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Chapter Text

“Don’t go there lest you want to become part of the forest.”

That’s what they had said. But Dream was unimpressed. It looked normal.

The forest he stared at was supposed to be haunted by eldritch horrors—monsters and ghosts. Some nonsense. He didn't believe in monsters.  Ghosts? Well, he believed in ghosts. Just not the whimsical ‘gonna possess you’ kind. The ones where he was from were much more… domestic, in a way.

He had known it was likely that it was all just a bunch of hogwash, but some part of him had been hoping that it was true. He'd been bored since his exile. Restless.

But no. There was no unnaturally thick fog, no feeling of being watched. No eyes watching him from the shadows. Nothing but the birds singing, sun shining, and breeze blowing. Really, what was he expecting? Some entity to come out and eat him?

Well, at least that would be exciting. He hadn't had a good adrenaline rush in a while.

With a heavy sigh—as if this was an inconvenience for him—Dream stepped into the woods with a calm confidence that came from knowing exactly how dangerous he was. His hand rested on the handle of his blade—a mere iron one that he’d found in some ruins a while ago. It was enchanted with sharpness, but it was already well used. He missed the familiar weight of Nightmare, but the axe had been taken when he’d left the SMP. He’d tried to resist—but it was to no avail. 

It’s hard to fight back when everyone you knew turned against you. Even the ones you thought you could call friends. Dream had to swallow back bitter anger, forcing his thoughts away from the past and to the present.

The rumors about that forest were interesting. The nearest town—a small village by the name of Lianeath—was only a fifteen minute walk from the forest’s edge. They called it The Backwoods, and they were terrified of it. 

According to them, the forest was alive. It breathed. They said strange creatures—no, not creatures, monsters lived in it. The Backwoods.

Ridiculous.

The forest was prettier than most, he had to admit. Bright, healthy and flourishing plants—animal calls and fresh, clean air. It felt almost untouched by man's hand…. Aside from the lightly beaten, overgrowing trail he was on. And maybe it was, to some degree. The villagers practically wet themselves just telling him about it.

Villagers 'plural' really only meant one or two. He'd gotten more than enough warnings from them in under one minute to peak his curiosity. He’d boarded Spirit and headed straight to the forest while talking to as little people as possible. It was silly, but he didn't want to spoil it for himself—even though he was pretty sure nothing would happen.

Flora and fauna surrounded him. Fluttering birds and scuttling squirrels barely caught his attention as he scanned the ground, dutifully searching for clues that just maybe something really was up with this forest. Tracks, bones, anything.

Ferns and bushes tugged at his legs as he veered off the main path, following a narrow deer trail that wound deeper between the trees. The other trail had looked like it was fading out anyway.

Dream wandered, not watching the time, mulling over the various warnings the villagers had given him. They had been strangely adamant about the wildlife he might find here.

Particularly the foxes—or, ‘The Foxlings’, is what they called them. They had said not to trust them, not to be lured away. Hilarious. What were the little creatures gonna do? Entice him with riches then bite his ankles?

Absolutely hysterical.

How insulting. 

Did they think he was stupid? He was likely more capable than that entire village put together, and then some.

Leaflitter crunched beneath his feet as he ducked beneath a low hanging branch. Peering up, he caught the darkening sky though the canopy. The birds began to quiet, slowly being replaced by the persistent voices of crickets. He should head back. It would likely get cold tonight.

Pausing in a large clearing, he admired his surroundings before he left. The trees were tall and flourishing, their leaves brushing against one another, producing a whispering sound in the breeze. The setting sun illuminated it all, bathing everything in a warm golden glow…

Scuffle.

What was this?

A fox.

It stood in the deer trail that continued ahead. Still as stone. Staring directly at him.

It seemed in excellent health, its orange and dark brown pelt almost shiny. Its eyes were dark—beady and unblinking.

A cross fox. A rarer variant.

Dream stopped, his shoulders squaring. The villagers' warnings briefly flashed in his mind. Don’t follow foxes. Don’t even step foot in that forest.

‘Don't get weird,’ he told himself. ‘They're tall tales. They're all delusional.’

The fox took a step, then another, and turned—just enough to look back at him. It tilted its head. Then it trotted off into the trees.

He hesitated. And then he followed.

He didn't know why. Maybe he just felt the need to prove the villagers bonkers. He’d follow the fox, and nothing would happen.

Because they were. They were crazy. Or maybe he's just curious. After all, all myths stemmed from something...

The deer trail faded a while ago. The sky was dark, splattered with stars. He hadn't realized how far—how long he’d gone—until he stepped into a small field of black and blue flowers.

No birds. No breeze. Stillness.

Dream froze. His hand went to the pommel of his sword. The feeling of his fingers brushing the hilt of his enchanted iron blade gave him a semblance of comfort. His heart was starting to beat louder for reasons still unknown.

The air felt heavier. Tense with anticipation, as if the forest was holding its breath.

And just like that, the woods weren’t so pretty anymore. The static of silence blared in his ears.

The fox trotted off, leaves bouncing as it disappeared into the bushes.

Dream didn't dare follow it further.

Don't follow foxes.

And sure as hell don't get lost.

Chapter Text

Dream was incredibly lost.

He'd been walking for what felt like hours. The sun was far below the horizon, the moon stealing the throne high in the sky. The stars, like a million little eyes, watched as he stumbled blindly through the brush. Only the moon's graceful light was kind enough to guide him.

And it was getting old really fast. Actually, it was old hours ago.

His fingerless gloves weren't doing him many favors against the cold, and he had only the hood of his dark green hoodie there to keep his ears warm. Each exhale came out as a puff of mist.

He was freezing.

The temperature had gotten much colder than he had expected—almost strangely so. It wasn't even winter. Summer nights weren't supposed to feel like this.

He took a deep breath of the stinging cold, wrinkling his nose beneath the porcelain of his mask. There was a distinct note of rot in the air. Faint and bitter—almost undetectable.

It was gone just as quickly as it came.

Shaking his head, he paused in his stride and scowled to himself. He was getting nowhere in this godforsaken forest. He should probably find a good place to make camp for the night. It was obvious he would not be finding his way out—at least not until morning.

He started walking again, keeping an eye out for a decent place to camp.

It was getting increasingly hard to see—the canopy above was growing denser, trees rising taller, their branches knitting tighter overhead and blocking out moonlight.

He stopped by a gurgling brook, scanning the area with the miniscule amount of light he did have. The sound of water was soothing—it had been irritatingly quiet for a while now. Just Dream, his thoughts, and his own rustling of the flora. He hated the silence. Made him feel even more alone than he already was.

It was a small clearing of dirt beside a stream. Thick bushes, along with a rather large fairy ring of mushrooms that lined the clearing.

People said fairy rings were something to be wary of. But Dream didn't care. He was cold and tired.

He immediately set to work, years of practice showing itself as he got a small, contained fire going in record time.

Now sitting next to a warm, dancing fire, he let himself relax. He held his fingers up to it, clenching them into fists before letting them relax again. He released a heavy breath, dropping his shoulders. He hadn't even realized he'd been so on edge until now. The familiar sound of crackling flames and a gentle brook calmed his mind, quieting his analyzing thoughts.

The fire popped and stuttered, its warm glow warm and shadow casting. He watched as a fleck of ash floated up and down before landing beside his boot in the cold dirt. The fire made his little space within the fairy ring feel safe. Well—safer.

He let his eyes wander the shadows, wondering how far away he actually was from civilization. Hopefully not as far as he thought. While he could go a long time... maybe even indefinitely, out in the wilderness by himself, the idea didn't really appeal.

The fire flickered, leaning east. Just a passing breeze, he thought. But he hadn't felt any wind. He watched the flames until they returned to normal, reaching straight up towards the stars.

His shoulders sagged and he pulled his hood tighter. He closed his eyes to sleep as he curled into a tight, defensive ball on the freezing ground. Hopefully, he would regain the energy he’d wasted on wandering aimlessly that day.

Sleep was not restful.

He tossed and turned, coming in and out of consciousness. He dreamt no dreams—only experiencing odd sensations and feelings.

His skin prickled with unease at the feeling of being watched. It was like the eyes of hundreds were on him. Studying. Judging. Calculating. 

The claws of too cold temps dug deep, both tingling and numb. Even in his sleep, he could tell his body was coiled with tension, ready to leap to his feet at a moment's notice.

The back of his neck felt warm for a moment—as if something was breathing near him. Dream shot up, looking around wildly, dagger poised to strike in his hand.

‘Nothing. What the hell?’

Dream held his breath, not moving for several moments. Listening. Waiting. It was quiet again. Nothing but the brook—the fire had since died out while Dream slumbered.

He relaxed. Frogs slowly began to croak again—they’d been startled by his sudden movements.

Dream sat back down with a soft groan, not yet slipping his dagger back into its hiding place. He rubbed his neck and shoulder, skin still prickling from whatever just happened.

‘Ow. What?’

He pulled his hand back, tensing at the sight of a familiar crimson under the moonlight.

Blood. His blood. He was bleeding. Why—HOW was he bleeding?

He pulled his hood down, shooting glances at his surroundings, just to make sure he was still alone.

Craning his neck to examine his skin, he let out a sound of disbelief. Two sets of puncture wounds stared back at him. Raw and bleeding. Dream distinctly remembered not having those before.

He scanned the clearing again. Looking for anything out of the ordinary—shadows shifting, prints in the dirt… His eyes narrowed at the fairy ring. Was it paranoia talking, or were the mushrooms bigger and darker than before?

Maybe there was more to this forest than he had thought. If he hadn't regretted coming here before, he certainly did now.

But he couldn't help but enjoy the thrill of unknown danger. A couple days ago he simply would’ve died for anything even remotely interesting to happen.

Chapter Text

Dream was incredibly fed up.

He hacked another plant out of his way, stomping through the underbrush. Branches and leaflitter cracked loudly beneath his feet, well announcing his presence. 

He'd been walking forever.

He hadn't been able to sleep after discovering the bites on his neck, so he decided that the best thing to do was keep walking until he found a way out. No more sleeping in this place—and especially not in fairy rings.

The sun had long since risen, clawing its way back into the sky to reclaim its throne. While he preferred the night—he was grateful for the sun. At least he could actually see something.

Dream swallowed harshly, lightly shaking his empty waterskin before putting it away with a frown. His throat was dry.. He was thirsty—almost unnaturally parched. Or... come on now. He was just being dramatic. He wasn't that thirsty.

"What's wrong with me?" he mumbled to himself, climbing a small hill. 'I'm being dramatic. I'm a normal amount of thirsty. Nothing weird.' He straightened as he reached the top—right below was a calm, slow moving river. Even if it was quiet, how had he not heard it? Now that it was in sight it was quite audible.

‘Hm…’

He slid down the steep hill with ease, hopping down and stopping just before the waters edge on the rocky edge. The waters shimmered and glittered under the bright sun, and he could make out the shadows of fish below the surface.

He crouched beside the water, staring into it before he touched it. His waterskin was uncapped and in hand, though.

A large school of minnows darted by before scattering, scared by his shadow.

It seemed safe enough. Normally, he’d take the time to distill it—boil it. But he didn’t have a pot nor the time. So, he took his chances.

Dipping his waterskin in, he listened until the gurgling stopped and then removed his mask to take a sip.

Crisp. Cold. Clean. He loved river water. It had a certain taste to it that you didn’t get after you purified it.

Thirst quenched, he stood with a heavy sigh. A light breeze ruffled his air and kissed his face. It wasn’t often that he removed his mask—he relished those moments.

Crack.

He spun around sharply, heart jumping. 

Nothing.

Dream scowled, gripping his sword tighter. This place was seriously getting on his nerves. With the warnings of monsters rattling around in his mind combined with the bites, everything felt both too quiet and too loud. He was starting to see things, hear things… And those bites... he couldn't explain those. Those were physical proof he wasn't losing his mind. That he wasn't just letting those villagers get to him. He slipped his mask back in place.

Dream tucked his waterskin back into his bag before he started walking again—his stride quick and sure with renewed determination.

He stopped walking along his deer trail as he spotted something. A feather.

A very large, long feather.

He knelt and picked it up, fingers brushing its barbs. It was soft and sleek. And it was almost as long as his entire arm. A dark, rich brown in color. It was dotted with little pale brown shapes that looked like eyes.

Gently thumbing the soft texture, he stood and scanned his surroundings.

It was way too big to come from your average bird. Whatever this came from, it was big. That and the strange eyeball pattern.

He continued walking with the feather in hand. Cautiously.

His hand rested on the pommel of his iron blade, loosely gripping it.

He had to remind himself that he would be fine. Monsters aren't real. He didn't really believe that anymore. While he was skeptical, he wasn't stupid.

Maybe the villagers had a right to fear The Backwoods.

He flinched as a gentle mist brushed against his skin. Whipping around, his body went rigid.

Fog. Thick, heavy fog. That wasn't there when he looked thirty seconds ago. Tendrils of the cloud reached, creeping and winding around whatever it could cling to. Trees. Plants. The air. Him.

The air hummed, thrumming with pressure. A loud snap sounded as he stepped back, breaking a branch.

All was silent. 

Dream froze.

He didn't mean to. His limbs just stopped moving, refusing to obey his commands to draw his sword. They instead tightened around the feather he grasped.

The bites on his shoulder seared violently, making his eyes sting with tears of pain.

The fog continued at its unnatural pace, coiling around him. Visibility decreased dramatically.

Step, step, step.

Something was walking.

Step, step, pause.

Breathe. Dream couldn't breathe. It felt like someone had reached into his chest and wrapped his lungs in chains.

"... what's wrong with me?"

His voice. That was HIS voice. But he didn't speak—couldn't, even if he wanted to.

The fog breathed and shifted. Growing dark. Darker. Then darker still. He could barely see. All his senses were heightened—he could feel the chill of the mist seeping through his clothes. Smell the thick pine that the fog accentuated. Hear the distant calls of foxes and coyotes. His heart was in his throat.

Eyes.

A pair of them. Dark blue, glowing and glittering. They stared at him, meeting his gaze. Close. Too close. He wanted to lash out, to hurt and defend—he couldn't. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck.

They blinked. And then so did he. 

The ground racing towards him was the last thing he saw.

"..."

Sound slowly filtered back in—wind whistling over his ears, leaves shifting, grass swaying. His head pounded, and he slowly sat up with a groan.

He was back at the entrance of The Backwoods. No fog. Just him, the sun, and singing birds. He could feel the soft feather under his palm.

What. 

He jumped to his feet, wide awake—the sudden movement made his head dizzy. He gripped the feather like it was a sword.

He sucked in greedy breaths, stumbling forward and falling back to the ground. His hands shook as he scrambled to his feet, knees quaking while he put some distance between him and the forest.

His stomach churned. His head pounded. Chest heaving, he bent over to throw up in the bushes—just barely managing to throw off his mask in time. His throat burned from the vile, and panted heavily.

"Ugh."

He took a couple steps away before collapsing in the grass of the plains, a couple feet outside of The Backwoods. His skin still prickled, his mind racing over what he just experienced.

That was… horrible. And confusing. What the hell just happened? He hadn’t been able to move. He saw a creature—sort of. It mimicked his voice. Its eyes glowed. The fog—it had been thick and suffocating. And then he just... passed out and then was at the entrance of The Backwoods?

His heartbeat was still racing, and he stared down at the oversized feather in his hand. Proof. Shifting, he hesitantly pulled his hoodie off his shoulder. Two bites glared back. Proof.

He needed some answers. And he knew exactly where to start.

Chapter Text

“Virelan.”

Dream repeated, unimpressed but intrigued. He had been expecting something he knew—wendigo or a skinwalker. Maybe even something stupid sounding like dogman. Not one of the village’s personal ghost stories.

“Yes—yes! You saw a virelan and lived to tell the tale!” said a younger woman named Iris. “Vicious, vicious beasts, they are. I’m surprised you even stepped foot in The Backwoods, let alone came out! It’s riddled with monsters—and… and bad things!”

Dream sighed, exasperated. She had gotten one look at the feather he’d brought back to Lianeath Village with him, and now she would not stop talking.

“They say they mimic voices to reel you in—steal faces—and eat your bones,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “Or maybe that was a different Backwoods creature. I can’t remember... Either way, they’re not supposed to just let you go. How are you alive? What happened?”

“Well…” he hesitated, debating whether or not he should ask this girl for advice. What’s he got to lose?

“I went into The Backwoods,” He began, crossing his arms. “It was all fine for a while. I was there for several hours—it was sunset when anything even remotely weird happened. I saw a fox.”

Iris gasped, her eyes wide. “You didn’t follow it, did you?!” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You must not have—you can’t follow a fox in The Backwoods and then come back out. That's simply impossible!” she paused. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true… there was Davis. And Aubade did it a lot of times. Oh, and—”

Dream rolled his eyes beneath his mask. “I did,” he said flatly, cutting her off.

Her eyes somehow widened even more. Impressive.

“What-?” she stammered, then paused. Only for a moment. “Well… I suppose you DID see a virelan and then make it out alive, so it’s not impossible. What happened next?”

“Well… I got lost,” he admitted, raising a brow as she gasped loudly. This girl was dramatic and ridiculous. It was annoying.

She wrung her fingers, clearly anxious to hear the rest of his story—she looked extremely worried, despite him being here in the flesh, seemingly unharmed.

His shoulder ached.

“I didn’t sleep well. And I woke up to the feeling of something breathing on my neck.” He hesitated, before pulling his hoodie off his shoulder just enough for her to see the bites. “That’s when I got these. No idea how. Didn’t see anything.”

Iris instinctively reached for the wounds to try and see better.

He grabbed her wrist. Tightly. “Don’t touch me.”

She backed off, now with a healthy dose of fear of the strange masked man she didn’t even know the name of.

“Sorry, sorry. I just—”

“I don’t care. Do not touch me. Ever.”

She nodded, pulling her hand from his grasp and going back to wringing her fingers. It was starting to look painful.

“Anyways… I couldn’t sleep after that. I started walking around to try and find the exit. I found the feather—” he rested a hand over his bag, gently feeling the tip that poked out from under the flap. “—on a deer trail. Eventually, there was a cloud of fog so dense I couldn’t see anything more than a foot in front of me. I couldn’t move, could hardly breathe…” He huffed, shaking off the prickling sensation on the back of his neck from just thinking about it. 

“Then I heard my voice… like a mimicry of something I had said earlier.” He shivered involuntarily—then silently scolded himself for it.  “Then I saw a pair of eyes- they glowed. Dark blue. I passed out, and when I woke up I was at the entrance of The Backwoods.”

Iris was shocked, mouth agape.

“Really?” 

Dream nodded, unamused and still unsettled. 

“Well, I can confidently say that you are extremely lucky. Surviving a virelan like that… It must’ve spared you for some reason. Which doesn’t make sense. Ah, I suppose it’s happened before…” she muttered, before shaking her head. 

“You shouldn’t go back—The Backwoods are dangerous!”

Dream scoffed—almost laughed at her concern. “Why not? I’m perfectly fine, aren’t I?”

Iris blinked, waving her hands. “No, no! Don’t go back! I am certain it won’t be so kind twice—”

“What even is it?” Dream interrupted her. You keep throwing ‘virelan’ around like I’m supposed to know what that means.”

Iris stuttered, gathering herself. “Well— it’s… it’s a beast that prowls the woods, searching for its next meal!” Her voice was full of bravado. She’s just parroting stuff she’s probably heard a million times.

“Virelan are merciless creatures with a—a human body, wings, bird legs, huge horns, sharp claws, TEETH—”

Dream waved a hand—and she fell silent with wide eyes. ‘She’s learning to listen. Good.’ Dream liked the feeling of being in control.

“Are there any books on it…?” he wrinkled his nose, not that she could see his expression behind his mask. The idea of having to rely on a stranger's research on something like this didn’t sit quite right. “Or any self-proclaimed experts?”

Iris nodded confidently, starting to lead him away.

“Oh, yes, yes! We have a book of studies on The Backwoods that you can take a look at!”

Dream followed loosely, wishing he wasn't being seen in public with such a loud, bubbly person. He still wasn’t even sure that she had correctly identified what he had seen—it wouldn’t surprise him if she was way off.

His eyes scanned the village as they walked, noting various things.

“—I’m sure you’ll find our book very interesting—”

A fruit stand… a tavern… town hall… stables… a couple houses. A well. All normal village things. Minus the place under the name ‘Serpents Drink’. There was a sign advertising both alcohol and snake anti-venoms. That seemed like a great place to pick out some poison. And not just the alcohol.

“—trying to learn more about virelan and The Backwoods—”

Dream was hungry. He wondered if the tavern had good food.

“—only the brave of the brave go, but ever since A—”

How much money did he have left? He’d have to get more soon…

“—because The Backwoods are so—”

He glanced back at the stables, speculating about whether or not they were treating Spirit well while he was here. ‘They better be. I’ll have to check in.’

Was Iris still talking? How tiresome…

“How far until we get to the library?” Dream demanded, cutting her off.

She seemed to deflate. They probably didn’t get very many travelers here. He’s sure she was just bouncing off the walls to have new ears to chew off.

“Uh—we’re here, actually…” she said, stopping beside a squat building that looked more like someone’s shed than a library.

“Great.” He muttered dryly, pushing the door open and stepping in. He coughed. He could see dust particles in the air.

Oh boy…

The wallpaper was a dingy gray, peeling in some places. The building smelled like mold and wet dogs. The floor looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the building was built—and he’s fairly certain he spotted a cockroach scuttle beneath one of the desks.

Iris weaseled past him, marching to the only shelf that faced the door and plucked a thick, rough-looking book off of it. She seemed completely undeterred by the filth that layered that place.

Iris held the book out to him. It looked more like a journal than an actual, proper book.

“Is this it?” Taking the book, he wiped the cover off. No title. Just a blank, patchy brown.  He opened it to a random page.

Handwriting he could hardly read was scrawled across the paper, along with a blob taking up half the page that could barely pass as a drawing. The pages were curled and yellow—water damage. Much of the ink used was bleeding.

“This looks more like someone's personal journal than anything…” Dream muttered, voice filled with disdain. 

“...” Iris clasped her hands, grinning. Her smile was terribly forced. “Yep! That’s it! It’s a collection of all sightings and studies done on The Backwoods. It used to be in peak condition, but ah… the guy that used to take care of it isn’t here anymore.”

Dream stared at the sloppy handwriting for a long moment, trying to make out the words to no avail. “What happened to that man?” he asked absently, only half listening to her answer.

“... all that matters is that he won’t be coming back,” Iris murmured, eyes cast downward. “...”

Dream’s gaze flicked up to her, examining her expression. She would probably fold and tell him everything she knew under a little pressure.

“Tell me,” he said. “What happened to that man?”

“...” Iris shook her head and stepped back. “Ah… maybe another time! I must be going.” She gave him a hollow grin before slinking back out the door. 

Huffing in irritation, Dream squinted at the terrible artwork in the book. The ‘drawing’ on the paper looked like some sort of disfigured bird. If you'd only ever heard of birds from a child learning to speak.

Still... he flipped to another page.

More scribbles. More awful drawings. One sentence caught his eye.

"Virelan wings can stretch over twice the height of a man—some say three."

Dream’s fingers twitched, itching to grab the feather in his bag.

Curiosity. Burning, restless, pleading curiosity.

He shut the book with a snap, turning his gaze back to the still smiling girl.

“Thanks.” He said plainly. “You can go now. I’ll return the book when I’m done with it.”

Maybe, he tagged on silently. If it was convenient for him, they’d get it back. Maybe.

Chapter Text

'Study by Cole W. - Virelan

Virelan are repelled by smoke and fire. Proven—it backed off as soon as I started waving my torch around. I survived to live another day. Petition to put up a line of torches around The Backwoods. It's not hazardous. It's a safety precaution.'

Dream groaned, rubbing his temples.

These people were idiots. And off their rockers. He felt like his mind was rotting away just reading these 'studies'. And he hadn't even touched the parts about The Backwoods itself. He’s just positive the people here are certain the forest is a living entity.

'Study by W.A.R. - Virelan

Their wings are said to shed feathers that never decompose. If you sleep with one under your pillow, it may whisper to you at night—might tell you secrets of old.’

Dream glanced at his bag that sat beside him, huffing in disbelief. As if a simple feather could do that. Absolutely ridiculous. Did they let just anyone write in this book?

'Study by O.W.L. - Virelan

There's many. So many. They multiply by the minute, surrounding you in their thick fog. They'll…’

Dream squinted, staring at the rest of the words that were warbled by water damage. He couldn’t read them at all.

He had been sitting beneath a tree in a large field for roughly twenty minutes. It was a bit windy and the sun peeked out from behind spotty clouds. For now, at least. He could see the makings of a storm in the distance.

He was getting nowhere with this. Most of the writings were so far-fetched (or ruined) that Dream was more than certain they were false.

'They suck your soul out of your eyes. Don't make eye contact if you want to stay sane. I see things every night now. Figures dancing through the woods and peering through the windows.'

Really? Dream had made eye contact. He still had his soul… What was left of it, anyways. And he’d yet to see any ‘figures’. Maybe it didn’t work on people with a heart like his.

Also, he’s sure there would be a lot more mention of ‘soul sucking’ if that were accurate.

Dream leaned back against the tree, dropping the book in his lap.

He wondered what the people back in the SMP were up to. Nothing good, probably. He'd been exiled for a while now. Wandering. Bitter. Bored.

Hate boiled in his gut. How dare they. How DARE they.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed his feelings down, burying them beneath layers of stern indifference. They didn’t deserve his emotions—the turmoil they’d caused. They hated him. He hated them.

He got back to reading.

'Study by A.R.C. - The Foxlings

‘I have encountered many Foxlings in my time exploring The Backwoods. Each time it's… different. I get a different feeling—one day I’m following a violent creature—another I’m in a game of tag, chasing a playful fox through fields of daisies. 

But one thing always stays the same. If you followed a fox, you were never going to catch it.’

He hummed, rereading it. It was one of the more interesting, believable ones. It was only interesting because he did, in fact, follow a fox. And it hadn't run from him like any normal fox would—it was calm. Trotting along at an easy to follow pace. Like it was just seeing how long he’d follow it for.

Hmm…

'It knows her name—it uses her voice. I never told it. I never spoke it. I must resist. I can't be its puppet.'

It didn't have a signature nor subject, and half the page was torn out—which had also torn out half the study on the other side—one from A.R.C.—The author had obviously been crazy. And who knows if they were even talking about the virelan.

He read the leftovers of the study A.R.C. wrote. It was the latter half.

‘—mbling bug wings. They often sit on the center of the flower, where the pollen is—when they are like this, they are greatly camouflaged, as their wings look just like the false-fae petals. Be careful around these plants. At first glance, they might look safe, but I guarantee you you’re in for a world of trouble the second they notice you.

And they’ll notice you way before you notice them.’

Scowling, he tossed the journal aside, flopping onto his back with a sigh. The wind tugged gently at the pages, flipping them uselessly.

The book was proving to be a waste of time. Good entrees were few and hard to find—and a lot of them had been ruined by what looked like water damage. 

He slipped his mask off, setting it aside to let his skin breathe. He was alone. It was safe.

His thoughts wandered.

The Backwoods.

He had stumbled across the small village of Lianeath a couple days ago... They were very friendly people. They had wasted no time in getting Spirit boarded, Dream a room at the tavern, and then leaving him to his own devices.

Before Lianeath, he had been certain there was no such thing as monsters.

Now here he was. Reading a pathetic, dirty, patchwork quilt of a journal about a strange creature he came across in the woods. He was still uncertain that that was what he actually ran into. But he had no other leads, so…

Flip, flip, flip.

The wind picked up again, pushing the pages to and fro before settling on one.

It was a drawing. One he hadn't seen before. The page looked more untouched than most—only a slight yellowing and curl at the corners.

He sat up, taking the book in his hands and examining the paper.

It... was actually fairly well drawn.

A human-like creature with large, sweeping wings was poised to lunge. Their hands reached out, claws ready to seize. Their legs were lean, feathered from thigh to talon—birdlike. A whip-like tail trailed behind them, ending in a puff of feathers. Puffs of fog surrounded it.

Its head was hard to discern, the drawing becoming scraggly and poorly drawn, as if the artist had had a hard time remembering—or maybe they hadn't wanted to remember.

Curiosity. Burning. Burning. Burning.

He had to go back. He wanted to know. He would know.

One way or another. He had nothing better to do. No one would miss him.

He was broken out of his thoughts by a droplet of water hitting his head.

Glancing up, he frowned at the sky. Those clouds rolled in faster than he’d anticipated.

Slipping his mask back on and gathering his things, he got to his feet and started the trek back to Lianeath.

The air was quickly becoming charged—it would begin to thunder soon. Dream liked thunderstorms. They were soothing.

He'd rest at the tavern tonight. Tomorrow he'd get answers the good old fashioned way. Personal investigation.

Chapter Text

He hummed, rereading it. It was one of the more interesting, slightly try-hard ones—it was only interesting because he did

Dream stared into The Backwoods.

It was dark, the clouds overhead still looming. They weren’t raining anymore, but the threat of another downpour was obvious.

He loved the scent of petrichor.

The forest was quiet, though not silent. The sound of water drops running off of plants and distant birds were present, providing the woods with a sense of normalcy.

However, they were anything but. He had the still healing bites and abnormal feather to prove it.

Taking a deep breath of the thick, humid air, he started forward.

The Backwoods felt far less friendly than the first time he was here. He didn’t want to get bitten for sticking his hands where they didn’t belong—not now that he knew there were vipers.

He could handle a little bite, though.

He trudged on, his gait steady and determined. He didn’t want to get lost on purpose, but he had a feeling that would be the only way to get answers. It was either get lost or follow another fox—and there was no telling when—if—he’d see another fox.

Still, he kept track of where the entrance probably was—landmarks, glances over his shoulder. Habit. He didn’t like being lost. Not because it scared him—but because it meant giving up control. And he hated that more than anything.

After he noted yet another oddly shaped tree that could point him in the direction of the exit, he scoffed.

This was stupid.

He needed a better plan.

He stopped beside a large birch tree, squinting at its bark.

They usually had odd, eye-like markings, but…

It was just downright creepy how much the bark on this tree resembled eyes. Hundreds of them. Staring. Permanently watching.

He rested his hand on the pommel of his blade.

Did one of them blink?

He huffed. No… no, probably not. Still, he didn’t look back again.

“I hate this place,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head and continuing to walk.

He froze, eyes widening.

Fox! Finally—he’d been out here for hours.

Twenty or so feet ahead was a fox crouched in the brush, staring at him.

It looked like it might be the same one from before—same rusty orange and blackish brown pelt. Same beady black eyes.

It stepped back. He stepped forward.

‘If you follow a fox, you are never going to catch it.’

First, hesitation. Wariness. Then, burning curiosity. Determination.

It ran. He chased.

Adrenaline pumping. His breath came out in short puffs as he jumped over a fallen tree, eyes trained on his target.

A black tipped tail, just out of reach.

Dream tripped.

With the ground hurtling towards him, he turned his fall into a smooth army roll and landed on his feet. He sent a fleeting glance at what he tripped over as he pursued the fox once more.

A large, black snake.

He ran much, much faster. If his adrenaline was high before—it sure as hell was now!

Snapping his gaze back to the fox, he bristled in frustration.

Gone. Dammit.

He slowed to a steady walk, breathing still clipped. His heartbeat was roaring in his ears, pounding in his chest.

Looking back, he tried to see if the snake was still there, but he couldn’t see through the tight bushes he just barreled through.

He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. While he liked most snakes, he wasn’t overly fond of uncomfortably enormous snakes that tripped him mid chase. He would cut that thing in half if he saw it again.

Stopping in a small clearing, he did a quick 360.

Ah. Well… at least he was lost now.

The forest seemed to release its breath. He hadn’t realized the intense silence until the water droplets started falling again.

The sound of flowing water slowly faded in, even though he hadn’t moved from his spot yet.

He could use a drink.

Following the sound, he found a calm river.

The surface shimmered beneath the sun, the water crisp and clear. He could see fish swimming around, mingling with one another. Large trees leaned over the water, bringing shade to the area.

He knelt beside the water, mutely watching two fish that swam nothing but circles. Tight knit loops. Over and over.

Strange. 

Removing his mask, he dipped his hands into the cold liquid.

He always preferred the taste of river water over wellwater. It was simply better.

Meandering to a large, flat rock, he sat on it to catch his breath from the chase and consider his next move.

... He didn’t have many options other than to keep walking until something else happened. 

It was either wait, walk, or die of boredom. 

“What am I doing.”

He got up and started walking, trying hard to not count the seconds.

Sunrise to sunset. That’s how long he’d been here this time. And all that’s happened was the fox, a big-ass snake, and… did the birch tree count as something? Nothing truly happened with it…

He’s counting it. Three things. Three things that could all very well be natural occurrences…

“Ughhhh.”

He leaned against a tall tree he didn’t know the species of. Taking his mask off for a moment to breathe, he inhaled, and then exhaled.

Over the past couple hours or so, a thick fog had begun to creep through the forest. It wasn’t unnatural feeling like what he saw before—just a natural, normal fog. Hopefully. While it was annoying—and rather nervewracking—to have lower visibility, at least he could still see roughly thirty feet in front of him. Unlike before…

He was really starting to regret this. All for what, curiosity?

A fierce, fiery curiosity.

“What the hell. I don’t have anything to lose.”

Slipping his mask back into place, he forced himself to keep moving. He would find something.

Very soon.

Chapter Text

ᘓƧИꓕⱯʁIΓ pressed a hand to the cool bark of a birch, inhaling slowly and listening to what it had set its eyes upon.

‘Another man. Another one, come to study and prod,’ the anchor of eyes fretted.

‘This one was clad in green… the color of the Forest? Mocking it?’ ever so cynical, it was.

‘He didn’t have a face,’ said the eyes. ‘Possibly inhuman, but not one of us.’

Hm…

The gaze of a birch never lied. Not the ones here, is what ƧꓕⱯʁΓIИᘓ believed.

Stepping away, ꓕⱯʁIΓᘓƧИ made the way towards where the fog resided. Deep. Féth Fíada — she, with her beautiful dancing mists, was deceptively shy.

Maybe it was the same man from before. The one who dared linger in a pixie’s threshold. ꓕⱯʁИIΓᘓƧ remembered, he had had a rather strange face. It was likely only a trick. ИIꓕⱯʁΓᘓƧ recognized the falsity of a face mask. IИꓕƧ ⱯʁΓᘓ understood more than most of the forest’s inhabitants the behaviors of mankind.

But it wasn’t by much.

Step, step, pause.

The forest was especially alluring today. 

ᘓƧꓕⱯИʁIΓ admired the shimmering droplets from the sky’s woes. They traveled from leaf to leaf, branch to branch, before finally meeting their resting place in the soils beneath treading feet. ᘓⱯИƧꓕʁIΓ enjoyed the way it dampened your hair, soaked into your skin, and clung to your feathers.

‘Why,’ the sky would cry. ᘓⱯИƧꓕʁIΓ wasn’t sure how to respond. Though, the longing to provide solace was still ever present.

Unfortunately, no matter how loud ƧꓕⱯIИᘓʁΓ was with an ever earnest reply, he would never hear. He may not have ears that could understand, but he surely knew how to express himself with that of thunderous snarls and howling screams.

The sky was scary. And all ᘓƧꓕⱯИʁIΓ had to offer was a listening ear and a sympathetic soul.

Step, step.

ᘓꓕⱯʁIƧИΓ kept a steady gait, following the pull of Féth Fíada. It was so familiar. Home. Recognizable by the countless hours spent exploring her clouds of gentle movement.

She hid things for ИƧʁꓕⱯIΓᘓ to find. And ᘓƧИꓕⱯʁIΓ always found them.

Always.

It was quite a lovely game. ИƧʁIΓᘓꓕⱯ only wished to return the favor... But that was not possible. Féth Fíada found things before they were ever hidden.

A breath escaped ⱯʁIΓᘓƧИꓕ’s lungs when the mistress breathed to life and coiled around ИƧIΓᘓꓕⱯʁ. Her embrace was soothing. A concealment. A promise of protection.

A symbiotic relationship, really. ƧᘓⱯʁИꓕIΓ provided companionship. Féth Fíada provided… many things.

Food. Protection. Guidance. Company.

Warning.

ᘓƧИꓕⱯIΓʁ stopped, muted footsteps abruptly silencing.

The familiar odor of evil’s blight crept through Féth Fíada’s veil, reaching the sensitive nose of ᘓƧИΓꓕⱯʁI.

Creep, creep, hide.

ᘓИƧꓕⱯIʁΓ continued, carefully stalking the threat who remained known but unseen.

Oh, wait, wait! Do you smell that? It’s him! The one from before! The pixie-portal-dwelling man was back.

Back. The human was present. Again? Present, within Féth Fíada’s covering? Unusual. ᘓƧИⱯʁIΓꓕ was sure he would’ve been frightened away by now.

And how did he find his way? The Foxlings rarely lured them here. They scarcely lasted long, and The Foxlings would rather human blood not taint their grounds. However antagonizing may they be, both The Foxlings and the intruding townspeople, the mischief of the forest would not wish their lifeforce to be spilled. Well, actually, that depended on the Foxling...

Human blood smelled… different. It stained differently. It was different.

So, to the entrance they led them. Sometimes.

Humans may believe their minds to hold strength, but those not of the woods were weak to the mistress of mystery. And Creatures of Blight. And sentences to the Graftveined. And... and... they're quite weak to the forest's desires in general, now that ᘓⱯʁIΓꓕƧИ thinks about it. They bleed a lot.

Perhaps The Foxlings were curious of his determination. It was intriguing, after all. This was something ᘓⱯꓕʁIΓƧИ could not deny.

And Féth Fíada was letting it linger. Again.

Curious.

Despite Féth Fíada’s mercy and power, she could only do so much against the physical manifestation of a hungering creature.

‘Let it live,’ the mistress murmured. ‘ It is strange. I wish for its life to be spared once more.’

Her whispering voice was a rarity.

Spared he shall be. The shadowy rot will not have him, by command of Féth Fíada.

‘His blood will not taint the grounds. Not tonight,’ was ƧꓕⱯʁΓIИᘓ’s unspoken reply. 'It will remain ever so sorely hungry.'

Chapter Text

Dream wasn't sure what time it was.

The fog was making it impossible to tell... He was sure it was late. His eyelids were heavy with sleep.

He didn't feel safe with such low visibility, and everything he heard was muffled—unreliable.

Still, he didn't stop to rest.

Shapes loomed in the mist, tree trunks warping into figures that weren't there. His hand stayed on the pommel of his sword. Just in case.

A soft crunch.

Dream stopped.

Not him.

He scanned the haze. Everything was quiet and still. Not a sound.

Rot. The scent was putrid and sudden, nearly making him recoil.

It was like the smell of decaying teeth and plants. He could nearly taste it.

Something was moving.

Dream stayed still as a statue, watching as what he had thought was a tree began to move. He gripped his sword tighter.

The branches shifted into a pair of arms and legs, a head appearing from behind it. The leaves that had cascaded down the sides were truly feathers.

Damn this fog.

The figure hunched over, its long arms hovering close to its chest while it walked on two legs.

Right. Towards. Him.

The smell of rot was getting stronger.

Dream stepped back, and the creature froze.

The fog alleviated, just for a moment.

He wished it hadn't.

It was humanoid, though it's obvious it was anything but. Tall and lanky, its black skin was matte, draping over a bony ribcage. Long, stringy feathers started at its head, riding along its spine and trailing off into a cape of greasy plumage. Its head was white—the only part of it that was something other than black—with only dark beady eyes as its facial features. No mouth. No nose. Nothing. It almost looked like a mask...

The fog changed. It became alive.

It crowded back in, growing denser than before. Not unlike his first time in The Backwoods.

