His mouth hung open at Starila's words. He tried to calm himself, but his thoughts kept spiralling, dragging him deeper into madness. Suddenly, laughter burst from his lips—raw, broken, almost inhuman. Eyes wide, hands clutching his face, he sat on the cold ground, staring upwards. There was no sky above him, only an endless, suffocating black.
"Why are you laughing?" Starila asked, a playful smile curving her lips.
Shiro's laughter faded as he looked at her, eyes glinting with a strange light. "This is unbelievable," he whispered. "A story where I'm the protagonist… and it's all just a dream. If you think about it, isn't that interesting? Hahaha…"
Starila threw her head back and laughed, sharp and echoing in the dark. She tried to calm herself, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, then leaned closer with a dark smile, her gaze turning cold and merciless.
"Yes, indeed, it is interesting," she purred. "But let's make it even more fun. You'll only have ten lives in that dream. Die ten times… and you'll die for real." Her smile widened into a grin. "How does that sound? Interesting… or terrifying? Hahaha…"
As those words slipped from Starila's lips and reached Shiro's ears, his laughter died instantly. It was as if all his senses shut down at once. A cold dread crept through his body, goosebumps prickling across his skin.
With trembling lips, he looked at her and whispered, "You… you're kidding, right?"
Starila's smile only deepened. She floated closer, her breath brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Oh, but I haven't even revealed the best part yet… and you're already so scared."
She began to circle him slowly, her form gliding through the thick white fog that curled around his seated figure. As she moved, her voice slithered into his ears, cold and mocking.
"Every injury you suffer in your dream world… you'll feel it here too," she purred. "Imagine it—your hands getting sliced off, your body slashed open by a blade. You'll feel every cut, every burn, every break… right here in your real body. Isn't that so much more fun?"
Shiro's eyes widened with horror as her words sank deep into his mind. Desperation filled his chest. He slapped his face hard, again and again, trying to wake himself up.
"This isn't real," he muttered, his voice shaking. "I'm on Earth. This is just a dream. It has to be a dream. I need to wake up… I need to wake up."
But no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried to force himself awake, nothing changed. His efforts were useless. Hopelessness washed over him like ice water, and in that moment, he realised—
There was no waking up from this nightmare.
Starila started laughing again as she floated around Shiro, her eyes glimmering with dark amusement. Leaning closer, she whispered in a clear, taunting voice:
"What happened to that Shiro who wanted to be the protagonist of a story? Didn't you say, before you fell asleep, that you wished you were the hero of your tale? And now… look at you. Why so scared of a story without plot armor, without safety from death? Did you think you could die in a 'real' story and just wake up fine?"
She drifted to his ear again, her words like poison dripping into his mind.
"Plot armor is just a lie authors use so their precious main characters stay alive. So readers don't get bored when no one is left to follow. But this… this is a real story, Shiro. A real-life story inside a dream. No one's watching. No one's reading. You're all alone here. And in this world, you're no hero—you're just another ordinary soul. You won't move for others' sake. You'll walk forward only for yourself… for your survival."
A deep fear twisted in Shiro's chest as he watched her floating around him, her presence suffocating. Gritting his teeth, he glared up at her.
"I've had enough of your… chit-chat," he said, his voice shaking but laced with desperate determination. "I'll end you here. If you're gone, then there's no story for me to be trapped in."
Starila's laughter burst out, echoing eerily through the fog. Her eyes gleamed with devilish delight as she tilted her head at him.
"You think so?" she purred. "How fascinating. But sorry to crush your tiny hope… could you please look around you, just for a moment?"
Shiro's heart pounded as he glanced down. The thick white fog curled around his legs and arms like living chains. His eyes widened with horror. He was bound—tightly, completely by the very fog that had surrounded him since the start.
Shiro's heart pounded as he looked down, seeing himself bound tightly by the swirling fog.
"How the hell did this happen?" he whispered, panic rising in his chest. "Why… why didn't I notice anything?" His voice trembled. "I… I didn't even feel it when this fog wrapped around me…"
Starila floated closer until her tiny hands touched the tip of his nose, her smile playful and cruel.
"You were so focused on your fear that you didn't even pay attention to the fog," she said with a mocking tilt of her head. "You are the funniest—and dumbest—protagonist out of the 709 stories I've had."
Shiro's eyes widened further as he struggled against the bindings, glaring at her with rage and terror.
