Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

—The Past, A Few Centuries Ago—

Two princesses once ran through the Kingdom, laughing as they played tag. Their laughter echoed through the streets, drawing smiles from the townsfolk.

“Good morning, Your Highnesses!” the people would call out, bowing with respect.

The girls would beam with joy, waving back happily as they dashed past a grand statue of a hybrid creature—a tribute to ancient unity. Life felt perfect. Carefree. But, like all stories born in castles and cloaked in gold, tragedy was never far behind.

One day, the elder princess overheard hushed voices as she walked the corridor—guards whispering in dark corners, unaware of her presence.

The words chilled her blood:
Her aunt planned to murder the Queen—her kind, gentle mother—and seize the throne. And once crowned, the King would be next.

She ran, heart pounding, desperate to warn her mother. But she was too late.

In the royal gardens, her mother lay crumpled on the ground, blood staining her lips. The younger sister wept beside her, sobbing and begging for help.

The elder girl screamed for the guards. And as they came rushing in, carrying the Queen to safety, she held her younger sister, comforting her with sweet whispers telling her their Mother iss going to be alright. But amongst the chaos happening, she caught sight of her aunt. She was smiling.

The Queen died that day, and sorrow spread like smoke across the kingdom. 

The streets were quite filled with sadness for the Queen’s passing. No one could be seen, just an empty place, no noise, no people. 

She tried to tell her father the truth, but grief blinded the King. Worn and weakened, he couldn’t see past his heartbreak.

.

.

.

“Father, please, listen! It was her—she poisoned Mother!”

“Stop this nonsense!”

“But she’s planning to kill you next!”

The King’s hand struck her across the face. She gasped, stumbling back in shock.

“She will be your mother . Whether you like it or not.”

As he stormed away, the grand doors opened, revealing the new Queen—her aunt—smirking.

That was the last conversation she ever had with her father.

Soon after, he was dead.

The King had been human. The Queen—a dragon hybrid. And their daughters? Hybrids as well. Long ago, hybrids were hated. Feared. But centuries before, an Ender hybrid had saved the kingdom from ruin, creating peace between humans and hybrids.

That peace died with the Queen.

The new Queen ruled with cruelty, and with her first decree, she shattered the fragile unity.

“From this day forward, no hybrid shall set foot in this kingdom.
Any who do will be killed on sight.
Anyone who reports a hybrid will be richly rewarded.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Silence followed.

It was a foolish, dangerous command. The hybrids provided food, crops, and critical resources. To banish them was to doom the kingdom.

But no one dared speak. Except one.

The elder princess stepped forward.

“Mother… With all due respect, this is a terrible idea.
Hybrids are the backbone of this kingdom.
Most of our knights are hybrids. Our food comes from them.
Banishing them means war. It means famine.
And don’t forget—my sister and I are hybrids too.
We carry the royal blood. You can’t exile us from our own home.”

The Queen’s face twisted with rage, but she couldn’t expose her true nature before the court.

The people stirred. Murmurs rose. For the first time, someone had stood up—and others began to agree. The Queen, humiliated, withdrew her decree.

But that night, the princess was punished.
Severely.

From then on, the Queen treated her cruelly, calling her rebellious and dangerous. She threatened her daily.

“Say one word about me killing your father,” she hissed, “and your little sister loses her horns. Her wings. Her tail.”

And so the princess stayed silent.

…

..

.

Until one day, she discovered her sister had been locked away—for no reason other than hugging her.

“You locked her up … for what ?!”

She searched endlessly. No one knew where the younger girl was.

Until, one night, she followed the Queen to a locked door.

Behind it was a dungeon.

Inside? Hybrids—some wounded, others already dead.

Her sister was there too. Weak, but alive—kept safe by the other prisoners. They took care of her, there was a cloth wrapped at the wounds. The older princess wept in relief.

She called out for the guards. They came running, only to find something so horrible. She ordered them to help everyone in the room. And so they did.

She freed them all. Treated their wounds. Held her sister tight.

But when the Queen discovered her disobedience, she snapped.

She ripped off the princess’s horns. Tore her wings. Cut off her tail.
The floor of her chamber ran red with her blood.

She was locked in her room, alone, until the wounds healed.

—Day 068, Pandora's Vault—

Dream’s POV

I jolted awake, gasping for breath.

Another dream. A strange one this time.

Techno raised a brow from across the room, chewing lazily on a stale potato.

“Nightmare?” he smirked.

“Not exactly,” I muttered, rubbing my face. “Just… weird.”

He shrugged. “So. That amazing plan of mine…”

“Just admit it failed.”

“Hey, c’mon. Phil’s old. He probably forgot his part.”

I laughed despite myself. And it's been almost three months in this hellhole with him … and somehow, his ridiculousness made it bearable.

—Two Months Ago—

Quackity hadn’t shown up for four days. No screaming. No torture.

I didn’t miss him.

I was gnawing on another raw potato when the lava gates shifted. A voice echoed out, making my stomach twist.

“Yooooo, Smiley! How’ve you been?”

No.
NO.

Techno.

NO NO NO!

THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!!!

HE WAS MY ONLY WAY TO GET OUT OF THIS HELL!!!

He was on the other side of the lava wall. And I already knew what had happened.

“TECHNO, NO!”

This wasn’t a rescue.

This was a trap.

Sam stood nearby, holding the lever. Silent. Smug.

The strongest warriors on the server—locked together.
The perfect revenge.

Techno grinned at me.

“So, how’ve you been?”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

“You invited me,” he said, waving a letter in my face.

Dear Techno,
  Come visit me in prison tomorrow. No questions.

 –Dream : )

I grabbed the letter. “This isn’t even my handwriting!”

He blinked. “Oh. Yeah, now that you mention it…the smile did looked different..”

“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.”

"Okay guess I'll go back now..." 

He turned to leave—but the platform was gone.

"uhmm....ah...Sam? I'm done visiting Dream now"

THIS IS NOT HAPPENING.
HE WAS THE ONLY WAY TO GET ME OUT OF HERE.
NO. NO. NO. NO.

"...oh no it's okay you can stay here with dream.."

"heh...no I think I'm good..yeah...so if you could bring the platform back here..."

No response.

Sam walked towards a lever and pulled it. And the lava started to fall back down

GOD.
TECHNO YOU'RE STUPID!!!

"Uhm...S-Sam I think you pulled the wrong lever..." But of course, Sam didn't reply. Bet he's not even there anymore.

"Uhmm...hey roomie." He looked back at me.

"TECHNO YOU SON OF A B-"

I wanted to strangle him.

—Day 068—

Well. That went wrong.
....

...

..

.

"Yeah yeah whatever....but still my plan is amazing it's just Phil is old and sucks at remembering stuff"

"What are you doing?" he popped up from behind me...when did he get here..?

"Nothing much..."

"M'kay"

Then suddenly the speaker spoke "Breakfast."

Potatoes, again.

“Yo Dream! Breakfast!” Techno shouted, grinning as he caught the raw vegetables dropping from the chute.

He’s still the most annoying person I’ve ever met.

After eating the Potatoes Techno Started to Yap about his 'Amazing' and 'astounding' past about fighting gods. 

I can't say anything even if he's annoying since this is better than sitting alone in silence or being brutally tortured by Quackity, ever since Techno was put here with me he protected me from being brutally hurt well I still do get some minor injuries no major ones thanks to Techno..But I still do wonder...why protect me...and he doesn't even question why was Quackity doing it.

He's Weird.

But I'm grateful for him..this past months were better with him honestly.

Chapter Text

—Day 068, After Eating.—

“Hey, Techno?” I muttered, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

“Mm?” he replied, barely looking up from where he was lazily wiping dust off his crown with his sleeve.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“That depends. Is it dumb?”

“My hair has been bugging me lately. Can you cut it?”

That got his attention. He paused, blinked slowly, and looked at me like I just confessed to murder.

“…You want me to cut your hair?”

“Yeah.”

“Y’know it takes forever to grow hair, right?”

“I guess?”

“Yeah. So, no.”

I squinted at him. “So that’s a no, then?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he got up, dusted off his pants like he had all the time in the world, and strolled over.

Now he was standing right in front of me, tall as ever.

Okay. He is now looming in front of me.

'..w-what?" I looked up at him.

He crouched down slowly, just a bit too close, staring at my mask.

“Y’look nervous,” he said flatly, amused. “Don’t worry, I left my axe at home.”

"heh...you scared smiley?" He grinned.

This piece of shit-

“Fuck off, Techno,” I grumbled and shoved him back. He fell onto his ass and let out a short laugh.

“There it is,” he smirked. “Classic Smiley.”

He got back up with zero urgency and brushed some dust off his shoulder. “You don’t need to chop off your hair. I’ve got a better idea.”

I watched in horror as he reached for his cape and casually tore a piece off like it was no big deal.

“Whoa—hey! What the hell are you doing?!”

“Making a hair tie,” he said simply, as if that answered everything.

“That’s your cape!”

He looked at it, then at me. “I know.”

“Why would you rip that ?”

“I’ve got like eight.”

“…Of course you do.”

I handed the fabric back, feeling weirdly guilty.

He took it without another word, tore off another strip, then motioned for me to sit in front of him.

“C’mon. Sit.”

I did, reluctantly, and he handed me one strip to hold.

Then, with methodical movements, he started brushing through my hair with his fingers—slow, patient, like he had all day. Which I guess, technically, we do.

No comments. No teasing. Just silence as he worked through the tangles.

After a few minutes, he took the strip from my hand and started tying it.

He loosely gathered all of the hair at the top of my head and above my ears he grabbed the top layer and tied it with the fabric just below the center of my head. He took the other fabric, slid it underneath my tied hair, and wrapped the two sides around one another the exact same as the first step of tying a shoe and then he just made it into a simple bow.

A bow .

“There. Done,” he said, sounding weirdly satisfied.

“…That was a lot of effort just to not cut it.”

