Chapter 133: Dreams

***

The inaugural Solstice Manor Tesserae Championship concluded successfully.

The main reason for its conclusion was that the other three players could not stomach continuing.

Watching the Sovereign rest his head against the flat abdomen of the Frost Empress, the trio wore identical expressions of profound resentment.

It was somehow more unbearable than losing all their money...

Elder Tiberius reminded Theo to visit the Solarian Forge soon before ending this frivolous pastime.

Sylvia was left with a colossal mountain of debt.

Though Theo had no intention of making his mentor repay it, her academic stipend was already wiped out.

If they kept playing, she would have to pawn her Oracle robes...

With too few players left, the Pontifex sighed reluctantly.

"I suppose I will have to play in my dreams again."

"You can control your own dreams?" Theo asked, gathering the ivory tiles.

"A trivial skill, really. Do not forget I am an Exarch of the Seventh Realm," the Pontifex sniffed, looking rather smug. "Memory is the root of dreams. Somnus’s influence is pervasive, so to ensure I do not lose control even in my sleep, I developed a secret art. Aside from traversing the dreams of others, I can shape my own."

"Well? Do you want to learn it?"

Theo was merely intrigued by the peculiar art. But for Liana, mastering it could be a matter of life or death against the Primeval Aurora.

"Teach us, and I will forgive your Tesserae debts."

"...this technique is not easy to learn. But since you are sincerely begging, I will humor you."

***

Half an hour later...

The expression on the ancient Exarch’s face cycled quickly through:

*"Not bad, but needs practice"*; *"Hmm, you have some talent"*; and finally,

*"Who am I? What is my purpose? Why do I even exist?"*

Muttering to herself in an existential crisis, the Pontifex retreated to her guest room.

Theo stood and glanced at the sky. Evening had fallen. The sky was vast and cloudless, with a bright moon hanging halfway over the snowy peaks.

Turning back, he saw Liana sitting bathed in moonlight. Her features were half-lit, half-shadowed as she quietly flipped through an ancient tome.

"The moon is beautiful tonight," Theo said smoothly.

"It is," Liana glanced up and nodded.

Theo smiled. During their Aetheric Resonance sessions, the two had developed a tacit understanding.

As everyone knew, when the moon shone brightly, the lunar essence was abundant... making it the perfect excuse for intimate meditation.

It had been a while since they last admired the moon together.

Cultivation required tireless effort; how could they slack off?

"I will wait for you in your room," Theo whispered.

"Why my room?" Liana tilted her head.

"...?!?" Theo froze. *Was this not about Aetheric Resonance?*

Then he noticed the mischievous curve of the Empress’s lips, her moonlit eyes glinting with amusement.

"Tonight, I wish to study the Dream Weaver technique so I can finally untangle the threads of my forgotten past and ensure our total victory against the encroaching abyss, be good."

"Fine..."

Theo could not resist that gentle tone, but his disappointment at missing out on lunar meditation was palpable as he trudged back to his room.

Oh well... He still had several Archon-tier combat formations to grind through in the *Abyssal Forge*.

Watching his lonely figure ascend the stairs, Liana pressed her lips together, lingering a moment longer before rising.

The moment she opened her chamber door, she heard tossing from across the hall and sighed inwardly.

She closed the door softly. By the moonlight, Liana retrieved the Dream Weaver manual.

*"Day’s thoughts shape night’s dreams."*

Indeed, the art was not about freely controlling dreams from scratch... at least not at her current cultivation level.

Only an Exarch like the Pontifex could play Tesserae in her sleep. Instead, the technique relied on planting suggestions in one’s mind, allowing the dream to shift based on those thoughts.

Liana began recalling fragments of her past life.

After her rebirth, most memories were clear, except for those shrouded by the Abyss.

She needed to understand why she had failed.

And Aurelia... she wanted to speak with the Primeval again.

If she could control her dreams, perhaps she could force another encounter.

As these thoughts swirled, drowsiness crept over her—

[Reminder: Imperial Tournament countdown — 29 days remaining.]

[Penalty this cycle: Plant forty-nine marks of devotion on the victor’s neck.]

[To properly motivate the host, relevant visual stimuli will now play automatically.]

"...?"

The last image flashing behind Liana’s eyelids as she drifted off was not the Primeval Aurora.

It was a high-definition montage ripped directly from the degenerate imagination of that "paragon of virtue," Theo!

...

That night, in the dreams of a certain ancient cult founder...

"Pontifex, you are incredible!"

"An Imperial Decree! Even with these tiles?!"

"All hail the Founder, peerless in skill!"

Amidst the flattery at the Tesserae table, Pontifex Valerius’s gaze drifted to the window.

Outside stood the magnificent First Empire.

In this vision, her holy sect oversaw the harmony of the world, managing the vast power of mortal faith in an age of prosperity.

"Master, I will be as great as you one day."

The Pontifex turned to see a child of five or six, his eyes brimming with innocence and admiration.

"Silvanus, you will need to work very hard," she patted his head, smiling gently, but her heart deeply ached.

Silvanus... was now but a handful of dust in a ruined tomb.

This dream now crumbled like sand in the wind. As reality encroached, the illusion reached its end.

The Pontifex sighed softly.

Each bubble represented the dream of someone within Solstice Manor...

This was her other secret art: Dreamwalking. She could traverse countless dreams and even step into them.

*Hmmm?*

Suddenly, she paused before one particularly radiant bubble. Its hues were like condensed moonlight, but it was tinged with a glowing pink.

"This is... Liana’s dream?"

Curiosity sparked brightly in the ancient Exarch’s eyes.

What kind of dream would someone so aloof, cold, and serene possibly have?