It thickened.

And it didn't stop.

He couldn't breathe.

Dream was choking on it. Stumbling back and tripping over a branch, he landed on his back. The ever increasing stench of rot and decay was not helping.

It lessened. Just enough to see. Just enough to breathe. Something moved out of the corner of his eye.

And the creature was right there.

Its face was so close to his he could see that it did indeed have a mouth. An almost imperceivable line that likely opened up to rows of teeth.

Dream could hear a muffled chittering behind him—like a rattlesnake trapped within ones ribcage.

Step, step, step.

Something else was moving.

The creature before him reached a claw out. Dream couldn't move, paralyzed with a kind of fear he's never felt.

Was it even real?

It didn't hiss—didn't growl. Mutely staring into his soul. Hungry. The silence was worse than any sound it could've made.

Monsters aren't real.

Step, step, pause.

Its lanky fingers brushed against his shoulder.

Where the bites were.

Searing pain from his shoulder pushed him to action.

Very real.

Move.

He unsheathed his sword, slashing the creature's chest as he jumped to his feet.

It reeled away, its body now with a large open wound. It didn't make a sound.

Its blood was a dark, rusty brown.

Decaying. Old.

The smell of rot was overwhelming.

Dream scrambled away, heart screaming in his ears.

He looked back just in time to see it lunging.

It never reached him.

A flash of brown knocked it out of the air, sending them crashing to the underbrush.

With the fog paired with plants in the way, Dream could barely see what was happening.

He could hear it, though.

The new creature grappled with the old one, violent and intense. Snarling and hissing, wolfish and serpentine.

He stood still, listening intently, wondering who would come out the victor.

The black creature burst from the foliage, feathers bristling, and vanished into the fog without a sound.

The new winged figure took several steps after it, wings flared as it hissed violently. The sound was just like a snake.

Then it stopped, wings slowly folding on its back.

Dream held his breath.

It turned to face him, the fog covering it in a veil of swirling silver. He could barely make out its silhouette. Just rough shapes and... eyes.

Large, sweeping wings were half unfurled. A humanoid body stood on two oddly shaped legs. Eyes wide and aglow, piercing through the mist with a glistening blue.

He recognized those eyes.

Dream didn't move an inch. Would this thing attack him too?

It wasn't moving either. What was it waiting for?

...

Dream couldn't take it anymore.

"What..."

He sucked in a breath, watching as its eyes finally left his, flicking up and down, taking him in.

"What..."

He didn't speak that time—the mimicry was frighteningly accurate.

"... you saved me..." he muttered under his breath, his hands tight around his still drawn sword. The enchantments it possessed made its surface glare. Designed to hurt.

"Saved," his voice repeated back to him. An agreement.

He didn't like that. His voice, so casually stolen and used. It made his skin crawl.

Dream didn't lower his blade. Ready. Adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

He couldn't trust anything in this forest. Not even his apparent savior.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the being.

Why would it save him? Everything in this place was supposed to try and kill him.

"Why?" It echoed. Could it even speak properly? With its own voice?

It was silent between them. Though starting to slow, Dream could still hear his heart racing in his ears. He was shaking.

The fog continued to shift and move, dancing around the figure. Coiling and concealing the details Dream desperately wanted to see.

He was curious. And curiosity made him stupid.

He stepped forward.

It didn't move. Just tilted its head, the way a bird might. It blinked. He didn't.

Dream inhaled carefully, slowly creeping closer.

He kept his weapon sternly raised, body tense and prepared to fight at the slightest hint of aggression.

"Can you understand me?" he asked, now fifteen feet away.

He could make out a little more from here. Long, slim tail that disappeared into the underbrush, two little points on its head that could be horns. Oddly shaped ears...

"Understand... you," his voice said back to him. It was spoken tentatively—hesitant. Like it was unsure it was using the words properly.

"Okay..." He exhaled slowly, not moving closer. His blade lowered slightly.

The figure's wing seemed to twitch, still half unfurled. A flicker of movement that felt jarring.

He raised his sword back to ready.

It stepped closer.

Dream moved back in alarm, crouching slightly, like he might be the one lunging.

"Saved."

Dream paused, adjusting his grip on the handle.

"Saved."

It kept saying that—like it was trying to be reassuring. It was hard to be comforted by something that you could barely see, copying your voice.

It stepped forward, immediately jolting back with a soft sound of pain.

Was it hurt? It hurt itself, protecting him?

"You okay?" he questioned, an unwelcome concern beginning to rise.

It didn't respond, starting to move further away. Fleeing. The air grew heavier.

"Wait!"

Dream followed, resisting the urge to run after it—he didn't want to provoke a fight.

"Wait, wait. Why are you leaving—?"

It didn't stop, picking up the pace. Its silhouette was getting blurrier. Further. It was fairly obvious it was limping.

Dream froze, eyes wide in shock.

It was gone. Just like that. Disappeared right before his eyes, as if the fog swallowed it up.

Frustration soon melted over his surprise.

This was getting annoying. How hard was it to get a couple answers around here?!

Scowling, he kept walking in the direction he saw it last, keeping his sword unsheathed.

Just in case it—or anything else, for that matter—tried to take him by surprise.

The scuffle and squeak of a fox reached his ears.

He stopped, doing a hasty 360.

Nothing, nothing's... there.

It was higher up, crouched on a half fallen tree looking down.

He stepped closer, sheathing his weapon.

Maybe it would lead him somewhere. He wondered what would happen if he caught it.

As it jumped down, taking off through the forest, he pursued. This time, the fox wasn't getting away.

Leaping over the fallen tree, he trained his eyes on the little animal, predicting its movements.

He was gaining.

Close, closer, closing in—reaching out—

It pivoted, turning sharply and diving into a hole in the ground.

'If you followed a fox, you were never the one chasing.'

"Dammit!" he bit angrily, scowling at where it had taken shelter. Its eyes glowed, staring back, tauntingly out of reach. He felt like it was laughing at him with its eyes.

"Smug brat," he muttered bitterly.

Looking up, he blinked.

He was at the entrance of The Backwoods once again.

His shoulder hurt.

Chapter Text

‘Study by A.R.C. - Eversor

Eversor are humanoids with inky, tar-like skin. Their faces, resembling a mask, are the only part of their body that are not black. They generally walk on two legs, hunched over,  like my grandma coming out of her room to get snacks in the middle of the night… Man, I amuse myself. Ha. Ha ha.‘

Snorting softly in amusement, Dream shifted his gaze to the other side of the page, examining the drawing that was there.

The creature he saw from before was upon the page, bent over some dead critter. The ribcage was protruding, the bones thin and weak looking—like a single, well placed kick would cave them in. Its mouth was hanging open, revealing rows upon rows of teeth.

He was glad he didn’t get bitten by that thing.

‘Study by A.R.C. - Eversor

You always know when it's around based off of the stench of rotting teeth and plant decay… I’m not entirely sure that Eversor actually can digest things. They eat and it… just decomposes on the inside. But they would probably smell more like rotting flesh than decay and teeth, if that was the case…

Just a theory!’

That sounded disgusting. What kind of animal can’t digest food?

Monsters, probably. The ‘A.R.C.’ author seemed to be one of the only ones that knew what they were talking about. He had started to just skip over anyone else’s… Well, there was the occasional person that sounded at least somewhat intelligent.

‘Study by Justice Y. - Eversor

Eversor can change shape. Not like normal shapeshifting—I mean like trees and shrubbery. You can’t trust anything in that damned forest.”

Plausible, he supposes. He had thought the one he had encountered was a tree before it moved…

A.R.C. was also one of the only consistent writers. Dream hadn’t found a single unfinished entry from them—unlike the many others that cut off mid-thought.

‘Study by M.O.P. - Eversor

I think they’re something of a charcoal monster—made from the leftovers of’

And then it just cut off. How annoying.

He finally looked up from the book, realizing he had reached Lianeath Village.

It was sometime in the early evening, villagers walking around and going about their business.

Dream was exhausted.

From the mental strain of surviving to being up all night, he figured he earned the right to go to bed early tonight.

Closing the book with a snap, he put it back into his bag, fingers brushing against the feather he still carried.

“Hey Dream!”

He kept walking, a scowl on his face behind the mask.

“Iris.”

She was all grins and friendly attitudes, falling into step beside him.

“How are you doing? What have you been up to? I haven't seen you around all day.”

Nosy.

“What are you, my keeper? I was busy. And I’m tired, so…” he trailed off, expecting her to get the hint as he continued on his way towards the tavern.

She kept pace, undeterred. She waved to a passerby, greeting them mid sentence.

“How are you enjoying the book? I hope you’re finding it very interesting. It’s just jam packed with—hi Janet!—so many observations people have made. My personal favorite author is—”

Dream pushed the door of the tavern open. He let it slam shut behind him, leaving her outside. Hopefully she’d realize he didn’t like her and leave him alone.

What a bother that girl was. How did she even figure out his name?

He didn’t recall telling her.

Dream brushed past the bar, not giving the bartender who waved a second glance.

It was bed time.

The room he was staying in was fairly small, with a queen size bed, an armchair beside the only window, a little bathroom, and a dresser. It was… ‘cozy’. It was also fairly cheap.

He firmly locked the door to his room, tossed his bag beside the armchair in the corner and took off his mask.

His shoulder was killing him.

He slipped off his hoodie—that could use a good wash—and examined his wounds in the bathroom mirror.

They were only getting worse.

The puncture wounds looked like they had deepened, exposing the flesh beneath his skin. The area around the bites were bright red, swollen and tender. They were hot to the touch.

And extremely painful. It hurt just to move his arm around.

“Prime…” he hissed, gently prodding at the risen flesh. It felt slightly wet—gross. He couldn’t tell if they were infected or not.

He’d probably know soon.

He sighed heavily, collapsing onto the armchair and staring out the window. He settled the mask back onto his face before sitting down, though. He’d loathe to have some nosy looker get a look at his face through the window.

His head was starting to pound, too. He should probably eat something before he goes to bed…

But he didn’t have an appetite. Which was odd—when had he eaten last?

Hm…

Maybe he should see if he can learn more about that Fairy Ring, where he’d gotten the bites from. If the ring even had anything to do with them.

He reached down, picking up the book and started to flip through it.

There were many things that the authors talked about—thistleworms, pixies, slipvine, the fog, eversor, virelan, The Foxlings, elkish, mutated squirrels… yeah. All that and more. And none of it was organized, which made it very easy to miss things.

Anyways.. He couldn’t find much on fairy rings. 

Just that it was a bad idea to hang around them.

Yippee. Good going, Dream. Sleeping inside a fairy ring sounds like a great idea!

‘Study by A.R.C. - Fairy Rings

Fairy rings… while they usually carry superstition, I don’t believe they are very special.

Unless you’re in The Backwoods, of course. Everything there is special.

They’re bigger. Both the size of the mushrooms and the area they cover.

I’m not quite sure what it is about them, though. They give me a weird feeling. I’d stay well away from them.’

He groaned, tossing the book to the ground. Propping his chin on his palm, he tiredly stared out the window, observing the townspeople.

_________

Iris sighed, flinching as the door slammed in her face.

She kicked the ground as she turned and walked away, downcast.

She was so freaking bored.

Dream was by far the most interesting person she’d ever met. He was scary, new, and super brave! 

While people still entered The Backwoods, she’d never seen someone do it with such certainty and determination.
Well, there was… ah, she didn’t like thinking about him. It made her sad.

Dream was kind of fascinating. Especially with his weirdo face mask he wore. She wondered what he looked like. Or if he ever took it off.

‘Probably not,’ she mused, stepping into the flower shop called Delilah Darling. If he did that, it would ruin his mysterious vibe.

The inside was a little overwhelming, the smell of the plants meshing together almost unpleasantly. Everywhere you looked was something—be it an empty pot, plant, bag of dirt, tool… whatever. The place was nearly bursting at the seams.

“Hey, Mr. Joyce. How are you today?”

The older gentleman at the counter looked up, frowning. 

“Terrible!” he grouched, pointing at Iris with his trowel. “My garden at home is in all sorts of wrong! That storm did me dirty.”

Iris regretted asking him how he was.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied. “What’s wrong, exactly?”

“The trellises are all knocked over, all my fruits n’ veggies have fallen onto the ground—” he paused, brightening. “But all that black chalky stuff is gone.”

Iris tilted her head, curious.

“I thought you couldn’t get it to go away?”

“That’s right. But it’s finally gone! Good riddance… that stuff was such a nuisance It was so nasty looking, all clumpy and… and sticky.”

Mr. Joyce had been dealing with a black, almost charcoal like substance that was on his fence— the one that faced the forest… it stung when you touched it and it wouldn’t wipe off. According to Mr. Joyce, anyway.

She wasn’t quite sure what he actually did to try and get it off—he really liked to complain and then do nothing about his problems.

“Well, that’s great! Do you think it was the rain that got it to go away?”

He huffed, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I don’t know! How should I know?”

Iris blinked.

“Uhm…”

“Stupid kids. Always assuming I know everything…”

He turned away, jabbing his trowel into the dirt of a pot.

Well… that’s the end of that conversation, she supposed.

She sighed, and then glanced out the window.

Looking into the tavern second floor windows, she quickly found the one Dream was staying in.

She could tell because he was sitting at the window, brooding.

Chapter Text

There was nothing quite like it.

The rush of pushing Spirit to his limit, the wind whistling over his ears. His steed’s hooves pounded steadily into the ground, echoing through his legs and into Dream's body.

He was lost in his mind. Thoughts raced faster than Spirit, galloping through a flowery field.

His eyes watched, but did not see.

Miles away from Lianeath, he was oblivious to the passing scenery. The lovely weather. The sun as it peeked out from thin clouds.

It’d been a couple days since he last ventured into The Backwoods. The bite wounds had worsened considerably, and he was well past worried. 

He couldn’t find anything in the book about bites you acquired in fairy rings, from seemingly nothing, that had green veins growing around them.

And he was quite certain that the village doctors would be utterly useless to aid him.

On the bright side, it had stopped hurting. But he couldn’t feel that entire shoulder anymore—just a dull numbness that started at the base of his neck and went to his elbow.

He was tired, too. His eyes weighed down, his mind felt like it was slow. Foggy, if you will.

The only solution he could think of was to go back and try to find what was a—assumedly—friendly virelan. Maybe he could squeeze some answers out of it, somehow…

But he didn’t want to go in again without supplies. Food, compass, camping gear… the works. Maybe he’d even invest in his own journal to write in, to fall back on.

Unfortunately, he had no money. He’d ran out just this morning, spending the last bit on breakfast.

Which meant he needed to either steal or get hired for some odd jobs.

Normally, thievery would be his first pick. It was easy, quick, and typically held little to no consequences. For him, anyway. He was a seasoned thief.

However, he was a little rusty, and he did not want to run the risk of being kicked out from Lianeath.

Not when the town and the forest it spoke of was so…

Intriguing.

The longer he stayed, the more peculiar it got—why, just the other day he watched a very entertaining fight between a man and a broomstick. The man obviously won, but not before he managed to poke himself in the eyes with the bristles.

It was the most entertaining thing he’d seen in a while.

That’s all besides the point.

He needed coin, and he needed it quick. His arm was getting worse by the day.

He only had a couple people in mind that he could ask for jobs. The bartender at the tavern, the stable hand, or Iris.

The bartender was the obvious choice. He was a middle aged man with scruffy brown hair and a strong build. Dream liked his professional attitude much more than Iris’s girlish nosiness by a long shot. And the stable hand?

That guy was a nutjob.  Who the hell offers a traveler an entire half rotted turkey?

He was a last resort. He gave Dream a weird vibe.

_________

“No—no.” Dream scowled behind the mask, speedwalking away from the stable hand. He had just gotten back to Lianeath, and had to suffer the displeasure of dealing with this man's offers, just to board Spirit.

“I don’t want your weird bird—hat—feather thing!” he scoffed, ignoring the adamant man as he walked away.

The weirdest part was he wasn’t even trying to sell him anything. He just—wanted him to have it!

“It’s a beautiful headpiece!” Lance—the irritant himself, called after him. He sounded rather offended at Dream’s rejection.

Luckily, he did not try to pursue Dream. That wouldn’t have ended well. Dream’s nerves were getting shot.

Pushing the door of the tavern open, he paused after letting it shut behind him.

Deep breath. 

He’d been tired all day. Despite sleeping heavily, and for a long time the night before, his eyes were still heavy. In turn, he was much more irritable. Less composed.

He didn’t like being un-composed.

Focus.

Stepping forward, he addressed the bartender, ignoring the other patron.

“Klaus,” he started, cutting off the older woman he’d been talking with.

She shot him a dirty look, slipping off her chair and walking away with her drink. Her gait was off. Drunk. He’d seen her around before—she was always intoxicated.

Klaus watched her go, sighing heavily.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, turning to Dream with one of his tired grins.

“I need money.” Dream sat on a barstool, fixing Klaus with an intense stare. “ASAP. Do you have any tasks I can do that you’ll pay me for?”

Klaus tilted his head, idly folding a dirty rag.

“Mm…” he turned away, quietly muttering to himself as he let Dream’s request rattle around for a minute.

“I don’t have anything at the moment,” he finally admitted, turning back to Dream. “But I know a couple other people you can ask…”

Dream scowled, the expression concealed by the mask.

“Who?”

“An old man called Mr. Joyce, for starters. He’s always complaining about something he could use help with. A woman called Edith… she’d probably love a young man like yourself around to help out… ah… I can think of more, if you’d like.”

Dream waved him off, sighing heavily. “That’s okay. Where can I find this Joyce guy?”

He didn’t trust the way Klaus had said ‘love’ in regards to Edith. Hard pass.

_________

Looking up at an old, splintering sign engraved with Delilah Darling, he cringed to himself.

He could tell one thing just by looking at the storefront. This place needed some work. Several large pots obscured the dirty windows, their surfaces scratchy and worn. The plants within them looked bright and healthy.

He pushed the door open and was absolutely slammed with the smell of mothballs, dirt, and the sickly sweet smell of flowers.

The inside was even worse.

Dirt coated almost every surface—save for the perfectly clean register counter. Every wall was covered from head to toe with plants and trellises, bright with greens, yellows, and various primary colors.

The ground was squishy with… a thick layer of soil. He could see several sprouts of plants growing from the floor. What the hell?

“Who are you?”

His gaze snapped to an old man… late sixties, maybe. He was rather dirty, mud smearing his face, arms and hands. He wore a pair of brown overalls on top of a yellow t-shirt. Emerging from the back door, he stared accusingly. As if Dream was trespassing.

“Dream.”

“Weird.”

The man stepped up behind the counter, crossing his arms and wrinkling his nose.

“What’s up with the mask? Mask boy. Masky guy.”

“Joyce, right? I’m here because Klaus said you could give me a couple tasks in exchange for coin.”

“MR. Joyce,” he corrected. He looked Dream up and down before nodding. “Yeah, I got some stuff you can do…”

Dream huffed impatiently, absently lifting a hand to his shoulder to try and rub the numb away.

“You can start with fixing up a couple things that the storm tossed around a couple days ago.” Mr. Joyce turned and started walking back towards the door he had come in. “Come on, masky. I’ll show you.”

Stepping outside, Dream was met with an immediate feeling of unease.

The Backwoods was in the far distance, standing tall. It somehow made sense that the back of Delilah Darling faced that forsaken forest. It had a perfect view of the woods through a dip in the hills.

“Right over here is where I brought in all my broken trellises…”

Dream winced.

This man had an unreasonable amount. It looked more like he was getting ready for a bonfire, rather than a pile of plant tools waiting to be repaired. Most of them had small issues—like a broken leg or bar. Some of them looked unfixable.

Mr. Joyce picked one up, setting it on a workbench that was pressed up against the back of the building. He grabbed a saw, muttering quietly.

“For the ones with broken legs, just cut the other side ‘till they match…”

Dream could already foresee problems with that. What happens when you go to put them back in the ground and there’s not enough leg for it to stay in the ground?

… That was most certainly not his problem, and he was not going to point it out.

“One coin per trellis!”

Dream perked up, eyeing the pile once more. 

“Done.”

Mr. Joyce grinned, dusting his hands off and resting the filthy limb on Dream’s shoulder. The injured one—he could hardly feel it, but it still pissed him off.

Dream nearly drew his sword on the oblivious man. 

“I’ll check back in a couple hours or so. Watch out for Ivy—she’s a fast one!”

That’s concerning.

He walked away, disappearing back into Delilah Darling and leaving Dream to stew in silence.

He took a deep breath, turning to the pile of trellises. The Backwoods served as a background to the sight, leaving a frown on Dream’s face.

Chapter Text

Dream was getting into a rhythm.

Saw, nail, toss... there were really only three different actions he could take on each trellis. Was it beyond repair? Toss it. Its feet were uneven? Saw. Its bars were broken? Nail a new one on.

It'd been a while since he'd worked with his hands like this. It felt nice, being able to hit something with a hammer with zero consequence. And it was going fast—they weren't hard to fix.

Although... Some of them didn't even look like they were damaged by the storm—as if something else had messed with Joyce's garden. Sure, the storm was a little rough, but it was no hurricane.

Something else had happened, whether Joyce knew it or not. Be it some delinquent kids or something inhuman, it wasn't just the weather.

A small noise of surprise slipped from his lips. Lifting his foot, he frowned at the gentle tug of a vine that was resting over his boot.

The ground beneath was mostly trampled grass... and don't think he hadn't noticed the stringy vines that littered the area. They didn't seem to be connected to anything. Each one was about two or three feet long, like they had been cut and left here.

They had made him uneasy. He'd been doing his best not to touch or step on them—though he's unsure as to why. The prickling feeling of eyes on his back wasn't helping the unease either.

Shaking off the clinging vine, he moved back to the dwindling pile of trellises. There had been fewer than originally thought. He was at a dozen, now. He estimated that there were only about ten or so left.

That'd only be twenty-two coins. And that's if Joyce paid him for the ones that were unfixable, which Dream doubted he would. He struck him as the type to be a cheap-skate. So that'd only be, what, seventeen coins?

Either way, it wasn't enough. He'd have to find something else to do. He needed money for supplies, food, paying his bill at the tavern, paying the stablehand...

Ugh. Maybe he'd fall back to thievery after all.

"Hey mister!"

He whirled around, pulling his sword in one smooth motion.

A child, no older than twelve. His sword was less than five inches from her face—yet she barely flinched, smiling brightly.

How... lovely. And odd.

A young girl stood before him, staring at him with dark green eyes. She had shoulder-length brown hair and dark skin. She wore a light green and silvery white knee length dress. Flashing a toothy grin, the girl took a deep breath.

He prepared himself for what he could sense was coming.

"Why do you look like that? What are you up to? What's wrong with your face? What's your name? Are you helping the nice plant man? Are you—"

Dream sighs internally, too tired to deal with this girl's childish curiosity. He sheathed his sword and turned back to the workbench.

"I'm busy."

"I know!"

She stood herself to the side of the table, staring at his masked face with a furrowed brow. She glanced at his bag where the book of Backwoods studies and virelan feather peeked out.

"Where did you get that?"

She pointed at the feather, eyes flicking from his mask to the bag.

"I found it."

A beat of silence was all he got before she was talking again. "Why do you have that book?"

"I'm borrowing it," he replied curtly, irritated. He raised the hammer to hit a nail.

"Where is your face?"

He blinked, pausing his motion to meet her gaze. That's a strange thing to ask. Surely she knew that he was only wearing a mask.

"What?"

"Where is your face," she repeated slowly, as if talking to a child. Ironic. "Did you lose it?"

"It's.... behind my mask," he said dryly. "Now go away. I'm busy," he reiterated, narrowing his eyes at her.

She tilted her head, leaning closer. He leaned back, uncomfortable with her proximity.

"It reminds me of the rot-borne."

"What?"

The hell did she mean, rot-borne?

She paused, as if she had said something she shouldn't have. "What, what?" she echoed innocently, eyes wide and glossy.

He huffed, straightening and towering over her. Intent to intimidate, he lowered his voice to a growl. He wanted answers. "What do you mean, rot-borne?"

She didn't seem scared. How irking. "What's your name, faceless?"

"I have a face!" he insisted, annoyed. Was she stupid?

She shook her head, a perplexed look in her eyes. "I don't see it. Where is it?"

"You—" he jerked back as she reached for him. He'd barely had a chance to register she'd moved before she had a hand gripping the rim of his bag. He quickly shoved her hand away.

She frowned and stepped back, letting the fabric go. Then, her gaze dropped to where he had stepped on one of the strange vines.

"Don't step on that!" she shrieked, eyes wide with horror. The air changed, growing tense and upset.

She paused, thinking for a moment.Then her gaze narrowed. Her expression twisted into hatred. It was disturbing—seeing such a look on the face of a child.

"How dare you step on it!" She was angry. Why? It was just a plant.

Dream was tense, mind racing as he tried to understand.

She reached for his mask. Her nails were absolutely filthy. "You are not human," she accused. "What are you?"

"What are you talking about?" he snapped, his hand tight around the pommel of his ready blade. He was quite certain he was human. "Who are you?"

"Ivy," she spat, narrowing her eyes. "You're rot-borne, aren't you? Or at least starting to become it."

A shiver ran down his spine. His eyes widened behind his mask as Joyce's words echoed in his mind.

Ivy's a fast one.

He jumped back as she grabbed the strap of his bag and yanked on it.

"Get off—" he smacked her hand away, watching her exclaim and recoil.

Before he knew it, the green vines around him started wriggling and moving. Like angry, coiling snakes.

Her face was twisted with burning rage. She stared him down, seemingly unaware of the vines that crept up her legs, leaves curling and embedding into her flesh.

He backed away, drawing his sword.

He watched in horror as her skin rippled. She was changing, shifting, splitting apart—right before his eyes.

Her clothing darkened and molded into her skin. His stomach churned as her skin turned green and plantlike, breaking into hundreds of individual vines interwoven together. The ones from the ground joined her new form, creating a taller, leaner version of what would haunt his nightmares.

She was not human—that was glaringly obvious. Her flesh was locked together like a wicker basket, fading from lush greens to wilting browns. Her hair writhed like snakes, her eyes turned silver and round, like a dragonfly's. She was much taller than him now, standing somewhere around 6'5.

He didn't waste time.

Lunging forward, he sliced across her torso, cutting her in half.

Her body met the ground with a terrible screech, the vines breaking apart and scattering. They jittered and wiggled, scrambling to put themselves back together.

He was not going to wait until she was back in one piece.

Turning back into the store, he slammed the door open and rushed towards the lobby.

"Joyce!" he exclaimed, sword still drawn.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Joyce was startled, standing up from where he had been carefully watering one of the plants in the floor dirt.

"What—?"

"What the hell is Ivy?!"

Joyce seemed more perplexed than anything, furrowing his brows. "What do you mean? Ivy's just a kid..."

Dream scowled, adjusting his grip on his blade. "Don't play dumb with me," he seethed, stepping closer to the old man. "She's not human! And if she's 'just a kid', then why did you warn me about her like you did?"

Joyce frowned. "I told you to watch out for her because she sneaks up on you and won't leave you be. She's very nosy. But she's perfectly normal."

No one in this forsaken town was normal.

The backdoor opened.

Dream bristled, whirling around and—freezing.

Ivy, yes. But once more was she in the form of a nosy little girl. Her eyes were rimmed red and she sniffled pitifully.

Joyce shot Dream an almost concerned look, but he seemed mostly irritated.

"See? Just a harmless little girl. Come here, Ivy. What happened?" Timidly, Ivy came forward, her young voice catching with crocodile tears as she hugged Mr. Joyce's legs. "Mr. Joyce, this strange man is very mean!"

Dream had to hold himself back. How would it look if he attacked this seemingly innocent girl? That'd certainly be worse than thievery.

"What did he do, little one?" Joyce asked, reaching out a hand to rest on the liar's shoulder.

She took a shaky deep breath, her bottom lip trembling. "I was only asking questions," she whimpered, shooting Dream fleeting glances. "And he shouted at me! And drew his sword!"

Joyce scowled, and turned to Dream.

"Get out," he snapped, pointing to the door.

You have got to be joking.

"You're not serious—"

"Out!"

Dream inhaled sharply, and forced himself to sheath his sword. "She's lying." He tried, but he was sure it was of no use.

"She's a child! GET OUT!"

Dream knew when he was beat. That thing had this man—and probably the entire village—wrapped around her deceitful green thumb.

He didn't have to ask to know that he wasn't getting paid. Opening the door and stepping outside, he tossed a fleeting glance over his shoulder.

Ivy was staring after him with narrowed green eyes. Her expression was much too angry to be one of a child's. Furrowed brow, tight lips. Head tilted forward slightly.

He shivered and left. Frustration festered in the pit of his stomach. What would he do now?

Hopefully, the rumors that would no doubt spark from this wouldn't taint his reputation too badly. If he was lucky, Joyce would not be seen as a plausible source of information, and Ivy would be seen for the snake she was.

That was unlikely. Ivy appeared a master manipulator—an impressive actor.

But one thing was for certain. He couldn't trust a single person in this damned village. There was no telling human from creature.

Chapter Text

“Get out of my shop!” cried a middle aged woman, shooing a fuming Dream from her store. “Predator!”

Predator. 

That was so insulting. They thought he’d swoop that low?

The scowl on his face felt permanent as he stalked down the street.

He’d been right. Rumors had spread like wildfire. And it seemed like they had been blown out of proportion, too. Curse that Ivy girl. Thing. Monster.

He’d pulled a sword and raised his voice at her. That hardly equates to him being a predator. That’s more like being a threat to her life; A danger to society.

Not to mention it had only been a single day since the incident! He’d gone straight to bed after that had happened, and everyone hated his guts when he woke up.

Luckily for him, Klaus was still letting him stay at the tavern, and Lance was still watching over Spirit. Klaus hadn’t seemed too affected by the rumors about Dream—he’s probably heard many things over his years tending to the bar. Maybe he could tell that it was nonsense.

And Lance? Well, Lance really liked Dream for some reason.

Hey, he wasn’t gonna complain if he didn’t have to deal with figuring something else out for Spirit.

He even accepted one of his weird gifts, just to make sure that he kept liking him. It was a very small ocarina with only four holes. He couldn’t play it, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it, but he was keeping it in the small front pocket of his bag anyway.

He hadn’t seen Iris yet. Hopefully, she still liked him. He continued to think of her poorly, but it wouldn’t hurt to have at least three villagers that knew and liked him to some degree.

“Watch out!”

Dream’s attention snapped to a brown spotted horse galloping down the semi-busy street, forcing people to jump out of the way.

A girl was chasing after it, yelling out warnings.

“Move!” she cried, just barely avoiding trampling a small child in her pursuit.

The horse thundered right by Dream. There was no way this girl would be catching up to it. He craned his neck, watching it go.

“Woah—”

Before he knew what was happening, he was already in motion.

Instinctively slipping his hand around her back for support, he bent his knees as he leaned forward, catching her as she tripped into him. His hand caught one of hers, keeping it from flailing and hitting him.

She panted, eyes wide and startled as she stared up at him.

“Oh—hello!” she huffed breathlessly, standing as he pulled her out of the dipping position and stepped away.

 “Uh…” she frowned, blinking confusedly at his mask before shuffling to the side to peer around him.

Her expression dropped as the horse turned a corner and disappeared. “Rats…”

Dream took a moment to examine her appearance. She had princess curls that were falling out of her half-up half-down style. The locks were dirty blonde and messy—likely from her horse chase. Her skin was light but tanned, splattered with freckles. She was wearing a white top with a loose brown corset and black pants.

Heaving a sigh and turning her attention back to Dream, she offered a weary smile.

“Hey. Sorry for trying to run you over like that. I swear it’s not a usual habit. My name is Apricity.” She offered her hand for him to shake. Their gazes locked. Her eyes were blue.

He tilted his head, still scrutinizing her from behind the mask. Based on her reaction, she didn’t know who he was yet. He needed as many people as possible to like him… he should try being nice.

“... No issue,” he replied slowly, reluctantly shaking her hand. “Why was the horse running?”

She cringed, laughing awkwardly.

“Oh—uh, his name is Tramp. He bucked me off and then ran away because he saw a rabbit on the trail.” She rubbed the back of her neck, embarrassed. “He’s a scaredy-cat. He’ll come home on his own… Hopefully.” She eyed his appearance, gaze lingering on his masked face. “What’s your name?”

“Dream.” he watched her expression, waiting for a hint of recognition. 

Nothing. It’s his lucky day.

“Are you new around here?” she inquired. “I feel like I’d remember a mask like that. It's cool, by the way. Mystery vibes…”

He scoffed in amusement. “Thanks. I guess you could say that. I’ve been here for almost two weeks now.”

She blinked in surprise. “Oh—!” she gasped. “You must be that guy Iris was talking about!” she gave an abashed grin. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize your name. Unfortunately, I tend to tune her out after she gets on one of her rambling spiels… I can’t help it. It just happens.”

“Iris?” he frowned behind the mask. “I’ve barely spoken to her. What is she saying?”

Iris was gossiping about him? Well, he supposed everyone was doing that right now. He’d let it slide if it was nice things.

Apricity paused, thinking through her reply before speaking.

“... she says that you’re pretty weird,” she started slowly, obviously trying to keep from tainting his view of her friend. “And very interesting. We don’t get too many new people around here.”

He hummed skeptically. It could be worse. 

“And what about from other people?” He dug a little deeper, trying to figure out exactly what people were saying about him.

She shrugged. “I’ve only heard stuff from her. Why? Did something happen?”

He hesitated. What should he reveal and keep hidden? He had to navigate this carefully.

“Well… I was doing a job for Mr. Joyce,” he started, eyes glued to her expression. “You know him?” he continued when she nodded. “I was fixing up some trellises for him and this… girl, Ivy, showed up.”

Apricity frowned, fidgeting with a silver ring on her finger.

“Ivy? She’s… yeah. Sorry. Continue.”

He jumped on her hesitation. “No, no. What were you going to say?”

She bit her lip, reluctant to speak poorly of the apparent young girl.

“It’s just…” she glanced backwards, where he knew The Backwoods loomed, hidden behind hills and buildings. “She’s… strange. In a… not…” she huffed, frustrated with her lack of words. “I’m sorry.”

Dream finished the sentence in his head.

She’s strange in an inhuman kind of way. Apricity was aware, to some degree, that Ivy was not human. 

That's excellent.

He nodded, quietly agreeing with her.

“Anyway… she essentially framed me and now the whole village thinks I’m a predator.”

Apricity froze, eyes widening. “How did she do that?”

Once more, Dream found himself hesitant to reply, unsure of what Apricity knew and believed to be true.

Finally, he decided to just go for it. If she doesn’t believe him… oh well. Why not add crazy to the list of rumors.

“She’s not human. She turned into this plant woman after I stepped on some vine thing. I cut her in half and ran inside. She followed after turning back into a human and made it look like I pulled a sword on an innocent child. Snake…” he couldn’t help but tag on under his breath.

Apricity was silent for a long, tense moment. Dream’s eye contact stayed uncomfortably unwavering from behind the mask.

“That’s very, um…” she shuffled awkwardly. “... Ivy.”

So she knew. How much did she know?

“I wouldn’t trust a thing she says,” Apricity muttered, glancing to the side. “I’ve seen some questionable things.” she sighed, continuing on. “She has a bunch of the town wrapped around her little finger, though. So if that happened, then rumors have likely spread, and you’re probably being given grief…”

With the way she’s talking, it's obvious Dream was not the first.

“I’ll put in a good word and see what I can do for you.”

Good word?

“What do you mean?” he asked, furrowing his brows. Did she have some kind of influence?

Apricity grinned, eyes glittering. “Did I not say? I’m the daughter of the mayor. What Father says goes, and he listens pretty good when I talk.”

That could be… useful.

“That’s convenient,” he remarked. “I haven’t actually heard anything about the mayor. What’s his name?” 

“His name is Leal.” She smiled proudly. “Leal Pura. He’s a great man.”

It’s blatant that she looks up to her father.

“How long has he been mayor for?” he inquired, trying to sound interested

“Uh… A little over two years, now. We’re actually doing an election sometime next year. I have no doubt that he’ll have the winning votes.” she shook her head. “Anyways, have you been getting trouble? When did Ivy frame you?”

“Yesterday.” Dream scowled. “I was only working for Joyce because I needed money. Of course, after that brat made me look so bad, he didn’t pay me. And now no one will let me do any work…”

Granted, he had only asked two people since then. But they were absurdly rude. He was this close to burglary… 

Apricity winced, and dipped her hand into one of her pockets.

“I’m sorry. Let me give you a little compensation for your troubles… how much do you need?”

Dream stiffened in surprise, tilting his head slightly. He could be polite and refuse her offer, or…

“... I need money for staying at the tavern, paying the stable hand, food, supplies…”

She nodded, pulling out a heavy pouch of coin. “Okay…”

Dream shuffled impatiently, excitement bubbling in his stomach. If he could get her to give him enough then he shouldn’t have to do anything else before heading into The Backwoods again.

“What kind of supplies?” she wondered, counting out several pieces of money.

“I need survivalist supplies. Compass, a flint and steel, rope, bandages, maybe a lantern…”

She glanced up at him, frowning.

“Are you planning on heading out soon? Going to another village? The nearest one is about three days worth of travel…”

He shook his head.

“I want to go into The Backwoods again.”

“Again?” she asked, surprised. “You’ve already been?”

He nodded. “Yes. A couple times now, actually. I want to go back and…” he narrowed his eyes at her, trailing off. “... explore.” He didn’t trust her or her strange generosity. It didn’t quite make sense to him.

She looked back down at the coin she was counting out, before putting it all back into the one big pouch.

“You’ll probably be needing all of this, then.” she offered a slightly worried smile. “The Backwoods are quite dangerous, as I’m sure you’ve learned.”

He took it, studying her demeanor. This would be more than enough for the expenses. She seemed startlingly genuine.

“... What’s the catch?”

She laughed, waving his worries away and stepping back.

“Don’t worry! There’s no catch. Just a simple act of kindness. I don’t want you to die immediately." she paused, meeting his gaze. “I would tell you not to go, but something tells me you wouldn’t listen.”

“... thank you,” he muttered begrudgingly, opening his bag to drop it in.

He froze.

Where the hell was the journal?

Chapter Text

Dream pulled his bag off and set it down on a nearby bench, sifting through his belongings. Apricity followed, concerned.

“What? What’s wrong?” She inquired.

Dream didn’t reply, pulling out the feather, several daggers, a couple small vials of healing and strength, his almost empty quiver of arrows…

With a frustrated huff, he pushed the bag away and ran a hand through his hair.

“The journal I was borrowing from the library is gone.”

Apricity furrowed her brows, staring at the virelan feather. 

“You mean the town's collective journal on The Backwoods?”

“Yes,” he replied impatiently. “That. It’s gone. I know I didn’t misplace it. I bet Ivy took it.”

Apricity winced, playing with her ring.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” she murmured, finally tearing her gaze from the feather to Dream. “If she doesn’t like you she’ll probably do anything to inconvenience you.”

Brilliant. He just had to make enemies with some… what is she, really?

“What even is she?” he questioned, putting his things away, mind already calculating how to get the book back. It may be rather unreliable, but it was better than walking in blind. However, he didn’t want it bad enough to delay his return for too long.

Apricity hesitated, either unsure if she was right or if she should reveal what she knows.

“... Ivy is a nymph,” she muttered under her breath.

Nymph?

“I thought nymphs were… peaceful plant spirits. Well… peaceful- ish.”

Apricity snorted, shaking her head.

“They’re shapeshifting snakes, is what they are.”

Was that a bitter tone Dream heard?

“You sound like you have history.”

“Everyone in this town has history.”

She quickly changed the subject before he could press further. “Are you going to go get it back?”

