Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 414

**Chapter 414: Dark Dreams**
*Somewhere in the Dreamlands, within a strange forest.*

Beneath the shade of towering, ancient trees, on grass hued with otherworldly colors, the small white-furred fox sat still as the black dog, Grey, finished recounting events from a lesser-known city within Castiglia. No sooner had he finished than she gave her insight. Grey blinked in bewilderment at her conclusions.

“False Cocoon?… Capturing people? Ms. Fox, could you clarify that? What exactly is this ‘Moth’? Does this all tie into the Black Dream Hunters somehow?”

He addressed the fox in her current form. She paused, weighing her thoughts in silence. With a soft sigh, she made her choice and began.

“Hm… It appears your detective stumbled upon a foothold of the Black Dream Hunters in the waking world. As it happens, I’m not particularly fond of them. If he needs details, I have more than enough — and sharing them would be quite a thorn in their side.

“Still, be warned — this knowledge is laced with potent Cognitive Toxin. Taking in too much too fast could overwhelm you.”

Grey reevaluated at once.

“No need to be concerned. That detective taught me a rite — a prayer to Lord Patronus’s principal. The resulting blessing protects me from Cognitive Toxin exposure. I’ve tested it — works impressively well. He also mentioned it could be shared with you, Ms. Fox, if you ever wanted it.”

The fox’s ears twitched. That casual statement startled her more than she let on.

*The principal of the Great Dragon… could he mean Akasha? And that entity can bestow protection from Cognitive Toxins? I’ve never encountered such a shield before… And he’s offering to teach it? If I were to receive that blessing, I could absorb far more dangerous truths from the Dreamlands. Perhaps even unlock higher levels of the Dream Incantation…*

She made a mental note to raise this matter with her grandfather before making any decisions. For now, she focused on her purpose: explaining the Black Dream Hunters.

“If you’re insulated from the toxin, then I’ll speak clearly. Pay close attention. The being referred to as the ‘Pseudo-Moth’ — or simply ‘Moth’ — is no true god. It’s a counterfeit divinity, one attempting to overthrow the rightful sovereign of dreams: ‘Butterfly’. The Black Dream Hunters are its hidden sect — the Moth’s instruments.”

Grey’s jaw tightened. “The Moth God… and the Butterfly God? What is this about? Why is a Butterfly being treated as a deity now? Who actually rules over dreams?”

“Undoubtedly, the Butterfly God,” the fox answered with absolute certainty. “Butterfly is the divine embodiment of Sleep and Dreams. She’s also known by many titles: the Sorrowless Maiden, the Fae Queen of Butterflies, the Goblin Queen, the Dream Knight, the Moon’s Emissary. She molded the Dreamlands into their present form — the sovereign of all slumbering realms.”

Her voice rang with conviction. Grey absorbed her words, struggling with the idea that nursery rhyme names now held cosmic weight.

*Sorrowless Maiden? Goblin Queen? Weren’t those names from childhood tales… stories about fae and lakes?*

He leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “You speak as if you know a great deal about this Butterfly deity. Are you one of her followers, Ms. Fox? And if she’s the original dream divinity, where did this Moth entity come from?”

“A follower? You could say that. But as for my past, I’d rather not delve into it just now. Let’s stay focused on the Hunters. Once, the Black Dream Hunters actually worshipped Butterfly.

“Over time, their scriptures twisted. They claimed Butterfly evolved — transformed into a new shape. The Moth. They insist they descend from her faithful, and that this transformation was revealed by divine will.”

She continued, calm and resolute.

“To the Hunters, the Moth is the Eternal Dream Lord, the God of Metamorphosis, the True Deliverer from Sorrow. They believe Butterfly will descend again, reborn as Moth, to cast the world into a perfect, everlasting dream. Their mission is to bring about that return.”

Poised on the grass, the fox’s words carried quiet intensity. Grey listened, then muttered with unease, “A dream without pain… forever? You mean eternal sleep? Trapped in an unending dream? That’s no god of salvation — that’s a monster.”

“Exactly. But in their eyes, it’s salvation. To them, reality is flawed. They seek to abandon it in favor of an eternal dreamworld. That’s why they follow the false Moth, working tirelessly for its descent. But true Butterfly doctrine teaches something very different — that dreams should reflect reality, not replace it. Dreams detached from the real become hollow. That’s why I call the Moth… the God of Emptiness.”

Grey felt his thoughts swirl, grappling with the alien distinctions between void and fantasy. It felt like a split within a single faith.

“It sounds like a theological split… a civil war within a belief system. Complicated stuff. Still, I think I understand the essence of the Moth now. But this ‘False Cocoon’ you mentioned — what is it? You said it captures people?”

“Not exactly people — it captures their Dream Cocoons.”

Her gaze sharpened, voice taking on a chilling edge.

