dark, a goodbye that never finished, a face you haven't seen in years. They are what you think love looks like. What you once needed it to be. And when you touch them, they wrap around you, gently, warmly . . . Hungrily— and begin to pull you down.

To ascend into the next level, you must let go. But not everything that binds you wants to be released. The filaments drifting through the water show you what you think love looks like— what you've built it into. They are gentle at first, beautiful even, but the longer you cling, the more they pull.

There are ways to escape them: You may bind your filament with another's and together speak aloud a shared truth: what you believe love really is. If your hearts align or at the very least come to an agreement, the threads dissolve into light and lift you upward. If your beliefs clash or contradict, the threads knot tighter, and something . . . May take interest in you.

Beneath you, something moves. Huge, silent and almost regal. It glides through the deep like a phantom, almost too large to be real. You feel its presence before you see its flash of pearl white and glowing red eyes, three on each side of its face: a shark.

The shark is here to choose its next meal. It smells grief, fear and seeks out trauma most of all. It is drawn to the most unspoken parts of you, the very parts you thought were buried, roused from the tightened ropes of what you crave in your heart. And when it chooses you, it does not bite immediately. It invites, with its jaws opening like a sanctuary and slow towards you.

Inside is I, whispers Sleep. Allow Me to have you whole, and you will be at peace. Show Me love.

Fight against her, or even with your current partner about what love is, and Sleep will open her maw, spilling tendrils from her throat and begin to stalk you. Best be prepared to fight the possessed Megalodon— She will laugh, amused as you do, like a great cat playing with its food. And if you were to be caught, well. You'll wake in the dream's next level with an undeniable prey drive, whether Token or Offering.

She will do anything to keep you here.

NOTES:

• There is no surface visible at first. Light only comes from the filaments. As characters resist, act, or ascend, a faint stained-glass shimmer begins to pulse upward, hinting at the dream's next layer.
• Sound is muffled— speech emerges as bubbles, but meaning travels regardless. Words feel heavy here. Some phrases may literally change the water (turn to light, birth dream-objects, or ripple with tension). You will do better using The Murmur as a means of communication. Luckily you have your mask on!
• The Shark always circles once it senses trouble within you. Sometimes close, sometimes far, but always felt. If characters listen closely, they can hear the echo of One's voice coming from inside it: pleading with a haunted, at times screaming melody.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• The dream bends subtly around Tokens, especially at the whims of an Aquamancer. Walls of pressure open before them, and filaments shift course as if expecting them. This can make their path easier, unless they start to doubt their purpose.
• Tokens perceive emotional resonance as currents in the water such as subtle flows of energy. These can guide them (or others) toward escape paths, or signal when the shark is near.
• When a Token speaks or acts with strong intent, the dream sometimes translates it into a symbolic structure: A word might become a floating glyph. A gesture might alter the filament's shape. A moment of clarity might reveal a hidden path. Other characters can interact with these dream-objects, but they're fragile, unstable, and prone to distortion by doubt.
• The deeper Tokens go, the more they feel themselves pulling apart and begin to experience dual awareness: one part dreaming, one part watching— some may even see flashes of within the shark's belly, and One's voice much louder. The deeper they go, the more detached they become, and the more they lack the ability to act at all.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The shark is more fascinated by Offerings. It circles them often, sensing kinship— or potential. The more monstrous the Offering, the more the shark "pauses' near them, almost curious.
• Offerings feel "the pull" more clearly, particularly Merrows and other aquatic-based Offerings—they can sense where the surface might be, and where the shark intends to strike next. They may even see pulses in the water that others miss, similar to Spider Man's "spidey senses".
• An Offering may experience rapid body changes submerged. Fins may appear, bones may shift, teeth may lengthen without warning and so on. This makes their movement easier or harder, depending on how much of themselves they're holding back or how apt their monstrous forms are at swimming.
• Some Offerings may feel drawn to the shark— not in fear, but in understanding. They may see themselves in it, and vice versa— One's song in particular is hypnotic, and for split moments you may understand his pain through his words. This might make you more prone to being consumed, though, so hopefully your partner can help you out of it—?.

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Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator

The surface you breach is not water— it's glass.

You strike it with the force of falling sky. It fractures beneath you in a bloom of painted light. For one weightless moment, the dream hesitates, sputters. Then the world shatters, and you fall with the cascade.