Dream slung his bag back over his shoulders, resting a possessive hand over the firmly latched flap.

“I’ll confront her if I see her, but I’m not going to go looking.” He turned and started walking. Apricity trailed after him, listening attentively. “I was considering starting my own journal anyways.”

“Really?” she echoed thoughtfully. “That sounds pretty sweet. When are you going back?” Her tone dipped into concern. “Are you going alone?”

“Yes,” he quickly replied, shooting her a side glance. “Alone.” His tone made it obvious he wanted it to stay that way, too.

Apricity frowned, falling silent for several beats.

“... The Backwoods are extremely dangerous,” she reminded quietly. “It’d be better to go with someone.”

“And who would you suggest?” he said snarkily, turning into a store.

He hesitated on the threshold.

Then he held it open for her. The least he could do was show some manners after she gave him so much money—and information.

“Thank you,” she murmured with a small smile, stepping ahead of him.

“I would suggest…” she trailed off, wrinkling her nose. “Uh…”

“Exactly.”

She sighed defeatedly, watching as he started picking through the various compasses behind a glass case.

“These are so overpriced…” he muttered, before waving over the cashier. “Can I look at this one?” He pointed to a small copper compass on a chain.

The cashier hurried over. He was a young adult with a man bun and ear piercings.

“Yeah, hold on…” he opened the case, letting Dream test its weight in his hands. The cashier shot Apricity a smile after giving Dream’s mask a strange look.

“How're you doing, April?”

“Good,” she replied. “You?”

“Okay, I guess. Diva still hasn’t come back.”

Dream took the compass and moved on, listening intently as he busied himself by poking through the supplies available to him.

“I’m sorry.” Apricity frowned, sympathetic. “She’s a good dog. She’ll come home.”

The cashier shrugged with a sad sigh.

“I don’t know. She chased the deer into The Backwoods several days ago. She’d have returned by now. I think she was probably eaten by something, however sad that is… it was inevitable, really. She got out of the yard too often.”

“I feel like more animals have been going missing as of late,” she cringed, glancing towards the door. “I should probably go find where Tramp went off too. Ah man, now I'm worried…”

The cashier laughed softly, locking the display case back up.

“That horse is such a homebody. He won’t go far if he ran off. What spooked him this time?”

“A rabbit.” Apricity grinned wearily.

Dream tuned them out, growing disinterested. 

He showed himself to the ropes, picking up a sturdy looking coil and hanging it on his arm. Moving on, he found a nice canteen, flint and steel, torches, several packs of rations, and then made his way to the weapons aisle to restock on arrows.

His hand hovered over a high quality bow, hesitant.

His old one was nearing its breaking point. However, everything in this store was a little pricey and he didn’t want to blow all the money he just got.

“Are you good at archery?”

The cashier had been called away by another customer, leaving Apricity to find Dream again.

“I don’t do it for fun,” he replied. “I’m good out of necessity.”

She nodded, pulling a different bow down.

“I personally prefer these, if you’re looking to get a new one. I think they last longer.”

He took it from her, comparing it with the one he’d been looking at.

“You shoot?”

“Mhm. Ever since I was little.” She smiled. “We’ll have to do a little competition sometime and see who's better.”

“Maybe.”

Dream wondered if she’d be a challenge for him. He was excellent in archery and swordplay. No one but Techno rivaled him.

And Techno was no longer there for him to spar with, so…

“Are you good with a sword?” he asked, meeting her gaze.

“April!” a bubbly voice interrupted. “Oh! And Dream! Hi!”

Iris .

Dream held back an annoyed sigh, turning away from Apricity, and stalked to the checkout line with the bow she recommended. He’d try it out. If it was horrible, he’d demand a refund.

“Hey Iris,” Apricity greeted with a grin, letting the girl give her an excited hug. “How’d you find me?” she teased.

“Oh, I just saw you and Dream from outside the window.” Iris glanced from Dream to Apricity, and then whispered loudly. “What do you think of him?!”

“He’s right there, Iris.” Apricity gestured to Dream—who was only a couple feet away. He could most certainly hear what Iris considered whispering. “I’m fairly certain he can hear us.”

Iris frowned, intensely staring at the back of Dream’s head.

“... maybe.” she reluctantly agreed, making Apricity laugh softly.

Dream rapidly tapped his fingers on the flap of his bag, waiting for the cashier to be done with his current customer.

Apricity and Iris joined Dream in line, Iris giving Dream a wide smile.

“How have you been?” she paused, expression suddenly dropping. “Actually, don’t answer that! I know the answer is ‘not good’. I heard the rumors.” she glanced at Apricity for a brief moment. Apricity gave a slight nod. “I’m quite sure that Ivy lied to make you look bad for some reason.”

Dream eyed their interaction curiously. It reminded him of when two best friends can practically speak without words.

Not that he knew what that was like. But he’s seen it before.

“Yeah. Ivy lied.” He agreed, stepping up to the counter once it was his turn.

Apricity murmured something to Iris that he couldn’t quite catch as the cashier began ringing him up.

“Do you want a pixie ward while you’re here?” the man asked, offering Dream a small dried flower in a glass case.

“Uh… no.” Dream wrinkled his nose behind the mask, staring down at the useless object. “I’m good. Just these things.”

“Okay, your total is sixty coins—”

“Hold on.”

Apricity interrupted the man, fixing him with a small glare. Dream didn’t even get a chance to barter.

“Don’t give into the rumors from Ivy, Josh. We both know they’re unreliable, regardless of what you believe. Give him a reasonable price.”

Josh scowled, grumbling under his breath.

“Fine. Thirty is your total.”

He had hidden his apparent disdain for Dream well. He’d seemed completely casual. Impressive. Or perhaps Dream was losing his touch. He absently rubbed his bitten shoulder, rolling it back as he counted out the necessary payment.

It was quiet as he mutely forked over the money.

Iris couldn’t handle it, apparently.

“So you’re going back?” she blurted, twisting her hands together. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Iris exclaimed, her tone echoing Apricity’s expression.

“You can’t go tonight! You’ll miss the festivities! Don’t you want to dance, Dream?”

Dream would rather lose his arm. He didn’t know what this festival was about, and he didn’t care.

“No.”

Apricity frowned, watching Josh recount Dream’s money three times. Petty.

“I wouldn’t go tonight,” she calmly restated. “There’s another storm brewing. Didn’t you see the clouds up north? I doubt they will be kind.” She turned to Iris. “And I think father postponed it a couple days. Did you not hear that?”

Iris looked heartbroken. “Aw, what? That sucks…”

Dream frowned, putting his new belongings into his bag.

“I did notice the storm,” he replied. “I’m still going. I’ll find a cave and wait it out when it hits.”

He was sick of sitting around and doing nothing. At least in The Backwoods he had a higher chance of running into something exciting. And then he wouldn’t have to deal with bothersome townspeople any longer.

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, his encounter with Ivy had relit some of that screaming curiosity. If that… nymph was in the town, then what more was in the forest? Besides, he needed to try and get his arm sorted before he really did lose it. The green, web-like veins were creeping further by the second.

Apricity and Iris followed him out of the store, heading back towards the tavern.

“How many times have you gone in there?” Apricity questioned.

“Twice,” he replied curtly.

“It only gets braver each time you go back,” she warned. “I really suggest you wait until after the storm.”

Her persistence was getting annoying.

“Why do you care?” he snapped, not stopping to face her.

“...”

Apricity was silenced by his biting tone, a little surprised.  “Sheesh. Sorry, then.”

He stayed mute, squashing down the unfamiliar trickle of guilt. She hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she had only been helpful so far.

Apricity grabbed Iris’s wrist, pulling her to stop.

“Come on, Iris. Let’s go see if Alex ever found his chickens…”

“But—” 

“I’m sure Helen would love to see you again.”

“Okay…”

Good. He didn’t want company anyways.

“Go on ahead of me. I’ll catch up.”

Ugh.

Apricity caught up to Dream. Having sent Iris away, and with the currently empty streets, they were left alone.

“Dream, hold on.

He didn’t slow, still prickly with irritation.

“I’m not trying to be overbearing. I know we only met an hour ago. You just remind me of someone…”

She huffed, practically having to jog to keep up. “Stop running away!”

He halted abruptly, making her run into his back.

“...” He turned and stared down at her.

She stepped back, staring at his mask for a moment.

“Gosh, that's creepy,” she muttered under her breath before shaking her head. “Just listen to me for a minute. It makes no sense to go during the storm. It will be wet, windy, and freezing. The Backwoods are bad enough just by themselves—and you won’t like what revels in poor weather.”

He tilted his head, watching the way she started glancing off to the side the longer he kept quiet.

She was twisting her ring again. It was obviously a nervous habit.

“... fine.” he growled. “I’ll wait. Happy?”

He wasn’t sure why he relented. Maybe it was because she was making sense. Maybe it was because she seemed to only have his best interest in mind.

Maybe he was a little scared.

She let out a breath, her shoulders dropping.

“Thank you.” she offered a small smile. “Hopefully it won’t last too long.”

Chapter Text

Dream was stuck at the edge of The Backwoods. The storm had since passed. It had been a nasty one… He’s glad he decided to wait; Thunder, vicious downpour, raging winds—it would’ve been a mistake. Especially since it had lasted five days.

He had been confident walking up. But he just couldn’t do it—not when it was freaking him out so bad.

He could hear it. Just barely. But it was there.

A gentle hum, a hissing murmur—the forest spoke his name. Not audibly. He could just feel it. It was reaching out. Alive and sentient.

His shoulder had started to throb. It was the first time he had had feeling in it in a long while.

The forest was still beautiful, as it always seemed to be, right on the cusp. The rain dripped to the ground from the foliage, the birds were cheery as ever. The sun hit the gleaming leaves in just the right way. It smelled refreshing.

It sounded welcoming.

The voice wasn’t a mean one. It was almost beckoning. Pleading with him to enter and explore. Urging his curiosity to take charge. To find—no, to demand answers.

He was fully prepared to step over the threshold. Material wise, anyway. Mentally? That was an ongoing battle.

“Dream.”

He jumped, drawing his sword, whirling around to attack, and—

“Apricity.” He scowled, calming his racing heart as he sheathed his sword. She had stepped back when he pulled the sword on her, quietly wincing.

“What do you want?”

She frowned, folding her hands behind her back as she stared up at him.

“You’ve been standing here for five minutes.”

“You’ve been standing behind me for five minutes?”

“You have been staring at the forest for at least five minutes,” she reiterated, her tone melting into concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He wasn’t. Not really. He felt like he was going crazy. He thought the forest was talking to him. His arm was acting up—his arm was worsening.

Scanning her appearance, he furrowed his brows.

“You aren’t coming with me,” he said sternly.

She had a full bag slung over her shoulders, a pair of sturdy boots, and a bow and quiver on her person. Her hair was up in two french braids, and she was wearing a sturdy brown jacket over a black top.

“I want to go with you.”

Apricity had been persistent in bothering him during the storm. No matter how many times he told her to go away, she would refuse to listen and continue to keep him company. Apparently, she’d gotten attached—like some sort of tick.

She’d said he seemed lonely. That he could use a friend…

… what a pest. 

It was better than having to hang around Iris, he supposed. Or Lance. The stablehand had offered him a bouquet of sticks the other day. What was he thinking? A bouquet was weird enough, but sticks?

“I want to go with you,” she repeated. “It’s dangerous to go alone.”

“So you’ve said.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to the forest. He stiffened, his hand closing around the pommel of his sword.

He couldn’t hear it anymore. The calling had stopped. His shoulder had settled into numb again.

“Are you coming?”

Apricity had stepped over the treeline, seemingly unafraid.

But Dream knew better. Her hand was too tight around the strap of her bag. Her eyes jerked to and fro, searching the underbrush.

“You aren’t coming,” he insisted, refusing to go in just yet.

She frowned at him, sighing. “I am.”

“You’re not.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

He scowled silently, frustrated with her ridiculous insistence to go with him. 

Finally taking the plunge and entering the forest, he walked past her. He kept his stride purposeful and confident, despite her having seen his great hesitation from before.

“If you die it’s your fault.”

“How thoughtful of you.” She trailed behind him, twisting her ring.

“You’ve never told me why you want to go back here so bad.”

“And I’m not going to. If you’re coming with me, you’re going to be quiet.”

Huffing, she sped up to walk beside him instead of behind.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a little rude sometimes?”

“No. They’re too scared to.” He left it at that, picking up his pace.

She kept up.

“I’m not scared.”

“You should be.”

“You aren’t scary.”

“Be quiet,” he snapped, wishing he had forced her to stay behind.

But he couldn’t deny the pros that came with her.

She could prove a safeguard. A way to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things. If they both saw the same thing, then it was real. If only one of them saw something… well, that wasn’t completely impossible. And her company wasn’t the worst thing, either.

“... are you really not going to tell me?” she prompted, glancing at him. “It seems like it’s more than just a simple curiosity that’s brought you back.”

He was not going to reveal the state of his arm. She was already annoying enough with her logical points. He didn’t need her telling him to go visit the doctors in town. He, albeit reluctantly, had tried going yesterday, but he didn’t get to speak a word to them before he was banned from medical care. He idly wondered if Apricity had enough power to get him unbanned.

He was going to get payback on Ivy. He wasn’t just going to let this go. There was still no sign of the journal, either. 

That’s why he had the new, empty one in his pack. He would simply start his own. He’d already jotted down some notes… what he knew about the virelan and eversor. The Foxlings' behavior. His experience in the fairy ring. The bite's progression.

Eventually, seeing as he wasn’t going to reply, Apricity finally listened to his command and went mute.

They walked in silence for a long time.

By the time either of them said anything else, the forest had changed.

The tall dark oak around had heightened, the canopies tight. The lush fern and patches of moss brightened and thickened. The ground was almost bouncy, the soil rich and saturated from the storm. The air was heavy with petrichor, almost humid.

The shadows had grown long, the canopy biting back the sunsets guiding light. Threats could easily hide behind the larger trees and fanning foliage. The air felt weighty and near suffocating.

Dream came to a stop on the edge of a small clearing, eyes narrowed as he scanned it for dangers.

It looked fine.

Apricity hovered behind him, peering over his shoulder. Her voice broke the silence, making him flinch.

“Are we setting up camp here?”

“Yes.”

Stepping forward, he set his bag down in the center of the area and sighed heavily.

“We need firewood.”

“I’ll get it…” 

“No. I will. You’re staying here.”

She frowned at him, his back still turned to her.

“Why?”

“I don’t need you getting lost. And you need a certain technique to start a fire with wet wood.”

“I won’t get lost. I know how to start a fire with wet kindling.” 

“Sure.”

He turned to face her, arms crossed, voice low.

“Stay. Put.”

She stared at him for a long moment, examining his masked face.

“...”

Without another word, she set her bag down next to his and got out their bedrolls.

Satisfied with her relent, he left the clearing in search of suitable kindling.

He found himself about thirty feet from their campsite when he stopped moving.

His arm was starting to pound. It was like he could feel every vein in the limb. Every cell starting to shift and move to the heartbeat of something else.

His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. His stomach twisted with nausea, threatening to upheave.

Throwing off his hoodie and glove, he paled at the sight of his tainted flesh.

Starting from the base of his neck and going down to his knuckles, his veins were accentuated by a sickening green and a fluctuating glow. His fingers were twitching, almost writhing. The original bitewounds were deeply embedded and almost bubbly looking with a dark, poison green.

He tried to force his hand into a fist. It refused to listen, spreading out, shaking violently.

Panic boiled in his gut, electrifying his rising fear.

A low hum was thrumming in his ears, blocking out the sound of whistling birds and dripping raindrops.

It felt uncomfortably familiar. He recognized it as the humming whisper from earlier. The Forest was becoming vocal once more.

He could hear his rushing heartbeat in his ears, muffled beneath the sound of The Forest's talk.

He could feel another heartbeat. Calm and methodical, resonating from the bites throughout his body.

The drum of his own slowed, just a few beats off from syncing with the one he was feeling.

“No,” he hissed, stumbling back. “Stop—” his breathing quickened. How surreal it was, to be feeling such adrenaline when your heart's pulse didn’t agree.

“Dream!”

Apricity broke him out of it, the sound vanishing and his heartbeat accelerating.

What a relief.

“Apricity,” he gasped, trembling, forgetting that his arm was in full view.

“What the hell is wrong with your arm?!”

Her voice felt way too loud. Way too close.

He jerked away, raising his untouched hand to grasp at his now numb again arm.

“Stop,” he spat, “stop.”

She halted, not coming any closer.

“What happened? Has it just been like that? Are you—ah, Heavens to Betsy, of course you’re not okay!” Her eyes were wide, stuck on his arm. Not like she could see his expression, anyway.

He couldn’t reply, struggling to breathe. Knees feeling weak, he sank to the springy soil, holding his head in his hands.

His vision was black around the edges, and he closed his eyes. A pitiful whimper escaped his lips, his stomach now raging with nausea. He’d never had a panic attack before. He didn’t know what was happening.

Apricity sat on her knees beside him, not touching him yet.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be just fine.” she tried to soothe, biting her lip. “Breathe. Match me.”

She inhaled slowly, counting to five before exhaling.

Dream was completely out of it, barely even hearing her over the noisy drumming of his heart.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “My heartbeat is all wrong.”

“Dream,” she murmured, reaching out and gently touching his wrist.

He jerked back, inhaling sharply, holding his breath.

“...”

She slowly wrapped her fingers around his wrist, ignoring his resistance as she lifted it to the pulse point on her neck.

He stilled, feeling the hurried step of her pulse.

He exhaled forcefully, body rigid. Holding his breath, he waited for the pulse beneath his fingertips to do something unnatural.

It never did.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, before moving his hand to feel his own pulse point. “You’re fine. You’re normal. We’re both okay.”

He could feel the rhythm. The pounding of his internal drum beneath his skin. The stride was fast and thunderous, as it should be in a situation like this. It felt normal.

“It’s not okay,” he whimpered, staying in place, greedily soaking up the feeling of the racing pulse. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

“I could hear it.” He found himself spilling over. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Not right now. “I could feel it.”

“What is ‘it’?” 

“The Forest.”

He winced at his words, pulling back and resting his hand in his lap.

He could breathe. See and hear. He was stable… ish.

“Nevermind,” he whispered, hating the feeling of vulnerability. “I’m crazy. You should’ve stayed behind.”

“My entire life—and your arm—says otherwise, Dream.”

She gave a humorless smile. 

“You forget I live by these woods. And that my entire village is crazy.”

She dipped her head, trying to meet his gaze behind the mask.

“Even I’m a little crazy. That’s probably why I’m here.”

She leaned back, fidgeting with the ring on her finger.

“... How long has your arm been like that?”

He hesitated, counting the days.

“... seventeen days.”

“... and you never went to the doctors?”

“They banned me before I could even introduce myself. Ivy.”

She didn’t need him to elaborate, her expression souring.

“Okay. You should have told me. I could probably get that lifted…”

“I didn’t want you to know,” he muttered.

“Why?”

“...”

She was about to ask again when his voice cut, interrupting her words before she spoke them. 

“Let’s go back to camp.”

She didn’t move as he stood, watching him walk past her and back towards their campsite.

He stopped after getting several paces away.

“... come on,” he urged. He didn’t want to separate again. Not after what he just went through.

Sighing and standing to her feet, she grabbed the hoodie and glove he’d forgotten in the dirt. Dream started walking again when he saw her approaching.

This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Crickets. Leaves rustling. An owl's hoot. The moon peered through the canopy, spying on the woodlands populace. The night air was crisp and cool, bringing a chill to the bones of all who entered it.

Apricity was wide awake, held in place by the claws of fear.

Prowling around the rim of their camp was a creature she’d only seen in artwork.

It stalked, only the soft sound of crunching and snapping flora giving it away. The fur draped over its wretched bones was smooth and muted, apart from its belly that was matted with muddy debris. Its tail bushed out into what looked like jagged sticks. Four eyes held a reddish glow, its bright yellow pupils sharp and aimless. The beast's ears were shaped like veiny leaves, perched on its head beside antlers made of branches. It possessed a wolflike body, but its back was far too arched to be natural. Its lips were lifted in a permanent snarl, baring its dagger-like teeth.

Holding her breath, she watched as it just… paced circles.

Round… And round… And round and round. 

It never stepped inside the clearing—not once. Its eyes stared forward, as if lost in a trance. Padding quietly, it barely made a sound—a stealthy predator at its vile heart.

A Wolf of the Bane. Banes’ Wolf, for short. She’d only heard about them in stories. It was smaller than she imagined. Her father and village elders portrayed them as the size of a horse. It was much more akin to a coyote's stature. They were supposed to be extremely aggressive, solitary hunters. They killed for sport—not unlike their more natural counterparts.

She had a guess as to why it hadn’t stepped foot in the clearing. Yet.

They were extremely lucky.

In spotty patches around the area were wolfsbane flowers—which, according to the stories, meant it would remain somewhat passive. Not friendly. Not by a longshot. But if they stayed still, they should be fine…

Dream shifted in his spot by the dead fire, mumbling something under his breath. His mask faced the sky. She’d been surprised when he went to sleep with the thing on. She was sure it was uncomfortable.

Crunch.

The sound of the Banes’ Wolf breaking a branch had evidently woke Dream. 

She could tell by the way he tensed, his mumbles abruptly stopping.

The wolf had stopped, too. No longer could she hear the gentle rustling of a predator creeping.

Dream tilted his head, glancing towards her. The wolf was currently behind Apricity’s back, out of her view as she laid on her side.

Lifting a finger to her lips, she whispered. “Don’t move.”

She wished she could see his expression. Anything to tell her what he was thinking. Anything to give away what he was seeing. Her gaze stayed locked on the lifeless black eyes of his mask.

She nearly choked, refusing to move as she felt hot breath on her neck.

A low growl rattled in the wolf's throat, dangerously close to her ear. Her eyes were watering, terror painting her expression. Its breath smelled of wet soil.

There was a wolfsbane flower beside the mini fire pit.

Please. Please. Please.

She shifted slightly, inching her hand over the ground, discreetly tugging on the stem of it.

It wasn't budging.

The wolf lowered its snout to her neck, inhaling deeply.

She could see Dream reaching for his sword out of the corner of her eye. He better not.

Come on…

She slowly exhaled as the flower finally came loose.

Thank prime.

She carefully held the purple bloom over her neck, praying that this would work.

The bane wolf snorted, drops of hot, but quickly cooling saliva spraying her flesh. The creature hesitated, trying to decide whether to take a bite or not.

But it stepped back, deterred by the scent of the flower.

She sighed in relief, screwing her eyes shut. 

Its looming presence moved away, retreating back into the dense brush. The crickets were still chatting. They had never stopped, as if Apricity hadn’t been this close to getting her throat torn out.

They sat in tense silence for a long time. Neither was willing to speak for fear of lingering monsters, nor were they tempted to slumber once more.

Only when the sun's slender hands brushed against the scenery did one of them speak.

“... What was that.”

Apricity flinched. His voice was jarring after the period of mute anticipation.

“... Wolf of the Bane,” she was barely audible. “More commonly called Banes’ Wolf. We are lucky. I’ve only heard tales… and they all spoke of them growing passive in the presence of wolfsbane blooms.”

Forcing herself to sit up, she raked her gaze over their still shadowy surroundings.

“We’ll have to stay near them at night,” she muttered. “Add that to the list of requirements.”

Dream sat up, running his hands through his hair.

“... I thought it was going to eat you,” he muttered dryly.

“You’d let it?” She frowned, turning to him.

“You told me not to move,” he recalled, sitting on his knees. “So I didn’t.”

“... I suppose you’re not wrong.” Apricity started to pack up, hurriedly rolling up her bedroll. “Let's get moving. I feel like we’re still being watched.”

“Mm,” he grunted in acknowledgement, standing and stamping out the embers to ensure they were dead.

How awful would it be if the forest were to catch fire?

“Is there anything else you want to share about the… bane wolf?”

Apricity met the eyes of his soulless mask, cinching her now full bag tight.

“Not that I can remember right now,” she murmured, still a little shaken. “I’ll let you know if anything comes to mind.”

A gentle breeze ran its fingers through her hair. It felt nice; like a gentle kiss after a nightmare. A little odd, though. A breeze in the middle of the woods…

“... is there anything you want to share about your arm?”

Dream turned away, falling into a muted routine of packing up camp.

That was a no, then. She’d have to wear him down. It wouldn’t be that much of a problem; she had plenty of time to do so.

He’d given her absolutely no information after she’d found him last night. He’d simply gone to bed, putting his hoodie and glove back on like nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t sounded near tears, having a mental breakdown in front of her while his arm was green and glowing. Though, it had stopped glowing when he had calmed down a bit. Maybe it was linked to his emotions. It was probably why he had wanted to come back to the woods again; one mystery solved… ish. And at the cost of having many, many unanswered questions.

“Let's go.”

He stood at the edge impatiently, before pausing as he stared down at a patch of wolfsbane. “... should we take some with us?”

Apricity followed his line of sight, wondering the same. “Good question. Um…”

Crouching, she gingerly reached down and picked up several stalks. The indigo petals were soft and almost shimmery.

“Yes,” she murmured, “that’s probably smart.” She grinned, attempting to lighten the mood. “Just don’t eat them. That wouldn’t end well.”

“You aren’t funny.”

Obviously, he wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

She sighed heavily, their purple saviors in hand as she followed behind him. She had picked enough to make a flower crown, if she weaved in some strands of grass and daisies she found along the way…

And that's what she did. The motion of making something was familiar and soothing. Perfect after the scare from before.

“What are you doing now?” Dream’s head tilted to the side, annoyed. It was her turn not to answer him—to just grin to herself as her fingers intertwined the stems together. “Would you like a crown? I can make it just green, if you want.”

“No.”

Rude.

Soon adorned with a lovely purple, green, and white crown, she turned her attention back to The Backwoods.

It honestly hadn’t changed much compared to where they had made camp earlier. Maybe the trees stretched a little higher, or maybe the plants were a little richer. But that was about it

Dream was more uptight than usual. She could tell by the set jaw, hand on the pommel of his sword, and hunched shoulders.

“Hey, Dream,” she started, her voice rippling through and breaking his sullen silence. He glanced back, still walking.

“What,” he snapped.

“You’re going to have to tell me about your arm at some point. Maybe I can help.”

He didn’t reply. This was quickly becoming a pattern with him.

“We’re a team.”

“No. You’re an annoying leech that decided it didn’t want to let go. Feel lucky that I let you come.”

Ouch.

Apricity blinked, a bit hurt. She had to remind herself that he was probably just in a foul mood… She’d be in a bad mood if her arm looked like that, too. She wondered if it hurt.

Still, she couldn’t help but remind him of her usefulness. Because she was. She… she was useful.

“... you’d probably be dead right now if I hadn’t known about the wolfsbane flowers,” she whispered.

He heaved a sigh, his shoulders dropping.

“... sorry.” His voice was low and reluctant. It almost sounded like it was painful for him to utter the simple word.

A smile grew on Apricity’s face, and she skipped a step to walk beside instead of behind him.

“Apology accepted.”

She resisted the urge to poke and prod anymore. She didn’t want to push him back into brooding mode.

The walk lasted long. The sun was high in the sky when they stopped beside a river to get some water.

Apricity crouched beside the glittering waters, dipping her hand into the crystal clear liquid.

The space was absolutely enchanting. The sound of a running river was like music to Apricity’s ears. The sun that shone down was warm and comforting. The plants around the water were bright and verdant—even more so than it was where they had been before.

It was strangely so. Vines and flowers spilled over the river’s shore, dipping into the water, waving with the current.

She hummed suspiciously, pulling her hands out of the refreshing liquid and sitting on her haunches.

She felt a little sick as she spotted several small, brown, wormlike creatures in the shallows where her hands had been just seconds before. They wriggled and writhed, trying to bury themselves in the sodden sand.

“Don’t drink the water,” she quickly warned. “Really don’t; It looks infested or something.” Wrinkling her nose, she drew her gaze further up, examining the deceptively pretty flow. Definitely infested. The water was ridden with the parasitic looking things. Her mind briefly flashed with the imagery of them trying to burrow into her flesh rather than the river bank.

Shaking off her hands, she hastily inspected them for signs of the worms as she stood.

The area was still pretty—now with a strong weight of foreboding.

“Does it feel… off, to you, Dream?”

No reply. 

“Dream?”

She looked around, her heart picking up as she failed to spot him.

Where was he? Was he gone? Oh no, how could she have lost him?! He’d been there just a second ago!

Wait.

She stiffened, brows furrowing.

He was right there… just a little further up the river rather than down, like she had thought. She let out a heavy breath of relief.

That’s fine. That’s just great. But why on earth hadn’t he responded?

He was perched on a large, smooth stone by the river’s bank, staring across.

“If nymphs are real,” he began slowly. Apricity’s gaze followed, a frown etched on her face.

“Then naiads are too, aren’t they?”

“...”

Across from them was a large smooth rock with hundreds of runes carved into it. They were messily placed, spilling over each other. She couldn't read any sort of old runes, but even if she could, she doubted it was legible.

“Uh, maybe, I’m not sure,” she started quietly, stepping up beside him. She tugged on his sleeve, silently begging him to move away from the flowing water. She did not want him to fall in. Who knew if it was actually parasite infested or not? She didn’t want to risk it. Besides, the runes couldn’t mean anything good.

“I don’t know if that thing has anything to do with naiads, it probably doesn’t, but we should leave right now either way. I have a bad feeling. And there’s something wrong with the water.”

“Hold on,” he mumbled, shrugging her off. “I…” He trailed off, his body going rigid.

The air held still, becoming pressurized. Apricity inhaled sharply, pulling his sleeve more insistently.

“Dream,” she pleaded. “Let’s go. It’s not safe here.”

“...”

He didn’t seem to be breathing, his attention focused solely on the runes.

“Dream,” she hissed, grabbing the wrist of his uninjured arm. “Let’s go.”

He wasn’t hearing her, she could tell. He was in a trance like state, zeroed in on the stone. His body started to radiate heat—particularly from his bitten arm. His hand was twitching. The tainted limb lifted slightly, as if he wanted to reach towards it.

She had to do something about that.

Looking between him and the stone, she quickly made a decision. They couldn’t linger. There was a rapidly growing sense of danger, making her shiver with goosebumps. And she swore the engravings on the stone were starting to glow. Green. Like his arm.

She stomped on his foot. Hard.

“Ow!” he shouted, whirling towards her and biting. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you! We need to leave!”

He shook himself off, shooting fleeting glances at the stone. 

“Fine, fine.” He chased after her as she broke into a sprint, her back prickling with the sense of something angry.

It felt as if she had just saved him from something. And that ‘something’ was displeased with it.

Chapter Text

Apricity slid down a decline, using her momentum to throw herself over the small ravine.

Her knees nearly buckled as she landed heavily. She paused briefly to look back.

Dream was midair, stumbling onto the ledge beside her. She couldn’t see their pursuer, but it was big.

“What is that?” Dream’s hand clutched his blade, ready to draw it.

“I don’t know. Let’s go!” she urged, grabbing Dream’s sleeve and pulling him with her. He didn’t hesitate, chasing the trail she blazed. 

It was hard to resist the urge to look back. The sound of splitting wood, breathy snarls and clambering feet just begged for attention. Each footstep shot a spike of adrenaline through her veins. 

She instead focused on their movements, crashing through the brush. Plants and branches nicked and caught on their skin and clothes, as if trying to pull them back. To slow them down. Apricity narrowly avoided twisting her ankle in a small hole.

Her eyes zeroed in on a thick fog ahead.

It was heavy and concealing, the silver mists expansive and snaking over the forest.

A perfect hiding place, in Apricity’s eyes.

“Fog,” she blurted, directing Dream towards it. “Let’s go!”

“Wait—” She didn’t stop to hear what he had to say—there was no time to talk about it. They had to hide and they had to hide now.

Dream didn’t resist further, stumbling after her into the cloud.

It was like a switch was flipped. 

The creature chasing them bellowed angrily before falling silent. The temperature dropped, making each puff of air crystallized. It was oppressive—claustrophobic, with the way it wrapped itself around her.

Apricity didn’t stop running. Dropping her hand to hold his own instead of his sleeve.
“We shouldn’t stop,” she hissed. “Keep going.”

“I’m going,” he snapped back, staying on her heels.

Apricity yelped as her foot was caught in a root that was concealed by the cloud. She swallowed a cry of alarm, her hand tearing from Dream’s.

“Apricity—” Dream huffed, helping her up. “You good?”

She scrambled to her feet, running a frazzled hand through her hair. Staring at his mask, she once again wished she was looking at his own eyes rather than the emotionless ones of his mask. Dragging her hand down her face, she winced and pulled it back. Blood. She had a cut on her head. It was unclear when she got it.

This was too much.

“No! None of this is ‘good’, Dream.” Resting an arm against a tree, she tried to catch her breath. Her voice was trodden with distress. “We’re in these cursed woods with no way to get out! We just barely escaped who knows what by the hair of our teeth. There’s no telling when, or if we’ll find clean water anytime soon, and you won’t tell me what happened to your arm. We’re probably both going to die here.”

“Hair?”

“By the hair—skin—skin. Whatever. Is that really all you got from what I said?”

He straightened, tilting his head back. His hand was back on his sword. At first, she thought he was just thinking about his reply. But she soon realized this was not the case. 

He was listening. The air felt heavy and still, like the forest was stopping to listen with them.

“...”

They both held their breath, focusing on the gentle sound of footsteps.

Pit, pat, pit, pat.

The fog pulsed, growing denser. 

Dream froze, remembering this from before. The Eversor, Virelan, and just how suffocating the fog had gotten. The way the mist felt when inhaled, like its cold fingers were dipping into your lungs. The way his body had refused to move.

“We should leave,” he muttered. It was his turn to take Apricity’s sleeve in his hand to lead her away. “This stuff hides nothing good.”

“Yeah, okay. You’re right. We aren’t safe here.” Her voice cracked. She sniffled, falling into stride beside him. The fog had provided a place to hide, yes. But they weren’t the only ones hidden.

Their footsteps meshed with the sound of another’s, breaking branches and crunching leaves. It wasn’t the sound of a stalking predator. It felt… purposeful. Like they were supposed to know they were being followed.

Step, step, crack. Step.

“...Dream.” Apricity’s voice pierced the silence, soft and imploring.

“What?” He glanced back, meeting her startled eyes.

“I didn’t say anything,” she whispered, shuffling closer. “That wasn’t me.”

A low chittering noise floated through the still mists. Like the sound of a snake's rattle.

Dream froze, his breath catching. His mind flashed with sensations and sights from before—glowing eyes, the choking scent of rot, immobilizing fear—

Apricity inhaled sharply, tugging on his sleeve and pointing up—up, up—up—

Eyes. A silhouette.

“You,” Dream breathed, stepping forward.

Apricity let out a strangled noise, yanking him back. 

“You know that thing?”

“It saved me.” He didn’t tear his gaze from the creature above, watching its subtle movements. “I think it’s a virelan.”

She stared at him, mouth slightly parted. 

“... You’re crazy,” she whispered, refusing to loosen her grip on his hoodie. “A virelan saved you?”

He didn’t reply, focused on the virelan as it began to make its way closer.

The fog seemed to part, as if curtains pulling back to let the show begin.

For the first time, Dream got a good look at the virelan. It was a lot closer than he had anticipated.

Perched on a branch about ten feet above and forward, the virelan was obviously female. She had long, dark brown hair that parted around a pair of small green horns. Her ears stood tall and odd in the shape of a canines, dressed in downy feathers. Her wings were half folded on her back, the feathers a deep brown with a paler taupe patterned in. A long tail swished below her, stirring the mists with its feathered length. It had a little feathery puff at the end. Her legs were that of a raptors, talons curled tight around her branch. Her skin was darker—and it was hard to tell, but she had what looked like… colorful freckles washing her body.

Dream stepped closer, shrugging Apricity off as she tried to hold him back.

“Dream,” she hissed, drawing her bow and arrow. “Don’t approach it.”

He snapped his attention back to Apricity as the virelan tensed upon the sight of a weapon.

“Put that away! You’re going to scare her off.”

Apricity was hesitant.

She didn’t know this thing. All she knows is that ‘virelan’ means bad.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” She scowled, drawing the string taut and aiming

Dream stepped in front of her, stubbornly refusing to let her take the shot.

“She saved me!”

“When?”

“The last time I was here. An Eversor attacked me. I’d be dead if she hadn’t stepped in.”

Apricity inhaled slowly, staring at him disbelievingly. That went against everything she’d ever heard. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Saved.”

Dream’s voice cut her off from higher up, among the branches. The virelan was mimicking the word—his voice—just like last time.

Of course, this was a first for Apricity. 

The girl flinched, trying to go around Dream to get a good shot.

“We can’t trust it,” she muttered, hands shaking.

The virelan shifted uneasily, her eyes glowing with a pale blue.

“Well, no, we can’t, but don’t scare her off! I need her. She’s my only lead.” Dream lunged forward, snatching the arrow from her.

“Dream!” Apricity cried, chasing after him to get it back. He held it in the air, out of her reach, one arm extended to keep her back.

Branches shifted, giving the virelan away as she climbed higher, increasingly nervous.

“Stop—” Dream demanded, throwing the arrow into the brush as she started drawing another one.

He reached out to take her arrow.  “Stop trying to kill the virelan.”

She backed away, swiping the sharp tip at his hand. “Stop taking my arrows!” she hissed.

“If you want me to stop, you stop!”

This was childish. Was the virelan even still there?

Dream glanced back up into the foliage, scowling as he failed to spot her.

“Now look what you’ve done. She’s gone.”

Apricity whirled around, scanning their surroundings. “Great…” she muttered. “Now it’s probably gonna stalk us.”

Dream took a breath to make a snarky reply.

“Virelan…” It was Dream’s voice.

They both jumped, jerking their attention to the bushes beside them.

She was there—peering over the bushes, eyes wide. The tops of her wings poked out on either side of her.

“Yeah,” Dream breathed, swatting Apricity's hand as she started to draw her arrow taut. She glowered, reluctantly lowering it. “That’s what you are. A virelan.”

She tilted her head, leaving just one eye visible from behind the leaves.

“Dream.”

Dream shifted his weight from foot to foot, intently staring at the virelan.

“That’s me. And this is Apricity.” He paused. “She’s friendly, and I am too.” He didn’t look at her, but his tone was full of warning.

Apricity didn’t reply, her grip on her bow tightening, glaring at the creature hiding away.

The virelan reached a hand over the bush, pointing at Dream.

“Wrong,” she declared. Dream huffed, running his tainted hand through his hair. The cuff of his sleeve rode up, revealing the green flesh beneath it. “No, no. We won’t hurt you.”

The virelan wrinkled her nose, insisting. “Don’t understand. Heart is wrong.”

Dream bristled, recognizing his own words from his moment of vulnerability. She’d been watching.

“... You know about my arm?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Know about you arm,” she agreed, pulling her arm back to hide further behind the bush. “Understand it.”

Dream nodded, voice lilting with subdued hope.

“Yeah? You know how to help?”

She nodded, eyeing his arm. “Help,” she confirmed. 

“Excellent.”

The virelan glanced to the side, her shoulders tensing. “It’s,” she started, borrowing Apricity’s voice, “not safe here.” 

Her voice fluctuated in temperament, copying from an earlier time. She’d obviously been listening. Apricity squirmed uncomfortably, starting to raise her bow, only to stop as Dream stepped on her toes.

“Ow—what the hell?” She seethed. Her anger spiked, heightened by her fear. She bored holes in the side of his head, still, he didn’t spare her a glance. 

“Not safe?” Dream echoed. “Nowhere is safe here. Do you mean it’s particularly unsafe in this area?”

A branch snapped somewhere near. The virelan’s ears pricked, twitching like an animal’s would. Her feathers bristled.

