On the Sky Garden, a tall figure materialized.
As the scene before her gradually sharpened, Dr. Callan perceived two figures awaiting her, or rather, one, for the other remained entirely oblivious to her arrival.
Ms. Rowan, having removed her sunglasses, waved to her.
The knight had already scaled a thick vine, her head tilted back to gaze upwards, occasionally letting out exclamations of wonder at newly discovered marvels.
“My apologies,” Dr. Callan began, “I’ve been suffering from some insomnia lately, which caused a slight delay.”
As she approached the young woman, those eyes gave her pause.
They were neither a beautiful dark gold nor an enchanting crimson, but rather a muted brown, appearing dull and mature—the commonplace hue of an ordinary person’s gaze.
Unless one was the master of the dream, outsiders were incapable of altering the appearance of their projected selves within this reality; such was the dictum of her accumulated dream knowledge.
Evidently, she had overthought the matter, for the eyes etched in her memory were utterly unmistakable.
Coincidence, after all, was always a matter of low probability.
Observing the subtle shifts in Dr. Callan’s expression, Konehl-Ghervil, who had maintained a polite smile, simultaneously let out a silent breath of relief.
All of this owed itself to Govet-Ghervil.
She had been a lifesaver in a crucial moment.
Within the dream, Govet-Ghervil’s influence amplified exponentially compared to the waking world.
Once more, Konehl-Ghervil had borne witness to the formidable power of the dream.
The alteration of her eyes was a direct consequence of Govet-Ghervil’s wielding of dream power.
It had not consumed so much for naught.
According to Govet-Ghervil, changing one’s appearance was no great feat; in its past, it had been capable of far more, mastering dreams and becoming their sovereign without effort.
Currently, it existed in a ‘concealed’ state, its voice reaching anyone’s mind while remaining invisible to others.
Alas, Konehl-Ghervil had wished to see the true form of the white-haired woman in the currant-colored gown from the cellar, her elder sister of the Ghervil family, but Govet-Ghervil was unwilling to expend its power on such trivialities.
As for why she had temporarily chosen to clear her suspicions rather than continue to conceal herself with sunglasses, she had learned of Dr. Callan’s actions in the real world directly from Govet-Ghervil.
Suspicion was only natural, as her disguise was hardly sophisticated, lacking professional props.
Had she been a noblewoman accustomed to heavy makeup, the ruse would have been easily seen through.
Dr. Callan, evidently, was not.
Yet, as the Chief of the Hospital Department, whether through observing her demeanor or deducing from her speech patterns, to lack such discernment would be to gravely underestimate the department itself.
Lowering one’s guard, in a sense, could deepen the cooperation between both parties.
****
“Where should we go now?” Konehl-Ghervil prompted, rousing the woman from her reverie.
“…I neglected to explain.”
Dr. Callan crouched down, plucked a petal from a flower at her feet, and closed her eyes.
“The master of this dream is Bishop Gomor,” she explained. “Here, we can accomplish many things, such as this: simply visualize an object in your mind.”
The petal in her hand sprouted metallic filaments, transforming into a beaked mask that gleamed with a cold, metallic luster.
When she placed it upon her face, it perfectly contoured to her delicate features.
The aura of untouchable aloofness she already possessed intensified further.
“Everyone who enters here wears a mask. You may try, madam,” Dr. Callan said, plucking another petal and offering it to her.
To appear as a novice to the dreamscape, Konehl-Ghervil inquired about a few details, then mimicked Dr. Callan, closing her eyes to visualize.
In truth, however, her mind was dissecting the specifics of Dr. Callan removing her sunglasses moments earlier, devising future strategies.
Such deep-seated suspicion could not be eradicated in a single stroke.
A minute later, her brow furrowed as her eyes opened; predictably, she had failed, the petal remaining merely a petal.
Ishmele-Esli, now wearing a lion-faced mask, leaped down from the vine with a scoff.
“It seems you’re not so clever after all… Shall I assist you?”
She then reined herself in slightly, remembering the young woman’s true identity, and regretted her hasty words.