“Yeah, but now you don’t look like a feral goat,” he said casually.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “Still think cutting it would’ve been easier.”

“Yeah, and so is dying. Doesn’t mean you should do it.”

“…Wow. Okay.”

I glanced at him.

“…Also, you didn’t need to rip your cape for this.”

“I did,” he said. “For the bit.”

I stared at him.

"....but though why not just make it into a ponytail?" I asked

"ehhh it's boring." ...of course, it was.

"by the way your hair is soft so I thought why not do something cute and pretty?" he shrugged but as he said those words I looked at him blankly

“…You just called my hair cool and tied it with a bow.”

He smirked. “Exactly.”

Who is this right now???? Technoblade would never say 'cute' or 'pretty'.

"uhmmm...okay? thanks."

—Day 069—

“I wanna try something,” I said, flipping through an old book.

Techno was lying on his back with a potato peel on his face like a spa mask.

“Try what?”

“Just a little experiment.”

He didn’t open his eyes. “Is it dangerous?”

“Maybe.”

He peeked one eye open. “Is it Quackity-dangerous or you-dangerous?”

“…Yes.”

That got his attention. He sat up. “Alright. What kinda messed-up ritual are you cooking up today?”

“Been doing some work on resurrection spells. Tried a few on Lazarbeam and Vikkstar. This one might make a clone.”

"Woah woah- You what exactly? " he cuts me off, he stands up, and looks at me.

"You doing witchcraft now????? and after that are you planning to put curses on everyone??????" He gave me a confused look—subtle, but enough to make my skin crawl. I hated it. The way he didn’t get it… it made something twist in my chest.

He blinked. “Clone of who?”

“You.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

I shrugged. “More of you might help us escape.”

He stared at me blankly for a moment. “Sure. Screw it. Worst-case scenario, you create an evil me and we all die.”

“Glad you’re on board.”

We first drew a symbol on the ground, we used blood since we had nothing else to draw with. After that I sat down, and set the book aside. Made techno stand inside the symbol.

“You sure this won’t hurt?”

“I don’t think so?” I said flipping through the pages.

‘Yeah... see, 'pretty sure' isn't exactly reassuring..”

“I'm sure you’ll be fine.”

He let out a long sigh. “Fine, I trust you.” 

Everything stilled.

...What?

He trusts me?

For a second, I forgot how to respond. The words hung in the air, heavier than they should’ve been.
Technoblade. The blood-soaked warrior, the anarchist, the man who trusts no one, except Philza— he trusts me?

No jokes. No sarcastic quip. Just quiet certainty.

Who the hell is this?

No. No way this is him. This isn’t the same man who faced gods without flinching.
This isn't the same man who laughs while chaos burns behind him.

And yet… there he was.

Staring at me like he meant it.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. Whatever this was...

“…Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

I started chanting the words from the book— syllables that no one else couldn’t even pronounce right. The air shifted, pulsing with weird energy. Light flinching. 

Then… a flash.

A figure stepped out of the light—taller than Techno.

Not a clone.

A god .

DreamXD.

Oh no.

“Uh…” I blinked. “This isn’t part of the spell.”

“Cool. We summoned a god in prison. That’s new.” He chuckled

DreamXD hovered in silence for a moment, looking between us.

“Hello, mortals. Why have you summoned me?”

“Didn’t mean to,” I said. “Sorry. Experimental spell.”

“Ah.”

They stared at Techno. And not the fun kind of stare.

“Hey Dream…” Techno muttered, inching closer to me. “Minor problem.”

“What?”

“I think the god wants to kill me.”

“What did you do ?”

“I might’ve insulted him once… and he broke my table.”

“…You what?! ”

“It was a good table.”

DreamXD pointed at me. “You. You look familiar.”

I stiffened. “…I think you’re mistaken.”

They paused. “…Hmm. Perhaps. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll grant one wish. Only one.”

Me and Techno made eye contact.

Oh no.

He grinned.

No. Don’t. Don’t you dare.

I gave him the most intense do not say something stupid look I could muster.

And yet.

That stupid grin stayed on his face as he turned to the literal god.

And opened his mouth.

“I WISH FOR A—”

Chapter Text

“I WISH FOR A—”

“ TECHNO. ”

I practically lunged at him mid-sentence, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could finish.

The room froze.

Even DreamXD tilted their head slightly, confused—or maybe amused. I couldn’t tell. Their eyes didn’t glow, but they felt like they should.

Techno made a muffled noise against my hand, raising one brow at me like I’d just stepped on his piglin pride.

I hissed through gritted teeth, “For the love of Prime, do not wish for a duck plushie or some dumb shit like infinite potatoes or anything else!’ ”

He tried to say something again. I pushed harder.

“I swear to everything holy, I will throw you into the lava myself if you screw this up.”

XD cleared their throat.

“I will only wait five more seconds before revoking the wish.”

Panic hit.

I yanked my hand off Techno’s mouth. “Okay! Okay, we’re ready. Just—uh—give us a second, just technical difficulties.. ”

He exhaled dramatically, rubbing his jaw. “Rude.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask for a plushie,” he muttered. 

“I just wanted a Bell..’

“You're joking right????” I looked at him unamused.

“And if It was gonna be a plushie, it’d be a pig plushie. Get it right.”

I was about to argue back but XD spoke.

“...You. Look. Familiar.”

DreamXD’s voice lingered in the air like smoke—impossible to ignore, impossible to breathe through. My spine went stiff. Techno didn’t move.

I felt my fingers curl against the edge of the ritual circle, nails digging into dried blood.

“I told you, you got the wrong guy..” I said evenly.

DreamXD tilted his head, hovering slightly above the stone floor, cloak rippling like it was underwater. His eyes glowed that awful neon green, flicking between me and Techno like he was measuring something we couldn’t see.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe memory just needs… a push.”

His hand twitched.

“Hey!” Techno stepped forward—not hostile, but sharp, intentional. “Back off. You said one wish, not one soul.”

DreamXD’s gaze cut toward him. “You summoned me.”

“ Accidentally. ” I stood up fast, between them now. “I-It was a mistake.”

The god hovered in silence. It felt like the walls of Pandora’s Vault leaned in with him.

Then, finally, DreamXD pulled back, ever so slightly. “…Fine. One wish. Choose carefully.”

While I was talking to Techno, trying to silently beg him not to say anything idiotic, I could feel it. That eerie prickling down the back of my neck.

DreamXD was staring at me.

Unblinking. Quiet. Knowing.

And Techno felt it too.

His voice trailed off mid-sentence. He glanced toward the god, then back at me, his face unreadable—but not blank. Something flickered in his expression. Calculation. Concern.

“Why is he looking at you like that?” Techno muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Don’t know,” I whispered. Lie. Total lie. My stomach churned.

DreamXD didn’t move, but I could feel the question hanging between us.

Who are you, really?

What do you remember?

What do I remember?

My fingers twitched. I looked down at the book again, pretending to read. Just something to anchor me, to keep the silence from swallowing me whole.

Then DreamXD spoke, voice low, too smooth. “You’re not like the others.”

That froze everything.

Techno’s hand went to my hip on instinct. Protecting me, the habit remained.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

DreamXD floated a little closer, ignoring Techno completely now. “Your soul—it’s fractured. Like you’ve worn too many faces.”

My jaw clenched. I forced myself to look up.

He tilted his head, birdlike. “And you can’t remember any of it, do you?.”

Techno stepped between us instantly, he put me behind his back, shielding me from XD. “That’s enough.”

DreamXD smiled faintly, a flicker of amusement—or maybe pity. “So protective. How sweet.”

“But I must say…I pity both of you.” 

“Both souls were once intertwined and yet both of you don’t remember anything.” 

….

…

..

.

...What.

… What is he talking about?

My mind was suddenly loud. Too loud. A hundred thoughts crashing into each other, none of them sticking long enough to make sense.

I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
That’s not—
He’s lying. Right?

Techno shifted slightly in front of me, and I realized my hand had curled into the back of his coat without me noticing. Gripping tight.

I let go instantly. He didn’t comment.

DreamXD smiled, but it wasn’t kind. It was the kind of smile you see just before the monster tells you it already knows how the story ends.

DreamXD just watched. Like he’d already said everything that mattered and was now just waiting for it to hit.

“Stop playing games,” Techno said sharply. “You got your moment. You made your cryptic god speech. What now?”

But DreamXD ignored him.

He was looking straight at me.

I hated it.

That look in his eyes— like he knew me.

Knew something I didn’t. Or maybe something I did, deep down, but was trying really hard not to dig up.

“Do you feel it?” he asked, softly now. “That emptiness in your chest? That ache you never figured out the reason for?”

I swallowed hard. My hands were shaking.

“S-shut up..” I muttered.

Techno was still staring at me, and I could feel the question in his silence.

Then he tilted his head again. “Do you want to remember?”

Silence.

My mouth opened, but I didn’t know what I was going to say.

And Techno, still blocking me from the god’s view, said simply.

“No.”

DreamXD blinked.

“I don’t want to remember,” Techno repeated, voice low, steady. “Because if it mattered—if it was important—it’d still be here. But right now? We’re alive. We’re here. And we’ve got bigger things to deal with than some stupid backstory.”

…

..

.

…He didn’t ask it.
…Didn’t press.

He turned just enough to glance at me again.

“I’ll protect him now. That’s what matters.”

And that — that made something deep in my chest ache in a way I couldn’t explain. Like something old and broken was reaching for him through me.

DreamXD stared at the two of us for a long time.

Then, slowly, that smile returned.

“Very well,” he said. “But remember this.”

He leaned in close—not to Techno, but to me.

“When the memories return… they always do so in fire. ”

My breath caught. I didn’t even realize I’d stopped breathing until Techno shifted, grounding us both with the simple movement. He still stood in front of me, like a wall—his hand lowered slightly, but his body was still tense. Still ready.