Dream visibly tensed, moving forward as the virelan shifted backwards.

“Monsters are a-lurkin’,” she whispered. This time, she didn’t use either of their voices—instead copying one from the past. A man with a southern accent.

How offputting. This thing had stalked many others before them. Apricity took a deep breath, resisting the urge to shoot.

Dream forced himself to relax, studying the way the virelan slunk behind a tree, slowly making her way further and further away.

“Can you take us somewhere safe so we can talk?” He asked, softening his voice and not pursuing her. If she got spooked and ran off…

She paused, her brows furrowing in concentration.

… she seemed to be listening to something.

Dream held his breath, shuffling closer as excitement bubbled in his chest.

Snap.

The sound of a branch cracking was jarring.

The virelan gave a hurried nod, turning and running. The fog threatened to swallow her up if they weren’t as quick as her.

“Follow.”

Dream wasted no time, jumping into action. He didn’t wait to see if Apricity was coming—he was sure she was.

Chapter Text

Dream’s lungs hurt.

The air was hard to breathe in, with how thick it was. It was a miracle he hadn’t tripped over anything—sticks, roots, plants; he couldn’t see the ground. All he saw was the tail ahead, flicking in and out of sight.

“Wait!”

His legs and throat burned. His arm was pounding.

He was tired. Still, he persisted.

He skidded to stop as the fog ahead dropped off, leaving nothing beneath it. He nearly ran off that cliff.

Peering down, he winced at the drop. It looked around fifty feet down, with nothing but trees to break his fall.

Where did the virelan go?

And where the hell was Apricity?

A shriek from several paces behind followed by the sound of breaking foliage answered one of his questions.

He turned and stalked back to her with narrowed eyes.

“Where did she go?” he snapped, shoulders tense.

“I don’t know!” Apricity bit back, sitting up where she had fallen into a bush.

“Ugh, dammit!” he exclaimed. His arm flared, pulsing with his shout. He swayed forward, cursing under his breath as his hand flew to grip at his arm.

Apricity scrambled to her feet, reaching out to stabilize him.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was more concerned and panicked than angry now. “Is it your arm? Oh—”

A feather floated down from above. A big one with eye patterns. It brushed Apricity’s cheek, making her flinch.

“Help!” the virelan in the trees echoed, staring down from her perch in the leaves. The voice she used was not either of theirs—but one of a small, frantic child.

“Stop that!” Apricity hissed, gripping Dream’s sleeve. Dream brushed her off, recovering from his momentary bout of pain.

“Stop,” he growled, glaring at Apricity, “talking.”

There was a long stretch of silence as Dream gathered himself. He held his breath, then forcefully exhaled.

“Why don’t you come down?” he coaxed. His voice had a complete switch—from angry and tense to smooth and persuasive. “We won’t hurt you. I just want to talk.” He lifted his untainted hand up, gesturing for her to come to them.

All he got in reply was a low chittering sound— it was rattle like. It seemed muffled in the fog.

His hand dropped back to his side, fingers tapping on his hilt.

Apricity was scowling, her gaze jumping from him to the virelan.

“Come on,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Do you have a name?” The virelan matched his head tilt.

All he got was a bird's call in reply. A mimicry.

“... You can mimic animals too?”

Dream kept his cadence gentle.

Apricity wasn’t even trying.

“She’s playing you. We need to leave.”

“Then leave.” He replied calmly, watching the virelan. The creature's eyes were stuck on his arm. Her tail twitched back and forth where it hung beneath her, and her shoulders were tense.

“...”

Apricity let out a slow breath, her eyes scanning their surroundings before snapping back to the virelan.

“... I won’t leave without you,” she whispered, fingers curling around his sleeve. “So don’t try to get rid of me.”

Dream didn’t even glance at her.

“Can you try telling me your name?” Dream asked again after giving her a moment.

Chitter chatter.

“Mm.”

“Stars,”

The virelan had used the voice of a woman. Calm and subdued. The fact that she knew such a calm tone was alarming… she had probably spent hours simply listening to clueless people.

“Stars?” Dream repeated. It could be fitting. “That’s your name?”

The virelan frowned and leaned closer, her wings ruffling. “No.”

“Then why’d you say it?” Apricity asked sharply. Her hand tightened around the wood of her bow.

The virelan paused for a long moment, as if thinking.

“Look at the little starling, mama!”

The voice of choice was one of a young girl. Excited. It rebounded with a shrieky note, cutting through the thick mist.

Dream stepped forward, thinking for a beat before speaking. “You’re Starling?”

The virelan brightened, her wings ruffling as if she was delighted.

“Starling?” She repeated his questioning tone, a grin on her face. Her fangs gleamed slightly in the dancing fog.

Apricity shifted uncomfortably, but remained quiet. She stood slightly behind Dream, hand gripping his sleeve, focused on Starling’s every move.

Starling chattered quietly, dropping from her branch to a lower one.

Apricity jerked Dream back, drawing her bow taut.

“Stay back!” she warned.

“Apricity.”

Dream pushed her, ripping her bow from her hands. It was tossed to the bushes faster than she could blink.

“What is wrong with you?!” Apricity broke, turning to Dream.

“There is nothing wrong with me.” he moved closer, looming. “You’re getting in the way.”

Starling watched with wide eyes, her gaze darting back and forth between them.

“There IS something wrong. You’re talking to this—this monster like it’s not trying to get your guard down. Nothing in this cursed forest is good. I’m willing to bet whatever the hell is wrong with your arm came from this forest, didn’t it?”

The eyes of Dream’s mask glowered at her lifelessly.

“You know nothing.”

“That’s the problem! You aren’t telling me anything. How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know what’s wrong?”

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

Apricity fell silent, blinking rapidly.

“But I did. Because I care.”

“Why?” His voice didn’t show it, but he was… perplexed. Why?

She rubbed her eyes, voice softening.

“... Because you remind—” she stopped herself. “We’re friends.”

The cracking of branches made them both look up.

Starling clung to the trunk of her tree, eyes wide and ears low. Her legs were close to her chest as she crouched, peering down.

Apricity scowled, turning away from Dream and pointing aggressively.

“One wrong move and there will be an arrow sticking out of your eye socket.”

“Dramatic.” Dream brushed past Apricity, ignoring her as she sifted through the bushes to find her bow he had discarded.

“Starling, I need to know what you know about my arm. What’s wrong with it? Where did the bites come from?”

“Bites? He tells the animal in the trees about bites. Not me, though.” Apricity’s words were just loud enough to make it clear she wanted Dream to hear her.

Dream ignored Apricity’s bitterness, more interested in Starling’s reply.

“Pixie portals.” The voice was one of a young woman. Informative. It had a slight, unfamiliar accent to it… “Ring around the rosy!” A child. Cheerful.

“Ring… You’re saying that the fairy ring had something to do with a… pixie portal?” he frowned, fingers twitching. “What was I bitten by?”

“It’s just saying stuff,” Apricity muttered, still digging through the bushes. She was becoming increasingly frustrated as she failed to find her bow. “It’s playing with you. It can't care, Dream.”

Starling jumped down from her perch with a muted thump.

Apricity snapped to attention, a dagger in hand from a hidden place.

Dream stiffened, holding an arm over Apricity’s chest to hold her back.

Starling stood half crouched, her wings slightly flared. She chittered gently, her tail flicking from side to side as she pointed at Dream’s arm.

She made a low, low sound. Her throat bobbed, pupils thinning.

Bump. Bump. Bump.

Slow and steady. It sounded like a heartbeat.

Dream froze, his eyes widening. His arm pulsed, and his own heart began to beat faster.

He yanked his sleeve up, exposing his arm…

It had worsened—the glow in his veins. Like new shoots, it crawled to his fingers now. The green of it was vibrant and thriving. His hand twitched, curling involuntarily. It was throbbing from the base of his shoulder to his fingertips. In sync with the heartbeat Starling rehearsed.

“Stop, stop,” he stuttered, stepping away. Starling tilted her head, blinking slowly. She didn’t stop.

Bump. Bump. Bump.

Dream almost whimpered, clutching his arm to his chest as he stumbled. It was overwhelming, growing in his ears—pulsing with his heart—burning his blood—

“STOP.”

It was Apricity that time, stepping forward and pointing her dagger.

Starling stopped, staring at Apricity with a frown.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” An older man croaked from her lips.

It’s unclear if Starling was referring to herself or Dream.

Apricity seethed, stepping closer and standing over Starling.

The fog thickened, closing in around them. The light dimmed, and the air grew colder…

“Apricity, I’m fine,” Dream recovered—ish. He still held his arm tight, voice strained. “Don’t.”

Starling jolted, circling around Apricity. She turned with her.

“You better not try anything,” Apricity snarled, dagger ready. She was like a taut spring, ready to lunge.

Still. She didn’t move as Starling reached out and brushed her fingers against Dream’s arm.

Dream flinched, stepping away.

“Do not touch me,” he snapped, pulling his sleeve back down.

Starling jumped back like a startled cat, blinking.

“... Cure.”

Dream held his breath, his arms dropping.

“You have a cure?”

Chapter Text

Dream couldn’t hear. No breeze, no wildlife—not even the ringing silence sometimes brought.

But he could see.

Oh, yes, he could see it. A faint light in the ground, illuminated by— with life.

It breathed.

The light brightened. 

It blurred his vision. Made his eyes burn.

Dream tried to pull away, yet… His fingers, etched with green veins, reached towards it.

He just wanted… 

Flakes fluttered from his skin, drifting towards the light. Lines glowed in the earth. Threading closer, snaking up his legs and hugging tightly. It was warm. Comforting. It whispered. It’s begging him, begging him—it wants— PLEASE—

No.

He didn’t want this.

Breaking away, the sound crashed in—another’s heartbeat, a whispering voice, bugs buzzing.

Bump, bump, bump.

He sucked in greedy breaths, backing up from the light—it continued to crescendo—was he getting warmer?—ears ringing and head pounding —his arm—

He looked down, freezing at the sight.

The arm was now dark green and black. The flesh was overrun with gleaming, thrumming veins. It faded through colors—green, black, brown, yellow… The bitewounds were deep, as if gouged out, layered with vibrant moss and sprouts.

He wanted to throw up.

His chest heaved and he looked away.

It didn’t even feel like his anymore.

And maybe it wasn’t.

His legs gave beneath him, and he fell—the threads of light— vines, they were— weaved over, cocooning his body—

The drumming heart rose above the rest of the noise. He looked up.

A figure. It’s bright eyes were dimly aglow in the shadows. It spoke, voice warped and distorted—

“Resisting this new life will be your downfall.”

Everything faded as the vines took his eyes.

Dream shot awake, grasping the thing nearest to him.

His sword.

He was on his feet, thinking of nothing other than fight.

His sword swept through, cleanly slicing the top of a bush.

His chest heaved and sweat beaded on his forehead. He had to swallow back the bile. He stared at the ground, relieved to see nothing but dirt and leaves. No vines. No light. And he couldn’t hear any whispers nor heartbeat other than the rushing one in his chest.

“Are you alright?—”

Apricity sounded concerned.

Dream failed to respond, falling back down where he had been laying with a thump.

Mistake.

He scrambled, rushing over to the bushes and throwing off his mask to throw up, turned away from her.

Apricity made a sound of alarm, hurrying towards him, hand outstretched to his back.

“Dream—”

He waved his hand at her in warning.

“No—” he rasped, panic worsening the nausea. “My mask…”

She stopped behind him, biting her lip. 

“I—” 

She cut her words short. The urge to watch and get a look at his face was strong. And it’d be so easy… 

She closed her eyes and turned away. 

“Okay. I’m not watching. You’re… safe.”

Apricity didn’t say anything else for a while. Just the sound of him breathing loudly and the occasional retching, followed by vomit hitting the leaves. It was black and green.

“... Dream? You okay?”

“Just don’t look,” he croaked.

He slowly stood up straight, a hand resting on his stomach. Cold air kissed his face and he inhaled deeply.

He hadn’t let the skin on his face breath for a while. It felt nice.

Not nice enough. 

As soon as he was sure he wouldn’t puke again, he strapped the mask back on and pulled his hood up for good measure.

He settled back down in his spot, refusing to even glance at Apricity as she did the same.

The fire in the pit between them crackled. Apricity must’ve been keeping it alive. They had decided to take turns staying up that night… Starling told them to ‘sleep tight’ right before she ran off, swallowed by the fog. So hopefully that meant she would come back in the morning.

Speaking of the fog… it had lessened considerably. Dream could now see some of their surroundings—crooked trees with gaping holes in the branches. He wondered if that was natural or if something ate through them. Did he really want to know?

Apricity was betting that Starling would never come back—just leave them there, waiting until they could wait no longer.

Dream groaned, clutching his head tightly. His arm tingled faintly. “Prime…”

Apricity fidgeted with her hands. 

“Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?”

‘My whole life is a nightmare,’ he thought bitterly.

“I’m not talking about it.”

Apricity huffed lightly and crossed her arms. “Go figure…”

Ignoring her, he pulled back his sleeve. Just enough to check how much further—if at all—it had gone.

His fingertips were still untouched. The green was creeping over his knuckles—though that wasn’t new, last he checked. It had not progressed like it had in the dream.

He shuddered, curling his fingers. It was… almost difficult. Like they didn’t want to listen.

Apricity studied them through the flickering fire, brows furrowed. She chewed her lip anxiously.

Crackling pops filled the empty, tense space between them. 

She shuffled around several times before taking a quiet breath to speak, “Dream... Where are you from?”

Dream jerked his head up, expression hidden well behind the mask.

What a random question. He hadn’t thought about the SMP in a while.

“Why are you asking?”

She shrugged, mumbling,“I’ve just been thinking about it. You showed up out of nowhere. No one knows where you’re from. You’re… unlike anyone I’ve ever met. And I know you won’t tell me about your arm, so tell me about your hometown.”

Was she trying to get his mind off the nightmare? Off his arm?

He stared at his hands for a long moment. He hated thinking about the SMP, a home he could never return to. Even if he wanted to.

Which he didn’t. He did not.

“... I’m not from anywhere.”

“Surely not nowhere,” she refuted. “Everyone’s from somewhere. Where are you from?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going back.”

“... Do they not want you?”

Her voice was soft. Sad for him.

He didn’t like it.

“They can’t handle me.” He corrected her, snapping a stick between two fingers. His tone was low and resentful.

Apricity sat straighter, propping her elbows on her knees. Attentive. Ready to listen.

“What’d you do?”

“You’d probably hate my guts if I told you.”

“Mm. Probably.”

He scoffed. Her honesty was refreshing. 

Head tilting back, he caught a glimpse of a falling star.

“I’ll stay up,” he offered. “Take over early.”

“But it’s not your turn yet.” Apricity frowned. “You still have like…” she paused, glancing at the moon in the sky. “An hour or so.”

He waved her off. He wasn’t doing it for her.

“I won’t be able to sleep after the dream I just had. You sleep. I’ll wake you if Starling shows.”

She narrowed her eyes, but laid down anyway.

“Wake me if anything shows.”

“Mhm…”

He waited until he was confident she was unconscious.

Pulling the hoodie over his head, he craned his neck to examine his arm and shoulder.

Oh.

Where the bites were, was black and slightly sunken. But no moss—no plants. The veins around them started as an inky green, and the further along you looked the lighter and more sickly they looked. His veins were green and yellow, light pulsing faintly beneath the surface of his flesh. There were still bits along his arm where natural skin peeked through.

Worse, but… nothing like what he saw in the nightmare.

The numbness went from the side of his neck to his wrist. The numb was odd—he couldn’t feel a thing until that… heartbeat started happening.

The Heartbeat.

He was scared to think about what it implied—heartbeat of what? How and why was he hearing it? Why did it feel like his own heart started to sync with it each time it occurred?

And how did Starling make the sound—how did she know to make the sound?

And Starling… knew how to fix his arm. Supposedly. She was smart enough to be able to help​​—that wasn’t a concern. The concern was if she was going to help. There was no reason for her to want to. She would gain nothing. She could be playing with him, like Apricity said.

Dream didn’t understand deals where you gain nothing.

Regardless of his doubts, Starling was his only lead.

She had barely given them any information last night—communication with her was proving difficult. Apparently, she could only mimic things that she’s heard.

And she’s heard a lot. But she didn’t seem to quite understand how to weave what she knows together into a coherent sentence. It was like listening to a scratchy disc—skipping and warbling constantly.

She also seemed to make Apricity quite upset. Dream didn’t care that Apricity didn’t trust her—that was very understandable. But she seemed more agitated by her than Dream would have thought.

Maybe it was because Dream was so willing to tell Starling about his ailment and not her. That he wanted Starling’s help and not hers.

… She’d get over it. She was already showing signs of no longer being angry with him. She didn’t seem to be able to hold a grudge for very long.

Good. He’d never apologize for it. It was his arm and he’d decide who to tell about it.

Crack.

His head snapped up, and green eyes met those that were like moonlight.

“Starling,” he breathed, standing up. He quickly donned his hoodie again. “... what have you got?”

Starling, settled in the patch of wolfsbane flowers they had set camp by, was holding a small… jar. In the jar was a glowing bug of some sort—not a firefly. The light was constant and blueish.

Dream stepped closer, shooting fleeting glances at Apricity. He’d said that he’d wake her when Starling showed…

She would just get in the way.

He crouched about five feet away from Starling. Keeping his voice soft, he held out his hand.

“Can I see?”

She frowned and clutched it tighter. Like a child with a toy they did not want to give up.

“Butterflies,” she cooed with a child's voice.

“... That is not a butterfly,” he mused, keeping his hand held out. “It’s… what is it, Starling? Tell me, please?”

She wrinkled her nose, tail flicking through the brush.

He sighed, shaking his hand slightly, trying to get her to give him the jar.

Finally, after a long moment of hesitation, she crept forward and pressed the glass to his hand—her arm stretched, leaning forward just barely enough to give it to him while also staying as far away as possible.

Dream stood and took a step back the second he had it.

The jar itself was cold to the touch—cooler than the air around them. The bug inside looked akin to a wasp. In shape, at least. Its body was black and white and it had long, glowing antennae. Blueish gray, was the light it gave off.

“Why do you have this?” he asked, gently tapping the glass. Each tap he gave made the light flicker—it was probably startling the insect.

He straightened at the sound of Apricity stirring. Starling’s ear angled towards his sleeping companion.

She groaned, stretching out a bit. Then settled, returning to a deeper slumber.

He sighed in relief, holding the glowing jar up.

“What’s the point of this?”

Starling only blinked. Blank faced.

“Okay. Great. Is this supposed to be a part of the cure?”

Crickets. Literally. 

“... What am I to do with it?”

This time, she moved—pointing into the darkness.

“You want me to go that way?”

She nodded, creeping into the brush, pausing to look back expectantly.

Dream hesitated and muttered, “... hold on.”

It wasn’t a good idea to just leave Apricity. She’d never forgive him. And it wasn’t safe.

Not that he cared.

Turning away, he whispered harshly. “Apricity, wake up!”

Apricity jolted awake, fumbling to grab her bow.

“What—?”

Dream jerked his finger towards the shadows where Starling lurked.

Apricity’s eyes bounced from the jar in Dream’s hands to Starling.

“What is that?” she strode over, bow and arrow in hand.

Dream shrugged, clutching it tightly to his chest. “I don’t know. I think she wants us to follow her.”

Apricity inhaled sharply, turning to quickly pack camp. Their bedrolls were the only thing out.  “Okay—okay, will it wait? I don’t want to just leave our—” 

Starling was getting antsy. Shuffling from foot to foot. Staring into the dark. Her wings fluttered, feathers rustling.

Dream was getting desperate. He couldn’t miss this chance—what if Starling left and never came back?

“Just leave them!” he snapped, already taking a step in Starling’s direction, stooping only to pick up his bag. “We’ll survive without bedrolls.”

Apricity growled in agitation, but followed after him.

Starling was on the move, bounding through the undergrowth with uncanny grace.

They tromped through thick brush. With cracking branches and heavy footfalls, anything could’ve heard them.

But they had to be loud if they wanted to keep up. Starling wasn’t waiting.

Dream skidded to a stop—Apricity nearly knocked him over with the force of running into him.

His body was rigid.

Starling had stopped. She was perched in a large tree, nestled in a nook and staring down.

Down.

Down at the skeleton entwined in the roots.

Chapter Text

The scene was illuminated by moonlight. The skull gave it away—unmistakably human.

All across the skeleton, like webs, were plants. Vines, moss, leaves, flowers… embedded in the bone. There seemed to be patches along the arms and torso that were almost… still decomposing—however, the flesh was not human—it was more akin to that of a mushroom. Spongy and brown. The skull was draped with long lichen moss.

Dream crouched, fingers ghosting over where the neck used to be.

There was a necklace. A thick rusted chain with a small pendant that was caked in mud.

“I think the bites are from a pixie—and, and I don’t know the full effects yet. Damn those rot-born creatures!”

Apricity gasped, a hand shooting to her mouth.

“Where did you hear that voice?” Her words were tight, gaze set on Starling.

The voice Starling had mimicked was that of a man. Rushed. Wavering.

Starling chirped softly, leaning back against the tree, unbothered.

Apricity knelt beside Dream, snatching the necklace from his hands and quickly scrubbing the dirt off with her sleeve.

The pendant was a simple circle with someone's initials engraved on it. Dream barely got a glimpse before she fisted the pendant with a shudder.

“Prime.” Her knuckles were turning white with how hard she clutched it. “... It can’t. It can’t.”

Dream tilted his head back, studying Apricity’s expression calmly. She looked like she was about to cry.

“Abaude,” she murmured, voice catching. “This is Abaude’s body.”

“Who?”

“Aubade Cache. A.R.C.”

Dream blinked.

“That author in that journal? You knew A.R.C.?”

“Yeah.” Her voice broke and she stood, walking a couple paces away. She supported herself against a tree, holding the pendant to her chest. “I… I knew him well.”

Dream frowned, looking up at Starling. “Why are you showing us this?”

Starling blinked owlishly, pointing back at the remains.

Taking a closer look in the dim lighting, the skeleton didn’t seem fully human. At all.

The legs were more deer-like than anything. The feet were hooves. Dream assumed they were, at least. They looked to be made of stone, attached only by the bones of the legs. Protruding from the skull were thick branches in the shape of antlers.

Starling gestured from the skeleton to Dream’s arm, her gaze lingering on the green peeking beneath his sleeve. Clearing her throat several times she—she spoke. Like actually spoke. Her voice was shaky and high-pitched.

“Your… future!”

She looked proud of herself, rubbing her throat. Like it had hurt to use a voice that was her own.

His mind flashed with confusion and racing thoughts—how could that be his future? Starling could speak? He had no time to dwell on her newfound voice.

He stepped forward, flinching as a branch broke underfoot, briefly concerned he’d stepped on one of the bones. “Explain,” he snapped.

Apricity choked on a sob, a hand burying itself in her hair. Dream spared her a fleeting glance and shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the fizzling panic in his chest.

Starling crooned, wings fluttering. “No…” she shook her head, furrowing her brows. “...”

“I fear I’m changing,” she rasped in the man's voice from before. “I can feel it. The Heartbeat—the forest—it talks to me, Stars.”

Apricity reeled and stormed back. “Stop it— stop!”

Dream grabbed her arm, holding her back. “Apricity—”

“No!” she cried, tears streaking down her face. “You don’t get to mimic him! It’s—it’s not fair!” Starling shied away, blinking confusedly.

“Apricity, calm down,” Dream pulled her back, swallowing his fear down in favor of keeping the girl from attacking Starling.

She resisted, shoving his hand away and starting to draw her bow.

In a split second decision, he pulled Apricity tight to his chest, arms wrapping around her back. The bow dropped, clattering against the bones.

Apricity sank into Dream, sobbing into his chest, grabbing fistfuls of the back of his hoodie.

“It’s not fair,” she repeated, voice muffled. “Why does some monster get the respite of knowing how—where he died?”

Starling flinched at the pure hatred Apricity poured into the word monster.

“Shh,” he soothed, hesitantly patting her back. “It’s okay.” He didn’t know what to do with this trust she gave him. He wasn’t a comforter.

“It’s not okay,” she sniffled. “He was my best friend—and now he’s…” she pulled away just enough, staring at the skeleton. “What happened to him?” She whimpered, shaking. “He—he didn’t deserve this…”

Dream sighed, loosening his grip on her. “Apparently, the same thing is going to happen to me if we can’t get this cure in order.”

Apricity inhaled sharply, her expression darkening as she locked eyes with Starling.

“Tell us,” she snarled, pulling away and starting to climb the tree—before she thought better of it and stood at the base instead, beside A.R.C.’s skeleton. “Tell us how to fix him!”

Starling fidgeted with the tip of her tail, threading her hands through the fur. “Som—” her voice cut, hand darting up to rub her throat. 

Apricity had no patience left.

“‘Som’ what?” she reached up, trying to snag Starlings talon.

Starling hissed, pupils thinning as she scrambled further up the tree. 

“Apricity,” Dream reached for her shoulder. “Scaring her isn’t going to help.”

Dream guided Apricity back, taking her place beneath Starling’s perch. 

“Starling,” he called firmly. “Tell us.”

Starling peeked out from behind her clawed fingers, mumbling, “somnia wisteria—petals ‘n pixie venom.”

“Pixie venom?” Dream’s tone was incredulous—they had to get pixie venom? And he had no idea what somnia wisteria petals were.

Starling nodded, shuffling nervously. “Butterfly likes petals.” She coughed, scratching her throat.

Dream thought for a moment— butterfly?

She must mean the glowing wasp-like bug in the jar she’d given him—she’d referred to it as a butterfly earlier, too.

He pulled the cold jar from his bag, holding it up in the air. “This thing likes the somnia wisteria petals?” He paused. “Can it lead me to them? Why did you give it to me?”

He watched the insect skitter over the glass, its wings buzzing. It didn’t make sense if she just gave them a bug that liked the petals they needed—perhaps it had another use.

Starling nodded, brightening with an excited chirp. “Butterflies love flowers,” came a child's voice.

Apricity scoffed, wiping her eyes. “So, what? We just let it out and follow it? That seems flawed.”

Dream rested his hand on the lid, hesitating.

The chances of this being the right move were low.

Starling held her hand out, expectant.

Dream glanced at Apricity, silently consulting her opinion. Should he hand it over? She might want to show them what to do… or she could be changing her mind about helping them. Apricity shook her head, muttering, “no, bad idea, don’t give it to her.”

Then Dream realized.

Starling made a grabbing motion, claws closing around empty air.

He shouldn’t really care about Apricity’s opinion. Right?

Dream extended the jar to Starling.

She snatched it up, immediately twisting the lid and letting it out.

“Starling!” Dream exclaimed, fumbling to catch the jar and lid as she dropped them, startled by his shout.

The bug zipped up, light blurring behind it as it circled around Starling, light reflecting off her wide eyes.

Apricity hissed a swear, hurriedly grabbing her bow. The wasp streaked away. A trail of light was left between trees.

Dream gave chase, jumping over a large mossy rock. Apricity followed—her skin prickling as Starling came behind them.

Plants whipped their faces and tore their clothes. Fog crowded back in. The ground was becoming muddier and slicker. The wasp ahead was starting to fade into the fog.

Dream ran faster, clearing a muddy puddle—Apricity didn’t see it in time.

Splash!

Dream barely slowed, never stopping. Only a fleeting glance was thrown over his shoulder—she was fine, picking herself up and resuming the sprint. A low buzzing began to irritate him. Buzzing.

‘Breaking away, the sound crashed in—another’s heartbeat, a whispering voice, bugs buzzing.

Bump, bump, bump.

He sucked in greedy breaths, backing up from the light—it continued to crescendo—’

Dream shook his head, stumbling over a ragged root. His arm panged briefly—the flashback felt more like a reminder than anything.

Shining in the fog like unsteady stars were tiny lights. First one or two—then gradually growing in number. They winked on and off, the glow akin to the bug they were chasing—which had now meshed with the other bugs. Dream couldn’t tell which one they’d been following.

He slowed to a hurried walk, breath coming out in harsh puffs. Apricity caught up, drawing her bow.

Dream craned his neck to check around them.

Starling had disappeared. 

Great. 

Anxiety bubbled in his gut—would she come back? How would he know what to do next, after they got the petals? How would they know if the petals they were getting were the right ones?

Dream abruptly stopped at the edge of a decline. Apricity halted just before running into him.

Before them was a large basin in the ground. Its sides were slanted and muddy. The dirt was riddled with what looked like holes of water, about the size of one of those balls Dream saw kids in Lianeath kicking around. A soccer ball, he had thought. The area was riddled with those glowing wasps—they were buzzing low and almost slowly . The air was thick with a sweet, syrupy smell mixed with a swampy scent.

Dream didn’t like it.

In the center of the basin was a large, large tree. It was certainly a kind of wisteria. The somnia part of its name remained questionable.

It was tall, its branches stretching out and mingling with other trees. Its leaves and flowers, like a normal wisteria, hung down in long strands. The flowers were an array of blues, grays, and whites. The bugs were most heavily swarming around the blooms of the tree.

“This must be it,” Dream whispered. Apricity nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah,” she whispered back. “It’s pretty.”

Dream slid down the slope, barely managing to avoid tripping over a hidden root. He paused at the bottom to look at Apricity.

“Don’t fall. You don’t need to get any more filthy than you already are.”

Apricity scowled and neglected to respond. She was partially soaked in muddy water from her earlier trip. She slid down the hill, landing next to him with a small hop.

Dream ignored her and redirected his attention to the tree, carefully avoiding the holes of water—of which he couldn’t see the bottoms of.

He hoped nothing lived in them.

The scent grew steadily the closer to the tree they got, and the bugs whipped around them.

Apricity swatted at a wasp that landed on her arm. “Dream, I’m thinking that—”

Dream jerked back, lifting his hand that was now stinging—the untainted hand. He inhaled sharply and cut her off. “I think one just bit me.” 

Chapter Text

Apricity and Dream stood on the edges of the basin, trying to come up with a plan.

“What if we tried lighting a torch or something?” Apricity thought aloud.

The wasps had become a problem—biting and stinging them. The two of them were littered with small red and white bumps—like mosquito bites—as well as small bites. They stung and itched, and the bugs swarmed and glowed aggressively when you got near.

“... I think I could power through. All we need is a strand of flowers.”

Apricity wrinkled her nose at him, rubbing a bite on her face and smudging dirt across her skin. “Those things won’t let you get that close. I say we try lighting one of your survival torch things.”

Dream crouched, setting his bag on the ground and pulling out an unlit torch, along with his flint and steel. Apricity took them both and began to light the torch.

Dream paused, leaving his bag open for a moment. The eye patterns in the barbs of the virelan feather stared back at him. He briefly wondered if this feather belonged to Starling. Were there other virelan? Was Starling alone, the only one?

“Okay.” Apricity broke Dream from his thoughts. He stood and slung his bag over his shoulders, firmly latching it. “Are you ready to try this?”

He took the lit torch from Apricity, walking forward without a word.

The wasps buzzed louder than before as they came closer to the wisteria once more—however, wary of the flames. Dream held it high, holding his breath. It was working. They were staying away!

“This place smells so good,” Apricity murmured, just a half a step behind Dream. They walked slowly, Dream calmly waving the torch in the air to ward the wasps off.

It smelled…

Interesting. Dream wouldn’t exactly call it good—it was like… fresh muddy waters.

“Not really,” Dream said. Apricity swatted at a wasp that was getting a little brave. 

She gave him a weird look, replying, “what do you mean? It smells just like lavender.”

Dream scoffed. “You’re delusional. It’s like— swamp.”

“Swamp? I think you’re the delusional one.”

Dream stopped walking as the bugs drew closer.

“I don’t think this is going to keep working,” he muttered, jerking the flames and setting one on fire as it got too close. It immediately dropped, falling onto the damp grass.

“Be careful,” Apricity hissed, stomping out the bug to ensure it didn’t set anything on fire. “We don’t want to start a forest fire.”

“Calm down. It’s too wet down here for anything to catch.”

Dream took a small step back as a swarm moved for his legs, lowering the torch to ward them off—it was so thick and bright you could barely see through it, the buzzing loud and angry. 

The somnia wisteria was only about ten feet away now… Dream didn’t want any petals from the ground; if he was going through all this trouble, he wanted the freshest blooms he could get. The closer they got, the pleasanter and heavier the scent became.

“This isn’t going to work much longer,” Apricity said, pulling back as wasps began to land on her arms again. She shook herself off, leaving Dream and retreating towards the slopes of the basin once more. Dream glanced back at her, frowning.

The wasps were gathering into large groups, giving them a very bright, blurry, disorienting effect when you looked at them.

Dream hesitated. 

If he could just push through…

He took several large steps towards the wisteria, only to stop as the swarms landed on his body, crawling beneath his clothes and biting and stinging. It hurt.  

Bad idea.

He stumbled back, dropping the torch into one of the water holes—wasps landed on his hands, taking advantage of the fingerless gloves and starting to take tiny chunks out of his flesh.

“Dream, just come back!”

Dream could barely hear Apricity over the sound of bugs in his ears—he took a step in her direction. His foot sunk into one of the water holes and he lost balance. He fell to the muddy, slippery ground.

The wasps stayed persistent, crawling under his hoodie and doing as much damage as they could—

Dream flinched as something curled around his foot in the water.

Scrambling to pull his soaked leg out of the hole, he rolled over, squishing the bugs on his back before jumping to his feet.

Tentacles explored the edges of the hole where his leg had just been.

Dream rushed to get further away, back towards Apricity. She frantically started to brush the bugs off of his person when he was close enough.

“Are you okay?” Apricity blinked as he pulled off his hoodie. There were tons of bugs crawling over his skin. He swiped them off, shaking out his hoodie to get the ones on the inside out. His body was littered with tiny bleeding spots of missing flesh and risen mounds where he’d been stung. Dream glanced down at his tainted arm, furrowing his brows when he saw not a single bite nor sting on the tainted area.

Apricity looked sick at the sight of his arm. She averted her gaze to the hole Dream had stepped in.

Something was in there. First, tentacles—a lot of them. They writhed and felt around, curling and pulling away before disappearing back into the water. Then, a head poked out. 

It was fuzzy and narrow, like a deer would have—except deer don’t have tentacles for antlers. And it didn’t seem to have ears, either.

It stepped out of the water, its body dripping. It was about the size of a small goat with a long, thin tail that curled over its back.

It barely gave them a second glance, its tentacles reaching out and snatching the glimmering wasps out of the air and off its own back, before lowering them to its mouth and eating them. The bugs swarmed it, but it was unfazed—its fur  protecting the skin underneath, 

“Woah,” Apricity breathed, staring at the creature. “It’s… eating them!” She shuffled, glancing at the other holes. “What if there’s more?”

Dream shrugged his hoodie back on, scowling as several spots of blood soaked through. Great. Now he’d have to get blood out of the fabric.

Turning his attention to the strange deer-like creature, he studied the way it worked.

It hardly moved from its spot. It didn’t need to. The wasps came to it. Tentacles easily swiped them out of the air and off its own body. The swarm around it was so thick you could barely see the thing in the middle—it almost hurt your eyes to look at it for too long with how bright the wasps were.

Almost all of the wasps were attacking it. This gave Dream a window. He pulled away from Apricity, and sprinted towards the wisteria.

As he got close, the swampy scent shifted to something more pleasant. More like the lavender that Apricity had mentioned.

His eyelids got a little heavier as he stood below the wisteria. Reaching up, he tugged sharply on a strand of flowers—it resisted. With a frustrated grunt, he used both hands to pull on it.

Why was this so hard? Why were his limbs starting to feel heavy? He inhaled deeply, shaking his head. The smell of the flowers was intoxicating. Thick lavender. The swampy scent from before was completely gone, fogged up by the blooms.

He yanked one last time, and it came loose. He stumbled back, unprepared for it to break.

But he had them. He had the flowers. He was one step closer to a cure.

Apricity shouted something at him, but her voice was muffled—like she was underwater. Or maybe it was him.

He sighed, eyes heavy. He didn’t look back, struggling to stand upright.

He was tired. A good long rest sounded nice right about now. He deserved it, didn’t he? He’d been going nonstop for… how many days had they been in The Backwoods, together now? Two? Three? Four? He can’t remember.

Dream slowly turned to see what Apricity was on about, agitation bubbling up.

“What…” he muttered, quieter than he’d intended.

She was waving her arms, trying to beckon him to come back.

“Dream…!” he heard her voice through the hazy fog in his mind. 

His fingers loosened around the somnia wisteria strand in his hand, and he stumbled forward. “April?” he mumbled absently, forgetting his irritation.

She stepped forward, glancing at the tree cautiously. A fleeting glance at the tentacle creature told her that it was starting to retreat back into its hole, well fed.

The swarm was going to find a new target soon.

Apricity hurried to Dream, recognizing something was wrong with him—his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. His foot caught in another hole and he fell forward. The strand of wisteria flowers fell from his grasp, landing in the filthy grass.

Apricity crouched beside him, trying to help him get up.

“Dream, snap out of it,” she hissed, grabbing the wisteria strand and shoving it into Dreams bag.

He sat up, dazed. 

“I am,” he whispered, standing up with her help.

The bugs had begun to swarm them, crawling beneath their clothes.

Apricity practically dragged Dream back towards the walls of the basin, doing her best to flick the bugs off of his body.

The further from the tree they got, the more Dream seemed awake, and the more the bugs left them alone.

“Ugh,” he groaned, starting to climb up the slippery slope of the basin—it was difficult; muddy, with little places to grab onto.

Apricity was right behind him, watching to make sure he didn’t slip and fall.

The wasps were mostly leaving them alone now that they were leaving and away from the tree.

“What happened over there?” she asked, slipping down a couple feet as she lost her footing. 

He grunted, pulling himself up and over the edge of the basin, flopping over onto the ground.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “It was like I was just… exhausted all of a sudden.” he snorted lightly. “ Somnia wisteria really does fit it, I guess.”

Apricity finally managed to climb up beside him, sitting. She looked back at the tree, furrowing her brows.

“Yeah… That makes sense….”

Apricity reached over and pulled Dream's bag upright, opening it.

He didn’t protest her going through his stuff as he normally would. He might not have even noticed.

Apricity pulled out the slightly dirty, slightly smushed strand of somnia wisteria flowers and gingerly placed them in the glass jar they’d gotten from Starling. It would be bad if they went through all that trouble and then they just crushed the flowers. Besides, if they ruined them, how would they find the somnia wisteria again after they left the area?

Dream didn’t move for a while, just… breathing. The effects of the tree lingered, leaving him sleepy. Apricity didn’t urge him to move nor did she prompt conversation.

But he didn’t have time for sleep.

Dream got to his feet, resting his hands on his knees. Apricity rose with him, hovering a hand over his back like she’s worried he might pass out right then and there.

“Stop it,” he muttered, straightening and pushing her hand away. “I’m fine. Let's get moving.”

She sighed and followed behind him, watching as he trailblazed a little slower than normal.

They walked for a long time. The trees were becoming… whiter. The bark turned pale and almost sickly. The leaves were long and narrow, a muted olive and silver. The branches were thin and jagged.

The rest of the foliage matched the new theme well. Whites and light, washed out colors with pointy and sharp attributes.

By then, Dream was feeling a lot better—wide awake.

Apricity flinched back, swatting at a bug. It was pure white.

“Gosh—why do bugs always go for your face?” she complained, slinking behind Dream to try and get away.

He scoffed, not stopping as she nearly fell over into the bushes.

“You’re kind of like a bug,” he remarked. “Annoying and all up in your business.”

“I am not!” she argued indignantly.

“You are. Bug.” He let a small grin spread behind the mask, hearing her shriek as a bug flew too close to her ear.

“Ach—It’s like—attacking me!”