Water pours through the crack in the ceiling, carrying you down in ribbons of color and a shattering splash. Stained glass shards drift like petals through the now collapsing roof, and you eventually land not in sand, but upon a cathedral floor, slick with tide. Around you, the water spreads, pooling across the stone and swallowing the walls in a rising hush as it finds escape through the doors.

The cathedral is vast, impossibly so. Its architecture towers, crooked and immaculate, built more from longing than stone. No altar awaits you. No congregation. Only the sensation of having trespassed into something meant to be private. Veteran Vessels may recognize this cathedral as St. Patrick's— before it was drenched in One's blood sacrifice.

High above and surrounding you, the stained-glass mosaics churn with captured light. f you linger beneath one of the window's rays, your appearance may begin to change under the light. You appear as someone else sees you. Be it a hero. A monster. A disappointment. A god. A weakness. A temptation. Even a burden. That version of you clings to your dream-body like a second skin; uncomfortable, intimate, and undeniable. For some, it may be beautiful. For others, unbearable.

If you and another stand beneath the same window, you may each appear as the other secretly imagines. There is no control and no negotiation. Only truth twisted through the lens of want, resentment, fear, or love. And it doesn't go away until you leave the light.

Eventually, the cathedral doors open by dream's will. Beyond them lies a cloister garden: narrow paths, pale trees, and wild flowers that bloom in stillness. At the far end, behind the overgrowth and ruined arches, you see a hollow.

It is a corridor where the dream collapses inward, twisting, warped, half-swallowed in fog and dread. Its stones pulse faintly beneath a shallow film of water. Black tendrils reach from its depths like roots, veins, twitching toward sound, warmth, and movement. You see them dragging matter into the earth, and between them lie bones, contorted and fresh, half-consumed.

And farther still, a body that still breathes. Glimpsed only briefly, A masked man's form is stretched by the hollow's gravity, arms pinned behind the veil. He does not move, or speak. Or perhaps, he cannot. The hollow does not let him go and will not, should you make your attempts. If you step foot in the hollows that have consumed him, you too will be consumed. A three eyed Tod sits at the hollow's edge, a single bushy tail splitting into three, as its body plays with illusion like smoke put to dance over fire. It says, as its head floats up and its maw splits into a grin too cheshire to ignore: Wearing shoes, yet no feet in sight. You'll hear steps pound in the death of night. What is it that you need, to cross this narrow blight?

It disappears and only leaves you the riddle to chew on.

Nothing living can cross the hollow, you'll soon find. Nothing except . . . The Nightmares.

Just outside the garden's boundary, you'll find horses built from wind and shadow, flickering at the edge of your vision. Their bodies are black— not the color, but the absence, swallowing all light. Some of their craniums cound be seen, others have a jutting horn of bone from their foreheads. Where eyes should be, there are six: three stacked on each side of the skull, glowing dimly red like distant embers beneath ice. Their manes flow like torn fabric, like drifting vapor that trails behind them like the smoke from a snuffed candle. Their maws are too damn wide to be herbivorous, yet they seem to enjoy the act of grazing. They wait, unchained and wild in a herd.

This is the only way forward. Only they can pass through the hollow untouched. But how to ride one—? You may chase them. You may plead, command, kneel. You may offer them all your need and all your love, promises that you will provide if they become your steed. But they were not made to answer it. For every Vessel, there is one single Nightmare that will choose them, and thus you will choose each other. They have their own personalities, some more aggressive or shyer than others. The harder you reach, the faster they vanish or harshed they will attack if unready. Try to mount one through force, and you'll regret ever trying. Try to bind one, and it will break you.

But if you are patient, if you figure out its nature and how to please it— your Nightmare may come closer. One may circle you. It may bow its head. Their snort is warm and real against your palm. If successful, it will lower itself to its knees. If you've got the height, they will simply wait, patiently, for you to get on their backs (Or not; there are plenty of sassy mares out there).

If you accept, you might not be taken somewhere safe, but you will be taken somewhere true, away from here. And if you force your want upon them, if you cannot let go— you will be left with something else.

In the distance, across the flooded cathedral floor, you may see One again. Flashes, glimpses. Always chasing a mare he never reaches, or the opposite— the mare chases after him.