“What the hell does that mean?” Techno growled.

DreamXD didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he floated a little closer, circling the edge of the ritual, then he held a hand out and a chess piece appeared. A Queen. It was made out of glass, it was shiny, fragile and most importantly it has a diamond inside it. 

He looked at me through the glass, and smiled.

 “It means you are a part of a game you don’t know you were even playing,” he said simply. “Some have lived before. Fought. Bled. Died. And in the end… they always find each other.”

….

…

..

.

My heart stuttered in my chest.

“No matter how many times you’re torn apart,” DreamXD whispered, eyes glowing brighter now, “you crawl your way back.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, suddenly, sharply. My voice cracked halfway through it, raw with something I didn’t want to name.

DreamXD turned his gaze back to me, slow and deliberate. “Ah. There it is. The fear. The part of you that does remember.”

“I said shut up!!!” I screamed.

Chapter Text

—The Past, Greenfield Kingdom—

The three years that followed passed not in days, but in silence—drawn out and suffocating.

By the time the princess reached her eighteenth year, her wings were nothing more than memory.

The sky—once her sanctuary—had become a dream she could no longer touch. Her back still ached with the ghost of flight, her horns—symbols of her birthright—gone without mercy. Her reflection was a stranger now, a shell in royal silk. Every mirror was covered. Not by decree. But by choice.
She couldn’t bear to look.
Not at what she had become.
Not at what had been taken.

A prisoner, not just of stone walls—but of memory.

She had tried to run. Once.
A desperate attempt carved in trembling hands and whispered promises beneath the moon.
It had failed. She was caught. Punished.
But Drista…

Her little sister had escaped.

And that, somehow, was enough to breathe through the pain. Enough to quiet the screaming in her bones.

At night, when the silence stretched too long, she would smile—just barely—and close her eyes, pretending she could still feel the wind on her face.

Because even if she would never fly again…
Her sister could.
Her sister was free.

And if nothing else in this world had meaning—then that did.

—Nightfall, Greenfield’s Castle—

The wind whispered through the palace halls like a forgotten lullaby, brushing against the velvet curtains that swayed in time with a heart too tired to beat fast anymore.

In her chambers, Day sat alone.

Her aunt, now crowned Queen, rarely showed her face to the public. Whispers traveled the kingdom—of monsters in dungeons, of starving towns, of loyal guards going missing. But the people said nothing. Fear held their tongues. Gold kept their silence.

The princess was raised like royalty, but treated like a hostage. Books replaced tutors. Locked doors replaced courtyards. She wasn't the heir anymore. She was an ornament. A burden. A mistake her aunt couldn’t erase.

She no longer counted the days—it only made the silence louder. Instead, she counted the bruises that faded, the etiquette books she memorized, and balanced on her head until her neck ached.Her knuckles bore the memory of endless posture drills, her wrists remembered the weight of goblets she’d been forced to balance in silence.

The Queen called it training .
A future monarch must be Perfect. Graceful. Obedient. Quiet.

Every lesson was a test, every mistake an excuse for the Queen to remind her

“ You are mine to mold.”

….

…

..

.

So Day became what she needed to survive.
She walked with poise. She spoke with elegance. She never cried where anyone could see.

But the fire in her chest never quite went out.

She remembered the first time she was told to kneel—not in reverence, but in submission.
How the Queen circled her like a predator, plucking at her posture and pride.
How she whispered cruelly, “You will wear the crown, yes, but only because I placed it there.”

It was not grooming for greatness.
It was control, dressed in satin and crowned in cruelty.

She learned to smile without warmth.
To speak without truth.
To rule with her soul caged in a room she couldn’t escape.

Yet every time she passed the statue in the royal garden—the one of the Ender hybrid who once saved the realm—she would pause. Just for a heartbeat.

But tonight… tonight her thoughts were elsewhere.

She stood at the window, arms folded over the sill, staring up at the stars. The cool night air kissed her scarred skin, trailing softly down her back where wings once lived. Her fingers brushed the jagged edges near her shoulder blades, not out of habit, but longing.

And yet—she smiled.

It was soft. Small. Broken.

But real.

Because out there, somewhere, her sister was free..

She clutched the locket around her neck—her sister's favorite flower pressed inside, long dried.

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Not for herself.
But for all the nights she wished she could sing her sister to sleep again.

Be strong, she whispered in her mind, hoping her voice would carry across the wind. 

“Live the life I couldn’t. Live enough for both of us.” She whispered underneath her breath.

….

…

..

.

She wiped her tear, stood firm and looked at the moon.

The Queen believed she had broken her.
But Day knew better.

She had endured.
She had learned.
She had become everything the Queen demanded… and yet held something of herself in secret. A single ember, hidden deep.

One day, it would burn again.
For herself.
For her sister.
For all that had been taken.

—The next morning—

The morning sun filtered softly through the tall windows of the eastern tower, gilding the stone floor with light. The air smelled faintly of roses and tea—carried from the royal gardens below.

The princess, known now only as Lady Day , sat curled upon the window seat, her knees drawn to her chest, her chin resting gently atop them. Her emerald eyes, once so full of spark and mischief, were dulled with weariness as she watched the quiet courtyard below.

Then, a gentle knock echoed against the wooden door.

Her voice, quiet and clipped, broke the stillness.

“Who seeks entrance?”

A pause. Then a girl’s soft voice, muffled behind the thick door.

“Pardon, Lady Day… We’ve brought your breakfast.”

She did not answer at first.

The weight of the silence stretched long—until finally, she spoke again, her tone formal and resigned.

“…You may enter.”

The door creaked open. Two handmaidens stepped inside with careful grace, dressed in matching sage-colored gowns. They carried a silver tray adorned with polished fruit, soft bread, and a steaming cup of herbal tea. Their heads remained bowed as they approached.

“My lady,” one of them murmured, setting the tray on the small table by the window. “Your morning meal.”

Day did not move.

The other maid hesitated, then spoke softly. “We thought perhaps the jasmine tea might comfort you. The royal physician said it may help you rest.”

Still, the princess did not speak. Her gaze remained fixed on the statue far below—the one in the garden. A statue carved long ago, of a hybrid woman with wings outstretched, eyes lifted to the stars.

Lady Emerald.

The maid cleared her throat gently. “Her Majesty the Queen requests your presence this evening… for a banquet.”

Day’s expression did not change.

“Foreign envoys will be attending,” the girl added, a note of nervousness in her voice. “Suitors from noble houses. She… wishes you to make a favorable impression.”

At last, Day turned her head. Slowly. Her voice was soft, but it cut like ice.

“I will attend.”

The handmaidens blinked in surprise, then dipped into graceful bows.

“Well then, we shall tell her majesty.”

As they retreated, the door closing silently behind them, Day exhaled—slow and deep, her eyes never leaving that distant statue.

—The Throne Room—

Day stood before the Queen with her chin high, spine straight, every inch of her posture a mirror of obedience—except for the fire in her eyes.

The morning light spilled through the stained-glass windows, casting colored shadows over the cold marble floor. Guards lined the walls, stiff and silent. Servants stood like ghosts at the edges of the chamber, heads bowed, eyes averted.

The Queen sat on the throne, cloaked in crimson, fingers drumming along the armrest as if she could hear time ticking and was bored with the sound. Her crown sat heavy on her brow, but her gaze was sharper than any blade in the room.

“You were late to morning court,” she said, voice sweet, almost gentle. Poison wrapped in silk.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Day replied evenly, bowing low. “I was praying.”

“A curious habit,” the Queen mused, leaning forward. “Considering how little the gods have done for you.”

A quiet murmur passed through the room, but Day didn’t flinch.

“I suppose that’s true,” she said softly. “They let my mother die. Let my father fall. Let me stay.”

The Queen’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her jaw ticked. “Careful, darling. Gratitude looks better on you than bitterness.”

Day lifted her head slowly. “As does honesty on a crown.”

Silence.

For a moment, the entire court held its breath. No one moved. No one dared.

Then the Queen laughed.

It was a cold, brittle sound that echoed off the high ceilings. “Still so bold,” she said, rising from her seat, descending the steps with elegance sharpened into threat. “You walk a fine line, my dear. One wrong step, and you’ll find the floor disappears beneath your feet.”

Day didn’t move as the Queen stopped in front of her.

“You should be thanking me,” the Queen whispered, close now, voice for her ears only. “I’m shaping you. Polishing you. You’ll be a perfect queen one day—silent, obedient, and beautiful in your place. Just like your mother.”

The words struck like knives.

But Day only nodded. “Of course, my Queen.”

The Queen’s hand rose—fingertips brushing her cheek almost kindly. “Soon, we’ll begin discussing suitors. We’ll find you a husband strong enough to keep you in line… but soft enough to be broken if needed.”

Her stomach twisted.

But she bowed again. “Whatever you wish, Your Majesty.”

Because for now, she had to play the part.

But she was no statue.

And one day, the pieces she’d been carved into… would come back together.

Sharper. Stronger.

Unbreakable.

—The Royal Garden—

The garden was the only place that still felt alive.

While the palace breathed politics and punishment, the garden remembered warmth. The breeze was soft, carrying the scent of blooming moonflowers and fresh earth. The petals whispered things no one else dared to say.

Day sat beneath a silver-leafed tree, surrounded by her handmaidens, each pretending not to watch her too closely. She was dressed in pale blue today—an image of fragile nobility, all lace sleeves and soft silks that didn’t quite mask the exhaustion in her bones.

She’d asked to walk outside. The Queen had allowed it—perhaps to keep up appearances, or maybe just because she knew the sky wasn’t hers anymore.

“My lady,” one of the maids said gently, “shall we bring your tea?”

Day nodded faintly, but her gaze was on the canopy above, watching the golden light dance between the leaves. There was peace here. Temporary, fleeting—but it was hers.

THUMP.

A body collided with hers— hard .

