Red and blue emergency lights pulsed through the trees, washing over the snow-dusted pines in violent flashes. The hum of engines and static of radios echoed through the forest, growing louder as the security convoy rolled up the hill toward the government-sanctioned cabin.
Five heavily-armored agents stepped out of the lead vehicle, gas masks secured tightly to their faces. Their suits were reinforced, designed specifically for biohazard and quirk containment operations.
"This is Team Fenris," crackled a voice over comms. "Visual on the structure. Purple gas visible—confirming known side effect of Subject Andersson."
"Copy. Proceed with extraction protocol. Neutralize gas."
The team advanced quickly.
At the entrance, one of the operatives stopped and held up a clenched fist.
"Body. Front door."
The others formed a perimeter as the squad leader knelt beside the unconscious form of Pringelina, her large frame twitching slightly, mouth agape in a deep, dream-soaked sleep.
"Not security. Likely Intruder. Unknown status. No visible wounds."
"Quirk-induced coma?" another agent suggested.
"Most likely. Move her out. We'll check vitals once we breach."
They slid her onto a stretcher and passed her back toward the support team. Then the lead agent turned toward the front door.
"Let's clean the air."
Inside the cabin, the smoke was still thick. Not quite as dense as earlier, but enough to fog vision and coil around the lights like living shadows.
The leader tapped a button on his wrist-mounted device.
BEEP.
AIR CLEANSING PROTOCOL – ACTIVATED.
A faint hiss followed, and a second later, vents opened across the ceiling and floor, releasing a powerful gust of air. Simultaneously, deep suction systems activated in the corners of the house, pulling in the tainted atmosphere like a vacuum flushing poison.
The fog began to thin.
Swirling purple gas retreated reluctantly, clawing along the floor before disappearing into the vents.
Within two minutes, the air inside the cabin was clear.
The team fanned out.
They found Sylvi first, collapsed near the couch. Her vitals were stable, but her breathing was slow, her mind trapped in a nightmare.
They placed her on a stretcher with practiced precision.
"Why didn't she activate the air system?" one agent asked, brow furrowed behind his mask.
"She was briefed on the system during assignment," another confirmed. "Standard quirk countermeasure. Takes less than three seconds to deploy."
"Unless she never had the chance," the squad leader said grimly. "Or she didn't expect it to get that bad."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Where's the target?"
They turned.
And there was Laurick Andersson, sitting silently in the corner, knees hugged to his chest.
His eyes were red. Not from crying, but from staring too long into something no one else could see.
The agents didn't move toward him right away.
He wasn't restrained. He wasn't hostile.
He just looked… broken.
One of them stepped forward cautiously. "Laurick? Are you lucid?"
Laurick slowly turned his head toward them.
"I told her they were coming."
His voice was quiet. Flat.
No emotion. No threat.
Just truth.
The squad leader turned on his radio again.
"Subject located. Non-aggressive. Situation stabilized.
Requesting immediate medical evac for one unconscious hero and one unconscious intruder."
He paused.
"No sign of second intruder. Still no trace of Simon."
The mountain wind howled outside as the forest swallowed the last trails of the nightmare smoke.
And far beyond the clearing…
Simon watched.
Hidden in the shadows of the trees.
Expression unreadable.
Eyes wide open.
And finally, he blinked.
The last wisps of purple had vanished into the vents, but the tension clung to the walls like dried blood.
Inside the now-cleared cabin, a team of government technicians accessed the security hub embedded in the wall near the stairwell. The system—a compact unit disguised as a heater control—hummed softly as it powered up.
"Pulling footage from the last six hours," said the lead tech, fingers flying across the touchscreen.
On the screen, the footage began to play:
- Sylvi making tea.
- Laurick sitting in silence.
- Smoke beginning to form…
And then—
Simon.
Captured in perfect resolution as he stepped into the house.
No hesitation. No gas mask.
"Pause. Zoom in."
The camera zoomed into Simon's face—calm, analytical, his eyes scanning the nightmare fog like a man walking through a museum.
"Run a match," the tech said.
Within seconds, the system pulled up a profile.
Name: Simon Adalbjørn
Quirk: Oneiric Immunity
Affiliations: Unknown
Known for: Immunity to dream-based attacks. No known registered employment. Suspected mercenary ties.
The tech glanced at the squad leader.
"Confirmed intruder. And from the footage… he knew what this place was."
The leader crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "And he didn't come alone."
"We've already confirmed the woman—Pringelina. Her quirk fits the gas-induced collapse. She's still under sedation. No ID on her yet, but she's not local."
The room fell quiet for a moment.
Then the squad leader looked over his shoulder—toward the corner where Laurick still sat, small and silent, arms wrapped tightly around his knees.
"Let's focus on stabilizing the asset."
Laurick didn't flinch as the agents approached.
His eyes remained vacant, but his breathing had started to steady. Whatever storm had torn through him earlier… it was fading. Replaced with something quieter. Not peace—just exhaustion.
