A Dream She Refuses to Own
She let out a long breath.
This dream again.
She knew she was dreaming. She had never learned how to lucid-dream, but she had seen this one hundreds of times already. Whether she wanted to or not, she always recognized it for what it was.
In the dream, she lived out the life of a woman who held a strange office in an organization called the Demonic Cult — a Guardian Lion. The first time she had dreamed it, she had no idea what race the woman belonged to, and it had unnerved her. After enough nights of careful observation, she had figured it out: Terran.
Murim — a world of bizarre powers called martial arts — was not kind to women. Half-blooded with the people they called Westerners, the woman was treated as little more than a freakish monster in that place.
I know the whole plot by heart now.
Like a panorama, the woman's youth and middle age unspooled at high speed. Then she met a man, and the dream's pace slowed to a crawl.
A young man named Jincheon. He did not find her strange. He fell for her at first sight. Despite the enormous difference in their ages, they fell in love — and became lovers in every sense of the word.
After that, an unexpected disaster forced them apart so that she could save him. When they reunited, the man had grown strong enough to protect her instead.
Don't come in! These feelings aren't mine!
She clenched her teeth and shouted against the wave of emotion crashing through her — the woman's emotions, flooding into her as if they belonged to her.
—Jinrang.
—Jinrang?
—Jinrang~
—Jinrang……
—Jinrang!
—Jinrang♥
The mere sight of the man she loved filled the woman with happiness and delight. The problem was that those feelings transferred to her as well.
Get out! I don't want to know the feelings of some piece of trash who can only live by clinging to a man!
She loathed and rejected every emotion she felt. She had built her own success with her own two hands. But this woman found supreme bliss in having a man put a collar on her like a pet. She had the ability to stand on her own, and yet she chose to become a man's possession — and called that happiness.
Why?! Why do I have to dream the life of trash like you?! Why?!
She could not understand it. Why did she have to dream of this worthless woman? Why did the woman's feelings try to force their way into her, as if the dream's subject were herself?
Hold on……! Just a little longer and the dream will end……!
She had endured this hundreds of times. She knew the dream was nearing its end. In Murim terms, it always finished with them building a great house in a place like the Peach Blossom Spring and living there together.
But today was different.
—I'm sorry……. For leaving Jinrang behind and going first…… I'm sorry……. I'm sorry for dying happy alone…….
"Kh—!"
At the end of her lifespan, on the brink of death, the woman stroked the man's face with a hand wrinkled like crumpled paper.
=…Hayeon…….=
The man who had never lost his composure in any situation now looked ready to weep as he called the woman's name in a broken sob.
She had let her guard down, certain the dream was about to end. The moment the man spoke the woman's name, a sudden, crushing grief buried her whole.
"Aaaaaah!"
She bolted upright.
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"
The woman who had torn free of the dream gasped for air, chest heaving.
"Lights."
At the sound of her voice — a voice that seemed to clear the mind of anyone who heard it — the pitch-dark bedroom flooded with light.
The chamber was large for a single occupant, and every surface was adorned with rare treasures. These were not the crude displays of a newly rich fool. They were priceless pieces, arranged by expert hands so that the room radiated refinement rather than vulgar excess.
The woman revealed by the light issued another command.
"Water."
A compact purifier on the side table filled a glass on a tray. The tray floated over and settled before her. She seized the cup, drained it in several long swallows, and rose to her feet.
Milk-white skin. A body line that held both seductive allure and raw strength. As she straightened, every physical trait of her race stood fully revealed.
First, the snow-white scales covering her arms, thighs, and flanks. Next, hands and feet that looked as if a reptile's had only half-finished becoming human. Then the elegant pair of pure-white horns curving left and right from her brow, the wings, and the tail.
A slender face with fine lines, a fox-like cast to her eyes, a body built on clean, aristocratic proportions — she was the very image of a haughty queen. Her slim frame made the reptilian hands and feet look all the more striking. Anyone who knew her true identity would abandon any thought of challenging her on the spot.
"Open the window."
Ziiing—
At her command, the metal bulkhead directly opposite the bed split open top and bottom. Beyond the window stretched the vastness of space, packed with hundreds of warships and the thousands of support craft that moved beneath them without rest.
Limbs that would move as one at a single word from her. Only when she saw them did she fully accept that she had returned to reality — not the dream.
"Hm?"
She caught a faint reflection of her own face in the glass and brushed her fingertips across the corner of her eye.
"Tears? Ha."
The absurdity of it twisted her mouth into a smile that was equal parts fury and hollow disbelief.
"I cried? Over that idiot woman's dream?"
Rage boiled up, but she considered thrashing about in passion an undignified act. She clenched her fist — then opened it again.
"Hooo……. Fine. Don't waste anger on a fantasy. I don't know why I keep having this dream, but all of it is pure invention."
She had two solid reasons for that certainty.
The first was Terra's history. According to the dream, around the time Terra still used primitive gunpowder weapons, the seeds sown by a man named Jincheon had reshaped the world. Asia, in particular, was all but ruled by the bloodline of the House of Jin. But in the actual history of Terra that she had researched, no such "House of Jin" existed anywhere.
The second was martial arts. Once, she had tried to reproduce the techniques the woman used in the dream. She had matched every sensation as faithfully as she could. She had never felt so much as a flicker of qi.
Those two facts let her declare the dream a product of pure fantasy. And yet—
Then why? It's only a fantasy, but the emotions I feel there land as if they were my own.