Gasps erupted. One maid screamed. Another dropped the silver tea tray in shock, the clatter echoing louder than it should have.

The air was knocked out of her lungs as she fell back, the weight of the stranger landing on top of her, pinning her to the ground. Her skirts flew up as she gasped, a mix of surprise and shock.

Day’s breath hitched, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief, as she lay frozen on the ground. The weight of him was still pressing down on her, but all she could focus on was how close his face was, how vulnerable and awkward he seemed. Slowly, as if realizing the situation in which he had landed, he pushed himself off her, his hands brushing against her dress as he scrambled to get up.

Before he could fully rise, the maids—who had been rooted in shock—rushed forward, their expressions a mixture of horror and urgency. One maid swatted his hands away from her dress, sharply scolding him with a high-pitched, frantic voice.

"How dare you touch Her Highness like that!" she cried, pulling Day up quickly and flustering about, eyes darting between Day and the stranger.

Day’s eyes widened slightly, but she could not suppress the brief flutter of amusement at the situation. The tension in the air was thick, but there was something about the chaos of it all—the absurdity of the moment—that made her lips twitch.

—After—

Day was now sitting and the boy on their knees in front of her.

He didn't seem to know where to look, clearly mortified by his clumsy entrance.

The boy, still blushing fiercely, seemed to realize just how ridiculous the situation was. He fumbled for words, his face turning even redder under the weight of his embarrassment.

“Uh... Sorry, Your Highness,” he muttered, his voice rough with awkwardness. He lifted his head slowly, and for the first time, their eyes met. His were wide, slightly panicked, as if he feared she might scold him on the spot. But when he saw the faintest hint of amusement in her gaze, his expression softened, and he offered her a nervous, sheepish grin.

Still cradling the cat like it was some sort of precious artifact, the boy continued, “I swear, I was trying to save it. The cat got stuck up there. In the tree. Really.”

The cat, as unimpressed as ever, let out a sharp meow, as if agreeing with the idea that this whole situation was a disaster.

Day blinked again, her mouth twitching upward despite herself. The absurdity of the moment was too much to ignore. How many times had she sat in this very garden, trapped in silence, weighed down by the suffocating rules of court? And now, here was this boy, with his messy hair, his awkward charm, and his ridiculous cat, breaking through her carefully constructed walls like a gust of fresh air.

She bit her lip, holding back a laugh that was so desperately out of place. “You… fell from a tree.” Her voice was soft, but the amusement was clear in her tone.

“I regret nothing,” he said solemnly. 

And then—she laughed.

It was a sound that took him by surprise, soft and light, almost like the wind brushing against a gentle stream. It wasn’t forced, nor was it a polite laugh. It was real. A sound she hadn’t allowed herself to make in ages, one that seemed to float in the air between them, pure and unguarded.

He froze, his heart skipping in his chest as the sound wrapped around him like a warm embrace. He hadn’t expected it—how could he? He had fallen from a tree and landed on top of her like a complete fool, and yet, she was laughing.

Her eyes sparkled, and her lips curled into a smile that felt both innocent and wild, like a part of her had broken free from the weight of the crown she bore. His chest tightened, the laugh echoing in his mind as if it was a secret that only he had been entrusted with.

He couldn’t help but grin, mesmerized by the way her laugh seemed to light up her face, transforming her. It was a moment of pure simplicity, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fall away.

“Your name?” she asked, tilting her head. 

“Prince William of the Western Kingdom,” he said as he stood up and did a too-formal bow that made the cat wiggle in protest. 

“At your service, Princess…?” 

“Day,” she replied, her smile still lingering. 

“But you can call me the girl whose tea time you destroyed.” 

“I’m honored,” he said, grinning. 

The guards were already approaching, unsure whether to arrest him or apologize. But Day raised a hand. 

“Leave him,” she said, still watching the boy. 

“He’s... interesting.” William’s grin widened. 

The cat meowed again, now tucked comfortably into his arm.

And for the first time in a very long while, the garden didn’t feel like a cage. 

It felt like the start of something. 

—Midnight, The Banquet Hall—

The grand hall shimmered under a thousand flickering candles, their golden light reflecting off polished silverware and crystal goblets. Velvet drapes in deep crimson framed the tall windows, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the faintest trace of jasmine from the garden below.

Lady Day entered, her presence commanding despite the soft rustle of her gown. The courtiers fell into a hushed murmur, eyes flicking toward her, then away, as if the weight of her silence was a palpable thing. She moved with deliberate grace, each step measured, as if the very act of walking was a performance.

At the head of the table, Queen Seraphine sat like a hawk, her eyes sharp and calculating. Beside her, a row of suitors from noble houses shifted uncomfortably, their polished boots gleaming under the candlelight. Among them, Prince William stood out—not just for his disheveled appearance, but for the ease with which he seemed to breathe in the stifling atmosphere.

As Lady Day took her seat, the room seemed to exhale collectively. The clinking of silverware resumed, but the undercurrent of tension remained. 

The Queen's voice sliced through the murmur. "Lady Day," she began, her tone sweet but laced with steel, "I trust you find the evening to your liking?"

Day met her gaze, her eyes unwavering. "The evening is as it should be, Your Majesty."

A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—passed over the Queen's face before she turned her attention to the suitors. "Gentlemen, I present to you my daughter, the future queen. May your conversations be as enlightening as they are pleasant."

Suitor after suitor approached her, all clad in their finest silks and smiles rehearsed too many times. They bowed, they flattered, they spoke of lands, lineage, and the strength of their bloodlines.

Day answered them all with perfect grace—nods where appropriate, a smile when expected. But her eyes told a different story.

“Nice to see you again, Lady Day…”

The voice slipped through the noise like a thread of silver—low, warm, unmistakably casual.

She blinked, her spine stiffening slightly. The dull film over her gaze lifted as she turned—and there he was.

William.

Not in stolen garden shadows or tangled tree branches this time, but here, in the full splendor of the court. Cleaned up, sure, but still unmistakably him—like a fox in borrowed finery. His jacket, though tailored, was slightly askew at the collar. His smile, as lopsided as ever. And on his shoulder, somehow, that same unimpressed cat was perched like a tiny, regal judge.

“You,” she murmured, eyebrows lifting.

He stepped closer, offering a dramatic bow. “You could’ve told me,” he said, a teasing note dancing in his voice. “That you were the Lady Day. The princess of Greenfield. Royal heir. Living legend. Favorite target of overqualified suitors.”

She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth pulling upward despite herself. “You never asked.”

“I would’ve bowed more awkwardly,” he said, straightening with a grin. “Maybe even tripped.”

“You did fall on me, remember?”

He winced. “Still recovering from the trauma.”

She laughed softly—quiet, but genuine. And just like that, something shifted. For the first time all night, she wasn’t performing.

She was present .

Standing just off-center, hands behind his back, posture far too relaxed for this formal affair. He wore no heavy cloak or over-embellished sash. His coat was simple but tailored, the navy blue bringing out the brightness in his mismatched eyes—one green, one hazel. His hair, though combed, still had the same unruly defiance about it. And perched on his shoulder—bold as ever—was the very same unimpressed cat.

Her lips parted, with amusement. “You’re not on the list,” she murmured.

He gave her a mock-wounded look. “Ouch. I was invited.”

“By whom?”

“Your head chef, actually. Said the palace hadn’t had a decent laugh in years.”

Day almost smiled. Almost. “This is a royal banquet.”

“And I’m royally hungry.”

She couldn’t stop the soft sound that escaped her—half a sigh, half a laugh.

Suitors around them had begun to notice. A few shifted uncomfortably. One visibly sneered. But William didn’t seem to care. If anything, their stares amused him.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough for only her to hear. “You look like you're trying very hard not to run.”

“I’ve had more thrilling evenings,” she replied smoothly, lifting her goblet without taking a sip.

“I figured,” he said, leaning in a little. “So I came to rescue you.”

“From suitors?”

“From boredom.” He grinned. “Also, from that ambassador with the purple mustache who just tried to compare you to a melon.”

She blinked. “That happened?”

“You were somewhere else,” he said gently. “I don’t blame you.”

And suddenly, for the first time that evening, she was present. Fully there. A flicker of life sparked in her chest—unexpected, fragile, real.

Maybe it was his absurdity.
Maybe it was his honesty.
Maybe it was just that he spoke to her like a person—not a prize.

Whatever it was, it worked.

“Come on,” he whispered, offering his hand with exaggerated ceremony. “Let’s go steal a tart before the Queen notices.”

She stared at it, then—without quite realizing—took it.

And just like that, the air shifted. The court watched, puzzled. The Queen narrowed her eyes.

But Day?

Day walked away from her throne, hand in William’s, the corners of her mouth betraying the smallest, most rebellious smile.

The kind that felt like the start of trouble.

The kind that tasted like freedom.

….
…
..
.

The Queen watched from her seat at the head of the banquet hall, her gaze sharp behind the glittering veil of candlelight and crystal.

To most, she appeared regal and serene—elevated above the noise, the music, the politics swirling beneath her feet. But behind the stillness of her expression, gears turned like clockwork. Cold. Efficient. Calculating.

Her daughter was laughing.

And not the polite kind of laughter expected from a well-trained royal. No, this was something real—unguarded, bright. Her head tilted slightly back. Her lips parted in a smile that touched her eyes.

And he— Prince William of the Western —was the reason.

The Queen’s gaze moved to the boy.

Not the polished type she’d been offered from the noble houses. He wore no chains of office, no family crest encrusted with gems. His coat was dark, modest—worn with ease, not for display. But there was a quiet command in the way he stood. Something unteachable. His reputation, she knew, had grown louder in recent months.

Respected abroad. Loyal to his people. A rising name in a waning world.

He was the sort of man people followed—not because they were told to, but because they wanted to.

And Day was watching him like the world had cracked open.

“My Queen,” murmured Lord Everin, leaning closer, “shall I intervene? He’s not on the approved list.”