“You’re fine. Bugs aren’t going to kill you. Besides, we just dealt with literal hordes of bugs. Why is this one bothering you so much?” He paused. “Perhaps if you told it you were also a bug it’d leave you alone.”

“I am not a bug!”

“Bug. Most irritating insect I’ve ever come across.”

“What kind of bug would I even be?”

“A tick. Or mosquito.”

“I hate you. I don’t suck blood.”

“Might as well. You’re an energy sap.”

“You’re being dramatic. I’m not that bad.”

“Eh.” He shrugged, stepping over a big stick. “You’re less tiring than Iris, I guess. She’s like… a leech. You’re a bug, she's a worm.”

“Are leeches considered worms?”

“That or a parasite.”

Apricity stopped walking, yelping and shaking her hand out.

“It bit me!”

He sighed and turned back, grabbing her wrist and examining the bite. But he couldn’t tell it apart from small sting marks—which, now, all looked and felt like mosquito bites—and bites from the wasps—which were just tiny chunks of flesh bitten out.

“You’ll be fine,” he insisted. “Stop being a wimp. We need to keep moving.”

She stumbled to keep up with him, holding her hand close to her face. She couldn’t tell the difference either.

“It burns a little,” she mumbled, furrowing her brows. “Let’s hope that wasn’t a poisonous insect…”

“Venomous,” he corrected, snickering smugly at her irritated expression. This was the most lighthearted he’d felt in a while. He enjoyed getting under her skin.

“Same thing.”

The trekked on, the conversation lulling for just a moment…

“Why don’t you ask the bugs if it’s something to be worried about.”

“I can’t talk to bugs, Dream.”

“C’mon, it’ll be a bug-to-bug talk.”

“Would you stop with the bug thing?”

“Why should I?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, scoffing.

“And you call me annoying.”

Dream rose an arm to her chest to block her from walking any further.

“Did y’hear that?” he whispered, glancing around. Apricity stiffened, straining her ears.

“...”

A chittering rattle.

They looked up.

Starling was perched on an alarmingly thin branch. Her wings fluttered as she gave them a toothy grin.

“Butterflies love flowers,” she echoed an earlier mimicry.

Dream sighed in relief. They’d been waiting for her to show for hours now.

“Good,” he muttered. 

Apricity stepped forward, upset. “That was not a butterfly.”

Starling only tilted her head, not getting it.

 Apricity shook it off, her accusation replaced with questions. “What’s next? You mentioned pixie venom before. How do we get that? Where do we find pixies? Then what do we do after we get it?” She had obviously been mulling over everything Starling’s said to them before.

Starling looked a little overwhelmed by her questions, her tail flicking beneath her.

“You’re asking her too many questions,” Dream muttered, pulling Apricity back again. “Starling,” he began gently, “what do we do next?”

Starling blinked, and thought for an excruciatingly long moment before she spoke.

“They’ll just take it anyway.” She held up two fingers to her mouth, imitating fangs that she already had. “Thieves, they are. They’d steal my blood if they could! ” The voice she’d used was from an old woman, raspy and hateful. Starling paused, furrowing her brows as she added on, “Are you sure pixies aren’t real?” in a child's voice.

Dream wrinkled his nose, trying to decipher her ineffective ways of communication. “... Are you insinuating we have to extract pixie venom?” He exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to scratch at the stings from the wasps—they were so itchy. 

Starling nodded enthusiastically, looking proud of her communication skills. She held her fingers by her mouth again, adding on a little hissing sound. Apricity bristled at the noise—resisting the urge to draw her bow.

She frowned, muttering. “If they have fangs like she’s… demonstrating, then I imagine we might be able to extract them like you would snake venom.”

Dream scowled. “Well, I don’t know how to do that. And I doubt you do either.”

She scoffed. “You’re right—I don’t, but I do know someone who does. He wouldn’t dare step foot into The Backwoods, but he’d teach us no questions asked.”

Dream paused.

“So, we have to go back to Lianeath?”

Apricity nodded, rubbing her temples. “Yeah. I’m ready to get out of this hateful forest anyways.”

Dream addressed Starling. “Hey, can you get us out of here?”

Starling thought this through, adjusting her stance on her perch.

Then she jumped down, landing about five feet away from them. She promptly began to walk off.

Dream followed without hesitation, dragging Apricity with him.

Starling led them through thick bushes and over large fallen trees. She didn't understand that this kind of terrain was much more difficult for Apricity and Dream to navigate—she kept pausing and looking back with a mildly impatient and confused look on her face.

The sun was just beginning to set when their pace was disrupted. Starling froze, her ears tilting as she stared into the brush.

A branch cracked, and Starling spooked—she disappeared off into the brush, gone within seconds.

Apricity took a step after her, thinking they were going to repeat the theme of chasing after the virelan.

But Dream didn’t move an inch.

At first, Dream's eyes just skipped over the head of white hair—it blended in well with the pale bark, as did her clothing.

But after he saw her—saw her face as she stood once she realized she’d been spotted—he knew exactly who it was. He briefly wondered how Starling hadn’t noticed her before. Perhaps it had something to do with her… heritage .

“What the hell are you doing here, Icy?”

Chapter Text

“Put the sword down.”

Dream did not feel like dealing with this pest.

He could remember the last time he’d seen her—back in the SMP. She’d been on the opposite side of the war over L'manberg's independence, just a little before Dream’s exile.

Icy stepped forward, her stark-white hair hanging over her piercing glare—she looked angrier than he’d ever seen her.

“You really think I’m going to just 'put my sword down?’” Icy scoffed, giving Apricity the briefest glance as she circled behind Icy.

Dream sighed tiredly, not drawing his sword—his hand wasn’t even on the pommel. Rather, his arms were crossed in exasperation.

“We both know how a fight between us would end.” He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes behind the mask. “And you really shouldn’t be here. I don’t know how you’re even still alive.”

Icy opened her mouth, but hesitated.

Of course, Dream would end up on top. Their last fight had barely lasted ten seconds. So Icy couldn’t fight Dream.

And she knew this.

In a flash, Icy reached out and grabbed Apricity who’d strayed a little too close—holding her sword to her throat, a trickle of blood running down Apricity’s throat.

“Dream—” Apricity gasped, freezing. Her bow on her back was pinned between her body and Icy’s chest.

Apricity was capable in the wild and with a bow and arrow, but she never went to war.

She never had to fight for her life in the ways Icy and Dream had.

“Don’t move,” Dream ordered. “Icy, it was never your war.”

“This isn’t about the war!” Icy cried, stomping her foot. Dream couldn’t help but snicker slightly—he just could not take her seriously.

Apricity was less than amused. “Dream,” she hissed, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Shut up!” Icy dug her sword further into Apricity’s throat, making her whimper quietly. The blade was freezing—a dark blue that reminded Apricity of black ice.

Dream fell silent and rested his palm on his pommel, finger tracing the sword's guard.

“This isn’t about the war, and you know it.” Icy’s voice was low and dangerous—shaky with hurt and rage.

Dream shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Icy.” This only served to make her angrier.

“This is about my house—the one you burned down!”

Dream wrinkled his nose behind the mask.

“Why would I do that?”

“I—I don’t know why you do any of the things you do,” she snapped. Icy looked to be holding back a wince as she felt Apricity’s blood trickle down her blade onto her fingers. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find it? The evidence you left behind?” She scowled when he didn’t immediately answer. “Answer me!” Apricity flinched as Icy shouted in her ear.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dream asked.

Icy blinked, taken aback. “Stop messing with me,” she growled. “You lie. You’re always lying!”

Icy dug the blade further into Apricity’s neck, making her cry out.

Dream stepped forward, nearly drawing his sword before he stopped himself. “Stop.” He commanded before he could stop himself.

Icy paused, whispering so only Apricity could hear. “Oh. He cares.” She sounded surprised.

“Throw your sword,” She commanded, narrowing her eyes.

“You’d actually kill an innocent bystander. Wow.”

“Throw your sword or I’m going to kill her!”

Dream drew his sword and hesitated.

“Dream!” Apricicty shouted, eyes wide.

He scoffed and tossed it aside, raising his hands in surrender.

Icy grinned, almost in relief, shoving Apricity to the ground and rushing towards Dream, sword raised.

Icy didn’t know how it happened. Her own sword was pressed to her neck, her arms held by her sides.

“Pathetic,” Dream murmured, not drawing blood.

Apricity coughed, her eyes shining with tears of pain as she gingerly held a hand over her neck. Dream scowled at the sight—though no one would ever know.

He drew a little blood. Just a little. It was a small price to pay for what he thought she deserved.

“Damn you!” Icy shouted, doing her best to squirm and struggle without pressing against the blade. 

“What did you think was going to happen?” he asked. “You’d kill me?” He sounded offended at the very thought of it.

“I just—”

The familiar refrain of a bow being drawn taut made Icy stop talking, examining the way Apricity held the bow. She looked fully prepared to release the arrow. Jaw set, eyes narrowed in a glare behind her messy curls.

Taking a deep breath, Icy went to speak before Dream cut her off.

“I didn’t burn your house down.”

She paused for a moment. “But—but you did. I can prove it.” 

Apricity’s glare hardened, and she muttered, “why wouldn’t you lead with that?”

Icy ignored her, her fingers curling around the strap of her bag that rested on her hip. “The proof is in my bag.”

Apricity slung her bow back over her shoulders and approached. Cautiously, she opened the bag and rummaged for a moment before pulling out…

Dream’s… mask. Icy smiled triumphantly. “See?”

Now everyone was confused.

“Icy,” Apricity began. “Dream is wearing his mask.”

“Oh.”

“How would you have recognized me without it?” Dream asked, genuinely curious about her train of thought.

“But… I just thought—... you really didn’t burn it down?” Icy murmured softly, confused. If Dream didn’t burn her house down, who did? Her eyes bubbled with tears of frustration, anger, and confusion. She blinked them back.

They didn’t deserve them. ‘No one deserves your tears.’

Dream let her go and threw her sword aside, scoffing. “I think falling messed with your mind. Even if there was actual, real evidence, the timeline doesn’t match up—your house was still standing when I left.”

“Falling?” Apricity echoed, brows furrowing. What did he mean? Did Icy have a head injury or something?

Dream ignored her, focused on Icy, who was crouching to pick her sword back up. “How did you even find me?”

Icy straightened, a faint blush on her face. She didn’t answer.

“Icy,” Dream warned. It was never good when she was embarrassed about something. “What did you do?”

“I used the wayfinder,” she murmured, looking down.

Dream was torn between being impressed or being amused.

“You—stole and used the wayfinder on me?”

“They were doing a poor job of guarding it,” she defended. “And I sincerely thought you burned my house down!”

“What’s the wayfinder?” Apricity asked. Her question went unanswered.

“Do you still have it?” Dream asked, staring at Icy’s neck where a thin silver chain was, the charm on it hidden underneath her shirt.

“... no.”

Icy was a horrible liar. She quickly averted the topic.

“Who is she?” She pointed to Apricity, of whom scowled, and jerked her gaze to Dream. She winced as the movement made her throat sting. 

Dream stared back intensely. “The wayfinder is… a compass of sorts. Except it doesn’t point North. It points to where you need to be. I think. I’ve never actually seen it.”

Icy nodded, affirming. “Yeah. That’s what it does.”

Apricity nodded slowly, frowning. “... and you mentioned falling, Dream?”

Dream went to answer, but Icy cut him off. “He’s not talking about it.”

Apricity furrowed her brows, looking at Dream as if silently asking him if he’s just going to listen to Icy.

Dream only shrugged, saying. “I can tell you later.”

Icy seethed, starting to draw her sword.

“Icy.” Of course, neither of them could see his expression, but his tone of voice was warning enough. She left her sword in its sheathe.

Dream went on, thinking aloud. “Apparently, it's only where you think you need to be,” he mused. “Or where you want to be. Here, let me see that.” He reached for the chain on Icy’s neck. Icy slapped his hand, backing away.

“I will hurt you if you touch me.” She paused. “Er—I’ll hurt your friend if you touch me.”

Apricity hovered a hand over the now dried blood on her neck, watching Icy cautiously. Dream shook his head, simply saying, “You won’t.”

Icy furrowed her brows, looking mildly offended. “I—I’m serious.”

Apricity had calmed, assured by Dream’s words. She glanced at the chain on Icy’s neck. “So, if we have the wayfinder, that means we can use it to get out of here, right?”

Dream nodded, reaching for it again. Icy backed up several paces, nearly tripping over a root.

“Stop it, stop it!” she snapped, gripping the chain possessively. “It’s mine and you can’t have it!”

“You stole it,” Apricity reminded.

“Shut up, you know nothing,” Icy growled.

“You’re in no position to be arguing with us.” Dream extended his hand towards Icy, expectant.

“...”

She crossed her arms and lifted her chin up defiantly. “You’ll have to fight me for it.”

“Are you crazy? We need the wayfinder so we can get out of here. This forest is dangerous,” Apricity exclaimed.

Icy gave her a weird look. “It looks normal to me.”

Apricity gestured to the odd washed out color everything had. Not dead nor sick—just… tired.

“This looks normal to you? How did you not see anything even remotely out of the ordinary on your way here?”

Icy only shrugged. “You’re going to have to fight me if you want it.”

Dream took an almost eager step forward.

She scrambled back, eyes wide with panic. She looked around for an escape—and then just—lunged for Apricity.

Apricity yelped, taken by surprise—they both fell to the ground, Icy trying to get at Apricity’s eyes.

It wasn’t long before Icy was ripped off Apricity and thrown into a bramble of glittery, white berries.

She yelped, struggling against the bush—the thorns pricking her hands and making her freeze up as small pin pricks of blood beaded. Her long sleeved-shirt and pants had saved her from the brunt of the thistles. 

Dream snorted, reaching out and easily taking the necklace.

“Pathetic,” he muttered again. “What, you can't handle your own blood?”

She looked like she might cry—or scream. Maybe both. It was hard to tell. It was like she’d never bled before.

“Wimp,” Dream mumbled, turning back to Apricity with the wayfinder in hand. It was an orb of water attached to the silver chain, bound by nothing more than glass. There were two spires of ice that played the roles of orienting arrows. They stayed put in the middle for some reason. Finally, a little bubble of air that Icy had followed to Dream.

The arrows were spinning endlessly. Round and round and round with no signs of stopping.

“What does it say?” Apricity asked, shooting a couple glances at Icy. She was trying to extremely carefully pull herself out of the bushes without further drawing blood.

Dream shook his head, turning with the wayfinder to see if it would change with the direction.

“It’s just spinning.”

“So that means…?”

Dream turned to Icy, rolling his eyes as she delicately pulled a branch of berries and thorns away from her skin, now sitting on her knees beside the brambles. “Icy. What does it mean when it just spins?” 

Icy looked up with wide eyes, jumping to her feet, forgetting about the blood for a moment. She snatched the wayfinder back and paced a wide circle, staring at it. Finally, she stopped, standing in a patch of pale purple wolfsbane flowers.

“Well?” Dream prompted.

Icy absently gave the wayfinder back to Dream, staring down at the flowers crushed beneath her feet.

“It means it’s broken. I’m lost.”

Dream sighed heavily, shoving the wayfinder in his bag—as he did so, his fingers brushed against the compass he’d bought before coming here. He pulled it out.

“Oh…” Apricity watched the needles spin. “I don’t think it’s broken, Icy. It looks like normal compasses do that too.”

Icy furrowed her brows, puzzled. “That’s… odd. Isn’t that only in storms?”

Apricity tapped the glass of the compass in Dream’s hand. “Get ready to say ‘that’s odd’ a whole lot more,” she muttered, watching Dream pocket the compass.

Apricity stepped away from Dream, turning in a tight circle as she realized—”Starling’s gone.”

Dream ran a hand through his hair, exhaling forcefully.

“I know.”

“She’s our only way out.”

“I know.”

“And now we have Icy to take care of.”

“We do?”

Apricity gave Dream a look, and he fell silent.

Icy crossed her arms with defiant look on her face. “No, you don’t. I can take care of myself.”

Apricity frowned at her, and then looked back to Dream. “We can’t just leave her. The odds of her surviving are low…”

“She did that to herself,” Dream argued. “And she’s only here because she came to kill me. And look what she did to your neck.”

He jerked his finger at Apricity’s neck that was painted in dried—and still drying—blood. She winced, gingerly touching it. “I know.”

Icy turned to walk away—Dream grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her back.

With a yelp, she tripped over herself and fell on the ground between them.

“Dream!” Apricity exclaimed, looking down at Icy—she moved to help her up, but Icy swatted her hands away.

“What? She was leaving. Didn’t you say you wanted her to stay with us?” He sounded amused.

Apricity scowled, pointing at him. “Don’t—”

Everyone froze as something howled in the distance. All at once, they’re reminded that it’s getting dark.

“... we should get moving,” Apricity whispered. Dream was already walking, going the direction he thought he’d seen Starling go when she’d spooked.

Apricity caught up quickly, looking behind her to make sure Icy was coming.

She was on the ground, just watching them go.

“Icy,” Apricity hissed, stopping. “Come on.” 

Icy didn’t move.

Dream walked several more paces before turning to see why Apricity wasn’t with him.

Apricity jogged back to Icy—she looked alarmed—scared, even. Following Icy’s gaze, she frowned at what she saw—two sets of lines on the tree. Crudely carved in. She snapped her fingers in her face. “Icy, let's go.”

Icy blinked, flinching and meeting Apricity’s gaze. 

Something howled again—closer. And there were more of them joining in now.

Apricity held her hand out.

“I’m going to leave you behind if you don’t get moving,” Dream called, voice hushed but loud enough for them to hear.

Apricity shook her hand, urging Icy. Finally, she took it.

“Fine, but only because I saw—”

She was cut off as Apricity yanked her up, dragging her in a sprint towards Dream, who’d started walking the second he’d seen them coming.

Dream suddenly stopped as the howls went off again—much, much louder. 

He turned to the nearest tree, snapping. 

“Climb.”

Chapter Text

Icy did not feel safe on her branch. It was too thin and too low. But she couldn’t climb higher nor move to a thicker branch; Apricity and Dream were above, blocking the way, and she was far too scared to move. She’d never admit that, though.

Her mind and heart were racing—she’d seen it just after the howls had started.

11:11. 

Well—lines in the bark that resembled it. Maybe she had imagined it. She imagined a lot.

Maybe everything would be fine. Yeah—everything would be okay.

On the faded moss and soft grass below, a dog stepped into the pale moonlight. Its fur was white, silky smooth—long lanky legs supported its nimble body.

It was big. Like… strangely big for a dog. Then again, Icy hadn’t seen a lot of dogs.

She furrowed her brows, holding onto the trunk of the tree tighter. It hadn’t seen them yet.

Crack.

Icy cried out as her branch splintered, dropping further under her weight. She scrambled to hold onto the trunk, arms and legs wrapping around it. Spots along her skin began to tingle—like hot raindrops.

The canine below looked up.

She was slipping. A small whimper escaped her. Apricity was reaching down, risking to fall herself.

“Icy, grab my hand—”

The dog began to back up, its narrow head pointed in their direction. It was soon gone, gone into the brush.

Apricity exhaled slowly, retracting her hand and sitting back as Icy started to shimmy down. Her feet struggled to find footholds, and she squeaked as she nearly lost her grip.

Glinting eyes in the dark made her pause. She was about six feet above the ground—only small sprigs jagging out from the trunk below her. How they all had gotten up in the first place was beyond her.

She was still in the tree only by sheer will. Her arms started slipping, her eyes watering as the bark dug into her skin and caught on her clothes.

Apricity swore under her breath, starting to climb down to pull her up—Dream grabbed her arm, commanding. ”Don’t.”

Neither Icy nor Apricity had noticed the many dogs that had gathered around the tree.

They all looked the same. Same narrow muzzles, same slim, tall bodies, feathery tails and silver fur.

Same blank eyes that glowed gray in the moonlight. Hungry, but willing to wait for such a rewarding meal.

Icy’s arms were growing tired.

The dogs didn’t move, patiently waiting.

“Dogs?” Apricity whispered, sounding perplexed. Dream yanked on her sleeve, trying to tell her to be quiet.

Icy was going to fall.

Her landing spot would be a cluster of small blue mushrooms. They had a very faint blue glow to them. At first glance you’d think that it was just starlight reflecting off of the surface.

A dog stepped forward, huffing softly. It was as big as a wolf. Bigger, maybe.

Icy fell.

She screamed, falling onto the mushrooms below. They exploded in a puff of shimmering white and blue particles. Icy’s skin erupted in uncomfortable, almost painful tingling. Apricity cried out, struggling to climb down—and held back by Dream.

Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of an open maw.

Frozen in place.

Her eyes stung. Was she crying?

The dog before her slowly closed its mouth, taking a step back. Then it sneezed, saliva splattering against her face.

Many others behind it were crowded together, chuffing to one another—inhaling deeply—then sneezing and backing away.

Dream let out a breath.

“Stars,” he mumbled. “I thought that was a myth.”

Icy barely heard him, chest rising and falling quickly. She blinked rapidly—the spores of the mushrooms, a gentle blue, were getting in her eyes. Tears fell without permission. 

Wait. Some of those spores were from her.

She caught her gasp, watching as the freckles on her arms glowed a starry silver before separating from her skin and floating away, not following any rhyme or reason as to where they landed.

She carefully sat up as they started to leave, their hackles smoothing and their steps uncoordinated. They filtered out, disappearing into the bushes. The three watched as the last one sneezed just before walking into a tree—it paused and threw up on the ground before slinking away.

Dream kept a grip on Apricity’s arms as she tried to climb down. “Don’t. Wait until the spores clear.”

She pushed his arm away. “Stop telling me to stop! Icy could have died and you didn’t let me help her.”

Dream paused, not loosening his grip on her sleeve.

“She was fine.”

“She was not and you know it.”

He scoffed, letting her go. “Fine then. Go down there and see why those dogs didn’t tear her to shreds.”

That made her hesitate. The spores that seemed to be the cause of the dogs’ retreat were still circling the air around Icy.

“... Icy, are you okay?” Apricity opted to not test her luck.

Icy stood, stumbling off the smushed patch of mushrooms. Her freckles were no longer illuminated, fading back to a normal brown. The spores of the mushroom were starting to settle down, covering the pale grass and moss with a sheen of blue.

“No. Yes.” She shook her head slightly, sucking air in through her teeth. “Peachy.”

Apricity sighed, her shoulders dropping. As the spores finally left, she began to climb down. Dream followed, landing beside her. “Dream—you sounded like you knew why the… dogs?  Yeah. The dogs left,” Apricity inquired, picking a leaf off his shoulder and flicking it away. 

He nodded slowly, the beady eyes of his mask boring into Icy. He began to speak, “S—”

Icy bristled, cutting him off. “Shut up.”

“... there are rumors that things like Icy have… advantages. Freckles that can do weird things to your body, and—something about their tears, too.”

Apricity frowned, looking at Icy. “Care to elaborate?”

“I’m not saying anything!” Icy crossed her arms stubbornly. “And you can’t make me.”

“Are you sure?” Dream stepped forward—Icy reached for her sword.

“Woah—okay, calm down, please.” Apricity quickly stepped in front of her, “We need everyone alive and uninjured!”

“We were doing just fine without her before,” Dream argued.

Apricity glared at him. “We can’t just—just off her! Besides, if she can do—whatever it is that she just did again, then she can be extremely helpful! We don’t have any plan for catching a pixie. What if we—”

“Pixie?” Icy interrupted. Apricity’s arms dropped to her sides, not bothering to finish her thought; it got through to Dream.

“... You make a good point,” He muttered. “We can use her.”

“That’s not—”

Icy scoffed loudly, shaking her head. “No! I’m leaving as soon as you tell me how to get out of here.”

Dream rolled his eyes.

“I thought it was obvious. We don’t know how to get out.”

Icy blinked.

“Oh. Is that why you wanted my wayfinder?”

“The wayfinder you stole,” Dream corrected. He patted his bag where he’d stashed it. “And it’s mine now.” Apricity rubbed her temples, speaking before Icy could try to fight him for the wayfinder.

“We can argue on the way,” she decided. “We can’t stay here. What if those dog things come back?”

Dream wasn’t going to move until Icy did. And she wasn’t budging—rather, trying to decide between stubborn pride and logical discernment.

“... I’m not going unless you promise you won’t tell anyone anything about me.”

“I promise,” Dream said smoothly. “Now get moving.”

Icy blinked. That was… easy. “You aren’t… lying?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he lied.

She nodded and started walking. Apricity stared disbelievingly, before glancing at Dream with a questioning look, silently asking—did she really believe what he’d just said?

Dream only shrugged and began to follow Icy. Apricity sighed, falling into step.

The climate soon shifted again—from pale, tired looking flora to lush, overflowing green. The trees went back to dark brown bark, full bushes and leaves and thick brush.

In other words, harder to traverse and more hiding places. It was well after dark and clouds above blocked the moon's light.

“Dream,” Apricity whispered, lightly scratching a bug bite on her arm. “We should make camp.” She glanced back to make sure Icy was still behind them. She was. She looked completely miserable—head down, staring at her feet as they dragged.

Dream didn’t slow. “I’m not tired.”

“Well, Icy is.” Icy had been a bit sluggish ever since the dog encounter.

“I don’t care.”

“I’m tired.”

Dream sighed, rolling his shoulders back. “... We’ll stop when we find the next suitable clearing.”

Apricity smiled, until she heard what he muttered after.

“Pestering, needy bug.”

“I heard that.”

He snorted.

Icy piped up, frowning. “Did Dream just laugh?”

Apricity shrugged. “Is that weird? Everyone laughs.”

Icy wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don’t laugh.”

Apricity scoffed, smiling amusedly. “Nonsense. You laugh.”

“No,” Icy denied. Apricity only sighed in response.

Conversation lulled, allowing for whispering leaves and lilting crickets to take place. A pack of coyotes yapped somewhere far.

Dream stilled as they stepped into a wide clearing, scanning it for dangers and markers of safety.

He nodded to himself in approval—a cluster of wolfsbane flowers were beneath one of the trees, and there was a small river several feet away from a large patch of dirt. 

“This is a perfect spot,” Dream whispered, setting his bag down on the dirt. “The wolfsbane is a perk.”

“Why? Planning to poison someone?” Icy was suspicious. She did not receive an answer.

Apricity stood by the small creek. Crouching and squinting at it, she frowned. “... I can’t tell if this is…,” she trailed off. “Just don’t drink the water until we can actually see.”

Icy leaned down and shoved her hands in the water to take a sip.

“Icy!” Apricity exclaimed. Icy’s eyes widened as she saw the water in her cupped palms she was about to drink.

Small black worms writhed, nosing her skin.

She yelped, shaking her hands out and stumbling back.

Apricity scrambled away, squealing. “You just flung them everywhere!”

“Be quiet,” Dream hissed. “Do you want every creature in this forsaken forest to know we’re here?”

Icy repeatedly wiped off her hands, triple checking for the things from the water. “What were those things?” She demanded. “Why—why did you even think to consider they’d be there?!”

Apricity raised her hands in a ‘calm down’ motion. “Shhh. Dream’s right. We really should be quiet…” Icy wiped her hands off one last time before hugging herself and shuddering.

Apricity began to gather some firewood, talking in hushed tones. “I need you to understand something, Icy. This forest is not normal, and it’s very confusing here.” 

Icy scowled, kicking the ground.  “Yeah. I understand that part.”

Apricity dumped a pile of sticks on the dirt. Dream knelt and began to arrange them. Their movements and roles felt rehearsed, not needing to be spoken.

“Okay, good,” Apricity began. “Another thing I need you to understand is that Dream and I have been here in the forest for what… three days? And I grew up by this forest. My best friend—” she stopped, shaking her head. Her hand reached up to Aubade's pendant that she now wore. “My best friend studied this place. You know probably next to nothing. Do you even know the name of this forest?”

Icy squinted. “Why would I know that?”

“Exactly,” Dream piped up. “So you need to start listening to us before you get everyone killed. No more touching whatever you please.”

“I didn’t—”

“You immediately tried to drink from the water right after Apricity explicitly said not to.”

Icy snapped her mouth shut, glaring.

Dream sat down beside the small fire they’d created, briefly scratching at his neck where a lingering bug bite was. Apricity sat beside him, setting her bag down and pulling out some rations she’d brought; they were almost out.

Icy sat on the opposite side of the fire, setting her own bag down and rummaging for something. She didn’t find what she was looking for and shoved the bag away, pouting. “...”

Apricity handed her a small bar. Icy took it, brows furrowing.

“Don’t give her food,” Dream huffed. Apricity gave him a look and he fell silent.

Once more, the conversation sat back and let nature's voice talk.

Frogs and crickets fought for the spotlight, an owl chimed, and an uncomfortably big bat swooped over their heads.

“Did that bat look like it had a tail to you?” Icy asked, staring up.

Apricity tilted her head back, observing the sky. Dream poked the fire, watching the flames claw for the sky.

“... I think we’ll be okay,” The former muttered, dropping her gaze back to the fire.

Icy didn’t seem so sure, squinting at the sky. She spotted a shooting star in a parting between the clouds, and felt a brief pang of longing.

“... I’m going to bed,” she declared, pulling her bedroll from her bag. She briefly wondered why Apricity and Dream hadn’t done so yet, and assumed that they just… hadn’t.

She laid down, using her bag as a pillow. Apricity watched her tiredly and offered a weak smile. “Goodnight, Icy.”

No one spoke for a while.

Once Icy was taken by sleep, Dream turned to Apricity with a rag and a canteen of water.

“... we should clean up your neck,” he muttered. “We don’t need it infected.”

Apricity hovered a hand over the small wound, wincing. “I don’t want to waste water… Finding clean sources around here is surprisingly difficult. Besides, it’s probably not even that bad.” 

Dream poured some onto the rag, twisting the cap back on and placing it safely into his bag before holding it to her neck. “Would you rather have an infected wound?”

Apricity hissed, jolting back—to which Dream grabbed her shoulder, holding her still. “Don’t move,” he snapped.

She fidgeted with her hands, biting her lip. “... wow,” she whispered. “I am such a wimp,” she laughed breathlessly, a hand instinctively moving to push him away before she caught herself. 

Dream scoffed in amusement, leaning back and grabbing a small roll of bandages. “Yeah. You are.”

He tore a strip of the bandage out, and wrapped it gently around her neck. Tying it off, he asked her, “is it too tight?”

She grinned. “You barely made it tight at all.” 

Dream leaned back, hands in his lap. “... you tie it, then,” he muttered.

Dream laid down on the ground, his head resting on his bag.

“Goodnight, Dream.” Apricity offered.

“... Night, Apricity.”

_______

I lurked on the outskirts of their slumbering place, watching.

They had chosen a poor spot—naiad claimed waters were something to never trespass. They were lucky the nearest engraving stone was not near or they would’ve been food for the fishies by now.

Creep—creeping along the edge, I ensured my talons never strayed into their area—they need not wake. It wasn’t safe for travel, and I did not trust the new one. Besides, their voices were too loud.

She smelled strange and she did weird things. The borzoi hounds report sickness and star-kissed figures. Rotborne, maybe? But that doesn’t quite fit…

Crouching beside the river, I gingerly sniffed the waters, wincing. Burrowworms were so…. icky. Naiads only kept them around because they scared away most from drinking from their bodies of water.

Effective. I did not want to drink from it, nor did anyone else.

I wonder what would’ve happened if the new one had drunk the water? Would the burrowworms nestle deep—would they ever leave? I find myself curious. Alas, she had seen them before consumption. Maybe that was for the best. What if the burrowworms took possession? That would be a scary sight indeed.

Féth Fíada said my curiosity may get me killed.

She said it’s what sentenced Dreamer to the graftvein. I wonder if he’ll make the cure in time. Or maybe The Forest will claim another puppet. I wonder if he’d last longer than the last ones did.

Probably not. They’d been wandering in circles all evening—they keep doing that and they’ll never get out.

It’s a curious thing to me—the solution was simple. Didn’t they know the best way to get out was to—

I froze, my thoughts disrupted as a fox's yip in the distance drew my attention. My friend was bored and wished to play.

…. The Forest’s guests could watch themselves, surely. I’d love a game of hide and seek right now.

Chapter Text

“My feet hurt.”

Dream sighed, and Apricity frowned as Icy said that for the fourth time. She opened her mouth, intending to tell Icy to stop complaining. 

“Icy, would you just—” 

“Quiet!” Dream snapped, silencing both of them. Icy and Apricity paused, listening intently, before they realized he had shushed them simply because he didn’t want to hear them bicker.

Apricity stayed quiet, walking behind Icy who was between her, and Dream who was leading. Dream also remained completely silent.

Icy didn’t follow the trend.

“You’re so irritable,” she yapped. “Always snapping and stuff. I think you could stand to be a little nicer.”

Apricity cringed. If Icy continued to poke the bear, she feared only two of them would make it out of The Backwoods.

Luckily—or maybe unluckily, Apricity spotted a distraction. To the side was a fox, crouched in the brush and watching them intently. It was a deep brown with black tipped ears.

“Hey—” she hissed, pushing past Icy to pull Dream to a stop. “Look.”

Dream went rigid, gripping the pommel of his sword.

“...”

Icy squinted, raising a hand to block out the mid-day sun that poked through the canopy. “Fox!” she exclaimed, lighting up. “Oh my gosh, it’s so cute! I love it.”

The fox didn’t move a muscle, peering out from the underbrush.

Icy took a step forward. Dream hissed sharply—“Stop, stop. That’s not a normal fox.” He reached out to yank her back, but she was already out of reach. 

Shoving her hand into her bag, Icy produced a small pouch. And from that pouch she picked out a small piece of jerky.

“You had food?” Apricity exclaimed before she could stop herself. Icy had just let Apricity give her their limited rations. Icy had fully pretended to not have food.

The girl crouched a little away from the still-watching fox, holding the jerky out with a wide grin.

“Don’t ignore me!” Apricity snapped, starting to go forward, but was stopped by Dream’s hand on her wrist. She whipped her head around to glare at him. He shook his head. “Shh,” he hushed. “Wait. Watch”

Apricity fixed her gaze back on the scene of Icy with the Foxling.

The fox had yet to move a muscle—but it also hadn’t run away. Icy was doing her best to coax it closer, softly tutting and waving the jerky just a little. “Just c’mere and let me pet you,” she mumbled, growing impatient.

The Foxling tilted its head slightly, blinking slowly. Icy inched closer, nearly falling off balance in her crouched position. Her arms shot out to stabilize herself.

The movement seemed to startle the Foxling. It stood, turned, and bolted.

Dream cursed, jumping into action with Apricity not far behind. Icy shouted, dropping the jerky—before chasing after them.

This was a familiar pattern. Apricity and Dream had it down to a ’T’.

Icy did not.

Apricity skidded to a stop as she heard Icy fall—tripping over a barely risen root.

“Icy come on,” Apricity turned on her heel, shooting several glances behind as she watched Dream continue his pursuit.

He wasn’t going to wait.

Icy stumbled to her feet, yelping as Apricity grabbed her wrist and pulled—she winced as Icy let out a cry of pain, trying to pull it back.

But they couldn’t wait—Dream certainly wasn’t.

Apricity practically dragged Icy behind her, repeatedly having to tell her to hurry up.

Dream was weaving between trees and bushes—right on the tail of the fox.

I was so close, I could practically taste it—the vermin's tail was tauntingly just out of reach. Reaching out, my fingers brushed against the black tipped fur. I’m so close—

My mind flashed with the written word of A.R.C.

If you followed a fox, you were never going to catch it.

‘Prime, I hate this place.’

“Then why do you keep returning?”

That last sentence in his head wasn’t his own. Or… was it many voices, all blending into one cynical whisper?

Apricity watched as the Foxling suddenly doubled back, skittering between Dream’s legs and tripping him.

“Dream!” she exclaimed, releasing Icy’s wrist and racing to reach Dream’s side. He was scrambling to his feet, unharmed. “Where is it?!” he snarled, whipping his head around as he searched.

Icy cradled her wrist, standing the twenty feet or so back where Apricity had let her go. She stared down at it, unsure of what to do and how to fix it. 

“It’s gone,” Apricity sighed, glancing past Dream. “But thank God we followed it,” she breathed, striding past Dream.

They were back at the entrance of The Backwoods.

Dream inhaled sharply, practically on her heels as they walked out together, leaving Icy slowly trailing behind.

Apricity almost laughed as they stepped out, her shoulders dropping. “I really thought we’d die in there,” she whispered with a smile, stepping further away from the looming forest.

“Yeah, right,” Dream muttered, a grin in his voice. “Because the forest would let one of its precious insects die.”

“Stop it with the bugs!” she frowned, not noticing as Icy turned to slink along the edge of the forestline, away from Lianeath which stood proud in the distance.

But Dream noticed. 

He walked up quickly behind her. Icy saw him in her peripherals and bolted. Dream only had to sprint for two strides before he could grab the back of her shirt and drag her back. She shouted and struggled, but refrained from using either of her hands—one injured, the other cradling it.

Apricity waited for them to catch up, frowning. “Did I hurt your wrist, or did you hurt it when you fell?”

“I was fine until you broke my wrist!” Icy snapped, trying to throw her weight around—Dream was barely affected.

“I will drag you kicking and screaming,” Dream assured, unfazed as Icy tried to bite him. He just used one hand to push her head back, the other keeping a firm grip on her shirt.

“I didn’t break anything,” Apricity argued, walking beside Dream and Icy—keeping a good three feet between her and them. “... you’d be in a lot more pain if it was broken. I think I just popped it out of its socket. Or sprained it.”

“It can do that?!” Icy gasped, looking mortified. Apricity frowned confusedly, going to respond—but Icy had already moved on. Finally giving up on biting Dream, she began to stubbornly dig her heels in. Icy shook her head, shouting. “Let me go!”

“No,” Dream replied calmly. “I need your abilities.”

“For what?” She demanded, scowling as she nearly tripped forward for the fifth time.

“I’m not telling you,” he muttered, scowling behind the mask. “Stop struggling.”

“You stop pulling me and maybe I will!” she argued, promptly throwing herself to the ground, refusing to move.

Dream let her go and stepped back with a heavy sigh. Just as he was about to pick her up, Apricity held a hand to his chest, making him pause.

“Dream, you’re going about this all wrong… Let me try.”

Dream scoffed. “Icy Sublimina cannot be reasoned with. But, by all means…” He gestured for Apricity to have a go. Icy was sitting on the ground, glaring up at them as she held her wrist to her chest.

Apricity sighed, and crouched. “I’m sorry I hurt your wrist,” she murmured, holding a hand out. “Can I see it?”

Icy, having thought she would be threatening her, blinked dumbly. “... but you broke it,” she muttered, as if she were speaking her current thought process aloud.

Apricity furrowed her brows. “I didn’t mean to. And now I want to fix it. Please, let me see?”

“...”

There was a long period of silence before Icy tentatively held her arm out, staring intensely as Apricity gently felt for anything broken.

“... Do you even know what you’re doing?” Icy mumbled, hissing as her wrist throbbed.

“Yes, actually,” Apricity gently gave her her wrist back, standing. She offered her a hand. “My mother was a nurse in my village. She taught me a couple things. I think your wrist is just sprained—don’t use it for a couple days and you’ll be fine.”

Icy mumbled something under her breath, taking Apricity’s extended hand with her uninjured one.

Dream was still standing to the side, arms crossed expectantly. His foot idly tapped the grass.

Apricity briefly glanced at him before looking back at Icy. “Look, Icy. I know you don’t trust us, but… we need you.”

“Need is a strong word,” Dream muttered quietly. Apricity ignored him, keeping her gaze soft and locked with Icy’s.

“You totally need me.” She spat at Dream, then swallowed, sparing Apricity a glance. “...Why?” She wasn’t trying to run away anymore, but she definitely wasn’t convinced to go with them yet. 