"I'm… the 709th person to fall into your trap?" he choked out. "That means… you've already taken 708 lives before me. You're… you're a demon."
Starila's smile only widened, her eyes glinting with amusement.
"You think so too?" she said softly. "The 708 before you thought the same. From your point of view, yes, I'm a demon. But I'm only doing my job." Her tone shifted to calm seriousness as she continued, "I'm just a myth, remember? You lot made me. I'm only doing what you wished for."
She floated around him slowly, her gaze piercing into his soul. "Look, I can make you a protagonist. I can give you a world, a story, a purpose. But I can't give you plot armor. Where's the fun in being a hero without the fear of death? Everything has a price. To experience your story and truly become the protagonist… You must give me your life. I'll give you ten chances to win your soul back. If you succeed, it's yours again. But if you lose… You die."
Shiro's breath came in shaky gasps as he stared up at her, his eyes wide with terror and resignation.
"Okay… alright… I'll do it," he said, his voice low and trembling. "Now please… untie me… will ya?"
Starila burst out laughing, her tiny body trembling with amusement. "Pff—Hahaha… You were never tied, silly," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "It was just an illusion. Go on… try moving."
Shiro stood up effortlessly. He moved his arms and legs, testing his body to confirm no hidden bindings or illusions were restraining him. Satisfied, he turned to Starila, his gaze sharp with curiosity despite the fear still lingering in his eyes.
"What's the story about?" he asked, his voice low but firm. "What's the plot? What genre is it?"
Starila paused, floating before him with a gentle smile. "Tell me," she said softly, "have you ever read a story where the main character knew exactly what their story was about? Where they knew every obstacle they would face, every power they would gain, every twist awaiting them?"
Shiro shook his head. "No… never."
"Exactly." Her smile deepened, eyes glimmering with something unreadable. "Then why would I tell you your story or your future? But," she added with a playful tilt of her head, "I can tell you this: every choice you make will shape the story, leading it toward a different end."
A small flicker of hope lit up in Shiro's chest as he thought to himself:
So… it's like an RPG game with multiple endings. That means… There must be an easy ending, too. There's still a chance to finish the story while saving more lives.
Looking up, he asked seriously, "Does it matter… how many lives I save?"
Starila's smile remained unchanged as she replied simply, "No."
As she watched him, her thoughts drifted with amusement. As I thought… he's thinking just like the others. Treating this like a game with multiple endings. Humans like him—who crave unusual things—always have crazy minds, but they forget to use them.
Shiro noticed her silent smile and narrowed his eyes. "Why are you smiling?"
"Oh… It's nothing," Starila said lightly. She floated closer, her wings softly humming in the silent void. "Alright then," she continued, her tone turning firm, "it looks like you know everything you need to know. You're ready to start."
Panic flared in Shiro's chest. He stepped back, raising his voice desperately. "No! Wait—NO, I'M NOT READY, HEAR ME—I'M NOT REA—"
Before he could finish, Starila raised her hand. A swirling black portal opened behind him, the darkness within pulling at his soul. With a flick of her spell, she pushed him backwards. Shiro fell into the abyss, his scream echoing briefly before it was swallowed by the void.
Watching him disappear, Starila smiled softly to herself.
"I wish you very good luck… Shiro."
••
Shiro found himself sitting on the cold ground. Blinking rapidly, he glanced down at his clothes—they were no longer his comfy home clothes, but instead a dark, fitted outfit that looked like it belonged to a warrior. He raised his hand, curious, and imagined a weapon forming in his grip. In an instant, a sleek katana appeared out of thin air, resting perfectly in his palm.
So this is like a game, he thought, feeling a mix of awe and fear. I can summon and hide my weapon like it's in some kind of imaginary inventory. Cool…
He stood up slowly, brushing dust off his pants, and turned to his left—only for his eyes to widen in horror. An entire army was charging towards him. Mages were chanting spells with glowing staffs while knights on horseback brandished swords, their war cries echoing across the battlefield.
Panic surged through him. He spun around to run the other way—only to find another army charging at him from behind, equally fierce and unstoppable.
Shiro's body trembled as he tightened his grip on his katana. Rage flickered in his eyes as he muttered through clenched teeth, "Starila… you—"
His voice broke into a whisper as cold dread sank into his bones.
"I'm… fu*ked. For real."
•••