She did not answer immediately.

Below, Day leaned in, whispering something that made William’s grin tilt wider. The cat on his shoulder blinked, utterly unimpressed. Around them, the noise of the hall dulled beneath the weight of attention—yet they stood in their own pocket of something quieter. Lighter.

The Queen’s fingers tapped once—twice—against the stem of her goblet.

“No,” she said at last, voice soft but decisive. “Let them talk.”

Everin raised an eyebrow. “You… approve?”

Her eyes never left her daughter. “I see potential.”

“In him ?”

“In both of them.”

A small, secretive smile tugged at her mouth.

“Day is fire,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “She needs something solid to anchor her. Someone clever enough to challenge her, but not foolish enough to control her. Someone whose loyalty cannot be bought—but may be won.”

She swirled the wine in her glass, watching the crimson pool rise and fall.

“If he makes her feel something… good. Let her believe it’s hers. Let him believe it’s his. In time, they’ll see it’s mine.”

Everin blinked. “You’d permit a match?”

The Queen smiled. Cold. Brilliant. Inevitable.

“I’ll arrange it.”

And from her throne above, the Queen sipped her wine, already considering the union not as a love story, but as a strategy—one that would bind the Isles and the Greenfields under a single banner.

Day thought she had found a sliver of freedom.

But freedom, the Queen knew, was best disguised as a gift.

—Day 070, Pandora’s Box—

Dream jolted awake, his breath catching in his chest. Once more, he found himself trapped within the same haunting dream.

His eyes darted around in a panic, his mind scrambling for answers. He couldn't remember what had happened after he had passed out—everything was a blur, a fractured memory of something just out of reach.

All he knows is the silence after DreamXD left wasn’t peaceful.
It was suffocating .

The kind that clings to your skin and whispers that something’s changed—even if you’re not sure what.

He was still trying to breathe.

And then, a voice broke through the thick fog of his confusion.

“Hey, Dream… you alright?”

It was Techno’s voice—gruff, but laced with concern.

Dream's head snapped to the door, his pulse still erratic. For a moment, he didn’t answer. The room was dim, shadows stretching across the walls, but Techno was there, standing in the doorway, his figure half-lit by the soft glow of the hallway outside.

Dream swallowed hard, trying to push down the cold, creeping panic that threatened to overtake him. “I—yeah. I’m fine,” he lied, though the words felt hollow in his mouth. He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t sure if he could be fine after whatever had just happened.

Techno’s gaze remained steady, unreadable, yet there was an unsettling knowing in his eyes, as if he could see through the cracks in Dream’s façade.

"W-what happened?" Dream stammered, his voice a little shaky as his hands fumbled for something to ground him.

"You passed out," Techno replied, his tone blunt but not unkind. He uncrossed his arms and gave Dream a look that could cut through steel. "We were talking, and then you just collapsed. Didn’t even see it coming. You’ve been acting strange ever since he left. What the hell happened, Dream?”

The question hit harder than Dream expected. His throat tightened, and his pulse quickened. Techno was right— ever since DreamXD left , everything had spiraled. But how could he explain it when he barely understood it himself? He didn’t even know what was real anymore, let alone what he meant.

Fear churned in his gut. What if Techno knew? What if Techno was starting to see the cracks, too? Dream couldn’t let that happen. He couldn't tell Techno what DreamXD had said—what he hadn’t said—but what had lingered in the silence after.

Techno sighed, a long exhale that seemed to carry both impatience and concern. "You don’t have to talk about it," he said, his voice softer now, almost a concession. "Whatever that was... whatever he meant."

Dream blinked. “I... I don’t know what he meant…”

It was another lie, and it burned in his chest like acid. The moment DreamXD had said it—whatever it was—he’d felt it, deep inside, a tug in the pit of his stomach. A whisper that made the hairs on his neck stand up. And now, now that DreamXD was gone, it was worse. Like something was trying to crawl out from the cracks in his mind, scratching at his thoughts, begging to break free.

"I just wanted to mess with a spell," Dream muttered, desperate to shake the gnawing unease that was tightening around his ribs. "Not... unlock a soul trauma speedrun."

Techno snorted, the edge of his lips curling up in a brief, wry smile. "Next time, let’s summon something harmless. Like a chicken. Or a child."

"Children are terrifying," Dream replied, forcing a weak chuckle despite the tension gnawing at his insides.

Techno shot him a sideways glance, arching a brow. "Yeah, alright. Fair."

There was a beat of silence before the weight of the conversation settled back in. Dream tried to focus on the absurdity of the moment, but the gnawing feeling inside him wouldn’t let go. The unsettling feeling from the dream. The question of why it felt so real. Why it felt like something more than just a dream. Something worse. And the terrifying certainty that whatever it was, it wasn’t over yet.

Chapter Text

—Day 074, Pandora’s Box—

Dream’s POV

light across his face. The box was quieter now, like it, too, was catching its breath.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he woke up.

It had been a while since that dream. These past few days, there were no dreams, no nightmares — just a quiet emptiness in his head that left too much room for thoughts he didn’t want to entertain.

It was strange. Unsettling. Normally, his sleep was haunted by the kind of vivid chaos that made the waking hours feel like a relief. But now? Now there was nothing. And the silence? It wasn’t peaceful. It gnawed at him, making him question everything he had ignored for so long.

But there were still moments. Short, sharp flashes of something that almost felt like memories, but never long enough to grasp. A pain, sudden and sharp, would spike behind his eyes. A headache. Then, like a film on fast-forward, fragmented images would play in his mind: fleeting moments he couldn’t place, faces he couldn’t remember, places he swore he should know.

They were like ghosts — blurry, distorted, never enough to form a picture. But they were real enough to hurt.

Time didn’t move normally in Pandora’s Box. The clocks didn’t tick. The lights didn’t change. Sometimes the floor tiles rearranged themselves when you blinked. But Techno was still here. That was something.

Techno had moved close — not too close — and was slowly sharpening a dagger, more out of habit than need. The sound of stone against metal was rhythmic, grounding. Comforting, in a way Dream didn’t want to admit.

The rasp of the dagger on the whetstone echoed in the stillness, the noise slicing through Dream’s thoughts like a knife of its own. And suddenly, without warning, the sound tugged Dream’s mind back.

…

..

.

The sharp scrape of a whetstone. Techno at the table, focused, sharpening his knives. Dream had stood in the doorway, watching him, the scent of woodsmoke in the air.

“You know,” Dream had teased softly, 

“you really don’t need all those knives.”

Techno’s smirk had been faint but real. “Never know when you’ll need them.”

….

…

..

.

Dream blinked, the present rushing back. The rasp of the dagger in Techno’s hand still rang in his ears.

“Do you remember the orchard?” Dream asked suddenly, his voice soft.

The sharpening stopped. Techno didn’t look up. 

“What orchard?”

Dream glanced down, curling his fingers into the hem of his sleeve. 

“You used to bring me apples. Said they were sweeter if you stole them.”

A pause. Then the faintest huff of breath — maybe a laugh. Maybe not.

…

..

.

Dream remembered the crunch of dry leaves underfoot, the way Techno always walked ahead like he knew exactly which tree would have the best fruit.

“You’re gonna get caught,” Dream had warned once, half-laughing, breathless from running.

Techno had looked over his shoulder, an apple in each hand, eyes bright. “Then you better run faster.”

They’d sat in the tall grass after, apples in hand. The sunlight had filtered through the branches in soft, gold threads. Dream could still taste the sharp sweetness on his tongue.

“Stolen ones are sweeter,” Techno had said, grinning like he’d figured out a secret law of the universe.

Dream hadn’t argued. He’d just nodded and smiled, chewing slowly, like that moment could stretch forever if he didn’t break it.

….

…

..

.

“I don’t remember that,” Techno said.

“I know,” Dream replied.

He didn’t say it to blame him. Just to say it.

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t heavy. It was... careful. Like walking across glass.

Dream didn’t push further. He just let the silence settle again, like dust.

The scraping of the dagger resumed, slower now. Dream watched the flick of Techno’s wrist, the way his expression remained focused but unreadable. It was always like that with him — like trying to look through frost-covered glass. You could make out the shape of something beneath, but never enough to understand it.

He shifted, his back aching slightly from the cold stone wall. “Sometimes I think I’m remembering things wrong,” he said, voice barely louder than the whispering wind that never stopped in this place. “Like they’re just dreams. Made up.”

Techno didn’t look at him, but his hands stilled again.

Dream continued. “The orchard. That stupid rooftop. Your handwriting on the edges of maps. It all feels real, but it’s like trying to hold water.”

Finally, Techno glanced at him. His gaze was sharp, but not unkind. “If I forgot something… would you tell me?”

Dream smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t think it’d matter. If you don’t remember feeling it, hearing it… then it’s just a story. Mine, not yours.”

There was a beat, and then Techno leaned back in the chair, letting the dagger rest on his knee.

“I get flashes sometimes,” he said, and the words seemed to surprise even him. “Smells. Colors. Music. Things that make me feel… like I should know something.”

Dream’s heart ached. “Like déjà vu.”

“Like ghosts ,” Techno said, tone dry. “But yeah.”

The silence that followed wasn’t so careful anymore. It was brittle. Fractured.

Dream picked at the edge of his sleeve again. “You used to hum,” he said after a while. “Always when you cooked. Some old folk song you said your mother used to sing.”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “I cook?”

“You did.” Dream’s smile was softer this time. “Terribly. Burned everything but the potatoes.”

…

..

.

It was late at night when Techno had decided to try cooking again — after that disastrous attempt at soup that had filled the whole house with smoke. The kitchen smelled of burnt herbs and singed meat, but Dream couldn’t help but laugh as he watched Techno standing over the stove, furrowing his brow in concentration.

“You really need to stop using the fire so much, you know?” Dream had teased, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms folded.