“The False Cocoon is a bizarre, synthetic lifeform the Hunters craft by some unknown process. They say it’s born from fragments of the Moth’s essence — flawed copies, twisted offspring. They use them to strike at Butterfly’s adherents. We classify them by stage: Pseudo-Larvae, Pseudo-Cocoons, and Pseudo-Moths.

“The Pseudo-Moths are the backbone of the Hunters’ power. Creating one requires selecting a specific site and conducting a long, intricate ritual to lay its egg.

“A Pseudo-Moth egg exists in both realms — physical and Dreamlands — at the same time. To grow it, the Hunters feed it with Dream Cocoons from ordinary mortals. They move in secret, targeting the hopeless, offering ‘divine dreams’. Those who perform the Moth’s rituals forge a link to a specific Pseudo-Moth. After that, every time they sleep, their Cocoon is pulled toward it — trapped in its grasp.”

Grey’s fur bristled at the implication. He stood, tail low, eyes wide. “They’re using human dreams as food?! These things actually *feed* on that?! What happens to someone whose Cocoon gets eaten?”

“The Dreamlands are full of beings beyond comprehension,” she said evenly. “And Cocoon consumption has devastating effects. Sit down, hound. I’ll explain.”

Her measured tone settled him. He obeyed, focusing intently.

“Once ensnared by a Pseudo-Moth, the victim slips into euphoric, painless dreams — completely adrift. During this time, the Pseudo-Moth drains their spiritual essence from the Cocoon. It’s how they grow. The more victims they gather, the more nourishment they reap. That’s why the Hunters build underground Moth-worshipping groups — to cultivate prey.

“They prey on desperation — people broken by life. The dreams they offer glow with unreachable joy, making the waking world intolerable by contrast. Addicted, these people welcome eternal sleep. None dare report the cult, seduced by nightly paradise. The Hunters then rule with an iron grip, enforcing loyalty in exchange for pleasure. It’s simple to dominate entire communities this way.

“But the cost of those dreams is ruin. Night after night, their Cocoons are drained. Slowly, their minds crumble, fading toward nothingness. In the end, their bodies remain — empty shells. And these husks? They become puppets for the Pseudo-Moths.”

Grey shuddered at her words. He’d seen the Blood Cult use drug-laced Cups to enslave people — even his old friend Brandon fell under that spell. But this? This was more insidious. Terrifyingly so.

“These monsters… turning mortals into fuel… just to breed more of these horrors? Weapons?”

“Not just weapons,” she corrected bluntly. “The Pseudo-Moths *are* the Hunters’ entire foundation. They have no inherited Entropic Path. No cultivated spiritual roots. All their power stems from raising these creatures.”

“No Path lineage? Their power comes solely from raising monsters? What does that even imply?” Grey sounded completely out of his depth.

“Their ranks form *through* the bond with Pseudo-Moths. Measured by traditional means, all of them qualify only as apprentice-level ‘Shadow’ non-ordinaries. But their strength depends entirely on their link to the Pseudo-Moth.”

“They *share* that same link?” Grey asked, stunned.

“Exactly,” the fox nodded. “Their Cocoons don’t feed the Pseudo-Moths like the others — they bond with them. This deeper symbiosis *grants* abilities — not unlike my Feeding-on-Dreams path. They gain dream-based powers through this psychic tie. It’s how they command the Pseudo-Moths.”

Grey tried to digest this radical system. It defied every known law of non-ordinary progression.

“So their powers… they don’t arise from within, but through those entities? Like conduits?”

“Correct,” she said firmly. “Each Pseudo-Moth connects to multiple Hunters. Their abilities and the strength of that connection grow with the creature’s evolution. A larval Pseudo-Moth only supports apprentice-tier strength. One at the pupal stage? They can touch Black Earth. If it matures into a Cocoon? White Ash-tier influence becomes possible. And in rare cases, if a Pseudo-Moth fully matures, it can perform a special ritual with a single Hunter, raising that one individual to a level akin to Scarlet rank.”

Grey stared in disbelief. This system — parasitic and alien — shattered his understanding.

“Incredible. A path to power so different from ours… Unsettling,” he murmured.

“It’s just one of many,” the fox said dryly. “Legends tell of forgotten skies that birthed endless ascension methods. This creature-binding path is simply ancient. Our current system dominates because it’s stable, consistent. The Hunters took their monstrous route because… certain restrictions block them from accessing the traditional way.”

“Restrictions? What sort?” Grey leaned in.

“That’s still unknown,” she admitted. “Cognitive Toxin clouds the truth. But this much I *can* say.”

Her voice dropped, solemn.

“That city the detective visited? It’s hosting a Pseudo-Moth’s growth. It’s dangerous — extremely so. Warn him. If he values his life… tell him to leave. Immediately.”

Grey nodded slowly, the gravity of her words settling in.

He now had the information. The detective needed to hear all of it — as soon as Grey returned to the waking world.