I did not write this to be understood, but to leave behind what I thought
when I could no longer tell if I was truly alive
or only dreaming of it
— When the Dream Refused the End — doesnt ask what a dream is
It asks—if truth itself begins to deceive us,
what is left for us to believe in?
I only wish to hear the voice of someone
who still dares to question,
even when they already know
there is no answer
ผจญภัย,แฟนตาซี,ยุคกลาง,แอคชั่น,ย้อนยุค,ปรัชญา,ผจญภัย,แอคชั่น,ต่อสู้,ตามหาความจริง,พระเอกเก่ง,plotteller, ploteller, plotteler,พล็อตเทลเลอร์, แอพแพนด้าแดง, แพนด้าแดง, พล็อตเทลเลอร์, รี้ดอะไร้ต์,รีดอะไรท์,รี้ดอะไรท์,รี้ดอะไร, tunwalai , ธัญวลัย, dek-d, เด็กดี, นิยายเด็กดี ,นิยายออนไลน์,อ่านนิยาย,นิยาย,อ่านนิยายออนไลน์,นักเขียน,นักอ่าน,งานเขียน,บทความ,เรื่องสั้น,ฟิค,แต่งฟิค,แต่งนิยาย
I did not write this to be understood, but to leave behind what I thought
when I could no longer tell if I was truly alive
or only dreaming of it
— When the Dream Refused the End — doesnt ask what a dream is
It asks—if truth itself begins to deceive us,
what is left for us to believe in?
I only wish to hear the voice of someone
who still dares to question,
even when they already know
there is no answer
ผู้แต่ง
athanasia(อาธานาเซีย)
เรื่องย่อ
A young knight named Arthur awakens from three years of slumber in a remote village, after once battling a dragon and being gravely wounded
He remembers nothing of what came before. The villagers revere him as a hero who drove away the beast, yet within him grows a silent doubt
Arthur sets out on a journey to uncover the truth of his past—and of a world he no longer knows to be real or dreamed
Along the way, he meets those bound to the same uncertain fate: a priest, a sorcerer, a jester, a nobleman, a rebel—each reflecting a wound, a belief, and an ideology that clashes with his own
As fragments of memory return, Arthur learns that he was entangled in rebellion and war
The King of the Western Realm—a man with the face of a friend from another world—stands at the heart of that confusion between faith and dominion, between the ideal and the will to rule
Every encounter becomes an echo of one question: Who are we, when even the memories that define us can no longer be trusted?
In the end, the world shatters along with the boundary between dream and truth.
Arthur stands amid the ruins, unable to name himself any longer—
not a hero, not a rebel, not the awakened nor the dreamer,
but merely what remains of someone else’s telling
In an age when the seals that once bound the realm of demons had weakened after a thousand-year war,
the King of Knights sent a summons—
to a distant land, though it lay at the very heart of the kingdom.
He called for the one foretold in prophecy:
“the next King of Knights,”
the one who would halt the darkness
and lead the world into eternal peace.
The message reached a young man from a small village amid vast plains—
a boy who loved nothing more than swimming in the river.
The elders called him the chosen one.
Everyone believed.
Every gaze placed a certain weight upon him.
And so he set out—
not to prove himself,
but to keep anyone from being disappointed.
He gathered a band of brave souls:
those who refused to remain still,
those who longed to see the wider world,
those swallowed by that very wideness—
and even strangers whose eyes he could not tell
believed in the same world as his or not.
He was their leader,
yet never made the decisions.
He stood at the center,
yet never led anyone forward.
He inspired many,
yet never believed there was anything in him worth following.
———
One night,
after a battle that had cost them dearly,
the archmage of the group turned to him and asked:
“Why do we not fall back?
Even if we succeed, all we gain is praise.
And you know now, don’t you—
you’re not the one the prophecy spoke of, are you?”
He was silent for a long time
before replying softly:
“I’ve known since the very day I left home.
I never heard the sacred blade speak.
Never communed with the Guardians of Light.
And never once dreamed a dream that showed me the way.”
“Then why do you go on?”
He smiled faintly, sorrowfully,
and spoke in a voice quieter than breath.
“Because I know—
if I do nothing,
someone else will do it in my place.
Someone who never hesitates the way I do”
And so,
he led his small, wandering band across the human lands.
Not because he believed himself a hero,
but because he feared the birth of a hero
who never questioned his own heroism.
In some villages, they were seen as hope.
In some cities, they were hailed as champions.
In some kingdoms, they were called the Volunteers.
But in one quiet home,
an old woman told her grandchild a story:
“Once, there was a great man. People hoped he would become a hero. But he knew he could never truly be one. So he chose instead to be a shadow—so that others might shine.
And sometimes, those who know they are unworthy…
are the only ones careful enough never to let the word ‘hero’ wound another.”