NOTES:

• If a character successfully forms a bond with their Nightmare, it will return with them in the form of a waking world steed, officially introduced in the next event. You're free to give it the personality you wish.
• If a character attempts to force a connection with a Nightmare at any point (tries to catch, mount, command, etc.), the mare will bite or kick, which Vessels will suffer as a persistent dream-mark that will carry into the waking world.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Light clings unnaturally to Tokens in the cathedral, especially near the stained glass. It bends around their bodies like a false halo, casting them in divine or monstrous outlines depending on who watches.
• If a Token casts or channels any magic within the cathedral or near a Nightmare, the spell does not manifest, but instead, a cold mist escapes their mouth, and the Nightmare turns to look. The dream rejects force.
• When a Nightmare looks directly at a Token, their eyes eclipse, pupils vanishing into rings of shadow. In that moment, a fragmented vision floods the Token's mind . . . not from the Nightmare, but from another character nearby. It shows the Token how that character once dreamed of them, what they feared, needed, or hoped they would become.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The stained glass causes a subtle change in scent and physical appearance turning into a more grotesque version of this— Offerings begin to smell or look like what others most want from them.
• Offerings may always know where the Nightmares are, even when hidden. But the more they try to act on this knowledge, the harder the Nightmares are to reach.
• An Offering's body will react before they realize it, flinching from lies, bristling in moments of emotional pressure, pulling away from contact, and so on. They may startle even at gentle contact, as if something inside them is as reactive as they are.

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Where The Delicate Stops

As your Nightmare takes you through the misty hollow, you may begin to notice the empty city of Manhattan as veterans remember. There is no warning but the eerie silence that surrounds you like impossible weights. The cathedral once behind you folds inward— wrong, deep and full of pressure. It bursts through the hollow's path, through the city's street, and then— The dream ruptures.

Stone peels backward like paper. Glass liquefies mid-air. The sky above the city pulls itself inside out. Time bends sideways. And from the edges of the dream, something, someone, begins to hunt. Sleep's presence moves like the very shark she chose as a vision of her physical manifestation. She does not speak or rage. But you feel Her, rising like fever beneath the skin of Her world as the hairs at the back of your neck do. She does not want you this deep, and neither does One.

Somewhere within the collapse, you may see them— entwined, shifting, trembling. One's face is turned toward you, screaming something that doesn't reach your ears. Sleep's hands are tangled in his body. She pulls him back with a gentleness that breaks the sky, and he screams, reaching for you with his last breath before consumption. The dream convulses.

The Nightmares bolt with you still on them.

The city rises to meet you from the shadows, but it's not the city you know. Skyscrapers twist at unnatural angles. Streets flood, then dry, then flood again. Tendrils burst from subway grates and gutters, slashing upward like tongues. Streetlights spin like compass needles. Cars levitate, crash, freeze midair. You move through it all at breakneck speed, but the exit keeps shifting— a hole in the world that flickers just beyond reach where you see your body, fast asleep.

Somewhere in the chaos, a few Nightmares are caught. Sleep strikes like lightning— she coils like a viper and tightens like a vice. One touch from Her, and your Nightmare collapses mid-gallop, its body unraveling into smoke and light. No sound. No scream. Just absence. And you fall right off it like a ragdoll.

Others fall beneath impact, too— a wrong turn, a shattered wall, a burst of heat from One's grief. A broken leg. A crash. A wound too deep to ride through. If your steed is lost, you fall. And if no one reaches for you, you stay fallen. Others are near, and their Nightmares still run. All of you have a terrible dread in your bones— if you are caught or left behind, the consequences will be dire. You might not even wake up. So, call out. Cling. Climb. Share. Two Vessels on one mount. Anything to survive and flee as the dreamscape tightens its wrathful grip around you.

Sleep calls inside your spine. You can't make out what She says. One answers, the same blur of garbled words in your marrow. And then, just before the dream can take you, just before you reach an exit— you rise.

Your body lifts from the Nightmare as it paddles the air with desperation, it too rising. You're pulled upward, weightless, as if a thread inside your heart has been yanked by a furious god. You float, twist in the air. Your vision glows white.

We've got you.

And then you wake up— mid-air in the waking world.

Your body slams into your bed, floor, street, soil, wherever it was that you had slept. Reality greets you with terrible impact.

