Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 408

**Chapter 408 – Dream Trap**
*Conqueror Sea, Nawah’s northern shoreline*

Night had settled over Nawah. In a modest, dimly lit house near the coast, Garcia sat upright in a stiff-backed chair, her face shadowed in stern contemplation. The flickering lamplight couldn’t soften the tension in her gaze as she mulled over the Glorious Church fleet’s suspicious behavior since their arrival. Her expression reflected deep unease—these outsiders had unsettled her.

Their sudden presence was more than just unexpected—it felt calculated. Though they claimed to be engaged in routine refugee aid, the signs hinted at something less benign beneath the surface.

“Yes, ma’am, I see your point. The fleet did behave oddly at the docks yesterday afternoon. They may very well be pursuing… let’s say… less conventional goals here in Nawah. Still, from everything I’ve seen, I doubt we’re their actual target.

“They’ve brought the Knights of Holy War—purely military escorts—not the Inquisition’s trackers. Their vessels genuinely carry civilians. If this were an investigative mission, their setup would look very different. Strange as yesterday’s harbor activity was, I suspect it doesn’t concern us directly.”

Joe stood across from her, sharing his thoughts calmly. Unlike Garcia, he didn’t view the fleet’s presence as an immediate threat. The stirrings at the harbor could’ve easily been incidental.

“You’re underestimating the risk, Joe,” Garcia replied, her tone clipped. “Even if the Inquisition didn’t come themselves, any operation involving the Church and its arcane dealings warrants our full attention. What if this is all camouflage? What if they already know we’re here?

“I’ve received reports that Church members were actively combing through parts of the coastline and scouring Nawah itself earlier today. Doesn’t that sound like they’re searching for something? These fanatics are moving strangely. If things go sideways, we need to be ready to defend the *Cocoon*.”

She watched Joe closely as she spoke. Her words were firm, brimming with urgency. Joe’s expression darkened at her mention of the daytime search efforts.

“They’re actually combing the area?” he muttered, brow furrowed. “That does change things… Still, Lady Garcia, I don’t believe we need to rush into any drastic countermeasures. Not yet. Let’s not exhaust our resources unless the danger proves real.”

He paused, then added, “No need to panic before we’re certain of their intentions.”

Garcia didn’t interrupt. She studied Joe for a moment, then asked evenly, “So what would you suggest instead?”

Joe took a breath and spoke with confidence. “Let’s use the *Dream Drain* on them. Slip into their dreams and learn firsthand why they’re here. If they *are* after us, we’ll know and respond instantly. If not, we avoid unnecessary exposure.

“The *Cocoon*’s strength now allows us to deploy the *Dream Trap* safely. Dreams don’t lie, and these zealots won’t even realize someone’s sifting through their thoughts.”

He laid out his idea in full. Garcia tapped a finger against her knee thoughtfully.

“That makes sense… but there’s a complication. To initiate the *Dream Trap*, you need to be physically close to the target. Those cultists are dug in around the port, surrounded by security. Getting near them unnoticed is no easy task. How would you manage that?”

Joe’s reply came quickly. “It’s not as hard as it seems, ma’am. Sure, the port is locked tight, but they’re not stuck there around the clock. Many of them venture into the city. We make our move then.”

Garcia raised an eyebrow. “I’m aware they come ashore, but only during *daylight*, yes? And under daylight, sleep comes slowly—the *Dream Trap* loses most of its potency. Come nightfall, they’re all back on their ships.”

“Not all of them,” Joe countered, his lips curling into a faint grin. “There’s one spot in the city that draws quite a few even after sundown. Some of them linger there deep into the night. That’s when we strike.”

That caught Garcia’s interest. “And where exactly is this place?”

…

Night progressed swiftly. The final remnants of sunlight faded from the sky, and Nawah sank into complete darkness.

Dinner hours passed uneventfully. The coastal town, never brimming with activity to begin with, grew quieter still. With few distractions, most locals turned in early. Street lamps dimmed one by one, leaving the streets cloaked in hush.

By the time midnight loomed, only a handful of outlying factories still buzzed with activity. The only place that remained animated in the sleeping town was the city’s church.

As was common in towns of this size, Nawah’s main church wasn’t extravagant. Modest in design but functional, it met the basic needs of its congregation.

Now, in the deep hours of the night, the church stood wide open. Lamps inside blazed brightly, and solemn hymns filled the air, accompanied by distinct, reverent instruments. Prayerful voices murmured through the chambers.