Apricity hesitated, wondering how much to tell her. Would she think they were crazy? Would she just not care enough to help? “We have to catch a pixie and extract its venom,” she finally stated.

Icy snorted, giving her a disbelieving look. “You’re a bad liar. Tell me why you actually need me.”

Apricity sighed, glancing to Dream. She could tell he was thinking hard, his shoulders tense. Would he reveal his ailment?

Icy gasped as Dream yanked his sleeve up to his elbow—revealing the green flesh, but not the bites. Not where it was the worst. 

“Oh—ewwwwww,” she stepped away, covering her mouth. “What in Orion’s name is WRONG with your arm?” 

The bites had progressed. Dark, deep greens melted into brassy yellows. There were still patches on his arm where natural skin peeked through—stark and pale against the almost healthy looking parts. The darkest parts had taken on an almost plantlike texture. Slightly fuzzy.

“This,” Dream started, voice low. “is what I need that venom for.”

“I think I might throw up!” Icy exclaimed. “Is this what nausea feels like?”

Apricity frowned. “You don’t know what nausea feels like—?”

“Are you going to help or not?” Dream cut her off, holding his arm closer to her, almost threatening. Icy backed up like it might be contagious. “... why should I help you?”

Dream was quick with his reply. “We saved your life in the forest. And you tried to kill me. And you injured Apricity in the process. So I think this is a fair trade.”

“When did you save my life?”

“Trust me,” Dream muttered. “If Apricity and I hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t be here.”

Icy crossed her arms defiantly, glancing to Apricity. “He’s right,” Apricity agreed. “You only got a glimpse of The Backwoods. Without us, you’d probably still be in there. Maybe even half eaten.”

Icy bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the ground. “...”

“Please?” Apricity tried.

Icy wasn’t budging.

“Maybe I’ll give you the wayfinder back if you help.” Dream was holding the trinket in the air, the lilt of a smirk in his voice.

Icy gasped, immediately reaching for it—with her sprained hand. She yelped and jerked it back, gingerly clutching it.

“Dream, we shouldn’t—” 

“Fine!” Icy huffed, a scowl deep set on her face. “Fine. I’ll help.”

Dream tilted his head, as if saying ‘see? That worked like a charm’, before tucking the wayfinder into his bag and turning to walk towards Lianeath. Apricity walked beside him, and Icy followed a good ten feet behind them, pouting.

“... Really, Dream? Using the wayfinder?” Apricity kept her voice low so Icy couldn’t hear. Dream only shrugged. “Don’t get worked up about it, Bug. It was the only way to make her cooperate.” Apricity fidgeted with the ring on her finger, subconsciously picking up her pace as they got steadily closer to Lianeath. She decided to ignore the bug thing for now.

“There’s always better ways of getting help than holding something over someone else's head,” she muttered. Dream didn’t answer, letting their party of three approach the town in silence.

Soon, the noises and scents of Lianeath greeted their ears. Horses clopping, people talking. Kids shrieking as they played with a dog, a woman yelling at them as they trampled her garden. Fresh baked bread, the heavy smell of flowers…

Apricity could’ve cried with relief. “I’m so glad we’re back,” she whispered to Dream. “I’m going to sleep so good tonight.”

Dream didn’t get a chance to reply as Apricity shouted—“Achilles!”

She crouched down, arms open for the young blonde boy hurtling their way. He ran straight into her chest, knocking her onto her backside.

“April,” he cried, his bright blue eyes wide. “I missed you!”

She laughed, her shoulders relaxing. “I missed you too, buddy.”

Dream stood behind them awkwardly, unsure what to do. This was assumedly Apricity’s younger brother. She hadn’t mentioned him to Dream. Why did that bother him?

Icy also looked wary, her hand on the pommel of her blue sword and her eyes scanning the staring townspeople—they were only on the outskirts of town, but there was already a small crowd. Whispering—pointing—gossiping.

After all, the mayor's daughter had been missing for three days now. And it’s not like she came back in pristine condition, either. She was still covered in bites and sting marks, her neck had a bandage around it, and she wasn’t exactly clean.

Achilles had bright blue eyes and a freckled face that mirrored Apricity’s. He looked up from the girl to Dream, his eyes widening.

“I like your mask!” he blurted. “I have a mask too! But mine’s a fox.”

Dream tilted his head slightly, uninterested. He wanted to go find this person Apricity was going to take him to about the snake venom. He wanted to sleep in a real bed. He wanted to go check on Spirit—he ought to make sure that strange stablehand—Lance—hadn’t done anything weird to his horse.

“Okay,” he replied simply. Achilles frowned, and so did Apricity.

“Don’t mind him, bud. Dream and I are both very tired from our…” she paused, staring down at Achilles. “... uh, quest.”

“Quest!” Achilles wore a big grin, falling into step as they continued further into town. “You have to tell me all about it.” Apricity smiled and ruffled his hair, hugging him to her side as she guided him around a passing carriage. “Maybe later. I have to get Miss Icy settled into a room at the tavern before I can come home tonight.”

“Icy?” Achilles didn’t linger on the newcomer for too long, perking up as he remembered something. “Oh—oh! Dad is gonna be sooooo mad!”

Apricity cringed. “Yeah? Was he worried?” 

Achilles nodded furiously, his eyes wide. “Yeah! He was this close to sending search parties into The Backwoods to look for you.” “Sheesh,” Apricity muttered, eyes trained on Dream’s back as they followed him towards the tavern. “Do you think I’ll be grounded?” She said the word in a low tone, obviously joking. 

Achilles nodded seriously. “Uh—YEAH, you’ll be grounded.” Apricity snickered, playfully pushing his head forward, to which he swatted at her hands. “Well, he’ll have to lock this girl in a tower if he wants her to stay put. I have a couple more things to do before I can spend time pretending to be grounded.”

She could hear Dream snicker under his breath. Achilles gasped, grabbing her sleeve and yanking hard. “YOU’RE DISOBEYING?!” he exclaimed loudly. Apricity grinned, shooting him a wink. “Shh, don’t tell Dad.”

Achilles’ eyes stayed expressive and wide on hers, softly nodding.

Dream pushed the door of the tavern open, making a break for Klaus who was standing at the counter, giving a patron a glass of something amber. His eyes widened when he saw them. “Dream! Apricity! You guys are back?” he grinned, sliding behind the counter and picking up a notepad. “Lemme guess. You’re hungry?”

“Yes, please,” Apricity sat down at the bar, next to Achilles. “I’m starving and haven’t had a meal that’s actually good in three days.”

Icy tentatively sat beside Dream at the very end—decidely not next to Achilles… she couldn’t quite put her finger on who he reminded her of. Loud… rowdy…. Unpredictably good…

“What would you… four like?” Klaus pressed his pencil to the notepad with a friendly smile.

“I’ll take the steak bites and gravy,” Apricity stated. “Please.” She turned to Achilles, who was already ordering for himself. “I want—I WANT the steak bites and gravy.” he paused, meeting Apricity’s gaze. “Please.” He tagged on, grinning boyishly.

Apricity smiled, patting his head affectionately. She looked at Icy, who blurted—”Same, thanks.”

Dream leaned his forearms on the counter, staring up at the menu. “Can I have the eggs and bacon scramble delivered to my room?”

Klaus’ smile fell, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah… about your room, Dream.”

Dream stiffened, sitting up straight as he realized he had only paid for two nights in advance.

“I already have another patron staying in it, and all the other rooms are full.”

“You’re joking.” Dream’s voice was flat—it was blatant. It wasn't a joke. 

“You can stay at my place,” Apricity offered immediately. “My father won’t mind. Err…” She trailed off thoughtfully, taking a sip of water from the glass Klaus had given her. “Well, he might interrogate you, since I did disappear with you for several days…. But he won’t kick you out.” She wrinkled her nose. “Unless you do something weird.”

Dream sighed tiredly. “Define weird.”

Icy took a greedy sip of her own glass of water. “Like wearing a mask everywhere you go?” she suggested. 

“No, that won’t bother him after he asks you about it,” Apricity leaned back, handing Achilles a napkin as the boy spilled water all over himself. “Just… use your best judgement, and you’ll be fine. Let’s get some rest tonight and then we’ll tackle getting the venom extraction stuff tomorrow…” 

Chapter Text

“This is your place?”

Dream eyed Apricity’s home with a critical eye. It was a nice place, he had to admit. Two stories with a big front porch and a much bigger yard. Their place was settled atop a hill that overlooked the town one way, and a large field with cattle and sheep—and The Backwoods—the other way.

“Yeah. Nice, isn’t it?” Apricity smiled, nearly tripping as Achilles fell over his own two feet, into the back of her legs.

“Agh—” he exclaimed, quickly recovering to loudly declare. “Yeahhh, we have the bestest house because Dad’s the biggest man!” 

Dream frowned beneath the mask. A general dislike that he couldn’t explain festered. “Leal Pura, no? He's the mayor?”

Apricity nodded, watching Achilles run ahead and shout about her coming home. “Yes. My father is the mayor, and my mother used to be the village nurse.”

“Used to be?” Dream tilted his head, frowning quietly.

He didn’t care about his own parents. He never knew his father and Puffy had adopted him when he was very young. He’d left home early, though—when he was about fifteen, he ditched her. He didn’t need her. But he’d rather Apricity have both her parents—if she even wanted them, that is.

“Oh, yeah—my mother retired from that job and became a florist at Delilah Darling. You’ve been there, haven't you?”

“Yeah,” Dream’s voice was tinted with disdain. “That’s where I met Ivy.”

“Who’s—” Icy started to pipe up, but a loud rumbling voice cut her off.

“April!”

A man a little taller than Dream—so, at least 6’0”—was stood on the porch. He wore a green plaid shirt with brown trousers. His hair was short with a buzz cut, and he looked to be in his late forties.

Apricity broke into a jog, and threw her arms around her father—grinning happily. “Hi, Dad! Miss me?”

“Where have you been?!” He exclaimed, pushing her back so he could scan her from head to toe. He took in the bug bites, the bandaged neck, the still healing-but-mostly-healed gash on her forehead, how dirty she was… ”What happened to your neck?”

Apricity fidgeted with her ring, her smile turning nervous. “Can I catch you up later? All that matters is that I’m safe and sound, right?”

“You’re not sound,” he stated, hands still on her shoulders. “You’ve been hurt and you’re filthy! And grounded!” 

Apricity heaved a sigh, rubbing her temples. “Yes, Father.” She didn’t wait a single beat before continuing. “Do you want to meet my new friends?”

Leal’s eyes darted from her to Dream and Icy—gaze narrowing suspiciously, he pushed Apricity towards the door. “... Yes, yes… Everyone come inside. We’ll discuss after you’re all cleaned up.”

Icy followed close on Dream’s heels as he stepped up the porch. He paused very briefly to hold the door open for Icy—fully aware of Leal’s eyes on him. He tilted his head in greeting, to which Leal returned with a heavy frown.

A woman with long blonde hair in pleats was rushing down the hallway, Achilles on her heel.

“Apricity!” she cried, throwing her arms around her. “My Dear, are you okay?”

Apricity hugged her back, smiling. “I’m okay, Mom. Relatively unharmed. Just exhausted and filthy." She mimicked her father’s earlier description of her.

Apricity’s mother pulled back and frowned, pulling her back down the hall with  stern tone. “Let’s get you washed up and in bed. We’ve been so worried—where did you go…?”

Their voices grew hard to understand as they went into another room, leaving Achilles, Leal, Icy, and Dream in the foyer.

Leal turned to Dream, squinting suspiciously. “Who are you?” Achilles jumped in before Dream could say anything. “Uhh—this is Mr. Dream, Dad! He’s—” Achilles fidgeted, his voice going up several notches. “Really cool and super awesome! Don’t you like his mask?”

That was odd. Why on earth was this kid trying to make Dream look good to Leal? He had no reason, other than ‘do your best to make it look like your older sister was spending her time with good people’.

He could play into that.

Dream extended his hand, putting on a smooth yet weary voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pura. This is Icy Sublimina.” Dream gestured to Icy who looked rather offended he had introduced her.

Leal shook Dream’s hand, making a soft sound at Dream’s firm grip. He nodded and let go, shifting his gaze to Icy. Icy did not extend her hand, too busy trying to get the tabby cat on the counter to come closer so she could pet it.

“Icy,” Dream got her attention, gesturing to Leal in a silent ‘do what you know you’re supposed to do.’

The problem was she had no idea.

Dream had to hold back an agitated sigh as she stared dumbly.

“I’m sorry, Sir. She comes from a place with very, very odd manners. I would know; I’m from there too.”

Leal led them to the large kitchen table, sitting beside Achilles on the opposite side from Dream and Icy. “Where are you from?” Leal’s gaze flicked from Icy to Dream, lingering on Dream’s mask and Icy’s silvery white hair.

“A far away place called The Greater SMP,” he said smoothly. How self absorbed would it sound if he told him it was actually called the DreamSMP?  He had to kick Icy’s ankle beneath the table to get her to shut up and not correct him. He was pleasantly surprised when she only shot him a not at all subtle, withering glare.

“Hmm… I have not heard of this place.” He hummed, glancing at Achilles. “Why don’t you ask our guests if they’d like anything to eat or drink?”

Achilles frowned, asking, “but we just went to the tavern and got stuff there.” He paused. “Except Dream. Mr. Dream, do you want anything to eat or drink?”

"No, we’re fine." Dream answered for both of them.

Icy looked completely offended. “What, I want something to drink—”

“No, thank you,” Dream nodded to Achilles as the boy passed him to the kitchen anyways.

Leal quirked a brow, sighing exasperatedly. “What would you like to drink, Miss Sublimina?”

Icy blinked, uncomfortable and taken off guard with the proper title. “Uh—actually nevermind, sorry….”

He frowned, a little confused, before turning back to Dream. “So, where were you with my daughter?”

Dream straightened up in his chair, suddenly feeling like he was in a test that he wasn’t prepared for. He had yet to come up with a convincing lie, and he needed to coordinate stories with Apricity. After all, he couldn’t exactly go around telling people ‘Hey, me and my good friend April went into The Backwoods to find a cure for my arm that’s turning green’. 

That’d go over so well.

“We—”

Apricity’s mother walked back down the hall, declaring, “April is taking a bath and then going to bed right after, so no one disturb her, Achilles.”  She glanced at the boy pointedly.

Achilles let out an offended sound as he set his glass of water down on the island counter. “Momma, I—” 

“Do not argue with your mother, Achilles.” Leal interrupted, giving the boy a stern look. “And it’s past your bedtime, anyways.”

“What? No it’s not—”

“Go to bed, Son.”

Achilles sulked, slinking past the table and down the hallway—not before pausing to stick his tongue out at the back of his dad’s head. Only Dream saw. He rolled his eyes, thankful that no one could see the action behind his mask.

The blonde woman flounced up to Dream, a jittery smile on her face. Like she’d had a lot of caffeine.

“Hello! My name is Athena,” she declared with a grin. “You don’t have to address me as Mrs. Pura or anything. It makes me feel really old.” She held her hand out expectantly. “Your mask is very… unique. I like it?” she stated unconvincingly. This woman was a terrible liar.

Dream shook her hand, and he swore she might’ve been considering ripping his arm out of its socket with how enthusiastic she was.

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dream recited, glancing back at Icy, hoping she would copy what he’d done.

Icy made a face as Athena approached her, shaking her head and bringing her hands to her chest defensively. “I don’t do whatever that was,” she stated, earning herself a glare and two puzzled looks.

“I’m sorry about her,” Dream started, only to have Athena grin and cut him off. “NO problem!” she said, throwing her arms around Icy in a hug instead.

Icy quickly reacted and Dream panicked, kicking her shin again hard as she reached for her sword. Icy managed to hold it together until Athena released her, completely oblivious.

“Handshakes are boring anyways. What are your names?”

Dream had a feeling this would be a long, long night.

“I’M Icy,” she spoke up, giving Dream a look that said ‘ha, I beat you to it. Deal with it, Loser.’

She was so childish.

“My name is Dream Was-Taken,” Dream said calmly. Icy looked baffled—and Dream was reminded that she probably thought he didn’t have a last name.

“Dream Was-Taken,” Athena echoed. “What interesting names you both have! Do you always wear a mask?”

At this point, Leal was just sitting back and letting his wife do all the interrogating—errr—talking. Polite, civilized conversation.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Dream nodded his head. “I wear it for personal reasons.” 

Athena nodded, suddenly serious. “Yes, yes. Of course, I understand.”

Icy leaned back on her chair to try and pet the tabby that was meandering close to her. She nearly fell off, straightening up with a startled squeak.

Dream stood, carefully scooting his chair back into the table before urging Icy to stand up.

“I would love to sit and chat,” he began, letting genuine weariness play in his voice. He didn’t even have to act for that. “But we’ve had a very exhausting past couple days. Apricity said you would have room for us?”

Athena was nodding, already turning to gather some blankets and pillows. “Yes, we do! Leal, would you please stoke the fire so our dear guests don’t freeze tonight?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, staring intensely at Dream’s mask.

“Lovely! Now, we have one guestroom and we have the couch in the living room. Who would like which?”

Dream knew which one he wanted. Which one he thought he deserved. Alas, he had an image to uphold. “I’ll take the couch.” Icy gave him the weirdest look, wrinkling her nose and taking a breath to say something—but stopped when Dream subtly shook his head.

She was being oddly complacent. Maybe it was all the new faces and confusing things that were taking place. People back in the SMP didn’t really… greet you with handshakes or address you with a proper title. Nor did they usually just let you in their house with little-to-no explanation.

Athena smiled in approval, at Dream’s decision, sauntering around the living room and throwing a sheet over the couch cushions.

Dream purposefully dragged his feet just enough as he meandered over, checking out the set up. Athena had put several blankets and a ridiculous amount of pillows (almost all entirely decorative throw pillows. There were maybe two real pillows) They were arranged in such a way that made it so he would be laying on more pillow than couch. 

“Thank you for being so hospitable,” he said as he removed 90% of the pillows and put them on the other couch. “We really appreciate it.”

Athena grinned brightly, skittering back to the kitchen table and grabbing Icy’s wrist. “Of course! We’re so happy to help. Come on Icy, I think you’ll love the guest room, it has its own attached porch and everything—”

Athena dragged Icy down the hall, leaving just Leal, who was getting up to stoke the fire, and Dream, who was setting his satchel on the floor beside the couch.

Dream ignored Leal as he gingerly opened the flap just enough to double check his most important belongings. The Wayfinder and the jar of somnia wisteria petals. Both safe and sound, both well within his reach at all times.

He sat back against the couch with a satisfied, exhausted huff. Leal glanced up from where he poked the fire with a metal rod.

“... I’ll let you get your rest,” Leal muttered as he straightened and put the rod down. “But I want the full story from start to finish tomorrow morning. Good?”

Dream hated being told what to do.

“Yessir.”

Chapter Text

The moon was so, so bright. Complete and whole, unlike its many admirers. It was nearly at its peak in the sky. Icy was just waiting for the inevitable at this point—eager to get it over with.

Icy sat on the porch, staring at the stars. If she could, she’d spend the time to name every one. Every constellation that was built by beings of ancient light.

The moonlight felt peaceful on her skin, and she tilted her head back to catch it all. Cool and comforting. Icy could only describe it as wistfully distant.

“Mm, mmm, mm…” she hummed a gentle lullaby, eyes closing. The melody was one engraved in her mind, something only ones that had kissed the stars would know. “Ye stars shine bright, bestow the light…” she sighed, resting an arm over her eyes, voice growing quieter. “Of an awestruck soldier, gone from thy sight,” her voice cracked on the last, low, lingering note.

She sat up, leaning against the closed door of the guest room. She rubbed her stinging eyes with the heels of her palms. That melody always made her homesick, and she felt it slipping from memory a little more every day. Maybe she should write it down so she could never forget that part of her.

She held her hand up, admiring the subtle, glittery sheen it held. “What am I doing here…?” 

Icy’s voice was small and bitter. She’d never get an answer back—no matter if she screamed till her throat was raw, cried until she couldn’t muster another tear. The sky refused to speak with a mere mortal.

Was she mortal yet? She didn’t know. She certainly bled like one now.

The moon crept just a little further, finally reaching its climax.

Icy braced, holding her head between her knees. It started at the back of her head. A slow pounding that shifted to a stone cold ache. It sunk deeper into her body, going lower and lower until it touched her toes.

Icy whimpered. Every time it happened, she didn’t think she could ever feel colder than in that moment.

Soon, the cold went from a numb ache to unbearable tingling—like pins and needles trying to dig into her very soul.

She cried out, holding a trembling hand to her mouth to muffle it. Her body was glowing and blurring—and if she’d open her eyes, she’d see the starry figures standing over her, waving their hands and speaking with unheard voices and unseen mouths.

Phasing between then, there, now and here. Where did reality end, and did it ever start? What are you if not a damaged ship in a stormy sea, slowly sinking, doomed to learn to swim the currents of her inhabitants below.

She could feel the floor below her.

Actually, she could feel the air underneath the floor.

She scrambled to stand, having forgotten a significant part of this.

“I don’t want to fall, I don’t want to fall, I don’t—” her voice was frantic as she stumbled forward to support herself on the railings of the porch. Her hands went right through, followed by her body. She barely managed to swallow back a scream as the ground rushed towards her.

Black.

…

Pain and confusion.

Icy groaned as she slowly sat up, her body still warping in on itself, going in and out of a solid state. Everything hurt and she could barely hear the voice over the ringing in her ears.

“—cy, are you okay?! What’s happening?”

Icy didn’t know who was talking to her, the voice was way too loud and too close.

She jerked back, blindly groping for her sword which was still a story above her.

“No!” she cried, opening her eyes. She couldn’t make out anything past the crowding figures bathed in dizzying white. She shut them again and scrambled to get away from the hands on her shoulders. It was easier to think when she couldn’t see them.

“Hey, it’s okay…” the voice sounded worried and confused. It took Icy off guard. She stopped moving when her back hit a rough wall, and she had to lurch forward to not fall through it. She crumpled to the ground, clutching her head.

Her breathing was heavy and the ringing was still loud, but starting to calm. Every movement sent a wave of cold needles through her body, so she tried to stay as still as possible. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

“I’m not touching,” the voice promised. Feminine. “Just breathe.”

And Icy did. She breathed, trying to calm her racing thoughts and beating heart.  “I’m always calm,” she hissed breathlessly, still refusing to open her eyes.

“Okay,” the voice replied simply. Icy could hear the rustling of clothes and crunching of grass as she presumably sat in front of her. “... You’re alright, Icy.” She spoke soothingly. “No one's going to get to you while you’re here, all…” it paused, confused. “fuzzy? What’s happening?”

“NOTHING’S… happening.” Icy wanted to scream and rip her hair out. She wanted to be anywhere but in her own body. “I’m fine…” 

Her voice broke and she sniffled. The sharp feeling of needles was starting to ebb a little. She slowly peeled her eyes open, hissing through her teeth when she saw that the figures were sitting in a wide half circle behind… Athena, who was sitting, legs crossed in front of Icy. But they were calm. Not waving their hands, getting in Icy’s face and confusing her further. Unusual. The star-kissed figures always seemed to be trying to confuse Icy by obscuring her vision.

“I’m okay,” Icy stated, eyes wide and unfocused. Athena was in her nightgown, her expression nothing but sheer concern as she sat on the grass with Icy. 

Icy had fallen off the balcony and into the Pura’s backyard, right outside Athena and Leal’s bedroom. Athena must have seen Icy’s blurry, glowing figure fall and came outside to see what was happening.

“Are you the only one who saw me?” Icy asked. Athena nodded, biting her lip. She looked like she wanted to reach out and physically comfort Icy, but was refraining. 

“Yeah. Achilles and April are sleeping and Leal had to go into town for…” Athena hesitated, looking upset before shaking her head. “For uh—an emergency. He might not be back until later tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Icy closed her eyes as she saw one of the figures reach out to touch the back of Athena’s head. She knew they couldn’t actually touch her, but…

“A—” Icy began.

Athena shushed Icy before she could say anything else. “It’s okay, My Dear. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Icy furrowed her brows, opening her eyes. One of the phantoms was trying to do something to Athena’s hair, but Icy wasn't sure what. “Uh… anything warm.”

Icy didn’t want to confess that she’d never had tea before.

Athena stood with a smile, offering Icy a hand. Icy didn’t take it, shaking her head. She didn’t want to take her hand, only to phase through her and fall back down. She got to her feet on her own. “I can’t,” she whispered. Athena frowned quizzically. “You can’t?” Icy shook her head, and Athena didn’t press further.

Icy breathed in shakily. It still hurt to move, but it had lessened to a tolerable ache. She watched the starry figures crowd outside the window as she followed Athena inside. There had to be at least ten or fifteen of them, all climbing over one another to get a good look—all without a single sound or disturbance in the natural.

“If you don’t want tea, we have hot chocolate as well!”

Icy wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t feel cold unless this was happening. Now that it was, she wanted to feel warm. “Hot…” she echoed absently. 

“Hot cocoa it is, then!” Athena chirped happily, getting out two mugs and setting them on the counter. “Why don’t you have a seat and—” she froze, realizing she was talking at full volume while Dream was sleeping in the living room just a few feet away. “Sorry,” she stage whispered. He didn’t respond.

Icy blinked, not understanding why Athena was apologizing. “It’s fine,” she said, staring out the window.

Athena gave her a weird look but shrugged it off, hurriedly preparing their drinks. “I’ll just make this and then we can hang out outside with some blankets.”

Hang out? They were hanging out right now? Icy was glowing, having a crisis, and blurring between the lines of earth and the ether and she wanted to hang out?

“Okay.”

Once their drinks were made, Icy followed Athena to the front door, casting a weary, fleeting glance back at the couch Dream was on.

His masked face was peering over the chair arm, his eyes no doubt staring at her blurry figure. She flinched, and jolted forward—tripping over her own two feet and falling towards the door. Just as her face was about to connect with the harsh wood, her body fazed and she went right through.

Athen yelped in alarm, setting the mugs down and yanking the front door open. “My goodness, child! Are you alright?”

Icy sat up, dazed. She’d completely forgotten what had made her stumble in the first place, and when she looked back, Dream was laying back down. 

“I’m okay,” she muttered absently, crossing her legs on the uncomfortable cobblestone path. Athena frowned, setting one of the mugs down beside Icy, and then fetching two blankets.

“Here, Child. Can I wrap this around you?” Icy didn’t answer, reaching for the mug—her fingers grasped it for a moment, but she got it barely an inch off the ground before her fingers closed around nothing. The glass mug fell back down with a clank. Icy cringed, her eyes darting back to Athena.

“No, no. I can’t touch anything.” she tried to explain.

Athena wrapped the blanket around herself as she sat beside Icy on the cold floor, taking a sip of her drink. “That’s okay,” she murmured, looking up at the stars. Icy fidgeted, confused herself—Athena wasn’t freaking out nearly as much as she thought she might.

“...”

“Why… are you treating me like I’m normal?” Icy couldn’t help but ask; the silence was too much. Especially when the starry figures started making their way from around the back, lining up along the pathway that led to town. As if they were about to welcome someone home.

Athena breathed deeply, her eyes slowly closing peacefully. “I’ve seen stranger children than yourself,” she replied, voice low. “but not one quite like you.”

“I’m not a child.” Icy felt the need to defend herself—because she wasn’t. She was what these people considered an adult to be. She looked up and wondered what it would’ve been like to live a trillion years.

Athena hummed. “Maybe not in body.” Icy blinked, her mind too foggy to try and decipher the meaning behind her words. “And besides, even adults need a mother sometimes.” Athena opened her eyes, turning to meet Icy’s gaze. Icy’s eyes were wide and frantic, darting this way and that—Athena knew she was seeing much more than what the natural revealed.

“I’m… not a child,” she repeated, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Then what are you?”

“I’m a soldier,” she whispered. “A fighter for the stars, condemned to live in a place I was meant to protect.”

Athena didn’t interrupt—her gaze patient and caring.

“And I… I want to go home.” she finally finished after a long moment. “I don’t want to see them anymore.”

“See who?” Athena gently prompted, reaching a hand out—it rested on Icy’s shoulder for only a second before falling through. Athena immediately pulled it back, startled. “Sorry…”

Icy hardly noticed. “See them. The… ones that fell. Not like me, but fell in battle.”

Athena furrowed her brows, taking a breath to inquire further—but a small boy interrupted. 

”Mom?”

Achilles stood at the front door, a large hood of a far too big cloak pulled over his head. “Why does miss Icy look weird?”

“Achilles,” Athena muttered scoldingly, getting up to usher the boy back to bed. “Don’t say things like that. Miss Icy is just… going through something. Why on earth are you awake?”

“I had a nightmare,” the young boy confessed, to which Athena softened, scooping the boy into a hug.

Icy felt a brief pang of longing. Did she ever have a mother?

“The same one?” Athena asked, gently brushing the hair from Achilles slightly red and puffy eyes. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “About the forest dying. And… the tunnels under it releasing monsters.” 

Athena cooed sympathetically, gently leading the boy back inside. She paused briefly to address Icy.

“I’m sorry, Icy. I’ll probably stay with him for a while. Will you be okay by yourself?”

Icy nodded uncomfortably. “Yeah. Thanks.” She wasn’t going to be alone.

Athena smiled, murmuring. “If you need me for anything at all, please come find me. Goodnight.”

The door shut behind them with a click. Had it been any other night, she could’ve helped the young boy; it would be easy to cry after this.

Icy turned back to face the path—she was met with the sight of the starry figures all staring at her. Never alone. Not in that state.

That was a long night.

Chapter Text

“You warned me about your father, but not your mother,” were the first things to come out of Dream’s mouth when he saw Apricity the next day.

Apricity snorted, sipping from her cup of coffee and leaning back against the counter. It was early morning—the sun just barely peering over the horizon. They were the only two awake. And Dream had been awake for quite a while—he was clean as a whistle and he’d helped himself to their pantry. 

“I forgot,” she said with an unapologetic grin. “What, was she too much for you?”

Dream scoffed, rubbing his numb shoulder. If he didn’t think about it too hard, it was like it had always been that way. “No. But she was definitely a little much for our dear Icy.”

Apricity frowned over the rim of her mug. “Oh, yes. Icy. Hopefully mother didn’t do anything too… touchy?”

Dream grinned, tone lilting with amusement. “Oh, no. She only hugged her after Icy refused to shake her hand.”

“Oh my,” Apricity muttered, setting her cup down. “I’m sorry. I’ll have to talk to her about that... And—why is that such a bad thing?”

Dream stared up at the ceiling, silent for a moment. “Well, where we come from, things like hugs are… very rare. As well as any form of diplomacy without motive. So all these proper titles—Mister, Miss, Missus—and things like handshakes—are confusing to Icy. She doesn't understand them nor realize that they’re rather expected.”

Apricity furrowed her brows, humming softly. “But you do?”

‘I’ve been around a lot longer than she has.’ is what he wanted to say.

“Let’s just say we had slightly different upbringings.”

Athena appeared in the hallway, looking tired. She had bags under her eyes where there hadn’t been any yesterday. “Good morning,” she greeted with noticeably less energy than before.

Apricity furrowed her brows, asking. “Good morning. Did Achilles have nightmares again?”

The older woman nodded, reaching past Apricity for the coffee pot. “Yeah. They're getting worse, I fear…” she sighed, dumping several spoonfuls of sugar and milk into her mug with the coffee. “He said he kept dreaming about the ‘maze beneath the forest’. Curious, isn’t it?”

“Hm….that’s alarming.” Apricity uttered dryly, handing Athena a spoon before she could get her own. “Thank you, Dear,” she muttered, taking a sip of her coffee. 

Athena turned to Dream with an apologetic smile. “Oh, and I apologize for being so outrageously loud in the kitchen last night—I completely forgot we had a guest on our couch! I hope we didn’t disturb you too much?”

Dream tilted his head slightly.

Oh, he’d been disturbed—the sight of Icy blurry and phasing without control was never a comforting one.

“Not at all,” he stated. “I didn’t even wake up. I’m a hard sleeper.”

A suspicious frown flickered across Apricity’s face, but Athena was already talking again. “Oh, well that’s good! I was just getting Icy and I a couple mugs of nice, warm drinks. She’s a lovely girl, you know.”

Apricity’s suspicious frown came back with a vengeance. Dream had to resist the urge to snicker. “I’m glad you think so,” he said.

Apricity shook her head slightly, giving Dream a look that said ‘I’m going to pester you about what happened last night because I KNOW you did not sleep through my mother talking’, and then Apricity changed the subject.

“Where’s Dad?”

Athena’s smile faltered, and she looked much more stressed from the question. “There were some complications last night, and your father was needed in town. I suspect he won’t be home until later today.”

Dream’s shoulders relaxed minutely—he had not been looking forward to spinning a story of lies to that man. He also needed Apricity and him to be on the same page before either of them said anything.

“What happened?” Apricity asked, concerned. Athena opened her mouth, but hesitated with a glance down the hallway, where Achilles' room was. She lowered her voice and leaned in.

“There was a murder.”

Apricity nearly choked on her coffee, and Dream leaned back, silently intrigued. “What?” Apricity hissed, eyes wide. “What do you mean there was a murder? Who died?”

Athena shook her head slightly, biting her lip. “I don’t know. The messenger was sent to get Leal as soon as they discovered the body, and they hadn’t identified the body yet.”

Apricity was quiet for a moment, staring at her mother. “... Well… do we know where it happened?”

Athena nodded solemnly. “Yeah. It was by the little library.”

The place where the journal had been? The shack is what it should’ve been referred to as.

Dream nodded along as they discussed the matter, his gaze drawn to the window… outside, he could see the body of Icy laying flat on her back in the grass. She must’ve slept outside. 

“Icy slept outside,” he said dryly, watching as Athena perked up in alarm.

“Oh, dear—” she exclaimed, setting her mug down and stepping outside to talk to Icy.

Apricity blinked, slightly startled from her mother’s sudden departure. She then turned to Dream as they were left alone.

“What actually happened last night?”

He shrugged, voice subdued. He was still exhausted—had been, ever since the bites had started progressing. He wasn’t sure he’d had a single night of good sleep since he got them. “You know that Icy’s not human,” he began, not pausing to let her speak. “And sometimes, she goes a little haywire. Nothing to be worried about.”

Apricity scoffed. “I don’t know. That’s a little worrying. My experience with inhuman humans hasn’t been very good.” Dream waved her concerns away, unbothered. “Well, don’t be worried about her. She’s harmless… and even if she did try anything, she wouldn’t get very far.”

Apricity lifted a hand to her neck that was tied with a fresh bandage. Her voice was low. “She got pretty close, Dream. I think our ideas of harmless are very different.”

Dream’s mask tilted down, and his tone matched hers. Dark and serious. “That won’t be happening again.”

Apricity narrowed her eyes, meeting the black dots that covered his. “How can you be certain?”

“Trust me, April. She’s not getting that close again.”

Apricity blinked, taken off guard by the nickname. She didn’t argue further, looking to the side as her little brother entered the room. She smiled fondly. “Hey, Buddy. I heard you had some bad dreams? I’m sorry…”

Achilles rubbed his bloodshot eyes, wandering over sulkily. “Yeah. They were scary. The forest is alive.” he leaned against Apricity, bumping his head into her side pitifully. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, gently brushing her fingers through his hair. “Well, you just gotta remind yourself when you wake up that none of it’s real.”

After she said that, Apricity and Dream looked at each other—knowing those words were simply a lie. Well, Dream knew, and Apricity always seemed to know more than she let on.

Achilles yawned and glanced up at Dream, giving him a strained smile. “How did you sleep, Mr. Dream?”

Dream frowned, unwilling to talk to him. “Fine,” he muttered, watching as the boy reached into a basket on the counter and pulled out an apple. He bit into it, his gaze darting outside. He brightened, abandoned the apple on the counter, and thundered outside to go see what Icy—who was now sitting up, and Athena, who looked like a very concerned mother—were doing.

Apricity sighed, setting her mug down and stretching. “We should get going,” she started. “I want to go into town to see about that snake venom stuff.” she paused. “And also I want to know what happened with that murder.”

Dream turned to pull on his boots that he’d left by the front door. And of course, he didn’t forget to strap on his sword to his hip nor sling his bag over his shoulders. 

“Let’s go.”

He and Apricity stepped outside, hesitating on the front porch. “Do we want to bring Icy?” Apricity wondered, staring over at the trio—Athena was talking intently to Icy, and Achilles was trying to get Athena’s attention to show her something in his hand.

“No,” Dream said without missing a beat. “She’ll be completely useless and out of it today. Let’s go without her.”

Apricity frowned, and followed him down the path. “How do you know that?” 

“Because I know everything,” he replied, tone completely serious and even. Apricity snorted and rolled her eyes. 

“Sure. I knew you were omniscient from the moment I met you.”

Dream huffed something that could potentially be considered a laugh. “At least some of us are observant, even if she just so happens to be a bug.” 

Apricity shook her head, a small grin on her face. “Still not into that bug thing. I’m curious, though. What is Icy?” 

Dream hummed thoughtfully, pushing open the gate of the fence that bordered the Pura’s property.

“I’m not sure of the technical term for her species,” Dream started. “But she came from the stars.”

“The stars?” Apricity echoed incredulously. 

“Yeah, is that hard to believe? If the things that walk The Backwoods are real, then something falling from the stars can be real.” 

Apricity wrinkled her nose, not quite believing him. “Yes, I suppose. It’s just… the stars? What does that even mean?” 

Dream only shrugged, walking one step ahead of her as the town came into view over the hill. “I don’t know what to tell you, Apricity. All I can relay is what I’ve observed.”

As they neared the village, it was noticeably different. Everyone was speaking in hushed tones, and people shot Dream suspicious looks. The air felt heavy with tension.

Dream didn’t look at Apricity. He was busy examining the looks that people were giving him—likely suspicious that the weird newcomer had something to do with the murder. “This murder isn’t going to affect us being able to get the venom stuff, will it?”

Apricity shrugged, fidgeting with the ring on her finger. “I don’t know. Lance is very… unpredictable.”

“Hold on,” Dream straightened as they stopped outside the stables. A tall, open building with about ten stalls in it. “You mean the stable hand is the guy we’re talking to?”

Apricity nodded, stepping into the stables. “Yeah. Why?”

Dream scowled, spotting the stable hand who was in the very back, bent over as he picked up a large bag of feed.

Dream didn’t have anything other than Lance was annoying to say—and he needed Lance’s help, so he was going to have to deal with it and play nice.

“Nothing. Lance is fine.”

Apricity gave him a look, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, she raised her voice to get the man’s attention. “Hey, Lance! How are you doing?”

The man looked up. And… he looked pissed. Not at them—but just in general. The expression felt out of place on the normally eccentric, enthusiastic man. And the words that came next—spat like there was something bitter on his tongue—were even more out of place.

“I want her dead.”

Chapter Text

The sound of crackling. Flashes of red against a darkened backdrop of forest. Ferns curled in on themselves, shying away from the sundrop set loose. Trees cracked, a cry of splintering wood their only voice—a plea, raising loud over the steady popping of crawling flame.

It looked real—felt real. You could feel the skin on your bare forearms begin to bubble and melt. Could smell the stench of burning flesh mold with the comforting scent of firewood. And the sight of flames creeping along, with only one thing on their mind—to devour—was unmistakable.

But… that was all an illusion, wasn’t it? A trick of the mind—a nightmare born of fear, never to come to pass.

A Dreamscape, truly, truly. Real only to those that perceive it to be.

Bushes lit like braziers, bugs forced to be fireflies for but a moment, trees like beacons—amongst it all, The Boy in The Fox Mask knew better than to believe such lies. Tricks of the mind. He sat peacefully, perched atop a stone in the center of a pond. Minnows and soaked through feathers reside in the water around him. His mask was a dark brown and dirty white.