With every passing night the dream grew more detailed, and the feelings of its subject pressed harder against the walls of her heart.
And today's dream was stranger still.
It had always ended with them beginning a new life in their private paradise. Today, the story had run all the way to the woman's deathbed.
Beep-beep-beep-beep—
A call came through on her Bio Device. A rectangular hologram bloomed beside her face and displayed the caller's name.
"What is it."
She authorized the link. A brown-skinned alien with antennae at the corners of his mouth flinched and dropped his gaze, sensing her foul mood and shrinking back.
"…I did. I'll prepare. Wait."
She ended the call and walked to her wardrobe. Standing before the full-length mirror, her figure — clad only in a thin negligee — shifted into the image of a woman in a splendid dress.
"Not that feeling today."
She flicked her hand. A China-dress style outfit appeared, cut tight to her body line.
"It's the Grand Assembly we hold once a decade. That looks far too casual."
She spent an hour and fifty minutes swapping clothes and ornaments before she found an ensemble that satisfied her: a pure-white dress of restrained magnificence. Every outfit she had considered had been white at its core, of course.
"Main piece, this. Accessories, these."
Zuuung—
The moment she confirmed the selection, a small camera-like unit above the mirror cast a horizontal beam of light. The reflected garments began to materialize. When dress and ornaments had fully printed, she twisted and turned, inspecting every angle.
"Not bad."
Choosing the clothes had shaken off the last of her sour mood. She stepped out the door with a satisfied smile.
Beyond lay a moderately spacious antechamber. The bodyguards waiting there needed no order. They fell into formation around her with practiced ease, shielding her as she walked. She accepted the escort as her due and made for the conference hall where the Grand Assembly would be held.
At the rear entrance, a middle-aged alien standing guard went in ahead of her.
The murmuring hall fell so silent that even breathing seemed to stop.
Tap. Tap.
She walked toward the splendid seat of the sovereign. The sight of her subordinates bowing in respect filled her with deep satisfaction. Every one of them was a fleet commander — seasoned masters of war who had fought beside her through countless battles. This was the fruit of what she had built with her bare hands. Clear proof that she was no defeated woman who simpered for a man and found happiness in becoming his property.
Only then did the easy smile return to her face. Confirming that all were present, she took the seat that existed for her alone.
"I hereby open the Grand Assembly of the Resili Mercenary Corps. If anyone has a matter of importance, speak first."
At her voice, a powerfully built man whose face looked as if a male lion had been given human genes raised his hand.
"I believe it's about time we changed the name of the mercenary corps."
"Wahahahaha!"
"Hear, hear!"
"Well said, Beyron!"
The other officers roared with laughter and agreement at the words of the man called Beyron. She snorted and shook her head.
"No."
"Naming a corps after yourself is what small-time outfits do! Let's pick something with some style!"
"It is the clearest possible proof that this corps belongs to me."
"That's fine for the commander, but put yourself in our shoes!"
"Exactly! Tyranny!"
"Booo~!"
She smiled at her officers' banter and still refused them without a hint of softness. For all the dignity of the occasion, the Grand Assembly opened in warm camaraderie — and that, too, was one of the reasons she held it.
Communications technology was so advanced that they could report to each other from across the stars and never meet face to face. But real fellowship never took root that way. Only by sitting together, colliding shoulder to shoulder, sharing meals and time, did true camaraderie grow. The Grand Assembly was, in truth, an excuse to gather, eat, and drink. So she laughed off her officers' little tantrums and let them pass.
The Draconian race bitterly hated the forced humanization the Calsorn Empire had inflicted upon them. They had always been a prideful people.
Among the many races the Calsorn Empire had seeded on Earth through the experiments described earlier, dragons had been included. The ancient Draconians could survive, to a degree, even in the void of space. Gathering energy, they would fly out into the cosmos in search of their homeworld. The people of Earth called this the Ascension of Dragons and held it in awe. Those dragons that never ascended either died of old age or fell to human hands.
To return to the point: the prideful Draconians longed to reclaim their original forms. The more dragon-traits a person bore, and the more monochrome and richly saturated their scales, the more they were revered as high blood.
Then, in all of Draconian history, the highest bloodline of all was born.
Scales white as snow. Hands and feet, a tail, horns, and wings — a child born with all of them. After the Calsorn Empire's atrocities, no child had ever come into the world so close to a true dragon.
Treated as a treasure and as the future of the entire race, the child hated every moment of it. She had accomplished nothing on her own. People looked up to her for the single accident of her birth.
And after she began dreaming of a Terran woman who found happiness in becoming a man's possession, she made a vow: she would live by her own strength alone.
Amazingly, once she reached adulthood, she cast away everything that had been given to her and vanished. "Everything" meant from outer garments to underclothes. With money she had earned through part-time work under the pretext of social experience, she bought clothes and a serviceable pistol, boarded a smuggler's ship, and fled beyond Draconian space.
She endured countless hardships. With time, the companions at her side multiplied. Years passed, and when she became the undisputed strongest mercenary commander in the galaxy, people called her this:
White Snow Dragon Emperor, Russelion Iliyan Resili.
A mythic self-made legend who, on personal assets alone — not the corps' — owned more than a dozen planets and fleets of the latest design.
She herself did not know it, but the night the dream's content had suddenly surged forward had been the exact same moment the dimensional gate opened.