“I’ll have you know, I’m a culinary genius,” Techno had responded, his voice mock-serious. The apron he wore was far too small for him, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He had tried to make something resembling stew, but it was mostly just charred remains of vegetables and a bit of meat.

Dream had chuckled. “A genius who can only cook potatoes.”

“And those are perfectly cooked!” Techno had argued, but Dream could see the flicker of warmth in his eyes — something that felt real and raw. He had tried so hard, even if he wasn’t the best.

And then, Techno had hummed. That old folk song Dream had never been able to place. The melody was slow and soothing, but Dream had never asked where it came from. He had just listened, leaning in to hear the soft notes escape from Techno’s mouth. There had always been something special in those moments — a quiet peace that Dream wasn’t sure he would ever find again.

….

…

..

.

Dream’s chest tightened as the memory slipped away like sand through his fingers. He could still hear the faint hum of that song in his mind, as if it were just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise again.

“Huh.” Techno tilted his head, like he was trying to shake something loose from behind his eyes. 

“We were friends, weren’t we?”

Dream’s breath caught in his chest.

He looked away. 

“Yeah.”

“Were we more than that?”

Dream didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

The room didn’t shift, the shadows didn’t dance, but something changed anyway — something quiet and painful and real.

Techno didn’t press him again. He just went back to sharpening his blade.

But he didn’t look away this time.

Dream stared at the floor, his fingers still gripping the hem of his sleeve. He could feel the weight of Techno’s gaze, but he couldn’t meet it. Not now. Not when everything was on the edge of shattering.

“Were we more than that?”

The question echoed in his mind. It shouldn’t have. He should have been able to brush it off, but it lingered like a ghost he couldn’t exorcise. 

Were they?

He could still feel the ache in his chest when he thought about it — the way things had felt before all this. Before Pandora’s Box, before the silence stretched between them like an uncrossable gap. Before Techno had forgotten everything, and Dream had been left alone with memories that couldn’t be shared.

We were friends. Were we more than that?

What if they were? 

What if they had been? 

Dream hadn’t even realized how much of his heart had been tangled up in Techno until it was already too late, until everything had started to slip away. How could you not remember this?

He shut his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall. The cool stone was grounding, but it couldn’t help the pounding in his skull. His thoughts raced — fragments of memories, pieces of dreams that didn’t belong together.

The orchard. The rooftop. The way Techno had laughed, deep and unguarded. It felt like it was just within his reach, but every time he tried to grasp it, it slipped away, like sand through his fingers.

What if I tell him? 

What if he remembers something? 

What if it changes everything?

But what if it didn’t? 

What if it hurt him more?  

Techno didn’t remember, and Dream didn’t know how to make him. 

Could he?

Dream’s heart twisted. There was no way to fix this. No way to repair what had been broken — not when the person who had once been his anchor couldn’t even recall the weight of the bond they shared.

“You know,” Dream whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them, “I keep thinking if I tell you everything, it might make this… easier. But it won’t. I don’t even know if you’d want to hear it.”

He paused, his gaze fixed on the shifting walls, the soft, almost imperceptible tremors of the Box around them.

Techno was still sharpening the dagger, but Dream could feel the quiet attention in the air. He knew Techno had heard him, even if he didn’t respond.

Dream let out a long, slow breath.

“There’s so much I want to say. So much I wish I could tell you… But I don’t know if you’re ready to hear it.”

And for the first time in a long while, Dream felt the sharp, gut-wrenching reality of the truth.

He wasn’t ready to say it either.

Techno’s POV

The dagger in his hand was sharp enough to split stone. Not that it mattered.

His hands moved automatically, dragging the whetstone in practiced arcs. He wasn’t really paying attention. Hadn’t been for a while. The edge was already clean. Precise. Efficient. Like it was supposed to be.

Dream’s voice had gone quiet again.

He kept his eyes down. Focused. Disciplined.

Because if he looked at Dream right now, he wasn’t sure what would show on his face.

Something was unraveling, and he hated that he couldn’t stop it.

There were dreams he didn’t talk about. Not out loud. Not even to Phil.

Not the usual ones — not the blood, not the endless pestering of the blood-god, not the familiar weight of falling and not even the voices.

No. These were worse .

These were soft .

A laugh in the sunlight. Someone pulling him down into grass. Apples. Maps with little scribbles in the corners. A song that put him in a trance, stuck in his head like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

A voice he couldn’t place.

It wasn't the normal kind he knew.

A smile that made something deep in his chest go tight, like he’d missed a step on a staircase that didn’t exist.

It pissed him off.

The not-knowing.

The way it lingered.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes, there were flickers — not memories, not full — just impressions. Emotions. The echo of something that had once been real.

Warmth. Safety. Peace.

It didn’t make sense.
He didn’t have peace. He didn’t do peace. Never had.

But somehow, somewhere, something in him insisted otherwise.

And now Dream was sitting across from him — a tattered mess, trying too hard to act like he wasn’t — and Techno didn’t know which part stung more.

That he couldn’t remember any of it.

Or that Dream might still remember everything.

His voice came out flat, almost clinical.

“You think saying it out loud would do anything?”

He didn’t mean it like a challenge. It just came out that way.

Dream didn’t answer. Not immediately. The tension in his shoulders said enough.

Techno looked up at the ceiling — let his head fall back just slightly, the motion casual, like this conversation wasn’t burning a hole in the space between them. The stone above creaked faintly. Breathing. Watching.

“I don’t care if I used to be a saint or a psychopath,” he muttered.

“I just want to know what the hell I’m supposed to be now.”

“After that XD guy left, I can’t help but think…what happened before all of this.”

“It’s pissing me honestly. Its annoying that I have another problem to take care of..I mean I was already fine not knowing anything, But this. Just this, I can’t help but not think about it. As if…I can't take it out of my head…heh..”

Another pause. Another breath.

“Because something about this—about you—feels like I’m fighting a war I already lost.”

His voice didn’t shake. He didn’t let it.

But he knew what it sounded like underneath.

He turned to look at Dream, finally. Met his eyes with something steeled.

“You ever get that feeling? Like your own head’s lying to you?”

And Dream—Dream looked at him like he’d been waiting years to hear that question.

There was a pause. A long, bitter silence.

Techno broke it.

“Were we more than just… whatever this is?”

The question sounded casual. Like he was asking about the weather.

It wasn’t.

He hadn’t meant to say it. The words had just clawed their way out. Sharp-edged. Dangerous.

But now they were out there. Bleeding between them.

He didn’t try to imagine it. Didn’t trust his mind not to lie.

But he wanted to.

Wanted to know what it meant, that his chest tightened when Dream spoke softly. That some part of him ached when Dream looked at him like that — like he knew him.

The fragments didn’t make a story. Not one he could follow. Just feelings. Ghosts. Loose ends and empty spaces.

But the ache was real.

Dream was real.

And something in Techno hated that he might never know why.

Chapter Text

—Day 058, DSMP Server-Antarctic Reigon—
Ph1LzA’s Cabin —

Ph1LzA’s POV

The kettle screamed.

Phil didn’t move.

He stood by the window, eyes fixed on the winding path through the hills — the one Techno always took home. Morning light spilled golden across the fields, painting the stone fence and trees in warm, false peace.

Steve was curled up by the fireplace, snoring softly. The house was too quiet. Too still.

Almost three months now.

Three... da—

The number scratched at the back of his skull, familiar and itchy. He was forgetting something. Techno had said something. A warning? A joke? Why couldn’t he remember?

Why did that number make his stomach twist?

The kettle kept shrieking. Phil blinked and turned off the stove, the silence afterwards almost louder. He poured the tea with careful hands, willing them not to shake.

“He’s probably fine,” he said, voice too thin in the empty kitchen. “Just... taking his sweet time.”

He sat down. Tried to sip. Watched the clock.

And then watched it again.

What am I missing?

A sharp cry broke the stillness — the rasp of wings, the familiar squawk of a crow.

Phil startled, standing too quickly.

“Oh, hey—”

One of the crows perched on the windowsill, a scrap of paper clenched tightly in its beak. It cawed once—sharp and urgent—then hopped closer, talons scraping the stone ledge.

Phil’s gut twisted.

“What you got there, mate?” he asked, voice quieter now. The kind of voice used for graveyards and ghosts.

The crow tilted its head, almost like it understood, then let the note drop gently into his outstretched hand.

The paper was cold. Damp at the edges. Old ink bled slightly into the fibers.

Phil didn’t notice his tea cooling. Didn’t hear the wind pick up outside. The only thing that existed was the weight of the folded message in his palm.

He unfolded it, slow and wary.

And when he saw the handwriting—

His chest hollowed out.

It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be.

He knew who this was from. Or... he thought he did.

But why now?

Why this?

Why a warning, after all this time?

His hands clenched the paper tighter, eyes scanning the cryptic lines again and again, but there were no answers. Only questions — and a sinking feeling that something had already gone terribly wrong.

He sighed.

And then the air shifted.

A low hum—like the sound the world makes before lightning strikes—buzzed behind him.

He turned just in time to see a flash of light tear open the air by his fireplace.

A portal.

The edges flickered violently, unstable, as if something on the other side was forcing its way through.

Phil stepped back, heart hammering. “What the f—”

Someone stumbled through.

Cloaked. A red hood drawn low. Mud-soaked boots hit the floor, and they staggered, catching themselves on the table. The portal snapped shut behind them with a crack.

Phil’s wings twitched, half-spread in alarm. “Who—”

The stranger looked up, hood falling back slightly.

And Phil froze.

Because he knew that face.

“Hello, Ph1LzA_ minecraft.”

“I’m too old for this.”

—DSMP Server-Oak Forest—

Tommy and Alivebur’s POV

The forest was quiet, just birds and wind rustling the leaves overhead. Tommy walked ahead, kicking sticks and rocks, his hoodie sleeves shoved up, face scrunched in thought. Wilbur followed a step behind, arms tucked in his coat like always, eyes scanning the trees.

