Long ago, at a time when disease and poverty were the Masters of this world, a few peasants were struggling to risk their lives to survive the needs of their families.

The Middle Ages, a very dark period led by hand by the Black Plague and much more. Such was England at that time.

Everard was just a craftsman, a puppeteer. He sold or gave his small creations to poorer people than he did. It made him smile to see all these little children marvel at his pantins, and their cries of joy that they made when they had one in their little hands.

But the problem was that Everard hated children.

He had a daughter, yes, and a wife. He hated them. Go find out why he got married.

He was the kind of people in his little bubble, introverted and not pleasant. It was only at work that he was a little sympathetic.

But he did not like it very much. He wanted more. Oh he revered these Nobles, Suzeraines and Kings, protected from all and who had a Most Wonderful Life.

But what struck the peasant's eye was power.

It's true, dominating a kingdom was an interesting thing ? Glory, wealth, immunity, he dreamed of it. But he was just a peasant.

So his wife and offspring paid for it. He mistreated them, after all, he had every right ! Wasn't he the one who provided for these two ingrates ?

What would they be without him ?

They were his slave, women had to be treated that way, at least...at the time. They had to obey his finger and eye or else they would suffer his wrath.

It was the only possible domination Everard could wield. But he always wanted more. That is why most of the time he took refuge in his corner and gave life to his creatures, his puppets, his puppets. They could control them at will without them rebelling, obviously they were only dolls of wood or rags.

And this whole Masquerade has been going on for years.

But one night, it was enough.

Everard had gone too far by hitting his daughter, a little too hard, which had caused her to fall into the apples. His wife, horrified, quarreled with him and took a good correction in turn.

At the same time exceeded and almost cheerful, he hurried to fall into the arms of Morpheus.

Tomorrow will be another day.

Nobody.

Empty.

They were gone.

Overnight.

While he was asleep.

At first he did not react and then suddenly began to howl and break the little furniture he had.

His dolls paid for it, too.

He had gone mad. How could they have left ? What was this betrayal ?

He was mad with rage and broke everything he had on hand before landing at a corner of his hut and drinking until sleep ensued.

His sleep was restless. He dreamed of his wife and daughter and saw himself King. Or God ?

Then the full black. It was in the middle of a dense, cool fog. He felt like he was perfectly conscious. In fact he was persuaded to be awakened.

He walked in the void for a few minutes, after all he had nothing else to do. The fog dissipated to reveal a large place under a starry sky.

He didn't understand where he was but a " Hoo-Hoo ! "pulled him out of his dreams.

In front of him stood an owl, richly clothed. He seemed rather old and majestic.

"Well, it's been a long time since there was a visitor to Dream Gate."

Dream Gate ? Said Visitor arched an eyebrow, already little patient.

Then the old owl explained everything about Dream Gate, The Night Dimension and the visitors. Then he introduced himself. His name was Owl.

"- So, as I understand it, I find myself in Dream Gate, in the world ... of dreams ?

- That's exactly it !

- Well, this so-called world seems pretty empty. But tell me...Owl, Why am I here ? »

The owl hulled and began to twirl over Everard.

"- It's because your Ideyas are lost in this world !

- My Ideyas ? »

He explained to him again what the Ideyas were, that there were five of them: Courage, purity, growth, Intelligence and hope. Red, white, green, blue and yellow respectively.

The visitor was fascinated. This world seemed empty of everything. Maybe an opportunity...?

Owl looked at his guest from head to toe. Something swirled him, not by the physical, but by the aura of the visitor. She seemed so ... harmful.

The bird regained its spirits and turned its vision to the right and hulled with surprise.

A door !

"- Houhou ! A door to the world of Dreams has appeared ! Visitor, that means you must have kept one of your Ideyas ! »

Everard calmly walked towards the door, the spirit ruminating. He looked at Owl and opened this door that would lead him to a world in his image.

Said world was empty. Only a throne and a few columns of stones stood in the center.

The atmosphere was negative, sad and oppressive. Owl didn't like that.

Everard looked at the place with great attention, as if amazed. The throne that stood before him, was reserved for him for sure.

What if he made his world his kingdom ? He liked the idea. Being able to lead at his leisure, without anyone stopping him ... it was a brilliant idea !

Owl advised the visitor to leave, the place was not bode well. But the person concerned simply laughed at him, decreeing that he had only to leave and then that's all.

He lingered on the columns. Small colored and bright spheres had one column each. The famous Ideyas.

However, there was not that of courage. It must have been the one he didn't lose, no doubt.

His aura became more and more harmful, and Owl realized that the Ideyas were beginning to be imbued with it. He tried one last time to dissuade the visitor but the latter yelled at him that he did not need help.

Frightened, the bird left. It was certainly one of the things he would regret.

Everard continued to ruminate, he began to speak alone, to burst out with laughter, madness no doubt. He had projects, a lot of projects, and these were far from positive.

The Ideyas were not as colorful as they used to be. Purple, purple, brown, dark gray and Black. Cowardice, Ignorance, Corruption, despair and bitterness.

The spheres were uncontrollable, and so were their bearers. He imagined himself as a God, reigning with a master's hand over this small world that was his own.

It would be terrible, great.

He was a prisoner of his own conscience. It was wrapped in a thick dark halo that disappeared after a few seconds.

Nightmare was born. As well as Wizeman.