The fire, try as it might, would never touch the boy. Not now. Not when he was so aware.

Dreamscape, yes—but no dream.

A swirling fog kissed the surface of the water, slowly surrounding the area and smothering the restless flames. It happened quietly, quickly—The Boy wondered which way the flames would prefer to go. By death of hunger, or by death of suffocation?

The Boy in The Fox Mask craned his head back to meet the gaze of The Mistress. She gingerly took a seat on the water before him. Even then, she had to duck her head to reach his level.

“Who took the Bird Boy’s life?” His voice was sad, imploringly gentle as he stared at the being in front of him. Despite the many differences between them, The Boy never felt threatened—not once. Not now, not ever.

She was beautiful. Atop her head sat a crown that wavered—but held firm. It was made of weaving silver and gray and white gemstones. Her hair was a beautiful mess of intricate braids and loops, a seafoam white that played with small monochrome beads woven into the locks. Her skin rivaled snow in color—with a pleasant, slight rosiness on her cheeks and ruby red lips. Her eyes were a calm and watchful sterling. Her dress was long and flowing—shifting and swirling constantly. It was difficult to tell where it all started and ended—her dress, skin, and boundless fog were both one and separate.

“Look beneath thy rotten houses, chile,” her voice murmured in reply. Imperceivably faint and undeniably strong—she sounded both there and nowhere. “The culprit hides—for when one takes life without permission, one must face one’s deeds, even if only in one’s mind. She regrets, for the blood of another taints her once innocent hands.”

The Boy in The Fox Mask tilted his head slightly, the worn wood glimmering faintly in the light of the high moon.

“Was it an accident?” he wondered, hesitantly hopeful. Would that make it better? To know whether or not a wretched thief of precious life had meant it and did not feel remorse nor condemnation? Would it make them redeemable if they regret it so deeply, to the point of estranging oneself?

What would make it better?

“... I know not the true intention, only that it was born of rage and bitter hate,” she replied, looking up to the sky above. “Emotions are a poor excuse for one's actions. Please, chile, assist thy kind in receiving justice.”

The Boy in The Fox Mask nodded solemnly. “I will. Thank you.” 

She nodded, closing her eyes and turning to leave. She was satisfied that he would see the message through to the ones that needed to hear it. And if he didn’t? Well, she could always find another messenger.

The Boy in The Fox Mask rushed to his feet, a hand held in her direction like he wanted to grab her hand and pull her back.

She couldn’t leave. The fire would return to continue its path of destruction—regardless of the moat of minnow filled waters around him, it would get him. He knew when she was gone, he was no longer aware, and the things of the Dreamscape could finally reach him with its wretched claws.

“Wait,” he gasped, falling into the water, freezing liquid splashing into his nose and eyes. “Féth Fíada, please—”

She ignored the boy, much to his plight, and melted away into the shadows—taking her delicate silver clouds with her. 

The fire was ravenous. No sooner would you blink than the forest become a simple pyre, serving only to feed a bottomless hunger.

Springing back to life, flames reached new heights in no more than a second—reaching higher than the sky, as if it wished to claw up and steal the stars from their seats, if only to get a taste of power over the moon's people.

“Féth Fíada?!” The Boy would cry, cry louder than the trees that fell like soldiers locked in hopeless battle, crushing the things they used to keep under the proud cover of canopies. Tears fell from his eyes, little streams running down his chin and soaking into his shirt. He pulled the mask from his face when the smoke got too thick to breath—too thick too see.

“I’m sorry, my little sleeper. But it was always going to end this way. You will understand when you wake to serve thy purpose.”

Chapter Text

“Lance—” Apricity began, but Lance was already talking. He paced the stables back and forth, waving a metal rod around angrily.

“That—thing, that absolute beast, that weasel—” Lance was practically growling.

“Lance, please, who are you talking about?” Apricity held her hands up, like she was contemplating trying to take the rod from him.

“That psycho that murdered my brother!” he exclaimed angrily.

Apricity’s expression fell. “It was Robin that got killed? Lance, I’m so sorry…” her voice was heavy with sympathy.

Dream tilted his head, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to snatch the rod—the mad man was carelessly waving it about in his anger.

“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t you that did it!” he snapped. He flung the rod at a stall wall, leaving a dent and spooking the horse on the other side of it. The creature reared, whinnying in fright.

Lance’s furious scowl melted into a regretful wince and he ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not in my right mind.”

‘Were you ever?’ Dream thought to himself, idly looking around for his horse. He wanted to see if Apricity would let him keep Spirit at her family’s stables—Lance was clearly untrustworthy, carelessly throwing metal rods around just ‘cause he was a little angry.

“And you think you know who did?” Apricity pressed, picking up the rod and carefully setting it on a messy table.

“I don’t think I know! I’m certain of it. That green she-devil did it.”

Dream lifted his head from where he’d been peering into a stall, looking back. “Ivy?” he prompted.

“Don’t say her name.” Lance seethed. “It doesn’t deserve to be said ever again. But yes, I KNOW it was her. Inhumane, surely, some sort of demon, rotten…” his muttering went on, becoming incomprehensible as he knelt down to effortlessly pick a large bag of feed up. 

Dream nodded quietly, moving to the stall across the path. “Why are you so certain it was the she-devil?” Dream carefully avoided saying what he knew her to be—a nymph—he didn’t want to argue with Lance over what she should be called.

Besides, Lance looked much more satisfied with the new address Dream had given her, replying as he set the bag down on the table with a loud thump. “She’s had it out for my brother since she showed up in this daft town! Always giving him and I the nastiest glares, saying threats only monsters from The Backwoods would say. If you don’t believe me, I reckon’ that the crime scene is riddled with that creature's ugly vinery. I haven’t seen it myself, but I’d bet my whole life's earnings on it.” Lance scowled, pointing aggressively at nothing in particular. “When I get my hands on that she-devil… oh, they’ll be putting me in jail for murder.” Lance fumed.

“Now Lance—” Apricity started with a frown, but Dream cut her off. 

“Lance, Apricity and I need something from you.”

“Well I ain’t helping nobody until I see justice served!” He cried, throwing his hands up. Dream expected as much, and replied calmly. 

“What if me and Apricity proved the creature guilty?”

Lance paused, blinking. “She’s guilty. It’s obvious.”

“Yes, I know. But do you think the rest of the town—the majority of which are under the impression that she’s a normal little girl—would ever believe that without evidence?”

Lance huffed and puffed, sputtering for a moment. “They should! It’s clear as day that witch ain’t human in the slightest.”

Dream nodded in agreement, coming to a stop by the stall that held Spirit. The horse nickered, scuffing the ground and bobbing his head as he realized his master had finally returned. “I’m well aware, Lance. But stubborn minds need proof.” Dream reached a hand over the stall door, petting Spirit’s velvety nose. The horse pressed into his hand eagerly. “Let’s start simple. When did the thing first appear?”

Lance opened and closed his mouth for several seconds, unsure. “Well, I’m not sure—” 

“She has been around town for about a year.” Apricity offered, watching Lance with an analytical gaze. “Never seen or even heard of her family—safe to say she doesn’t have any.” 

“And is there a house she ‘lives’ at?” Dream questioned, absently scratching Spirit’s cheek—the horse was practically melting at the affection, leaning so much into Dream’s palm he had to step forward and lean against the door to support his head better.

Lance went to answer, but Apricity spoke first: “No. I asked her once, but she danced around the question. Said something about living near the woods before running off.”

Lance huffed, shaking his head. “She only gets away with everything because she always looks so well cared for. Nobody questions it! Absolutely ridiculous.”

“That’s rather odd,” Dream muttered, dropping his arm to rest on the stall door. Spirit snorted indignantly and pushed his head into Dream’s shoulder. “You’d think such a small town like this would be more concerned.”

Apricity shrugged, stepping closer and patting the side of Spirit’s haed—though the steed shied away from her touch, giving her a side eye. Apricity frowned and dropped her hand to her side, speaking: “I think the villagers let a lot of things go due to… the general weirdness that goes on. I’d wager that more than half the people that say they think she’s normal are lying to save their own hide. However, we don't tolerate killers. If we prove Ivy guilty she’d be thrown out on the spot—likely with no trial.”

Lance—who’d frowned at the use of Ivy’s name—grinned at the notion, a glittering, dark look in his eyes. “It’d be better to burn her at the stake. Then we’d be getting rid of the problem permanently.”

Apricity shook her head immediately, tone stern and somewhat pointed. “Don’t you remember what happened last time we put something non-human to death for its crimes? That’s a bad idea.”

Dream’s voice was tinged with interest. “What happened last time?” 

Apricity gave him a look that said ‘not now’ before she quickly moved on. “I’ll tell you later. Lance, if we prove her guilty and get her ‘removed’ from town will you please help us?”

“Yes,” Lance said without hesitation, nodding vehemently. “Whatever it is you need—yes. As long as Robin gets the justice he deserves. I refuse to let the Swordtrial family line be slandered by such a rotten animal.”

Apricity’s expression was both solemn and determined. “It will be exiled. I promise. Do you know where it happened?”

“It happened at the community library,” Lance muttered. “They won’t let me see it, though. Robin didn’t get a… clean death, apparently.”

Dream nodded sagely while Apricity cringed, turning on her heel to go directly to the crime scene. “Alright, thank you, Lance. Me and Dream will get this resolved as soon as possible.”

As Dream went to follow Apricity out, he was stopped by Lance grabbing his wrist. Though he couldn’t feel it at first—he’d grabbed his tainted arm and the numbness hadn't improved.

He snapped his head back to stare intensely at the man; he didn’t flinch—staring right back into the beady black eyes of Dream’s smiling mask. Lance didn’t let go, his fingers digging hard into Dream’s skin though he hardly felt it.

“... if you get the chance to kill it,” he whispered. “do it. I don’t care about the consequences. That thing doesn’t deserve to live.”

Dream tilted his head down, pointedly looking at where Lance gripped his arm. “I don’t care if that thing lives or dies,” Dream muttered, jerking his arm out of Lance’s grip. “But I’m not that dumb. If Apricity says the consequences aren’t worth a righteous punishment, then they simply aren’t. Why would I put your village in needless danger? Besides, that would only get me into trouble.”

Lance scowled, but said nothing else. Spirit snorted in agitation as Dream left after Apricity, his ears angled towards the man. Dream would come back for his steed later.

Dream quickly caught up to Apricity who’d been waiting just outside for him. She gave him a questioning frown as they started walking down the dirt road. “What did he say?” she asked.

Dream dodged the question, asking his own instead. “What happened the last time Lianeath took the matters of justice into their own hands regarding Backwoods beings?”

Apricity sighed heavily, and her voice grew tighter. “I really don’t want to talk about it, Dream. Let’s just focus on proving Ivy guilty and getting the venom stuff we need to fix you.” She avoided eye contact.

Dream wrinkled his nose under the mask, but didn’t press. It was clearly a touchy subject. Despite his usual knack for manipulating and pressing until he got what he wanted—he held back, opting to not have an upset Apricity to deal with.

It became obvious that Dream and Apricity were nearing the crime scene when they started spotting more and more people huddling around—gossiping and whispering to one another. Speculating who could’ve done it—or maybe it was all an accident…

“Excuse me... pardon us…” Apricity muttered as she pushed through a group of people who’d gathered around the entrance to the library. Most stepped aside once they realized it was her—the rest were busy giving Dream suspicious looks.

Apricity halted as they got to the open door—a big burly man was blocking the entrance. He had light brown shoulder length hair and dark skin. “I’m sorry, April. But I’m not letting anyone in. Not even you.”

Apricity crossed her arms. “Butch, I’m coming through whether you like it or not. I need to talk to my Father.”

Butch crossed his arms, mimicking her stance. His tone was light and rather playful. “April, I’m not letting you through whether you like it or not. Your Father said so.”

Dream’s gaze darted between the two, mildly entertained but mostly irritated they were stopped.

He could detect the scent of blood wafting through the doorway. Metallic. Familiar. And very strong. It must’ve been a messy murder. It made him itch—memories of distant war playing at the back of his mind… blood always had a certain bitterness to it when it was spilled so thoroughly. Or maybe that was just in his head.

Apricity scowled, her face tinging with an angry red by way of Butch’s next words; “So, you run your pretty little self along and let the men deal with the messy stuff. Alright?”

Dream nearly snorted. As if. He watched amusedly for Apricity’s reaction.

With a stern frown, Apricity leaned closer to Butch. She murmured something so quiet that Dream couldn’t hear—though he did try.

He really wished he had heard it because Butch’s face paled and he stepped aside with a scowl.

That’s when Dream really did snicker. Quietly—just barely audible. But Butch caught it and gave him a scathing glare, muttering under his breath… “Apricity’s stupid blackmail and her weirdo boyfriends…”

Dream stiffened and made direct eye contact with Butch the entire time he stepped past the man. Butch shifted uncomfortably and shut his mouth—opting for a silent, angry side eye. It’s unnerving when a man with a mask with beady black eyes stares you down. You couldn’t see his eyes, but boy, could you feel them.

The library was relatively the same as the last time Dream had seen it—same dreary walls, same shed-ish appearance. Dust everywhere.

And blood. Although that was new. So were the vines, as well as the books all over the floor and knocked down shelves.

Over by the window on the far left was where it was obvious the crime had happened—though the body was now gone. The window had been shattered, and vines dressed that spot like roots surfacing. Leal and a couple other men stood near the area, talking in hushed voices. 

Apricity’s confident stride faltered when she saw the mask in her father’s hands—it was that of a bird. A robins’, to be exact. The tip of the beak was broken and one of the mesh eyes had been poked through. The wooden surface was splattered with crimson.

It wasn’t hard to figure out who it used to belong to.

“Father!” Apricity said, stepping over a fallen bookshelf. Dream followed suit, keeping quiet. 

Leal jerked to attention, his eyes widening. He handed the mask to one of the other men and hurriedly stepped to block Apricity’s sight. “April! You’re not supposed to be in here. No one is. Why on earth did that Butch lad let you in? You shouldn’t have to see this. You need—” 

“Father, I believe I know who did it.” Apricity declared, tone firm. Everyone stiffened from the bold claim, and Leal sighed heavily. 

“April, please, this is no time for games—”

Dream didn’t like the way Leal talked to her. As if she was a little girl who knew nothing. She was a full grown adult. 

“Sir, if I may.” Dream stepped up beside Apricity, addressing her father with a cool, calm composure. “Apricity and I believe this was not done by human hands. You’ve seen the vines. Do you seriously believe that this amount of bloodshed was done by a person?”

“Keep your voice down.” Leal scolded, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “I’m not blind, boy. I’m not stupid either. Of course this wasn’t done by a human. But the village can’t know or they’ll riot.” He met Apricity’s gaze. “Tell no one anything you think you know and go home.”

“So that’s your plan, then?” Apricity demanded, not backing down. “Try and keep it under wraps and play it off as a freak accident? What are you going to say this time? A bookshelf fell on him?” Apricity ran her finger along a dusty shelf, showing her dirty finger to him as if it were proof. “That’d be believable, actually. This building should probably be condemned.” Her voice was sarcastic and angry.

Dream started to subtly examine the scene—his gaze tracing along the floor. Vines and blood, yes—but there was something else. 

A black soot-like substance laced some of the vinery—clinging to the greens. He watched one of Leal’s men crouch to touch it, only to hiss and jerk his hand away when he made contact. The soot clung to him, and it was obviously painful—what with the man wincing and shaking his hand out. 

Another one of Leal’s men wordlessly handed the first one a waterskin, and the man that had touched the soot poured it over his skin. The soot was washed away in an instant. Water dripped down from the man's hand, splashing the soot; it dissolved in an instant.

Dream frowned. He didn’t remember seeing black soot when he’d encountered Ivy back at Delilah Darling. But maybe it wasn’t from her—could be from anything. Then again, Dream’s knowledge on nymphs was limited.

Apricity’s voice raising in anger broke him out of focus—what had he missed?

“Father! This is absolutely ridiculous. We both know who did it—the signs are obvious. Let’s just announce her guilty, exile her, and be done with it!”

Dream nudged Apricity’s shoulder to get her attention before gesturing downwards. “What do you make of that?” Apricity’s eyes widened at the sight of it.

Leal stepped forward to block their view again, planting his hands on Apricity’s shoulders and turning her around. “Go home, April. I don’t need you meddling in things you think you understand.” He shot Dream a stern glare. “And take your friend with you.” He said the word ‘friend’ like he wasn’t sure it was the right word to use.

Before Apricity could protest any further, Leal was barking a command: “Butch! Come here and remove these two from the premises.”

Butch came from the entrance, lips set in a firm line as he grabbed Apricity’s wrist. “You can’t rat me out for this, okay?” he muttered lowly to the girl. Apricity scowled and tried to shake him off to no avail.

Dream’s entire body stiffened when Butch went to grab his wrist. “Don’t touch me,” Dream spat. Butch’s eyes widened from the sheer venom in his voice, and hesitated. 

Apricity blinked, and then pushed Butch forward, muttering, “Please, don’t start a fight. He hates being touched. Just go.” When she saw Butch hesitating, she quietly tagged on: “If you listen, I won’t spill.”

That got Butch to listen. He tightened his grip on Apricity’s wrist and firmly led her back out the door—Dream following behind at a relaxed, almost lazy pace. His gaze swept over the room one last time before he stepped out the door behind them.

A long, curved piece of something black was laying on the floor, just barely peeking out from under a desk. Dream subtly kicked it further beneath it, putting it well out of sight.

And then he left the building like nothing had happened at all.

Chapter Text

“I’m rather curious,” Dream started, adjusting his grip on Spirit’s reigns as he and Apricity made their way down the path towards her house. “About two things. One: Why is your father so adamant about keeping Ivy’s involvement a secret. Two: What happened last time you put a Backwoods creature to death?”

Apricity kicked the ground in frustration as they walked. “Father has it in his mind that it’d be better for the village to turn a blind eye to anything from the Backwoods.” She huffed a bitter, breathy laugh. “It’s one of the reasons he hated Aubade so much.” She paused, glancing at Dream. “I forgot how much of a coward he could be.”

Well… that was certainly a lot more bitterness built up than Dream had anticipated. He distinctly recalled her speaking fondly of her father when they’d first met.

“What’s with the switch up?” he asked bluntly. “With the way you referred to him when we met, I would’ve guessed you looked up to him.”

Apricity blinked, then forcefully exhaled. Her expression contorted to one of guilt. “Sorry. I do. It’s just… his methods of dealing with this sort of thing really bother me. And I don’t usually get this involved. That and we’re on a tight timeframe, and…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I don’t want to ramble. I think you get the point.”

Dream nodded quietly, ignoring Spirit as the horse nudged the back of his shoulder. “... I do…” he hesitated, before adding on, “I just don’t understand how you can… hate someone so much but also admire them.”

Apricity bit her lip, sensing that this was a genuine moment of confusion for him. A question he actually wasn’t sure of the answer for. 

“I don’t hate him,” she murmured, voice soft. She glanced at his emotionless mask out of the corner of her eye, wondering what his expression was at that moment. “I don’t think I could ever hate him.”

“But you said he hated Aubade.” He stated. “And you cried when we found his body. So, surely you had to pick one or the other.”

Apricity was struggling to see where he was coming from. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, Dream.” She spoke carefully. “I may not agree with him all the time—and yes, him hating Aubade was a huge point of conflict, but I’ve never hated him. He really is a good man. You can disagree with someone and still love them.”

Dream didn’t reply, thinking her words over in silence. 

Eventually, when Apricity’s house came into view, he spoke again, “I still want to know what happened.”

Apricity frowned. “It’s—”

“I’m not going to stop asking,” he interrupted, voice firm. “It could be helpful. I’m not quite sure it was just Ivy that killed Robin. You saw the black substance that was all over.”

Apricity sighed, shaking her head, but relented. “It was about… I wanna say six years ago? Aubade was still alive. I think I was sixteen.” Dream listened intently, not daring to interrupt. “Someone’s cattle kept going missing. The Graces’, actually. Iris’ family.”

They both slowed as they neared the house—Achilles spotted them from inside, and was watching through the window. He looked like he was both pouting and planning something. 

“It was almost impossible to catch the culprit,” Apricity went on. “And the damage done wasn’t human. Devastating numbers of cattle would be lost in one night—sheepdogs and livestock alike torn apart. The fences were snapped like they were nothing more than straw. Of course, nothing happened when people stayed up to be a lookout. But you can bet your sweet bippy the second people went inside it was a bloodbath.”

Dream and Apricity pivoted on the path—the latter leading the former towards the stables instead. “So, we set traps and let ‘em defend the fields. Although they didn’t catch anything, Aubade—ever so clever—came up with a plan. Of course, it did use live bait.” 

"Who was the bait?” Dream sounded indifferent.

Apricity scoffed. “Himself, the idiot. He used a sheepskin cloak and sheep urine to pretend to be an animal. Stood right in the middle of rows of beartraps.”

Apricity stopped talking for a moment, looking away. Dream waited patiently, eyes glued to the stables ahead. It was a fairly big stable for just their family—he guessed that there’d be somewhere around eight or nine stalls on the inside.

Apricity pushed the big door open, continuing her story in a quieter voice. “Sorry… uh, Aubade managed to get away with several bites and scratches. We only caught one creature—the rest realized it was a trap after the first one was caught. But there was definitely way more than one that was hunting the Graces' livestock.” Apricity frowned. “Aubade couldn’t say what kind of animals they were—only that there were a lot, and they varied in size. The one animal we caught was some sort of wolf. A little small, but unmistakable.”

Dream guided Spirit into the stables, letting Apricity push the door closed behind them. “You talk like it wouldn’t make sense for the rest of the creatures to be the same animal,” Dream noted, walking down the aisle to find an empty stall.

Apricity stopped by a stall with a spotted horse in it. The plaque on the gate read ‘Tramp’. The steed was brown and white, the spots small and numerous—almost akin to a leopard print. The horse snorted at her eagerly. 

“That’s because of the injuries he had.” Apricity’s voice was soft. “None of them matched up. I think we deduced he was somehow scratched by some sort of house cat, but also bitten by coyotes and other creatures we couldn’t identify. Even something with herbivore teeth—as if a horse bit him, but smaller. We think it would match up with a deer’s bite if we had something to compare it to.” Apricity smiled as Tramp nuzzled her shoulder, gently nibbling her shirt. “You’d think that he would be able to say what animals he saw. He said he really couldn’t see them clearly, as if they were made of shadows.” She shook her head. “I could never tell if he was lying or not.” 

Apricity turned her head to watch Dream open a stall and push Spirit in. “The wolf he caught was black as night. Not a single speck of color on that thing. Even the blood and teeth were black.”

Apricity stopped as he stepped in and began to take off Spirit’s gear. “Keep going,” he stated. “I’m listening. What did you do with the wolf you caught?”

“Killed it,” she said plainly. “Put it to death immediately. The livestock deaths skyrocketed.”

Dream snorted, muttering under his breath. “Naturally.”

But Apricity wasn’t done. “And people started going missing, too. First it was just a couple hunters—the people that ventured furthest from town.” Apricity’s voice faded as she stopped talking, staring at her feet.

“And then?” Dream prompted.

“And then the children started disappearing, too.”

Dream winced. That had to have sent the village into frenzy mode.

“People started freaking out even more than they already were.” Apricity confirmed his thoughts. “Begged my dad to solve the problem. It wasn’t long before people were threatening to burn the forest down if he didn’t do something.”

Dream scoffed. “That’s so stupid. That would only cause problems.”

Apricity shrugged. “Scared people lose their senses. And boy, were they scared. Anyways, father did end up doing something.” 

Dream tilted his head in intrigue. “What he’d do?”

“He went and apologized.”

“What?” Dream almost laughed—the idea was unexpected, but certainly believable. “And that worked?”

Apricity didn’t look quite so amused. “Sort of. He was chased out by a behemoth wolf—also pitch black. Got bitten, nearly lost his arm. But the killings stopped.” Apricity looked up at the ceiling, resting her elbows on the stall door. “That thing could’ve easily taken his life, just like they took many others’ lives. I think it was just making a point.”

“Huh…” Dream stopped beside her, silent for a moment. “... so is it a rule now to not kill anything unnatural?”

Apricity nodded tiredly, rubbing her temples. “A little, yeah. Nothing that’s blatantly Backwoods, anyway.”

“Hm.” Dream moved towards the big stable door to leave when he stopped, whipping his head back towards the stall he’d put Spirit in. The horse was squealing loudly, stomping his hooves and snorting.

Dream bolted to the stall, running roughly into the door in his haste. He threw the door open, Apricity right behind him.

Spirit was rearing up, bringing his hooves down on a small blur of silver fur, scuttling through the open door and making a break for it.

There was a mouse in the stall.

“Spirit—” Dream snapped, irritated. “It’s a mouse.”

Apricity couldn’t help but laugh, watching Spirit calm down as if nothing had just happened, pushing his big head into Dream’s chest in pursuit of treats. 

“You stupid animal,” Dream muttered, but pet his fuzzy nose anyway. Spirit only slowly blinked his brown eyes.

Apricity smiled, picking up a small canister of sweet grains from a table on the side. “Ohh, cut him some slack… doesn’t he deserve a reward after having to defend himself from a terrifying rodent?”

Dream scoffed, rolling his eyes as Apricity dumped a handful into her palm and held it up to the horse.

Spirit eyed her suspiciously, ears flicking back in displeasure.

“... he doesn’t like you,” Dream said smugly, taking the grain from her and offering it to Spirit—whom of which immediately chowed down.

Apricity frowned, looking slightly put off. “I’ve never had a horse not like me.”

“He has good taste. Doesn’t like it when bugs pester him.” Dream ducked away with a grin as Apricity went to swat his shoulder. “What? It’s true. I don’t like it either—”

Dream cut himself off as Spirit jolted in surprise. He’d stepped back onto a piece of paper and it had startled him.

“Move,” Dream huffed, stepping in and picking it up. He stood and smoothed it out, flipping it over.

“It says something,” he mumbled, turning back to Apricity. She leaned over the door, trying to see it better. “Is it just some random note? It’s possible Achilles was in here doodling or something. He likes to think he’s really good at poetry.” She smiled. “And sometimes he gets a pretty good one out—he’s getting better!”

“I don’t think this is just poetry…” Dream muttered, reading it aloud. 

“Face muddled by rotted blight, she hides away from favored light.
So below thy rotted house, find the one with black-stained hands. You’ll find the truth is not as it stands.
Choked by rotten beast, made to create its feast.” Dream lifted his head, a frown in his voice. “It’s signed: Your Friend in Between” Dream handed the paper to Apricity to read.

She squinted. “This doesn’t look like Achilles' handwriting. It’s way too neat. Almost cursive, I’d say.” She looked back up. “And it must’ve been put here recently. These stalls get cleaned almost every day.”

Dream tapped his foot thoughtfully. “The truth is not as it stands… You know, it’s not just that black chalk that was odd about the crime scene. Just before we left, I spotted something that looked like a claw. I kicked it under a desk so it wouldn’t be found.”

Apricity straightened.. “Oh? What color was it?”

“Black,” he replied. “I think we should go back when nobody's there and do a more thorough search. I have a feeling there’s something we missed. We hardly got a good look at anything.” 

Apricity slowly shook her head. “I don’t know if that will be possible. My father is gonna keep that place on tight lockdown until it's been searched from head to toe.” She fidgeted with the silver ring on her finger, glancing down at the note again. “So below thy rotted house, find the one with black-stained hands,” she repeated. “Maybe we should look into this. So below thy houses. I’m not sure if the writer is referring to all our buildings, but… there’s only a few that have basements or cellars.”

“Basements?” Dream huffed. “I was thinking more along the lines of crawl spaces.”

“I didn’t even consider that…” She glanced down, then muttered. “We should put together a list of all the houses that we can go under.” 

Dream sighed, and started walking. “Let’s get going, then.”

Chapter Text

Achilles woke up cold that night.

It wasn’t supposed to be cold, though. He could have sworn his father closed the window before tucking him in last night. It was supposed to be nice and cozy. So, why wasn’t it?

He sat up in bed, letting the soft blanket pool around his waist. The window was open. Odd; It wasn’t supposed to be.

Moonlight poured in, illuminating the toys and clothing scattered all over his floor. His mom had told him to clean up, but he’d forgotten.

Pressing his feet to the chilly hardwood floor, he pushed off from the bed and towards the window, carefully avoiding kicking anything on his messy floor. He just needed to close it. Then, he wouldn’t be so cold anymore.

Achilles stopped several feet short of the window. He blinked. Once—Twice. 

There was something sitting on that window sill… no, someone. How had he not noticed before? They blocked out the moonlight he’d thought lit his room. But it was extremely dark outside. The only things visible were the outline of a face and the light gleaming off blue eyes.

“Ssssson….” His father whispered to him, slurring the word at first. 

“Son,” The repeat was perfect—stern but warm. Just how his father would address him.

But Achilles knew right away—his father didn’t have blue eyes. Especially not blue eyes that glowed. And he’d never sit in his window like that. At least, he hadn’t ever before.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Achilles didn’t dare to breathe. Any movement could set it off. He was certain. Many creatures had similar triggers. Achilles knew that well.

Never reply if you’ve never told it your name. Never interact if you don’t have an escape. 

The rules repeated in his head like a mantra. 

Never ever engage if you’re not prepared.

Achilles barely caught his gasp as one of his toy carriages rolled forward on its own from the mouth of his open closet. It wheeled forward until it gently bumped into a tower of blocks Achilles had been using as a watchtower for his toy men.

It teetered before falling—each block crashed loudly. Achilles cringed, dragging his gaze back to the figure.

The figure in the window had placed a foot inside his room.

It was too late.

Achilles turned on his heel and ran for the door—a furious jiggling of the knob told him it was locked. And not on his end.

“Mom! Dad!” Achilles screamed at the door. He glanced back at the window.

The figure was standing in his room now, staring down at his toys before slowly stepping over them.

Achilles panicked, starting to cry. “MOM!” He paused, listening for footsteps.

The only one he heard was the one from the figure as it came one step closer.

Achilles abandoned the door, jumping onto bed and seizing the metal oil lamp from his nightstand.

“Stay back!” He cried, trying to hold back tears. But they forced their way up anyway. He couldn’t see anything more than rough shapes through the blur.

The sound of claws tapping the ground and creaky floorboards made Achilles reach down for anything else—anything that was a better weapon than the lamp. His baseball bat was in his closet.

The figure paused by Achilles' desk, reaching out to brush its long, bony fingers across the dull orange fox mask that was perched there.

“One of them,” his father’s voice murmured. It was rough and judgmental. Close, but not his father. An impersonator. A fake.

A Visitor.

“No,” he whispered, standing straight and raising the lamp. “You don’t understand us. Stay back. I’m—I’m armed!” The threat wouldn’t be threatening to a creature that understood. Achilles could only hope.

“I’m disappointed to have you as my son. Disappointed… My son would never be one of them.” Those words in his father’s voice—dripping with disdain—was… horrible. 

“Wait…” Achilles whispered, shaking his head aggressively. “No! You’re—fake. FAKE. Dad would never say that.”

Nothing replied.

Achilles blinked away his tears, eyes widening when he saw nothing in his room. The moon was back—gently illuminating his room once more.

He held his breath, sniffling quietly. His eyes flicked rapidly, searching for any signs of the figure.

Nothing… Nothing… Nothing…

knock, knock.

Not from the window. Not from the door.

From under the bed.

Wake up.

Apricity walked down the warm, sunny path with a smile. Over one arm hung a large, woven basket. If one were to look inside that basket, they would find a myriad of tasty treats—cookies and sweet things.

“Abaude!” She called, voice light. She was approaching his house.

He’d lived alone—ever since he’d moved to Lianeath—he was only sixteen at the time. He’d always been fiercely independent, insisting that he pay for his own house and supplies—even if her father did insist that he get a discount because he was young and without family.

The house was small, if a little shabby, but it suited him just fine. All he needed was a kitchen, a bed, a desk for his studies, and he was happy as a clam. He didn’t care much for aesthetics, and despite how much he complained about it, Apricity knew he secretly loved when Athena forced him to come outside and garden with her and Achilles. She said it was to get him some ‘fresh air’, but everyone knew Athena really just thought of Aubade as her own son and wanted to spend ‘parent-child bonding’ time with him.

Walking past the garden beds of colorful flowers and ornamental grasses, Apricity climbed the steps of his porch and knocked. “Abaude—you home?” When he didn’t answer, Apricity pulled out the key she’d taken without asking and opened the door herself. “I’m coming in, so if you’re indecent say something or forever hold your peace.”

That was all the warning he got before Apricity swung the door open.

Inside, it was cold and still—the fireplace was long dead and the plants that lined his window sills and shelves were brown and dying. She could faintly pick up the scent of rotting garbage from the can in the kitchen.

Apricity frowned and picked up a glass of coffee from the island counter. The liquid had a film of mold and dust on it. “Gross…” she muttered, setting it in the empty sink. 

“…” She set it down, along with the basket of treats and shuffled towards the bed in the corner. The floorboard creaked loudly. “Abaude…? You here? Your plants look like they’re dying of thirst.”

She glanced at the bed. It was unmade—as usual. Blankets were half on the floor and the sheets probably needed to be washed weeks ago. 

The desk besides the bed was also messy—though he usually kept that part more tidy. Scattered papers, open books, and art supplies.

“Hm,” Apricity’s eye caught on a drawing peeking out from under an old, empty mug of coffee.

She gingerly picked it up—almost knocking the cup over. Lifting it to her face, her brows furrowed. It was a drawing—one he hadn’t shown her before. Didn’t he show her all his drawings?

The perspective of the drawing appeared to be staring down into a hole—the edges were shroom-like and rough looking. Many arms were reaching out and lifting a mass of something black and flaking up and out. The arms gripped the edges tightly, grasping anything they could grab.

The drawing was almost entirely in black and white—save for the flakes and center of the mass, which were red, orange, and yellow like embers and fire.

Below the drawing were the words ‘First Hunger’ in Abaudes’ neat handwriting.

“This is…” Apricity mumbled, putting it down. She’d seen hundreds of drawings from him—disturbing, cute, ugly—but nothing like this. It didn’t look like anything she’d ever seen. And that was saying something…

She would have to ask Abaude about that when she saw him later. For now, it was obvious he wasn’t home and hadn’t been for at least a couple days—maybe he had headed into The Backwoods to go camping without telling anyone again. Her shoulders tensed as she remembered the last time he’d disappeared without warning—he’d come back with a concussion and a wound that had needed an alarming amount of stitches.

Apricity froze as she turned to leave, heart dropping.

Over the open door were bars of vines and roots—blocking the entrance.

She rushed up, pulling on it hard. No budge. Windows? Also barred up.

“Abaude?!” She cried, backing up. The vines and roots shifted and tightened, slowly blocking out the sun. “Abaude?!”

The sound of crackling flames came from the desk; the drawing was on fire.

Apricity grabbed the drawing and threw it down, trying to stomp out the flames.

It didn’t help. In fact, the flames grew brighter and louder.

It sprung and jumped, catching the nearby bear fur on fire. The heart of the flames were black.

No. The fire wasn’t black. A black arm was reaching out.

Apricity screamed and stumbled back, falling over Abaude’s desk chair and crashing to the floor.

From the paper on fire, the creature was emerging—First Hunger.

It was huge. Its flailing arms and hit the ceiling, leaving black marks of ash and soot.

Its body shifted and changed rapidly, embers and white flakes flew from its body. 

“Abaude!” Apricity screamed louder, the strain hurting her throat. She jumped to her feet and raced to the window. It was almost completely blacked out by vines.

She picked up a heavy, jagged rock that Abaude was studying off his counter and threw it with all her might.

It went right through. The vines were gone. A quick glance behind her said that First Hunger was gone too.

No fire. No danger.

Just Abaude, standing there with a shocked look on his face.

“Abaude—“ Apricity could have cried. She was crying, actually. Thick, terrified tears. 

“You broke my window?” Abaude asked in his accented voice, appalled. When he registered her tears he immediately switched gears, hovering calloused hands over her arms,. “Good grief, ‘City! Are you alright? It’s okay, you don’t have to pay for the window—“

Apricity threw her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder. “I don’t know what just happened,” she said, gasping through tears. “Where have you been?”

He didn’t hug back. And he was cold. Really cold. Like…

Apricity pulled away and stilled.

It wasn’t him. Not him the way she remembered.

His fluffy brown hair that normally had several tiny braids in it was matted and filthy—draped with thin, weblike lichen that dropped into his face and covered his eyes like a veil. Atop his head was a pair of stick antlers, branching out. They looked like they were a part of his skull, now.

His skin, like a calico cat's pelt, was brown and mushroom-like in some places, and then completely untouched in others. Abaude’s legs from the knees down were without flesh of any kind. Nothing but bones made of mossy stone—and instead of ending with feet there were hooves.

Apricity held a mouth to her hand. Her stomach churned and she stepped back. “Abaude?” She whispered, eyes wide.

“Apricity,” he replied. That wasn’t right. He always called her ‘City in that slightly clipped way he talked. He tilted his head back. His face was dirty—dried mud caked on, like he had smeared it all over his face. 

Abaude exhaled and murmured softly, longingly, “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

That’s when she remembered. Abaude was dead. He had been dead for a while. And this was what he was. A monster of the place he had loved. A creature of the woods he’d adored. He always said he’d live there if he could, and now it was his resting place. He’d gotten his wish.

Apricity choked and looked away. She couldn’t bear to look at him—not like this. “You’re dead,” she uttered, voice cracking. “I saw your bones. I have your necklace.” She rested a hand on the pendant on her neck, feeling the cold, lonely metal.

He lifted his hand to her—several of his fingers were fused together and hardened. Like hooves.

“You need to realize,” he muttered, dropping his hand when she didn’t take it. “What I left behind.”

“What?” Apricity rubbed her eyes, daring to glance back at him. “What are you saying?”

Abaude tilted his head back down, lichen swaying slightly. “What I left behind… you’re ignoring it.”

Apricity sniffled, biting back—angry and hurt. How could he just leave them like he did? “It’s not just me. You left all of us behind. Mother. Achilles. Iris. There were people that loved you and you left!” Apricity’s voice raised.

Abaude didn’t flinch—didn’t shift at all. “I couldn’t fix it. It was too late.”

“You never told us—you never told me. I could’ve helped.” Apricity's voice was thick with emotion. Regret. Grief. Bitterness.

His voice was none of those things. “Wake up, Apricity. Stop ignoring what I left behind.”

Wake up.

Bump. Bump. Bump.

Dream was lost. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten out there, though. The last thing he remembered was going to sleep on the couch in the Pura’s living room.

He stumbled through the underbrush, eyes hazy—his vision was blurry around the edges. His mind buzzed with sounds. Bugs flying. A heartbeat. His own heavy breathing.

He didn’t know where his mask was, either—he must’ve dropped it a while back. How long had he been walking for?

It felt like he was carrying a heavy, heavy blanket over his shoulders. The strain only heightened as he began to climb a hill. It was almost pitch black, but he found that he didn’t trip over roots nor vines.

The plants curled out of his way, almost.

Dream reached the top and collapsed against a tree. How long had he been walking? What was he walking towards?

His eyes downcast, and he spotted a shimmer. A river between the trees.

He hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been until he spotted it.

Stumbling down the hill, water splashed as he stood in the shallows.

The moonlight made the water shine and his skin glow.

Dream crouched and submerged his arms up to his elbows. He did not cup his hands to take a drink—but he could feel the thirst fade away.

He didn’t lift his gaze from the waters for a long time.

It was just so beautiful. 

Clear, glittery—refreshing and cold. A minnow brushed over his tense  knuckles that dug into the soft sand.

Slowly standing, Dream shook out his hands.

He paused when he caught sight of his arm. Where had his gloves gone? Why was his sleeve already pulled up?