NOTES

• If a character does not find a mount in time, they may be caught in the dream collapse. They still wake— but they wake broken. These characters may wake up bruised, disoriented, or emotionally fragmented, and this can be explored in the next waking world event.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Any Tether they feel becomes unstable—splintered. For brief moments, they feel it breaking and re-forming again and again, with slight differences each time.
• The more emotionally charged they are, the more the dream pulls toward them; tendrils snap faster, debris veers unnaturally close.
• Their body flickers with signs of their own magic—sigils, symbols, runes— burning just beneath the surface of their skin like constellations. These glow brighter as the dream collapses, as if trying to tear free.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Where Offerings are grazed or injured, they bleed light, not red. It floats up like mist.
• They hear One's heartbeat, not theirs, and it speeds in panic. It affects their own pulse, the mare under them . . .
• The Nightmare no longer follows the Offering's will—it will respond to their fear instead.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's third TDM, which doubles as the month's gamewide event!
➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible when they wake up.
➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options, Token or Offering to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.
➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
➤ Veteran players, I ask to please refrain from making post-event threads for the time being! We have some important information to take into account in next month's event when characters are slated to "wake up". At the very least, please wait for the information to be offered on the next plotting post. Thank you everyone for your patience!
➤ Please comment on the TDM's INVITE TL if you are a new player interested in joining the game, but don't yet have an invite. Current players or the mod may reach out to extend an invite. Once you've got one, please don't forget to comment on the Invite page so you may properly link it in your reserve and app.
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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Comments

[demoon]

( A bright smile in the face of danger combined with a clear knowledge and skill in handling himself? Immediately, Shinya comes to mind— and maybe it's the fresh memories of the earlier layers of this dream that has Guren even distracted by that comparison. He quickly stomps that down, busy guiding a directing hand against the side of the neck of this mare to narrowly avoid more collapsing scenery of the dream. )

Don't thank me yet.

( At least with the realization that this guy is capable enough, Guren feels confident in loosening his grip around his waist. Like this, he can lean better as needed, either forward or to each side, and trust that Caelus stays on the beast along with him. )

Any tips on where to guide this thing?

( There are two options for that casual smile and comfort: either this guy is strong enough to act this way in any situation, or he's been here long enough to be vaguely familiar with what's going on. ...Or both. He guesses both could be an option. )

[trashblaze]

Don't be modest and accept my feelings, brother.

[ Joking… Caelus laughs shortly, trying to lighten the mood despite the destruction going on around them. But after this, he turns around to focus on what's ahead of them. This new friend appears to be a good horse rider, or at least it seems that way so far. That means the trailblazer can focus on aiding to protect them as they make their way through this.

Caelus lifts an arm to point to a certain direction, indicating the open rift in the distance, the edge of the dream. It's quite a way there, but it's the only exit. ]

You see that? That's where we need to go. Also! "Thing" is kind of cold! You haven't named your friend? I can ask its original name, if you want.

[ It's actually a temporary offer too, while Caelus's original abilities aren't disabled, as they only work within dream spaces like this one. Sleep takes them away in the waking world, so he won't be able to converse with the Nightmare later on. But it doesn't matter if the young man prefers to give it a new name. ]

[demoon]

Pass.

( He bats back that joke with a flat one of his own, seemingly used to this sort of banter mid-action. Even still, his eyes flick up to follow the direction of Caelus' pointing arm, a gentle tug on his mare's mane indicating the direction. He thought as much, but it's nice to have confirmation: that is an exit. Her shadowy hooves press off of crumbling sidewalks and streets to carry them forward, and Guren leans forward with it, urging Caelus to do the same. )

Do you normally name your friends?

( It's a joke of a question; rest assured, Guren would have called anyone or anything this thing in the context here. His hand is gentle enough to indicate a stronger bond with this horse than he'd be willing to outwardly admit, and her own lack of distaste for his words shares a similar viewing on her side, at least. She doesn't take offense.

Still, after a bit of pause, and by the time they dodge past a car launching towards them that certainly shouldn't be, he speaks again. )

Go ahead, if you want. ( He does want to know, genuinely. He also is curious to see what Caelus means to do in order to figure that out. He just has to sound aloof about it. Appearances and all, you know. )

[trashblaze]

Ugh! My heart can't go on. Just leave me here…

[ This is obviously a continuation because the younger man is playing along. Please don't actually leave him here. He'll probably die. From this collapsing dream? Maybe. From the heartbreak? Yes. Because in his eyes, they're already friends now. Not that it'll stop him even if the sentiment is rejected. He's determined to make the connection real. ]

Well, sometimes I do, but people really love to give me names! Just earlier today, someone already named me Star.