"Y’know," Tommy said, without turning around, "I think I liked Ghostbur better than you."

Wilbur snorted. "Gee, thanks."

"No, I mean—" Tommy glanced back. "He was weird. Said dumb stuff. But he was... I dunno. He made things feel softer."

Wilbur hummed, looking up at the light streaming through the trees. “He saw the world like a watercolor painting. Everything was soft edges. I miss that sometimes...”

“Ghostbur used to say the sky was blue ‘cause it missed the ocean.” Tommy said while holding the blue dye ghostbur gave him.

Wilbur saw it and, blinked. 

“He said a lot of things.”

“He was a freak.” 

“Too happy. Like he didn’t know anything bad ever happened.”

“He knew,” Wilbur said 

“He just chose to love the world anyway. I think... I think he was better than me.”

Tommy scuffed his shoe in the dirt. “He wasn’t better. Just... soft. He didn’t feel real. Like a dream you’re scared to wake up from.”

Wilbur’s voice dipped, almost sweet. “And yet you listened to him. Trusted him.”

“Yeah, well. I was messed up.” Tommy shoved his hands into his jacket. “Still am.”

“You let him hold your pain. But when I came back?” Wilbur’s tone tilted — not angry, but aware , sharp-edged. 

“You looked at me like I was the ghost .”

Tommy didn’t respond. The silence dragged for a beat too long.

Wilbur tilted his head. “It’s okay. I get it. It’s easier to love a memory than a man.”

He smiled at Tommy, a smile that makes you shiver.

Tommy blinked at him, startled. “That’s not— I didn’t mean—”

Wilbur smiled again, gentler this time. Practiced. “It’s alright, Tommy. I don’t blame you.”

The wind shifted through the trees—sharper now, sudden, unnatural. The birds stopped singing.

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed slightly. Tommy froze.

"You feel that?" Tommy asked, voice hushed.

Wilbur said nothing at first. His eyes were distant, calculating.

Something in the air... bent. Like the fabric of the world folded for a moment and stitched itself back together wrong. A low pulse—faint but felt—rippled under their feet. Like a hum inside the bones.

Tommy turned, gaze snapping toward the direction of L’Manberg. Or where it used to be. “That felt like—”

“A portal,” Wilbur said, almost to himself.

Then, without a word, they both reached for their communicator devices.

Tommy’s fingers fumbled slightly as he turned his on. “C’mon, c’mon...”

Wilbur already had his screen open, scrolling fast.

And there it was.

Nothing.

No alert.

No name.

No icon.

A new presence had entered the server.

They both looked at eachother, confused. Because they 're sure someone entered.

Neither of them knew who.

Only that someone—something—was here.

And that they weren’t supposed to be.

[Tommy]: hey guys?

[Tommy]: did anyone feel that just now??  

[Tommy]: like something entered the server…

—DSMP Server-Snowchester Region—
Snowchester Mansion—

Ranboo and Tubbo’s POV

The room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a lantern set on the dresser. Shadows danced across the walls, soft and slow, like the world itself was swaying to sleep.

Ranboo sat on the edge of the bed, cradling Michael against his chest. The child had been restless all night — tiny fists gripping Ranboo’s shirt, eyes wide despite the hour.

Ranboo rocked gently, humming low under his breath. His voice was barely above a whisper, fragile but steady. Michael’s lashes fluttered, breath slowing with every note.

The lullaby wasn’t something he’d planned to sing. It just…been a hobby. He would always hum it out to feel safe, and for comfort.

The door creaked open softly.

Tubbo paused in the doorway, eyes adjusting to the low light. He didn’t speak, only leaned against the frame, watching. Ranboo hadn’t noticed him yet. He was still focused on Michael, smoothing a hand over the toddler’s hair, humming with a softness that felt sacred.

Tubbo’s chest ached at the sight — at the stillness, the love, the way Ranboo held their son like the whole world was something gentle.

When the lullaby ended, Michael was asleep. Ranboo pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead, slow and careful, then finally looked up.

He startled slightly at the sight of Tubbo. “Oh—hey. Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Tubbo smiled, stepping in. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.” Ranboo adjusted the blankets over Michael. “He finally went down.”

Tubbo wrapped his arms around Ranboo from behind, chin on his shoulder. Ranboo leaned back into the warmth. “And the lullaby?” Tubbo asked softly. “Where’d that come from?”

Ranboo’s eyes drifted back to their son, his voice barely more than a breath. “It’s from my mom,” he murmured. “She used to sing it to me when I cried. Or when I couldn’t sleep.”

His hands stilled for a moment, resting gently on Michael’s back. “She always knew when things were too much — when the world felt too loud, or I couldn’t breathe right. And she’d just… start singing. Quietly. Like it was nothing. But somehow, it always worked.”

He gave a faint, fragile smile. “Her voice made everything smaller. Softer. Like I was safe again, even if just for a little while. Like I didn’t have to be afraid.”

Tubbo’s arms tightened around him as the quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken memories. Ranboo leaned back into the embrace, letting his eyes fall closed for a second.

“She sang it to help me fall asleep,” he whispered. “To calm me down when nothing else could. And now… I guess I wanted Michael to feel that too.”

…

..

.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the sliver of moonlight filtering through the window. Ranboo, small in his mother’s arms, shuddered. His tears fell silently, his little hands gripping at the fabric of her dress as though trying to anchor himself in a world that felt too big and too overwhelming.

His mother sang softly, her voice warm, but laced with the exhaustion of a long day. She rocked back and forth, her movements rhythmic and comforting, holding him close as the lullaby she knew so well filled the room.

“Hush, my little child,
Drift into slumber,
In your dreams, you’ll run and play,
In paradise…”

Ranboo’s sobs quieted, his eyelids growing heavy. The lullaby tugged at the edges of his consciousness, coaxing him toward sleep, but he resisted. The world beyond his mother’s arms was too vast, and he still felt the ache of something he couldn’t explain.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the quiet room. Two small figures appeared at the edge of the doorway, their silhouettes barely visible in the dim light.

Then his mother felt someone grabbed her dress below.

“Mommy..?” a voice called out—soft, hesitant.

His mother’s singing didn't paused, and she didn’t stop rocking Ranboo. She kept him close, her arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Hush, my little child,
Gentle now, go to sleep,
And somewhere in that moment,
The lonely moon will dream…”

The footsteps drew nearer. Ranboo’s two brothers, not quite as quiet as they thought they were, stood at the threshold of the room. They were no older than Ranboo—just small, wide-eyed children, afraid of the night and the things they couldn’t see. They peered in, glancing at their mother and the small boy she held.

“Mommy?” one of them asked again, this time with more urgency.

She smiled gently bat them. “Go back to bed, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm. “It’s time for you to sleep now, too. I’ll be right there.”

The two boys didn’t leave. Instead, they shuffled over to the sofa in the corner of the room. They sat together, curling into each other’s warmth, their eyes wide in the soft moonlight. They didn’t speak, just watched silently, waiting.

"A silent, icy gaze
Falls upon us
Like a fragile reed
Trembling in fear."

Her voice continued, as soothing as before, filling the room as she swayed Ranboo gently in her arms. Slowly, his tiny body began to relax. His breaths became deeper, slower. Finally, after a long while, he drifted to sleep.

She carefully laid him down in his bed, her hands brushing his hair back with a soft tenderness. Standing up, she looked over at the two boys on the sofa.

She quietly crossed the room, her steps light as she approached them. She reached out, taking one of their small hands and gently lifting the other boy from the couch, cradling him close as she whispered a quiet, “Come on, time for bed.”

They didn’t protest. They were too tired, too young to fight sleep.

"The gentle wind
Sways and dances
As breath sinks deep,
With quiet longing,
And without a word,
You’ll embrace
The sea that sings.”

She led them quietly down the hall toward their shared bedroom. The boys were still silent, the only sound the soft rustle of blankets being pulled up and the low hum of their mother’s lullaby.

“Wings drenched in longing
Unfold at last
Like a fragile sprout
Too small to hold.”

Once they were settled into their bed, their mother tucked them in, her soft voice humming the last few notes of the lullaby. She kissed each of them gently on their foreheads, her touch warm and reassuring. As she turned to leave, she paused, looking over her shoulder to see them both settled peacefully.

“Scattered sorrow
Sways and dances
As dawn rises
Unshaken and unsure,
And without a word,
You’ll embrace
The sea that sings.”

With the last notes of the lullaby hanging in the air, she closed the door softly behind her, leaving the room to settle into silence. The night stretched on, long and endless, as the three boys slept soundly, the world outside forgotten for a little while longer.

….

…

..

.

The air felt strange, thick with an unseen weight, as Ranboo finished tucking Michael into bed. His hand lingered for a moment on the boy’s small head, but something shifted. It was subtle at first—a quiet hum beneath their feet, an electric pulse in the air. Then, as quickly as it came, the feeling spread, like the world was holding its breath.

Tubbo, standing in the corner of the room, felt it too. His gaze snapped to Ranboo, eyes wide with that familiar flicker of unease.

"Did you—" Tubbo started, his voice barely a whisper.

Ranboo cut him off with a sharp, “Yeah.”

Neither of them said anything more, but the weight of the moment was heavy between them. The hum deepened, reverberating through their bodies, a distant thrum that seemed to twist the space around them.

After some silence, they heard their communicator. A Notification.

It was from tommy.

[Tommy]: hey guys?

[Tommy]: did anyone feel that just now??  

So it wasn't just them…everyone probably felt it to…

[Tommy]: like something entered the server…

[Tubbo]: Are you guys okay?

[Tommy]: Uhm Yeah im with wil

[Tommy]: But seriously does anyone know what happened??

—DSMP Server-Near Main Server—
Pandora’s Box—

Awesamdude’s POV

The key hung from his belt like a curse.