One of the younger agents, a woman with a softer voice, crouched down next to him.
"Laurick," she said gently, "we know you've had a rough night. But it's over now. We're here."
He blinked slowly.
"We saw everything on the cameras. You didn't do anything wrong. You did your best."
Still, no response.
Then she smiled—kind, but not fake.
"You've got something special coming tomorrow. A gift. Something to help with the dreams."
Laurick's eyes twitched slightly. "A gift?"
"Mm-hmm," she nodded. "A real Dreamcatcher. Not the ones you buy in souvenir shops. The real thing. Quirk-engineered. Built to intercept and dissolve nightmare energy before it reaches your mind."
He stared at her. "Those are… rare. Expensive."
"We know. But you're worth protecting, Laurick."
He didn't smile.
But he looked away for the first time.
And that, for now, was enough.
Somewhere deep in the woods...
The wind howled across the frozen trees. Snow whipped through the air in sheets, cutting visibility down to a blur.
Simon stood alone beneath the crooked limbs of a gnarled pine, arms crossed, coat flapping.
He wasn't smiling.
"Way too close," he muttered to himself.
He leaned against the trunk, eyes fixed on the distant glow of Dausa's edge, far below.
"Something was off. Not just the kid… not the gas either."
He touched the side of his neck absentmindedly.
"That thing I saw… in the reflection…"
He shivered—but not from the cold.
His breath fogged the air as he looked up at the cloudy, starless sky.
"Next time, I'm not going in blind."
The morning sky over Dausa was still gray, but calmer than the chaos of the night before. Snow had fallen gently in the early hours, blanketing the roads in fresh silence, as if trying to erase what had happened.
But some things couldn't be covered so easily.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dausa Prison – Detainment Wing
Inside a cold, reinforced holding cell, Pringelina sat with her arms folded across her chest. Her scarf had been confiscated, her breath was shallow, and she looked much less confident without her signature rhythm of deep inhalation.
Two guards stood outside the cell, watching her through thick glass.
Inside, a team of investigators prepared for her first round of questioning. They already knew the basics—unauthorized entry, suspected assassination attempt, coma-inducing exposure to restricted quirk zones. But what they didn't know was the why.
And who she was really working for.
"Still not talking?" one officer asked.
"Not a word," the other replied. "But she muttered something in her sleep last night. One word: 'orders.'"
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dausa Recovery & Hero Support Clinic
In a sterile white room, Sylvi sat in a cushioned chair across from a psychiatrist. Her eyes were tired, ringed by sleeplessness, but her posture was composed.
The doctor scribbled something on a notepad.
"Tell me what you saw."
Sylvi hesitated. "I was… inside a hallway. Mirrors. Every version of me. Some broken. Some dead. All accusing."
She swallowed hard.
"It wasn't just fear. It felt… personal. Designed to unravel you. Like the nightmare knew exactly where to hit."
The doctor studied her.
"And how do you feel now?"
She didn't answer right away. Then:
"Weak."
He wrote something down again. "You were exposed to a class-C quirk-based sleep agent. That reaction is expected. The question is whether you're ready to resume duty."
Sylvi looked away.
"I want to be ready. But I don't think I am yet."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Government Safehouse – Bjørnevika
Back at the cabin, the scene had changed.
Three new heroes now patrolled the property—each one handpicked by the Hero Association of Norway to take over protective duties while Sylvi recovered.
The first stood tall and quiet, leaning against the cabin wall. He wore a matte-black coat with silver trim, and a circular emblem glowed faintly on his back—like a void staring back.
Vegar Magnus, Hero Name: Destalio.
Quirk: Blackstorage
He checked his wrist, where an obsidian ring pulsed gently.
"Secure perimeter," he said into his communicator. "No visual disturbances."
The second hero practically buzzed with energy. She paced around the outside of the cabin like a caged flame.
Hilde Akselsen, Hero Name: Flammejenta.
Quirk: Hellfist
"Can't believe I'm stuck on guard duty," she grumbled, cracking her knuckles. "They say this kid's a bomb. I say we keep him from lighting the fuse."
The third sat cross-legged on the porch, fingers dancing through the air in front of him like he was strumming invisible strings.
Brynjar Paul Oliverson, Hero Name: My Gig.
Quirk: Air Tool
He played an air-guitar solo with flourish, and from the air came the sound of an actual, perfectly played rock riff. The porch wood vibrated with the echo.
"You two need to lighten up," he said with a grin. "This kid's not a villain. He's a kid who's been through hell. Let him breathe."
Inside the cabin, Laurick sat at the window, watching all three of them from behind the glass.
He looked tired. Still distant. But no longer panicking.
And beside him, on the table, was a strange object: sleek, crystalline, and pulsing faintly with a blue glow. Tiny wires and quirk-tech inscriptions wrapped its surface like veins.
The Dreamcatcher had arrived.
And tonight, for the first time in twelve years, Laurick might sleep without waking in terror.