[ Oh, speaking of names… ]

Right. I'm Caelus, by the way. The Galactic Baseballer! Nice to meet you!

[ While this stupid conversation is going on, Caelus is paying attention to their surroundings. Whenever there's flying debris heading their way, he puts up a shield of fire with one hand, perfectly deflecting each one. He goes on with the talk, this time asking the Nightmare. ]

Lovely friend, what's your name?

[ It may seem like he's speaking normally, but his speech is actually naturally attuned to creatures because of his nature. So animals and other critters hear him perfectly in their language. When the Nightmare responds with some neighs, he listens. ]

Hm, hm. Okay. She's called Astraea!

[demoon]

...Galactic Baseballer.

( The words fall from Guren's lips in slow repeat, dubious at best. This guy's cheery enough he could see him as some kind of baseball star (and could understand calling him Star all the same), sure, but the way he's reacting to these debris projectiles tells Guren that he's trained in combat. Not just trained, but proficient in a way that tells of experience. Currently, this guy doesn't seem like a threat, but that doesn't mean he isn't— and that means Guren is currently wrestling with thoughts in his mind as to whether he should keep his own combat abilities disguised or not. What would benefit him the most?

His speech interrupts those thoughts, as Guren watches the way the mare responds in kind. Normal words, but there's no doubt that she responds to it. Astraea, huh. )

And what kind of baseball games require that you speak to horses? Or is that just a hobby of yours.

( Suspicion never dies. Honestly, he's not even sure if he should bother saying his name, but something about the way the horse neighs next tells him she's encouraging him to, and he breathes out a quiet sigh from behind Caelus, resigned. )

I'm Guren. I think I'll stick to the names you already have.

( That's as good of a nice to meet you, too as it can get. The exit continues to shift, it seems. Further away, in slightly different spots, obscured by wreckage one moment and visible the next, like an impossible hope. He leaves the clearing of attacks hurled their way to Caelus, and focuses on trying to encourage this mare to move quicker, to push harder, to get them out. )

[trashblaze]

Nothing to do with it, I just really like baseball.

[ Suspicious? If anything, Caelus is too honest to a fault. His aura is bright, and his smile is clear; the way he carries himself is with confidence, and there's no hesitation in his gestures. This is who he really is. When the younger man says his name, Caelus looks back at him for a split second to acknowledge it. He smiles once more, bursting with life. ]

That's fine, just call me Caelus… Guren!

[ He doesn't look back for long, considering their situation, so he returns to facing forward in the next second. He recasts the shield of fire whenever necessary, remaining calm and concentrated on the task as Astraea keeps sprinting ahead. ]

By the way, we don't have much time to talk, but I can still answer some questions while we have the chance.

[demoon]

...

( Bright, sunny, enough to be irritating on the eyes. But that smile seems to reach further than the smilers he knows, and that's something that earns at least a bit of a pause in Guren. With a soft and judgmental huff, he speaks rudely: )

I get it. You're just an idiot.

( The fondness is behind the cruelty, not that he advertises it. His gaze is as flat as his tone, but the whole reason he gave his name in the first place is because there was something in that smile that seemed trustworthy enough. Longterm? Couldn't say for sure. But idiots (sorry) are easy to predict, and that includes himself. He's the idiot who offered his hand to a stranger in the middle of all this chaos, after all. He guesses he's in good company.

A little exhausted, his shoulders sag as the nightmare presses on, and the world continues to unravel around them. City bends with time itself, but Guren is busy thinking of how to best use their time here. This effortless use of ability and navigation of such a wild dreamscape tells Guren enough— this guy isn't as foreign to this as he is, right?

It seems that way, anyway. )

Can you give me a rough summary? ( Asking individual questions sounds tiring, so if he can avoid it, he's going to. ) Of everything you know about this place.

[trashblaze]

[ Ohh, Caelus can hear the softness in that voice. What a tsundere!! He can't help but cheerfully laugh where he's seated, even as he continues to deflect the various debris in the air. In another situation, without the environment collapsing around them, the trailblazer would've turned around and pinched this guy's cheeks shamelessly.