Sam walked the halls of the prison, his boots echoing too loudly in the quiet. The cell lights flickered, the redstone pulsing like a heartbeat. He knew the routine. He’d memorized it — every door, every lever, every security protocol.

Still, his hands felt clammy.

He paused at the observation deck, staring down into the abyss where Dream’s cell lay — or used to. Now both Dream and Techno were down there. Locked in.

‘Voluntarily’

Was that mercy or madness?

“I did what I had to,” Sam said, gripping the railing. “I did what was right.”

But the silence didn’t agree.

And deep down, neither did he.

Ping.

A notification stopped his trance.

He sighed and went to pick it up.

—DSMP Server-Near Main Server—
Sapnap, Karl & Quackity’s House—

Sapnap’s POV

His blade gleamed in the moonlight.

Sapnap had always been fire — impulsive, loyal, burning. But now he sat still, sharpening his sword with deliberate care. Sparks jumped from the whetstone with each stroke.

“I’ll kill him,” he’d said. “The second he steps out.”

He still meant it. Didn’t he?

Dream had burned too many bridges, shattered too many lives. He didn’t deserve peace. But something about the stillness of the night made the promise feel heavier. Not wrong — just hard.

And Sapnap hated himself for that.

He hated that he remembered the boy Dream used to be. The stupid grins, the chaos, the laughter.

Now there was only silence and a sword waiting for justice.

Or revenge.

He stared at the netherite sword in his hands, the blade catching the moonlight just enough to show a fractured reflection — his face, sharp and tense, barely recognizable beneath the weight of everything he carried.

Then his eyes shifted.

A photo frame sat nearby, quiet and accusing.

Three boys frozen in time — himself on the left, George on the right, and Dream grinning wide in the middle. Arms slung over shoulders, carefree and stupid and happy.

High school.

Back when laughter was easy. When promises hadn’t been broken. When the world hadn’t yet demanded blood in exchange for silence.

Sapnap looked away. The sword suddenly felt heavier.

Ping.

A sharp chime cut through the silence — his communicator flashing dimly on the table beside the photo frame.

He blinked, pulled from memory like waking from a dream. The glow pulsed once, then settled. A message.

He reached for it, hesitated.

Part of him didn’t want to know. Whatever it was — status update, security breach, another warning — it would only pull him further into the storm. Further from who they used to be.

But his fingers closed around the device anyway.

Because this wasn’t high school anymore.
And Dream wasn’t that boy in the photo.

That person he once knew is gone.

Dream became a monster .

—DSMP Server-Near The Border—
Cabin In The Deep Woods—

Punz’s POV

The river lapped at the shore, calm and uncaring, its rhythmic flow mirroring the heavy pulse in Punz’s chest. He sat on the weathered porch of the cabin, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, staring out into the oppressive darkness of the woods that stretched endlessly before him. The cabin was silent, but the stillness felt heavy, suffocating.

His mind churned with the memories of everything that had happened — everything he’d done. His betrayal felt like an old wound, one that had barely begun to heal, and yet it still burned when he thought about it. The whispers had faded, but the weight of what he’d chosen remained.

“You did what you had to,” he told himself, his voice barely rising above a whisper. A mantra. A hollow prayer. He said it over and over, but it didn’t feel real anymore. The words tasted bitter, like an excuse he couldn’t believe.

He had chosen the mission. He had chosen the plan. Dream hadn’t been part of it. He hadn’t been a choice.

But the emptiness in his chest only grew, gnawing at him. There was something… wrong. Something that twisted in his gut, clawing at him when he wasn’t paying attention. He glanced down at his hands, the memory of Dream’s eyes burning into him, that moment when Dream had realized — even if it was just an act it still hunted him.

He had chosen himself. Just like what Dream told him to.

But now, here, in the dark, alone in the woods, Punz couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong . A sick, gnawing sensation that settled in his stomach, spreading like cold fingers of dread. A gut feeling — something was happening to Dream.

He rubbed his face, frustration and fear curling inside him.

It didn’t make sense. He’d seen Dream’s strength, his resolve. He’d watched him fall before, only to rise again. Dream could survive anything. He had to.

But then, why did Punz feel like he was waiting for something terrible to happen? Why did his chest tighten every time the wind howled through the trees, every time the night grew too still?

It was more than guilt. It was more than fear of the plan failing. It was something deeper, something primal.

Out of the corner of his eye, two figures emerged from the edge of the woods. Callahan’s tall form was unmistakable, leading a small figure by the hand. Connor skipped ahead, his blonde hair bouncing in the sunlight, a bright, carefree smile on his face. His small hand clutched a handful of Forget-Me-Nots, their bright heads waving in the breeze as he walked.

It seemed out of place here — the delicate flowers, the childish joy, the innocent smile on Connor’s face as he looked up at Callahan. It was as if they had wandered off, taking a trip through the woods without a care, finding simple beauty.

When they saw Punz sitting on the porch, Connor’s face lit up, his smile wide and unguarded. The same radiant grin Punz had seen a thousand times before — the kind of smile that could light up the darkest room. The kind of smile he had seen on Dream, back when everything was different. Back when everything was... good .

Connor .

It didn’t matter how many times Punz tried to ignore it — there was something in the way the boy moved, the way his smile was almost too bright, that made Punz's heart skip. He could see it in Connor’s face. He could see it in the way his lips curved upward in the exact same way Dream’s used to, the same mischievous glint in his eyes. The resemblance was undeniable.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Punz could see it in the small, curling horns that peeked through Connor’s Hood— the faint, unmistakable horns of a ram.

He remembered that day like it had just happened. The day he saw Connor.

Dream’s voice — low, rough, and cracking with something unspoken as he looked Punz dead in the eyes.

“Punz..please take good care of Callahan and Connor. Please.”

Punz had nodded. No questions. No hesitation. No space for doubt.

Well of course the first time Dream asked him he was confused. Why a Kid?

Dream didn’t explain anything. He just sighed and agreed.

Because if he’d asked… if he’d let himself wonder, just for a second…He might’ve known .

And he couldn’t afford to know. Not then. Not now.

Because Connor wasn’t just a kid.

The day before their plan was going to be executed, Dream was with Callahan and Connor. They were both wearing backpacks and a cloak.

Dream gave him a key.

“Theres a Cabin in the woods..Callahan has the compass. Just Follow it.”

He nodded.

Dream turned to talk to Callahan. Punz didn’t hear anything except the words.

“Callahan. I need you to take care of Connor, okay?” Callahan nods.

Punz walked toward a chair where his items were.

Dream knelt down to Connor, brushed his cheeks and kissed his forehead.

“I’ll be back, I promise..”
“I’ll just be away for awhile.. so in the meanwhile Punz will take care of you both.”

Punz was behind Dream. He looked at Dream and the two.

There was something off — not in a bad way, just… too familiar. The timing. The request. The way Dream wouldn’t meet his eyes after he said it. The way Dream’s voice we’re nervous. The Way Dream was Holding

Punz had ignored it. Buried it.

But the hunch remained.

He’d told himself Connor was just another kid caught in the aftermath of everything. Just someone Dream had taken in. Nothing more.

“Punz, please take care of them. Don’t let anyone hurt them.”

Dream, handed him a bag. The payment.

“Yes dream, I can promise you that I’ll do my best.” He took the bag and smiled at dream.

He picked up Connor, held Callahan’s hand. Both waved goodbyes to Dream, who looked so scared to lose the two.

“Hey It’s okay, I’ll take care of them..” He chuckled. Dream just sighed.

Dream opened the door and they walked away, towards the woods, following the compass. Dream left behind in the base, looking at them with worry and unsure if it was the right thing.

Punz looked back at Dream, who was closing the door. And at Connor. 

It can’t be.

There’s no way.

And yet—
There were moments .

Moments when Connor laughed with his whole chest, head tilted back like Dream used to. Moments when he smiled with that wide, reckless joy. Moments when he stared at Punz with a kind of quiet trust that felt too intentional , too earned .

Moments that made Punz feel like the air had been knocked out of him.

He wasn’t sure . He couldn’t be.

“Punz!” a voice called out.

He blinked, and looked up.

Two figures walked through the trees. Callahan, silent as always, holding Connor’s hand as the boy skipped happily beside him, arms full of dandelions, a few clumsily tucked behind his horns like a flower crown half-formed.

Connor’s eyes lit up the second he saw Punz. He let go of Callahan’s hand and ran ahead, flowers bouncing in his grip.

“Look what I found!” he beamed, holding the flowers up like a trophy.

And God , he looked like Dream when he smiled like that.

Punz’s throat tightened. He took the flowers with a weak smile, his voice barely holding steady. “Thanks, Connor. These are... really nice.”

Connor sat beside him without hesitation, legs swinging over the edge of the porch. “Callahan and I found a stream! And there were frogs! One jumped so high —”

He felt it again — that dull, hollow throb behind his ribs. That grief that wasn’t quite grief.

Dream had asked him to protect this boy. And Punz had said yes. Because he would do anything for him. He always had. It was never about the money.

But he hadn’t realized what that meant until Connor looked up at him for the first time — and smiled like that . Like him .

He swallowed hard.

Because if he admitted it… if he said it out loud…

That Connor was Dream’s son.

That Dream had loved someone else.

That Dream had left something behind .

Then he’d have to admit that whatever they had—what might’ve been — wasn’t enough.

And Punz couldn’t bear that.

So he sat there, flowers in hand, a child at his side, and a heart full of truths he refused to speak.

He looked at the flowers.

Forget-Me-Nots.

“Can we go to the stream later?” Connor asked brightly, leaning into him.

Punz nodded, smiling tightly. “Yeah. Of course.”

And for just a moment, he let himself pretend.

Pretend the smile didn’t hurt. Pretend the kid wasn’t a walking echo. Pretend the past hadn’t happened, and he wasn’t sitting in the ruins of a promise made by someone he still loved more than he should.

Because pretending was easier than admitting the truth.