“Dr. Callan, would you mind demonstrating once more?” Konehl-Ghervil asked, pointedly ignoring the unfortunate knight’s smugness.
“You likely haven’t rested well, and being your first attempt, it’s understandable that your concentration might falter.”
Dr. Callan conjured an identical beaked mask.
“Use this one for now.
Our time shouldn’t be squandered on such matters; the dream will only persist for thirty minutes.
If time permits after our task, I shall guide you on another exploration.”
“Very well,” Konehl-Ghervil replied, taking the mask.
It felt remarkably light, undeniably metallic in color and texture, yet surprisingly not cold; it felt quite warm against her face.
A flicker of anticipation stirred within her.
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t her first time entering a dream, but it was certainly her first experience of freely wandering within one.
They now stood at the heart of a sprawling flowerbed, surrounded by towering blossoms and vines over a meter high, encompassing an area roughly the size of a grand chapel.
Over a dozen similar gardens lay connected by white, floating stone bridges to the largest one at the center.
“That old codger Gomor actually dared to expend so much power,” Dr. Callan muttered.
After a sweeping glance around, Dr. Callan led the way down a diverging path.
“Follow me.”
Few people were encountered along the way; most were heading towards the grandest floating garden at the heart of the complex.
Three minutes later, pushing aside a curtain of blossoms, they beheld a vine-covered archway, tall enough for an adult to pass through.
Standing at the entrance were two figures… a lady and a gentleman, judging by their silhouettes.
They wore black robes and identical beaked masks.
One had short blue hair and black fingernails.
Konehl-Ghervil recognized the lady as Dr. Schmidt.
“Good afternoon, Doctor, I never expected to see you here!” Ishmele-Esli exclaimed, waving without a second thought and circling to the doctor’s side to greet her.
‘This imbecile, she has no sense of timing.
They are clearly on a mission right now,’ Konehl-Ghervil thought, inwardly.
Konehl-Ghervil glared at the hapless knight.
The female doctor hesitated before offering a slight nod.
“Good afternoon, Knight.”
Oblivious to the murderous gaze behind her, Ishmele-Esli grinned and pressed on:
“Is the person we’re looking for inside?”
This was not a question Dr. Schmidt could answer, and she cast a pleading glance at her superior.
“Chief.”
“How is his condition now?” Dr. Callan inquired softly.
“As usual… but I sense he is withholding something from us.”
“Distrust is only natural; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”
Waving Konehl-Ghervil forward, Dr. Callan gestured for the other gatekeeper to open the entrance.
The vines receded into the flowerbed, revealing a dark, profound tunnel within.
As she passed, Konehl-Ghervil deliberately averted her gaze from Dr. Schmidt, for she had seen her true eyes, and a mask could only conceal one’s face.
“Madam,” Dr. Callan addressed Konehl-Ghervil, “from here on, you must proceed alone.
He trusts none of us, not even his own father.”
“Why is that?”
“I will provide you with an answer after your conversation, depending on the circumstances.
No third party will overhear the discussion within.
You are free to ask any question, whether it pertains to the case or not.
Remember, only twenty-five minutes remain until the dream concludes.”
Konehl-Ghervil began to understand why the meeting had to take place within the dream: first, to prevent eavesdropping, and second, to avoid revealing their location.
“Won’t there be any danger inside?” Ishmele-Esli blurted out, stepping forward.
“Theoretically, there should be no danger,” the male doctor assured them.
“After all, it is merely a dream; one can awaken at will.”
Still somewhat uneasy, Ishmele-Esli pinched her left wrist with her right hand, then vanished, becoming momentarily transparent.
She reappeared a dozen seconds later, brimming with confidence, and offered Konehl-Ghervil a reassuring thumbs-up.
Having mentally consulted Govet-Ghervil and received confirmation that the situation was indeed as stated, Konehl-Ghervil turned to Dr. Callan.
“Is there anything specific you’d like me to ask?”
“You may proceed as you deem fit.
I trust a scholar’s sensitivity to the crucial points of any incident.”
Dr. Callan, a faint smile gracing her lips, waved her hand dismissively.
“If I were to offer a suggestion, it would be to first find a way to earn his trust.”