In a village nestled between shadowy mountains and the whispering woods, there existed a secret known only to a few. It was a village where people slept peacefully every night, no matter how terrifying the day had been. Their dreams were always sweet, untouched by the claws of nightmares. But not without cost.
At the center of this village stood an ancient tower, where a mysterious figure known as “The Collector” lived. Each night, as the stars shimmered and the moon rose high, The Collector would make their rounds, visiting homes, gently whispering promises to those who feared the dark. For a small price, they would take away your nightmares, leaving only the softest dreams in their place.
For years, people came to The Collector willingly. All they had to give was a single tear, drawn from the deepest well of sorrow they held in their hearts. A simple price, they thought, for peace at night. Mothers offered tears from the memory of their lost children, soldiers from their fallen comrades, and lovers from hearts broken by betrayal. In return, their sleep was as peaceful as a summer breeze.
But there was one villager, a curious boy named Elric, who had never given his tear. His parents had long since sold their sorrow, and so had his friends. They urged him to do the same, to rid himself of the haunting shadows that sometimes crept into his dreams. But Elric was stubborn. He didn’t fear nightmares—he saw them as puzzles to be solved, stories left unfinished.
One cold, sleepless night, the boy’s curiosity got the better of him. He ventured to the tower, hoping to confront The Collector and ask what became of all those tears. As he approached, the air grew heavy, the stars above seemed dim, and the tower loomed darker than he had ever seen it before.
The door creaked open, and there stood The Collector, cloaked in shadow but with eyes that glowed like embers. “You seek answers, boy?” the figure asked in a voice that seemed to echo from far away.
Elric nodded, swallowing his fear. “What do you do with the tears? Where do they go?”
The Collector smiled, a slow and chilling grin. “Come, see for yourself.”
Inside the tower, the walls were lined with glass jars—thousands of them, each holding a shimmering tear. But what caught Elric’s eye was not the jars, but the shadows that slithered between them—creatures made of fear, sorrow, and pain. They twisted and writhed, whispering in a language he couldn’t understand.
“The tears,” The Collector explained, “trap the darkness, the nightmares, within. But it is never destroyed. I keep them safe, contained, so you may sleep soundly.”
Elric shivered, realizing the magnitude of what he was seeing. Every tear, every sorrow, was feeding these creatures, growing them stronger.
“But why?” he asked, voice trembling.
The Collector’s eyes glinted. “Because nightmares have power. They are what make you brave when you face your fears. They are what teach you to overcome despair. Without them, the soul grows soft, weak, and reliant on me. And when all the tears are taken, when there is no more sorrow left to give, I take something far more precious—their courage, their hope, their very will to dream.”
Elric stepped back, horrified. He had seen the villagers—how they seemed peaceful, yes, but hollow. Like a flame snuffed out too soon.
“So, you see, boy,” The Collector whispered, leaning close, “the price is not just a tear. It is everything that makes you human.”
Elric turned and fled from the tower, vowing never to return. He had seen the cost of living without nightmares—the price was far too high. That night, when the shadows in his dreams came to life, he faced them, fought them, and woke up stronger.
And so, while the rest of the village slept in their dreamless haze, Elric became the only one who dared to dream—to face the darkness and come out the other side, not as prey, but as something braver, wiser, and truly alive.