True enough, a certified open book right here. Both of them. ]

That's crazy.

[ The story is too long! But, all right. Caelus will make a scuffed version. ]

Once upon a time, a god named Sleep said, "I want to shove some random blessings onto some random organisms. And I'll curse the moon while I'm at it." Surprise, it all went badly. Now there's a zombie apocalypse, and even the flora and fauna are mutants.

The world turned to hell, and the locals who used to live in Manhattan are all gone. Just zombies now, called Hosts. People from other worlds, called Vessels— that's me and the others who got chosen by Sleep— find themselves waking up in that abandoned city.

Life is terrible. I'm constantly hungry. Sleep keeps bothering us. All we want to do is go home. The end.

Oh, and these dreams are Sleep's way of drawing in new people to toss into her wild amusement park. Start praying she doesn't choose you when you get out of here. You'll know right away if you're chosen. But if you're not, then you'll find yourself back home as if this were all a bad dream.

[demoon]

( Other worlds? Manhattan?

So, either another world has New York and fell into the end, or he's just somehow ended up on the other side of the same planet. For a moment, he seriously considers both options, eyes focused around Caelus and to their destination. Fingers still grip around and at Astraea's mane reassuringly, guiding her with gentle pushes and taps to avoid as the debris flings more intensely towards them.

Really, he arrives fairly quickly on the idea that this has to be some other place. Nothing aligns right— and not in the way that nothing aligns right with Mahiru messing with things. It's a different sort of not right. Zombies instead of vampires, Manhattan instead of Shibuya, blessings instead of demons, sleep instead of a virus. The breath that he lets out isn't audible around the chaos surrounding them, but Caelus may still gather that it was rather close to a laugh. )

You're shit at this.

( Tsundere indeed... He gets the idea, and shockingly, it's in a modern enough way that he gets it rather well, too.

But what does he do if his reality upon waking up is just as bad, if not worse, than the stuff going on here? He stares ahead, the intensity of his emotions spurring on more aggressive destruction in their wake. )

I don't know, though. You aren't really giving the impression that things are all that bad with the way you act.

( Is that a tease? Maybe. It's just also banter, as he tries to get them out of here safely. Dream or not... )

[trashblaze]

Nah, I'm the best!

[ Hey, hey. Caelus heard that cute sound! He knows a laugh when he hears it!! Clearly, his storytelling is approved!

And this is merely a scuffed version. Imagine the full version… There's still specific stuff that Caelus didn't mention, because he doesn't feel the need to burden this young man with those details in case he doesn't make it to Sleep's Manhattan. For now, those are enough.

Oh, but he will mention this one. It's important enough for a heads-up. ]

By the way, do you have powers of any kind? If you end up in the waking world here, you'll lose them, so be prepared for that. We can only use them in dreamscapes like this one.

[ So… Caelus can use his abilities right now, but he won't be able to do this later on in Manhattan. ]

Sleep replaces them with something else. The blessings I mentioned.

[ As for his cheerfulness, it's simple. He takes a second to glance back, beaming. ]

What can I say? I just don't want to lose to Sleep, that's all.

[demoon]

( Powers, huh. He glances down at Caelus' back as they ride, his hands still firm on their grip at his new partner's mane. What does that mean? He still has a demon, his cursed gear, but his sword is suspiciously missing from this dream, even if he can heal himself. And he still has only heard so much from Mahiru. They were going to figure that out, weren't they? His friends, and...

Caelus is looking back at him now, and Guren answers with a flat stare back, like a rock. Guarded, because of course he is. But is it more for himself, or for those around him? )

I'm just your average high schooler. ( Flat, clearly sarcastic. He doubts that's going to fly here, if so much is happening, anyway. He's already shown reactions that prove he's not that, so it's just joking. ) Are there a lot of people with "powers" that get pulled in by Sleep?

[trashblaze]

[ Guarded for protection, calm despite the situation, and the aura of someone who went through a lot? Yeah, Caelus can tell that's surely a joke. He simply continues smiling as a response. ]

Yes. We're all from different worlds and universes. There are a lot of people from Earth, I noticed. But it's not always the same Earth. The Manhattan here is the same way.