Ordinarily, the church would have closed long ago. But tonight was different—the extended hours a direct result of the Glorious Church fleet’s docking at Nawah Harbor.

The fleet was a pilgrimage convoy, filled with zealous followers from across the realm. These pilgrims adhered rigidly to ritual timetables, with evening prayer being an especially sacred act.

While doctrine didn’t demand a specific place for prayer, the truly devout always sought to kneel within the sanctified walls of a proper church.

With the fleet moored nearby, pilgrims had descended in waves upon Nawah’s religious sanctuaries. After days at sea, they longed to kneel on solid ground beneath the sacred eaves. In response, the local church had adjusted its schedule, staying open deep into the night.

Now, only the final cluster of worshippers remained. These last visitors filled the pews—some nobly robed, others in humble garb, priests, sisters… and among them sat Valeria.

Positioned quietly near the front, Valeria, dressed in the white uniform of a Church medical worker, fixed her eyes on the Triumvirate altar and immersed herself in prayer.

The crowd had mostly dissipated. Valeria, never fond of packed spaces, had waited until late to attend her vespers. Soon, these remaining pilgrims would complete their rites, and the church would lock its doors for the night.

As the final hymn rose around her, Valeria closed her eyes and folded her hands tightly, focusing all her spirit on her devotion to the Lord she honored.

She had been deep in prayer for some time when weariness began to creep in. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, but her concentration began to slip. A growing heaviness settled over her.

She yawned and slid off her glasses, rubbing at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand.

*What is this…? I’m absolutely exhausted. Was it too late a time to come? Maybe it’s harder to focus when it’s this late…*<e/m>

*But I’ve prayed this late before. Never felt this tired. Prayer normally sharpens my senses, anchors me…*<e/m>

She frowned, struggling to piece it together. Prayer had always come easily, sacred and grounding since she was a girl. But tonight, she could barely keep her eyes open.

*Could it be lingering exhaustion from yesterday’s emergency care shift? That was intense… It’s catching up now. Best to finish this quickly and get some rest.*<e/m>

*Even so… I can’t skip the full prayer cycle. That would be unthinkable.*<e/m>

She put her glasses back on, squared her shoulders, and renewed her focus. But the moment her mind settled into prayer again, an even heavier wave of drowsiness surged over her. This time, her strength faltered completely.

She didn’t even notice the moment it claimed her.

Seated on the pew, her head dipped, hands falling slack in her lap. Without a sound, Valeria slumped gently against the seat’s backrest, her breathing quiet and steady. She was asleep.

…

Within that sleep, Valeria entered dreams.

She found herself standing in a vast square, one she recognized as part of the Church District in Tivian. But something was off—the people around her were blurred, faces indistinct, their movements ghostlike. Disoriented, she wandered through the strange version of a once-familiar place, her mind foggy and unfocused.

Unaware she was dreaming, she moved aimlessly, sensing a tug toward some unknown purpose but unable to name it.

As her confusion thickened, a shape emerged from the misty crowd: a figure cloaked in darkness, its body shrouded in swirling black haze. It drew near, stopping just before her. A faint smile—if it could be called that—seemed to curl in the obscurity.

“Good evening, Sister,” it said.

“Ah… evening… sir. May I ask who you are?”

Valeria’s dream-self replied uncertainly. The shadow’s eerie smile lingered as it spoke again.

“My identity matters little. What’s relevant is you. That attire—clearly you’re someone of standing within the Church. Could you share your name and station?”

“Yes… I’m Valeria Xafiren. I used to work as an Archivist in the Historical Department, Tivian Subdivision, under the Prithvi Archdiocese. Currently, I’m serving as a temporary Prayer Healer at Grace Favor Hospital…”

Her tone was calm, her expression distant. The shadow tilted its head slowly.

“A shift from records to medicine… So this one must be attached to the fleet’s healers. Might even be privy to their *true* purpose…”

It muttered this quietly, then addressed her again.

“Sister Valeria… I have a few more questions. I trust you’ll answer them willingly?”

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation.

…

Meanwhile, on the third floor of one of Nawah’s upscale hotels, Dorothy stood before the fire, toweling her freshly washed hair. She had just stepped out of a freezing bath and was still shivering when her body tensed abruptly.

She froze, eyes narrowing.

“What…? Valeria’s prayers just… cut off? And right before that—everything got… fuzzy. What the hell just happened?”