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Sunny was not sure that he was buying what Ananke believed… but at the same time, he couldn't completely discard it.

'Damn Weaver…'

Just why did the creator of the Spell have to be a nebulous and elusive creature, not only surrounded in mystery, but also obsessed with lies? Could there be anyone more untrustworthy? Even though Sunny had inherited Weaver's forbidden Lineage, wore Weaver's Mask, and had a high affinity to fate, which was Weaver's Domain… he still knew close to nothing about the Demon of Fate.

Where had Weaver come from? Who hid behind the fearsome black mask? What motives had guided them? What goals had they pursued?

He shook his head with resignation and looked at Ananke, frowning.

'Whatever. If I can't learn about Weaver, I should at least learn everything else.'

Sunny collected his thoughts before asking the next question.

"Grandmother, you said that the purpose of the Nightmare Spell is to save the future from the doom of the great war between the daemons and the gods. To be honest… I am not entirely sure what that really means. What exactly is that doom? What made the war so terrible?"

The old woman gazed at the flowing expanse of the Great River, lingered for a moment, and sighed.

"It was indeed terrible. Of course, I have not experienced the horror of those days myself. What I do know was passed down to me from my elders, who had… granted, they escaped the war before the end came, so even they didn't know how and why the true devastation happened."

She paused to catch her breath, then continued in her creaky voice:

"No one really knows what resentment pushed the daemons to rise against the gods. It happened soon after the Demon of Desire escaped her chains. The youngest among them, the Demon of Destiny, called upon his siblings to wage war against the heavens… five answered his call, and only the Demon of Fate refused."

Ananke moved the steering oar a little, her frail hand as dark as the polished wood.

"Many blamed the daemons for everything terrible that happened. But, truly, things weren't going well long before their rebellion. Most of the gods had grown… distant, and people quarrelled with each other, forgetting the days when everything stood together against the Corruption. Humans fought against humans, and against other noble creatures.

Followers of War burned the temples of Shadow, and their empire spread, consuming many weaker realms."

Her cloudy eyes were distant, as if the old woman was imagining the wide world that she had never seen or known. She slowly shook her head.

"So, maybe, the great war was merely the result, and not the cause of the end. In any case, the six Demons assembled vast armies and led them against the gods. What was different about that war… was that they were not immediately defeated. After all, there were many lesser deities, but none of them were as feared as the daemons, let alone if six of them united.

Others joined their cause, and even the great gods couldn't defeat such an enemy with ease."

The old woman trembled.

"The war was furious and merciless. Many realms had become battlefields and were devoured by flames. But… the worst was still to come. Because instead of coming to a conclusion, the war only continued to grow fiercer.

Those loyal to the gods took up arms, and in response, the Demons recruited more allies, mortal champions who had suffered the tyranny of the Empire, ancient creatures that had been banished into the darkest corners of the Underworld, and everyone else who bore deep grudges against the divine… even the harrowing nephilim.

Utter madness was unleashed, and soon, there was no place untouched by the war. Everywhere turned into the battlefield."

Ananke glanced at the flowing waters of the Great River and remained silent for a while. Eventually, she said:

"Nowhere was safe. The forests burned, the fields turned to deserts, the rivers dried up. A passing blow from the fighting deities could destroy entire cities. Over time, countless humans were displaced or lost their lives.

That was when we started calling it the Doom War, believing that it would become the end of everything… it was also when Weaver created the Nightmare Spell, and gifted it to us mortals."

Sunny suddenly remembered the Forgotten Shore, and the ruin that had befallen that land when the shining figure fell from the sky. Was that radiant creature one of the soldiers in the dreadful war between the six daemons and the six gods? Was it, perhaps, one of the nephilim?

Or… an actual angel?

If what had happened on the Forgotten Shore was happening all across the Dream Realm, then it was no surprise that the ancient humans there saw it as the end of the world.

Ananke sighed.

"Weaver offered us a path to salvation, but… back then, the Demon of Fate was despised by all, the followers of the gods, the followers of the daemons, and even those who did not want anything to do with the war. We, the priests of the Nightmare Spell, were despised as well. Few listened to us… still, some did. The Nightmare Spell was alluring, after all, even in its infant state."

Sunny tilted his head.

"...Alluring?"

The old woman nodded.

"Of course! It gave its carriers so many abilities. The ability to possess Memories and Echoes, the ability to instantly be able to enter your Soul Sea, awaken your Aspect, be guided on the path of Ascension… the Nightmare Spell promised people who desperately wished for power means to defend themselves."

'Huh…'

So, Weaver was not only the most insidious Demon, but also a devious salesman. The Nightmare Spell was packed with all kinds of boons that desperate people would find irresistible, boons that the humans of the waking world took for granted, since they had nothing to compare them to. No wonder the Spell spread like a plague despite the contemptible reputation of its creator.

"So, what happened then?"

Ananke lingered for a moment.

"The priests of the Nightmare Spell helped it spread, trying their best to bestow its gifts on new carriers. That… was when my elders entered the Tomb of Ariel. We never learned what happened after we left. The war must have turned even more harrowing, somehow, and neither side emerged victorious. Instead, everyone was destroyed. Even the gods perished."

She hesitated.

"...I heard that more Outsiders appeared after the voices of the gods grew silent. Maybe they brought news to the Tomb of Ariel. But by then, we were already chased far upstream, so we never met them."

The old woman's voice grew wistful as she said:

"By now, most of them must have been consumed by the Defilement. My Lord… perhaps you can learn more if you speak to Dusk of Fallen Grace. She is one of the sybils, after all. She must know more than a humble exile like me does…"