When did it start looking like that?

The bites were so sunken in it almost looked like there was a hole that went all the way through. Inside it were dozens of tiny mushrooms. Around the edge of the hole was a line of mossy vinery, and from under that were little black veins that branched out. The green flesh had spread all the way down to his finger tips and had taken over half his neck—each press to the tainted skin was spongy and almost rubbery. There were still patches along his arm that looked and felt normal—although still numb.

Dream blinked numbly, reaching out with his unaffected hand and picking at the moss around the bites. He could feel it.

His head tilted in morbid interest.

It didn’t feel wrong. Felt natural, almost. He could feel the plants growing on his arm, but he couldn’t feel his arm.

That should feel wrong, shouldn’t it? Dream lifted the edge of the moss—then jerked his hand back. It felt like trying to pull your own nails off.

“Prime…” he mumbled, dropping his hand.

Before he could prod further, sound started to warble—the river was becoming muffled. He couldn’t make sense of his own thoughts. Dream stepped back, tripping up the hill and falling down, landing hard on the sandy dirt.

All he could hear was the steady heartbeat he was starting to find comfort in. Everything he saw was tinged with a black hue—like there was a filter over his eyes.

Wake up.

Dream shot up, nearly hitting his head against Achilles’, who was hovering over him.

The boy reeled back, yelping in alarm. But he had a big grin on his face. “Good morning, Mr. Dream! April told me to wake you up.”

Dream’s body was tense, his mind racing. What was that dream? How on earth had he been so calm? Why did it feel… good? He’d liked it!

The Dreamscape was a place of oddities. Better not to think about it unless he wanted to lose his mind from trying to understand.

“Thanks,” Dream finally muttered to the boy, resting his feet on the ground and holding his head in his hands. “You can go, now.”

But Achilles simply sat down beside Dream, eyes bright. He completely ignored the man's sour tone and prickly attitude. “How did you sleep, Mr. Dream? April AND me AND Mom had nightmares last night.”

Dream scowled beneath the mask. This boy was too loud for his taste. “I slept fine. Didn’t dream at all.”

The boy giggled before completely switching topics. “Does it feel weird to have your name be Dream? Does it ever mess you up when you talk about dreams? I think it’s funny. I told mom once I wanted my name to be Fox but she said no.” 

Achilles’ sighed, as if that was a burden he’d been carrying. “Anyways, April told me to tell you that she’s waiting outside for you.”

“You should lead with that.” Dream stood up, ignoring Achilles as he trailed him, yammering away. Dream didn’t care to listen to Achilles’ nonsensical rambling. In fact, he tuned it out completely. Achilles didn’t appear to mind. He could probably talk to a wall for hours on end.

Dream pulled on his boots, strapped his sword to his hip, grabbed his bag and stepped outside.

Apricity was already standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed.

Dream could tell right away that something was wrong.

“What happened?” He asked without pause. “You look upset.”

“I’m not,” she muttered. “Not at you, anyways. Let’s get going. I’ll tell you where we’re headed first on the way.”

Dream fell in beside her, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Can I come?”

Dream and Apricity both turned to look at Achilles, who stared hopefully.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no way.” Apricity sighed and rubbed her temples. “You won’t want to go where we’re headed, Bud. Go keep Icy company. Maybe make cookies with her or something.”

Achilles huffed. “I want to help! I can help.” He gestured to himself with flourish and a bright grin. “I’m a big, helpful man!”

Apricity offered a weak, slightly irritated smile. “No.”

Achilles deflated and looked back at the house with a reluctant expression. “But… Apricity—“

“She said no,” Dream snapped, crossing his arms. “Stop arguing and go back inside. And don’t let Icy play with the stove. She’d probably set the house on fire.”

Achilles gave them both a hurt look before slinking back inside and slamming the door behind him.

Apricity scrubbed her face tiredly, groaning. “Just… ignore him. Let’s go.”

The sky that day was cloudy and gray—and the air was still and cold. Distant squirrels could be heard chirping and scampering along, searching for food. A vulture circled overhead.

Dream didn’t let them walk in silence for very long.

“Why are you upset?” He questioned, the eyes of his mask staring intently at the side of her head.

Apricity scowled and tried to wave him off. “I’m not upset. Quit asking. Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

“I want to know why you’re upset.” Dream was stubborn. And why did he care? He didn’t want to work with someone who was in a bad mood without at least knowing why, obviously.

“Dream, would you just—” Apricity cut herself off, standing still and holding her clasped hands to her mouth. “I’m not telling you. Stop pushing.”

Dream didn’t move as she started walking again. He just stood there, watching until she looked back at him when she realized he wasn’t with her anymore. He crossed his arms and waited expectantly. “I’m not moving until you tell me why.”

“What are you, a child? Why do you need to know so bad?” Apricity shook her head, frustrated. “It won’t even matter to you.”

Dream opened his mouth to say ‘it does matter’ before he caught himself at the last second. “... You’re right. Where are we going?” Dream caught up to her, walking again.

Apricity looked hurt, but quickly fixed her expression. “We’re going to an old, abandoned house. I had a dream about it and I think we should check there first.”

“Are we not going to try and break into the library to investigate further?” Dream wondered, shoving his hands into his pockets with more force than needed.

“No. We’d never make it past the entrance. Father has it completely barricaded and under tight surveillance.” She frowned. “Which is unusual. He usually keeps things on the downlow and guarded, but this is excessive.”

“Probably just means there’s something there we need to see.” Dream shrugged. “But if you think we should, let's start with this house. Who’s house was it before it was abandoned?”

Apricity’s expression darkened. “Abaude’s.”

______________

Achilles leaned back against the front door, glaring at the ground. It was so unfair. Apricity always said he couldn’t handle things. But she didn’t know anything! He could handle whatever it was, he’s sure. He’d wager she couldn’t handle half the things he saw. Especially not what he saw in his nightmares.

He looked up at the sound of a floorboard creaking. Icy was standing in the mouth of the hallway, looking like she just woke up. Her hair—usually restrained in a white braid—was wild and messy. “Where is Dream?” she asked. “I need to…” she trailed off, either not remembering what she wanted to say to him or deciding against telling Achilles about it.

“They just left,” Achilles replied. “And I don’t think you want to go with them.”

Achilles wasn’t dumb, he wasn’t oblivious, and he wanted to help. While he didn’t like being excluded, he realized that if Dream and Apricity were going to be sneaking around, they’d want someone who wasn’t stumbling over their own feet. And Icy was still… a bit disoriented from whatever it was that happened to her (Athena wouldn’t tell him anything past ‘make sure she doesn't over-exert herself.’). So he needed to distract her from following. He took a deep breath.

“They’re not doing anything fun. Buncha boring losers. Do you feel better? Mom said you needed to rest up a looooooot from your journey here so you aren't loopy anymore—or something like that.” Achilles didn’t stop or slow down at all. “Where did you say you were from, again? Do you wanna go catch frogs later? Did you have a nightmare last night too? You’ll have to tell me about it. We should make cookies!”

Icy looked overwhelmed by his rapid-fire questions. “Make—cookies?” she blurted.

Achilles grinned and sauntered into the kitchen to rummage for the chocolate chips. “Uh—yeah! Wanna do that? It’ll be much better than whatever you were going to do before, I’m positive.”

Icy stood by the counter, staring at him apprehensive. “Uh…”

Knock, knock, knock.

Icy watched as Achilles ran and opened the door with a huge grin. “Evander! Lily—what are you chowderheads doing here? I thought y’all were grounded.”

Standing on the porch was a boy and a girl. They shared the same gray eyes and pale skin. The Iverson siblings.

The sixteen year old boy—Evander—was almost a head taller than Achilles with sandy blonde hair, a black button up top and pants. He held a black bag that had something wooden poking out. He reached down and carefully adjusted it to be completely concealed.

The girl, Lily, had long dark hair that reached her elbows, though she wore it up in a pretty bun that day. She was about fourteen and wore a nice black dress and held a bundle of flowers in her hands. For Achilles’ mother, surely.

“We are grounded,” Evander confirmed with a small, solemn frown. “But we all have somewhere to be tonight, and you offered to let us hang out here while mother thinks we’re at Grandma’s doing yard work. Remember?”

Achilles deflated, his grin disappearing as he recalled. Yes. He did indeed remember. “Oh, yeah… Right.” He looked back at Icy who had sat down on the couch and was eyeing them suspiciously over the back of it.

Lily spoke up, her voice a soft murmur. “We can hang out by The Tree if you’re busy,” she offered, glancing at Icy. “We can find means to entertain ourselves.”

Achilles shook his head, stepping aside to let them in. “Nah—you guys come on in. We can make cookies with Miss Icy.”

Icy perked up at the sound of her name, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t make cookies. That sounds horrible, awful.”

Evander regarded her curiously, his gaze flicking from her too-white hair to the snow-cold sword she had on her hip. “What’s bad about making cookies?” He asked, setting his bag down by the door.

Icy sputtered for a moment. She had no clue what making cookies even entailed. “It’s—they’re—I don’t engage in such petty activities!” She finally exclaimed. 

Lily set the flowers she’d brought in a red vase on the counter. “You must be Icy.” she said, glancing over. “If you don’t think you’re worthy of participating in cookie making, then that’s fine. You can watch.”

Icy blinked. “Worthy?” she echoed, confused. She was worthy! More worthy than they were, at least.

Achilles quickly caught on and spoke with a grin. “Yeah—only the coolest and best make cookies. It’s like an activity for the elites."

Icy nodded slowly, eye-balling Lily as the girl got out the flour. “I’m worthy of everything,” Icy grumbled. She sulked her way into the kitchen, adding on under her breath, “in this realm, at least…”

Evander nodded sagely, handing Icy a spatula. “You can mix the dough, Sublimina. Welcome to the club.”

Chapter Text

The house was about a thirty minute walk from the Pura’s home. It was a little ways outside of town on the complete opposite side, and the duo walked in silence the entire way there. Apricity didn’t look like she wanted to be there at all. Dream didn’t press. He knew that this would likely be an emotional place for her. She’d been off the entire morning. Barely talking, eyes looking distant, and had she eaten that morning?

The house was one story. Small—but not terribly so. It was bigger than the village library, though that was more akin to a large tool shed than anything. It had several willow and oak trees near and hanging over it. Big, tall ones with full leaves. One of them had a swinging bench hung from a large limb. The ropes likely needed to be replaced.

It was certainly run down. Hadn’t been being taken care of at all, just based off the outside.

The roof was covered in moss and debris from the trees. The shingles needed to be torn off for new ones. The windows were so filthy you could hardly see through them, and the railings and steps of the porch looked like they might be dealing with a termite problem.

Apricity stopped moving, staring solemnly at the rundown place. “Wow… I… I didn’t realize how bad it’s gotten. People avoid this house like it’s the plague.”

Dream didn’t spare her a glance, more interested in what he saw in one of the overgrown garden beds. 

“There’s some of that black stuff.” Dream crouched and picked up a large leaf from a weed. It was curling in on itself, yellow and dying where the black stuff touched. Dragging his gaze further, it looked like a trail—as if someone with the black soot on their feet had walked through the garden beds.

The trail led to the house. 

Dream stood up and pointed. “It goes to the house.” Apricity nodded and stepped delicately onto the path—not that you could tell where much of it ended and started. It was overrun by wildflowers and weeds. But she seemed to know where to step. Dream followed her exact pattern.

The porch steps creaked angrily under their weight as they approached the door. Dream held his hand out to stop her from touching the doorknob when she reached for it.

“Wait,” he muttered warningly. It had a layer of the black chalk over it. Apricity would normally have noticed right away. She must’ve been pretty out of it.

Apricity dropped her hand and muttered an apology. “I’m just not thinking straight. I haven’t been here since we realized Abaude was… gone.” She sighed after forcing the last word. “Maybe you should take the lead.”

Dream didn’t protest. He much preferred leading, anyway. “Do you have any water?”

“Water?” Apricity echoed, mindlessly handing him her water skin. She gave him a confused look.

“Yeah.” Dream uncapped the water skin and dripped some over the knob. True to his suspicion, it dissolved without a trace, dripping to the floor boards. “I saw Leal’s men at the library do it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Apricity rubbed her eyes, looking tired. “I knew that too. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Dream pushed the door open without any hesitation. He tried not to look at Apricity when her breath hitched. But it was hard, and he looked anyway. Her mouth was slightly parted, and her eyes were glossy. He hoped she wouldn’t cry.

The inside was worse than the outside.

The air was stale and smelled like mold. Dust particles floated this way and that, and the cloudy windows didn’t allow for much light to get inside.

The plants along the window sills and shelves were shriveled up and long since dead. Everything was a shade grayer with a thick layer of dust. In the kitchen, dishes still lay about—riddled with mold and bugs. Books lay everywhere haphazardly, and the bedding on the bed was half sprawled on the floor.

Apricity sighed. “Just how it was left.”

Dream followed the black prints on the floor through the house and towards the door near the kitchen. The doorknob had a black handprint on it. 

With a steady drip drip drip of water now coming from the knob, Dream pushed it open.

The room was smaller than the main area. A couple shelves and various places to store things. A rat scuttled by in the shadows.

“Was that how it was left, too?” Dream wondered dryly, stepping aside so Apricity could see.

One of the long, deep green and gold rugs was pulled back to reveal a large hatch in the floor. Black, sooty hand prints were all over the handle and rug.

Apricity gasped and her eyes widened. “I didn’t even know that was here!” she exclaimed, pushing the rug further off the door with her foot. “Abaude never told me he had a cellar. Basement. Whatever this is.” She frowned sadly. “I guess there were way more things that he kept from me than I thought.”

Dream, standing behind her, reached to rest his hand on her shoulder before he thought better of it. ‘She probably doesn’t want to be touched,’ he thought. ‘I wouldn’t want to be touched.’ Instead, he looked around for a source of light.

He found an old oil lantern sitting on one of the dust shelves and picked it up. “Do you think this would still work?” he asked, already pulling out a match.

Apricity poured water over the hatch’s handle and pulled it up—it took several tugs but eventually came unstuck. She nearly fell over from the sudden give, but Dream stabilized her with a hand on her forearm.

“Thanks,” she breathed, peering down into the dusty, moldy, stairs that descended into the darkness. It looked more like a ladder than stairs with how steep the steps were.

“Of course,” Dream murmured, holding up a now lit lantern. Its gentle, warm glow illuminated the hall just enough to see that there was a small door at the end of the rickety steps. “Can't have you getting any head injuries, now can I?”

The light of their oil lamp flickered unsteadily, the light dancing on the peeling walls. Each stair creaked and groaned beneath their feet, threatening to crash through.

“It’s locked,” Apricity muttered, jiggling the brass handle of the almost strangely small door with a frown. She huffed a breath as Dream took her place. “Gosh, I can feel the mold down here,” she muttered, watching him test the door's durability. “I think it’s giving me shortness of breath.”

“You’ll be fine,” Dream waved her off, unconcerned. He gave the door a few experimental shoves with his free hand before handing the oil lantern to Apricity. “Step back,” he directed, stabilizing himself with the rail before lifting his leg and sending a hard kick right below the knob.

It didn’t budge, but the frame did splinter. It was obviously weak. Dream didn’t hesitate to kick it again—once, twice, three times. On the fourth kick the door practically shattered, sending shards of wood sprawling across the concrete floor. 

Neither of them stopped to look at the room—not when a small girl was cowering in the corner, face hidden in her arms. They couldn’t see her very well due to the low light, but from what they could see… 

She looked like she’d been burning. Blisters, welts, and black marks slathered her skin. As if someone had merely smeared the injuries on.

“Ivy.” Dream held the lantern higher. His voice was accusatory and low. “Why did you do it?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ivy whimpered, hiding her face in both hands, curling in on herself. “I wasn’t—I didn’t want—” she broke off, gasping desperately for air as if she’d been suffocating down there.

Dream gripped the pommel of his sword tightly, remembering the way she shifted forms from their last encounter. If these were crocodile tears like he expected, they were damn good. 

“...” Apricity beside him looked conflicted, stepping further into the dingy basement, holding the oil lamp high. “What happened, Ivy? Why did you do it?”

“I wasn’t going to!” Ivy cried, lifting her face.

What once was a little girl's untouched, delicate skin was now a mess of soot and meddled features—melted and contorted painfully.

Apricity gasped, a hand shooting to her mouth. While Ivy wasn’t human, it was still a jarring sight—and it obviously hurt her all the same.

Ivy  sputtered for a moment, clutching at her face. “It hurts,” she whispered, before snapping her gaze up to Apricity, eyes flashing desperately. “Water—water!”  she demanded, lunging. Apricity stumbled back, fumbling to not drop the oil lantern. Dream smoothly stepped in front of her. With a shing, he pressed the tip of his sword to Ivy’s chest.

The nymph panted heavily, eyes wide and crazed. She leaned slightly against the sword tip, reaching forward. “Please, it burns! I need water, I’ve been down here for days—with nothing. No sunlight, no water! PLEASE.” 

“Hold on,” Apricity snapped, her voice tight with nerves, setting the lamp down to dig her waterskin out. “You’re going to be okay, Ivy. Just hold on a moment.”

Ivy trembled violently as Apricity cautiously held out the waterskin. She seized it, struggling to uncap it. “Finally, please, please,” she muttered incomprehensibly, raising the waterskin over her head and emptying the pouch.

Water ran over her skin, washing away the soot—the layers beneath were downright horrendous.

Her face was dangerously skeletal, eaten away by a slow burning acid. It looked like she’d been being scraped at with a peeler—skin slowly eaten away over the hours of helpless agony. Her cheekbones were exposed, though they looked more like branches. Water meshed with both green and red blood, tracing down her ragged, filthy clothes and puddling on the dirty, hard floor.

Apricity gagged, watching Ivy’s skin convulse as it tried to put itself together. Dream tried not to react, though his shoulders tensed further. Everywhere the blood, water, and soot mixed, it bubbled and sizzled loudly before going silent.

Ivy’s breath was ragged and painfully wet as she coughed. “More…” she pleaded, dropping the empty waterskin to the ground. There were still spots on her body where the soot hadn’t been washed away, and Ivy sloppily tried to slather excess water over it.

Apricity’s voice was quiet as she replied.  “We don’t have any more. I’m sorry.” Dream tilted his sword forward, watching its enchantments gleam in the dark room.

For a moment, the only sounds were Ivy’s labored breathing, the small flame in their lantern, floorboards creaking, and water dripping.

Apricity shut her eyes tight. She had to remind herself why they were here—what Ivy had done. She spoke. “You killed Robin. We should just leave you down here to rot.”

“I was protecting him!” Ivy defended loudly. “We were attacked. I didn’t do it, I swear.” Her thin, cracked lips trembled. “I didn’t kill him, I swear!”

“I don’t believe you,” Dream growled, not backing down. There wasn’t a hint of empathy in his voice. Ivy was getting what she deserved. “You will be exiled for your crimes.” The word exile was bitter on his tongue, and he found his voice almost caught on it.

Ivy took a step back, pulling at her greasy hair. “I can’t go back to the forest,” she whispered. “I can’t. They’re waiting for me. All of them.”

Apricity made a small sound, voice considerably gentler than Dream’s. Bleeding heart at the oddest of times. Maybe it was the way Ivy whimpered pathetically, or how her disfigured face looked painful and raw. Or maybe Apricity actually believed her for some wretched reason.

“Who’s waiting?” Apricity inquired, glancing over her shoulder just to make sure there was no one behind them. She took a deep breath, wavering between anger and empathy. It was just so hard, seeing what normally acted and looked like an innocent little girl, like this. Even despite Apricity having known Ivy was far from human long ago.

“I don’t know!” Ivy wailed, hugging herself. “It’s always a guess who's dealing with criminals.” Ivy spat that word with disdain. “Whoever it is, they’re surely just waiting to throw me to The Pit. I don’t want to go to the Great Beyond yet.”

Dream sighed almost tiredly, as if this was starting to become more of an inconvenience than anything else. Apricity looked like she was trying to figure out if she wanted to be angry or if she wanted to let Ivy go.

“She killed Robin,” Dream reminded her lowly. “She’s just pretending.”

“...” Apricity’s expression hardened and she exhaled slowly. “Ivy, what do you mean you didn’t do it? The evidence points directly to you.”

“Are you just going to ignore all the other evidence, then?” Ivy demanded. “What about all that vile eversor soot? What about me? My own wounds, my face and my beautiful vines! Why would I do this to myself?” Ivy’s skin rippled agonizingly as her voice raised angrily.

Dream scraped his sword across the pavement. “What we’re not gonna do,” he began calmly. “is get aggressive. You will stay reasonable or I will cut you down.” He added on, a smile in his voice. “And trust me, I would be glad to do so. It would be so easy…”

Ivy recoiled, shrinking further into the shadows. “You’re just as bad as the animals of The Forest,” she hissed, hugging her welted, blistering arms.

Dream tilted his head. He was unbothered. “I wouldn’t doubt it. I’ve been compared to wolves and serpents before.”

“Ivy, if you didn’t do it, who did?” Apricity asked, growing impatient.

“Well, I—” Ivy stammered, scrambling for words. “An eversor made me do it.” She finally got it out.

Images of black, matte, wrinkled skin draped over protruding ribs flashed through his mind. Greasy feathers down its back, barely shifting out of place as it reached a clawed hand towards him. Dream scoffed. “An eversor made you do it?” His tone of voice made it clear he didn’t quite believe her. Though there was plenty of evidence to support that theory—Dream just wanted to get rid of Ivy so they could get what they needed from Lance. It didn't matter to him whether or not it was the truth. “Why wouldn’t it just kill you both?”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Ivy sobbed hysterically. Fat tears slipped down her face. She was losing it. She was all over the place. “Don’t make me go back to The Backwoods.”

Dream stepped back towards the stairs. “Apricity, a word?”

Apricity stared at Ivy with a conflicted expression. “Hold on a second, Dream,” she mumbled, approaching Ivy with a gentler tone. “Okay, Ivy, let’s say we believe you. What would you have us do?”

Ivy whimpered, sinking to the ground. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I just… I just can’t go back to The Forest.” Ivy sucked in a harsh breath, remembering something. “Oh, oh, give me to the In Between!”

“Who?” Apricity blinked, lips drawing down in a deeper, confused frown.

“In Between?” Dream echoed. It reminded him of the letter they’d found in the Pura’s stable. Pulling the letter out of his bag, he began to read it out loud...

“‘Face muddled by rotted blight, she hides away from favored light.
So below thy rotted house, find the one with black-stained hands. You’ll find the truth is not as it stands.
Choked by rotten beast, made to create its feast.
- Your Friend in Between’.”

Ivy exclaimed, eyes wide. “So they already know! Take me to them!” She sounded beyond relieved.

“We can’t.” Apricity crouched beside Ivy, looking like she wanted to help her somehow. “We just found that note. We don’t know how to contact them. Who are they, anyway?”

Ivy’s hands twitched, like she wanted to push Apricity away. “You don’t know your own representatives?” she asked incredulously.

Chapter Text

“This is pointless.”

Dream’s voice was both matter of fact and very irritated. Both by the activity he was doing and the loud, packed room he was in. 

They were in the town hall for some sort of gingerbread house contest—he would never have chosen to do it by himself. But, Apricity, who was several tables and teams away, had insisted on it.

Achilles gave him a small frown as he took the slab of ginger bread from him. “NO, it’s not!” he denied, slathering too much frosting on the edge and sticking it to another piece of ginger bread. “It’s a matter of superiority, Mr. Dream. Whoever wins is automatically the best and biggest man!”

Dream sighed, half heartedly scraping a ridiculous amount of excess frosting off the half built ginger bread house and slopping it back into the large bowl of white frosting. “I’m only doing this because Apricity said she’d make those stupid little pastries.”

Achilles only exclaimed in excitement as Athena dropped a big container of colorful little treats on the table. “I brought decor!” she announced proudly, watching as Achilles shoved a mouthful of candy into his mouth. “Don’t eat it all, Achilles. You need to use everything you can if you want to win this year.”

Achilles talked around a large mouthful of chocolate. “We’ll win, I’m sure! Last year, I didn’t have Mr. Dream on my team.”

Athena gave Achilles a gentle smile and patted him on the head. “I’m sure you will! I’ll check back in a bit.” Athena skittered off, giving various teams refills of supplies.

Dream gave a long suffering sigh and removed the haphazardly placed dollops of frosting off the wall of the house. “What’s so good about winning, anyway? This seems like a waste of time.”

Dream glanced back over his shoulder and spotted Apricity, who was with Iris working on their own gingerbread house. Achilles had insisted on being as far as possible in order to ‘not let them steal any of our brilliant, big-brain ideas’. But now they were separated by several other teams.

People of all ages participated in this event. Apparently it was a big deal. There were at least twenty teams of two, all packed into the room. People were smiling—finding time to joke and laugh despite the time limit. It was refreshing; it was fun.

Dream wanted to be anywhere else.

“It’s so good and great and fun because the winner gets—” Achilles did a drum roll on the table. “Thirty coins and a crown of pure honor and amazing-ness.”

The sigh Dream gave was so big he got a little light-headed. “Why do you care so much?”

“Hey, Heel.” A snooty voiced boy around Achilles’ age sauntered up to their table. “I hope you’re ready to lose again this year. Your houses always look like they’re about to fall over.” The boy grinned maliciously. “And they’re beyond ugly. It’s like you made it blind-folded!” The boy jabbed his finger at the messy smears of frosting over the gingerbread house. “Maybe I should give you a few pointers.”

Achilles glowered, his grip tightening around the butterknife in his hand. “Buzz off, West. We don’t need any of your terrible, awful advice.”

West sneered and bumped the table—not even harshly. Just enough to make it wobble, and all the pieces of the house collapse. “You’re never gonna win if you can’t even get it to stand.”

Dream watched silently—his smiling mask giving nothing away. But he was watching. Intently.

Achilles’ face reddened, and he glanced towards the exit. As if he was considering running away. But then he steeled his resolve and met West’s gaze. “Shut up,” Achilles snapped. “I’m going to win.” He paused, shooting a glance at Dream. “I’m gonna win because I have a way better team than you.”

Dream tilted his head slightly and quirked a brow beneath the mask. Dream had been doing the bare minimum. Just enough to say he had helped so Apricity would make him the promised pastries.

West turned his attention to Dream and scoffed. “What, the masked freak that your sister’s probably gonna run off with when she finally gets sick of your family?”

Achilles stomped his foot and his voice raised. “He’s not a freak and April wouldn’t run off!”

What business did this child have talking about him and Apricity that way? Dream frowned, and rested his palms on the table, leaning forward slightly. He was about to address the little brat, but West spoke before Dream.

“Keep dreaming, creep. You’ll never be good enough to win anything. Your brain’s too small.”

“Are you aware that your fly is down?” Dream’s voice was calm. Almost casual.

West flinched and looked down. His face went beet- red and he hurriedly zipped his pants and sputtered,. “Well—It—”

“Please, don’t embarrass yourself.” Dream straightened and waved the boy off. “You’ve already made it clear how insecure you are, what with bullying Achilles for no reason. You don’t want to stick around.”

West puffed up his chest and kept his voice steady. “Or what?”

Dream lowered his voice and ducked to be on West’s level. His voice dripped with condescension, and he spoke slowly, as if to help West understand. “If you don’t leave us right now, I will dig up every insecurity in that tiny snake-hearted brain of yours. I will pick and prod until you have nothing more than a sliver of confidence.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he continued, “And when you’re there? Oh, I’ll let you be. Your ‘friends’ will do the rest.”

West swallowed thickly. “What do you mean?” he demanded, voice faltering. His eyes flicked over Dream’s mask, unnerved by the lifeless gaze he was met with.

“Oh, must I spell it out for you?” Dream didn’t need to look at Achilles to know the boy was watching with wide eyes and holding his breath. “Well, once they realize how weak and pathetic you are, they’ll just…” Dream trailed off and straightened. “Well, they’ll just leave you.”

West glanced unsurely over his shoulder at another table with a group of three rowdy boys—they were all yelling at each other as they constructed their little houses. But they were all wearing matching excitable grins. West’s gaze wavered between Dream and his friends, before he eventually slunk back to where he came from, shooting one last seething glare at Achilles as he went.

Satisfied, Dream focused his attention back to their project, now actively thinking through the best way to construct it. No way in hell would that little jerk place higher than them.

He was stopped in his tracks when two arms and a small, warm body pressed against him.

Dream held his arms awkwardly in the air as Achilles hugged him tight. His face was buried in the worn fabric of his hoodie. “What—what are you doing that for?” Dream asked, voice tinged with agitation. That overly touchy show of gratitude, or whatever it was, was completely unnecessary.

Achilles' voice was muffled, but notably shaky. “Thank you, Dream. West places higher than me every year, no matter how hard I try. And I really, really try!” His voice tightened in confused frustration.

Dream stared down at the blonde mess of hair buried into his side. With a quick look-around to make sure no one was staring, he tentatively lowered his arms. One hand landed on the top of Achilles’ head, and the other on his back. 

“Well,” he began dryly, resting his calculating gaze on West’s table. The house they were working on wasn’t amazing by any means, but it was pretty good for their age. “We can’t let someone who walks around with their fly down besting us, can we?”

Ignoring the way his skin prickled where Achilles touched him, Dream gently pushed Achilles off and handed him the bowl of candies. “Pick out all the red and green ones, would you?”

Achilles quickly wiped his eyes and set to work, his gaze set in firm determination. He would win. He was certain. He had Dream on his side!

They had about an hour and a half left to make their gingerbread house—and they were starting from scratch.

But Dream was good at making things, well, quickly. And Achilles, Dream had found, was good at spit-balling ideas. Many of which were ridiculous and they absolutely did not do, but some…

Dream never would’ve thought of using rice paper as frosted windows. It was brilliant.

By the end of their time, they had a rather impressive two story house—chimney, front and backyard, nice little picket fence, windows, and a rounded front door. They even had a gingerbread man with a small hat and a cane sitting on the lawn.

Achilles was positively beaming. He excitedly yammered on and on about how they made everything when the judge walked by. Dream just watched in silence, paying close attention to the impressed look on the judge’s face.

Despite his excitement, Dream could tell that the boy was anxious as the judges were deciding on a winner. He was twisting the thin silver ring on his finger in the way Dream had begun to associate with Apricity when she was nervous.

“Don’t be nervous,” Dream said coolly. “They’d be idiots to not place us at least in the top three. Has West ever placed top three?”

“Well, no, but—” “Don’t worry.” Dream interrupted, leaning back against the table. “Didn’t you see West’s house? It looks like a dam—…a condemned building compared to ours.”

Achilles managed a small smile, but it fell away when West, as if summoned, approached their table with a scowl.

“I—” the boy stopped when he saw their superior gingerbread house. His jaw dropped, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “You cheated!” he immediately accused.

“How could we cheat?” Dream questioned, crossing his arms. “It’s a matter of creativity and intelligence, boy. We’re simply better than you.”

West looked like he might cry—or scream. Maybe both. “That’s not fair! Adults shouldn’t be allowed to team up with kids!” 

Achilles frowned. “You didn’t say that last year when I was teamed up with my mom.”

“Athena doesn’t count,” West snapped, eyeing their house. Like he was considering taking a hammer to it.

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” a stout woman yelled loudly by the judges tables.

“Be quiet,” Dream told the two boys. “They’re about to say who won.”

West and Achilles both gave each other one last scathing glare before turning their attention to the woman.

“We have decided who the top three winners are! If your names are stated please come to the front to receive your prize.”

Achilles smiled and clapped his hands together, excited.

“In third place we have…” everyone did a drum roll. “MISS ALIYA JACKSON AND MRS. SMITH!” Two women went up to get their prizes—ten coins each.

Achilles frowned, uncertain, but still hopeful. Second would be even better than third.

“In second place, we have MR. FIR AND MRS. FIR!” an older couple cheered and went up to accept their prize. twenty coins each.

Achilles buzzed nervously, grabbing onto Dream’s sleeve and shaking his arm. Dream ignored him.

West scoffed. “There’s no way you got first. You probably didn’t even place.”

“Shut up!” Achilles cried, his face burning red.

Dream really wanted to push that kid over. Hard. But everyone was watching.

And he had a feeling that West would just take out that embarrassment and anger out on Achilles when Dream wasn’t around. That’s just how these kids worked—Dream knew that very well.

“And first place is…” the judge waited with a grin as drum rolls commenced. “Achilles Pura and Mr. Was-Taken!”

Dream couldn’t help the smug, satisfied smirk that curled across his lips as he watched West stutter over himself in disbelieving anger. Achilles cheered and hollered as he raced up to grab their prize—thirty coins each and small, colorful crowns.

Achilles returned with Apricity on his heel, both of them wearing wide grins. 

“WE DID IT!” Achilles cried, wearing his crown already. It was blue and red. The other was green and red. “We did it! Thank you so much, Dream!” 

Dream only shrugged and accepted the crown, though he didn’t put it on. He was much  more interested in the money. It was a rather large sum for something as meaningless as gingerbread houses. “It was my pleasure, showing that brat who is superior.”

Apricity lightly punched Dream’s shoulder. “I think I might have to make you extra pastries for placing first.” She smiled softer. “You have no idea how much that means to Achilles—and, in turn, me. Thank you.”

Dream looked away. “…You’re welcome… Bug.”

West had stormed off in anger, and was arguing about something with his friends. Dream gestured in his direction. “Who is that twerp, anyway?”

Apricity frowned, eyeing the small group of boys. “West? Ah, he’s just the village bully. He likes picking on Achilles and his friends because they tend to…” she paused thoughtfully. “Do odd things. Odd to West, anyway.”

“Like?” Dream inquired, now curious. Apricity shrugged. 

“Well, for starters, what kind of friend group wears wooden masks and frolics in fields? Weird.”

Dream stared intently at Achilles as he showed off his crown to a surprisingly large group of kids. They were all happy smiles and cheers.

“Weird.” He agreed.

______________

Dream’s breath fogged out in front of him as he walked down the dirt road of Lianeath. It was freezing that morning—he was even wearing big, fluffy fur gloves that Athena had insisted he wear, despite him telling her that he didn’t want them.

He led Spirit behind him, the horse snorting loudly every few steps—Dream was fairly certain the big beast just liked the way his warm breath misted in the air.

What an oddly intelligent creature to even notice such a thing. Horses had always impressed Dream.

He was heading into town to meet up with Apricity. They had arranged to go on a ride that evening—something about getting the horses out and about to stretch their legs behind they all got snowed in.

Dream despised the snow. It made everything more difficult. Sure, it was pretty, but Dream would take convenience over beauty any time.

Dream finally made it to the place they were meeting—right outside the bakery. He tied Spirit up next to Tramp and stepped inside.

He didn’t expect to nearly run Apricity over.

“Oh—!” She exclaimed, catching herself on the doorframe. “Oh, hi, Dream!” she greeted with a grin. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Dream nodded, stepping aside in the doorway to let her slip by him.

“WAIT!” The cashier yelled loudly, waving her hands almost violently.

Both Dream and Apricity froze—one of them resting a hand on their sword, and the other almost reaching for her bow and arrow.

“What?” Dream snapped, glowering. What could be so important that she had to yell like that?

“Look up!” the girl squealed, smiling excitedly.

Dream and Apricity looked up.

Mistletoe.

‘He was NOT taking his mask off,’ was the first thought that popped into his head. Dream scowled and stepped back, out from under it—while Apricity coughed and sputtered as she stared up at it, now alone under the mistletoe.

“Hey!” the girl cried. “You have to kiss or you’ll have bad luck!”

“I don’t believe in luck,” Dream bit, hurriedly untying Spirit. He didn’t believe in luck and he didn’t believe in traditions as stupid as mistletoe.

Apricity was blushing, but followed in suit—untying Tramp just as swiftly as Dream.

The girl inside the shop looked greatly disappointed as the door swung close, separating them. She’d probably been looking forward to seeing the mayor's daughter kiss the strange masked man.

“Gosh,” Apricity laughed breathlessly. “The last time I was caught under mistletoe with a boy was…” she paused, thinking for a moment. “Like four years ago.”

“Did you kiss?” Dream didn’t mean for his voice to sound so demanding. He didn’t even mean to ask that at all.

Apricity blushed. “No. Not really.” She grinned sheepishly. “Just on the cheek.”

Dream huffed and busied himself with tightening Spirit’s saddle. Maybe a tad too tightly, based on how Spirit jerked his head up when Dream pulled on the strap. He loosened it and grumbled a small apology to the horse. “Who was it?” he asked. It didn’t matter, though. What was he going to do about it?

Nothing. The answer was nothing.

“Butch,” she replied ruefully. “That was before I knew how much of a jerk he was. I’d never even come close to kissing him nowadays.”

Dream glanced back at the door of the bakery. If he didn’t wear a mask all the time, and didn’t have an audience, what would he have done? What would Apricity have done?

Apricity mounted Tramp with ease and turned to walk down the road. “You coming, Dream?”

“Yeah.” He swung his leg over Spirit’s back and followed her with a steady pace.

“If it was someone else, would you have kissed him?” Dream asked the question before he could even think about it. He wasn’t embarrassed by it, though. Just curious. And oddly anticipating her answer.

She looked a little taken off guard by the question. “Uh… I don’t think so.”

“Would you have kissed me if I hadn’t moved away?”

Apricity choked on her inhale. “Dream!” she cried, her eyes wide as saucers.

“Apricity!” Dream mocked. “It’s a serious question.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Apricity blush harder than in that moment. He felt a tinge of very smug satisfaction.

“I—I don’t know,” she finally stuttered after she thought about it for a moment.

“Well,” Dream huffed, urging Spirit into a trot. “Let me know when you decide whether or not you’ll kiss me next time we’re under the mistletoe.”

“Next time?” Apricity murmured to herself—she quickly shook her head and pushed Tramp to gallop after Dream.

______________

“Do you know how to skate?” Apricity stepped onto the ice of the large, frozen lake with a smooth confidence.

She slid forward, doing a few wide, warm up circles. Her movements were effortless and graceful—she’d obviously been skating for a long time. She was wearing warm ear muffs, a fluffy fur coat, and fur boots.

“It’s been a while,” Dream replied dryly, tying his skates tight before he stepped onto the ice.

Dream hissed, arms jerking forward to catch himself, he just barely managed to stabilize before he made a fool of himself.

Apricity laughed, doing a quick circle around him before stopping in front of him. “So the great Dream isn’t perfect at everything, eh?”

Dream scowled. A sense of determination filled him—a fiery feeling in his gut that pushed him to succeed.

“Just give me a minute,” he growled, doing a few experimental strides. He was a little wobbly at first, although this wasn’t his first time on the ice. He used to do it quite often. With his ‘friends’, back at his old ‘home’. But it had been several years.

He glowered as Apricity teased him by skating circles, twirls, and small jumps. She was so graceful and effortless; it wasn’t fair.

“Would you cut that out?” he muttered, pushing off the ice and going a bit faster. “I don’t want to watch you show off.”

“Ah, don’t be such a poor sport!” Apricity grinned, her arms spread wide as she did a slow circle in place.

“I’m not a poor sport,” Dream argued, attempting to do a slow spin like she was. He almost fell over, but managed to complete it. “I just don't like it when people show off. It’s annoying.”

“Ooh,” Apricity smiled knowingly. “You’re just mad you aren’t better than me at something.”

If Dream was close enough to push her over, he would have. “I don’t like you.” He said instead, staring at his feet. “I used to be really good. Back in the SMP.”

“I believe you,” she replied. “I can help you get back to your old skill, if you like.” she offered, smiling. 

Dream wanted to wrinkle his nose and deny her offer. But… 

“I’ll take a few tips,” he muttered grudgingly instead.

“Perfect.” Apricity grinned and reached out to take one of his hands to hold him steady. “Here’s what you’re going to want to do…”