Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a land far, far away, nestled between towering mountains and verdant valleys, there lay a prosperous kingdom. Its ruler, a wise and just king, and his queen, renowned for her grace and kindness, had everything their hearts could desire—except one thing. Despite their riches and peaceful reign, they had long yearned for a child, one to inherit the throne and continue their legacy.

Day after day, the queen gazed out from the grand windows of her castle, watching the sun set behind the distant hills, her heart heavy with longing. She would often walk the lush gardens with her husband, her fingers lightly grazing the flowers as they blossomed under the bright sun, her thoughts always on the child she prayed for.

One evening, as the stars twinkled in the sky like diamonds, the king knelt by the castle chapel and made his wish known to the heavens. "Grant us a child," he whispered. "A child who will be loved and cherished, a beacon of hope for this kingdom."

And so, as if the stars themselves had heard his plea, the queen soon bore a son. On the morning of his birth, the sun shone brighter than it had ever done before, casting golden light over the kingdom. The boy, with sparkling green eyes and hair that shimmered like spun gold, was a gift from the heavens themselves. The entire kingdom rejoiced. The bells tolled, announcing the birth of the heir—Dream, the hope of their future.

The announcement rippled through the lands, reaching even the farthest corners. Among those to hear it were the rulers of the neighboring kingdom, a powerful empire whose alliance the king had long sought. For years, the neighboring king had desired to align their houses through marriage. It had been discussed in hushed tones behind closed doors that, should the child born to the kingdom be a girl, she would be betrothed to the young prince of the neighboring realm. The prince, a boy of eight summers with long pink hair like a soft blush of dawn and eyes the color of fresh blood, had been raised knowing that his future might be tied to this kingdom by marriage.

That prince was Technoblade.

As the royal families gathered for the baptism, the event took on the grandeur of a grand alliance—a show of goodwill, of peace. Banners adorned the streets, flowers were strewn in the path of the visitors, and citizens clamored to catch a glimpse of the royal processions.

The king and queen of the neighboring kingdom arrived in splendid regalia, their carriage adorned with the finest silks. But none was more striking than the prince who accompanied them—Technoblade. Though still a boy, his presence commanded attention. His pink hair, tied back in a neat braid, cascaded down his back, and his unnatural red eyes, sharp and observant, missed nothing. There was something almost otherworldly about him, a cold confidence that made others uneasy.

Technoblade knew why he was there. If Dream had been born a girl, today would have been the start of a long, binding engagement. He would have been tied to this baby—his fate locked with an infant he had never met, a responsibility and burden thrust upon him.

But Dream was a boy.

A subtle sense of relief washed over Technoblade as they entered the grand hall of the castle. The kingdom’s future heir was a boy, and any plans of binding their two realms through marriage were rendered null. He wouldn’t have to live with the constant weight of responsibility, of being attached to a child from birth. He wouldn’t have to wait years for that infant to grow up, to become a suitable spouse, to endure a marriage he never desired.

Dream lay in the cradle at the center of the hall, his golden hair catching the light like a crown. His green eyes sparkled with innocence, completely unaware of the expectations that had once surrounded his birth. He was surrounded by well-wishers—nobles from every corner of the kingdom, eager to align themselves with the future king.

Technoblade, watching from the sidelines, studied the child with curiosity. He was beautiful, yes, with an aura that seemed to draw people in, even as a baby. But there was something else, something unspoken that Technoblade couldn’t quite place.

And though the thought was fleeting, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that their lives, though not bound by marriage, might yet be intertwined. His father would find any way to unite the kingdoms. 

As the baptism continued, the customary blessings were given, but the tension in the air was undeniable. The neighboring king eyed the boy with thinly veiled disappointment. Their plans for uniting the kingdoms were now uncertain, and yet, there was no denying the possibility of future alliances. Perhaps, in time, there would be another way to bind the two lands—if not through marriage, then through other means.

Technoblade remained quiet through the ceremony, standing beside his parents as they offered their gifts to the boy. But as his gaze lingered on the golden-haired child, something inside him stirred—if it was a girl, would he have been engaged to her? It seemed impossible to think like that. 

As the sun began to set and the celebrations continued, Technoblade’s mind wandered, his thoughts inexplicably drawn to the golden-haired boy, poor thing, he will probably be forced to marry a foreigner in turn. After all, fate wasn’t so easily escaped after all.

And maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

The grand hall of the castle was alive with celebration. Laughter and music echoed off the stone walls as nobles and royals alike danced in the glow of a thousand candles. The joyous baptism of Dream, the prince born with golden hair and emerald eyes, continued with a splendor that seemed to reflect the kingdom’s hope for a bright future. The air buzzed with excitement as the long-awaited moment arrived—the blessings of the fairy godmothers.

The hall quieted as three figures, veiled in shimmering light, gracefully made their way toward the cradle where Dream lay. Their presence alone seemed to dim the candles, as though the world itself hushed in their presence, recognizing the magic they carried within.

The first fairy, with a soft blue glow radiating from her gown, stepped forward. Her face, kind and wise, was framed by delicate wings that shimmered with the faintest hint of silver. She smiled gently at Dream, raising her hand as she prepared to bestow her gift.

"My gift to you," she began, her voice soft but clear, "is the gift of beauty." She waved her wand over the sleeping child, and a soft glow enveloped him. "You will grow to be more beautiful than the dawn, your golden hair shining like sunlight, and your features so fair that all who see you will be captivated."

A collective sigh of admiration swept through the crowd as they gazed upon Dream. Though he was already a striking infant, the fairy’s blessing had woven an ethereal beauty into his very being, ensuring that his appearance would be the envy of kings and queens alike.

The second fairy, a figure with a soft green glow surrounding her, approached the cradle next. Her wings fluttered gently behind her, and with a motherly smile, she looked down at the baby. "My gift to you," she said, her voice filled with warmth, "is the gift of song." She waved her wand gracefully, and a soft melody filled the air. "Your voice will be as sweet as a nightingale's, enchanting all who hear it. Music will flow through your heart, and your song will bring joy to all corners of the earth."

As the music lingered in the air, a soft hum seemed to resonate from Dream himself, as though the very gift had already begun to take root in his soul. The guests beamed, the king and queen exchanged looks of joy, and even the neighboring king nodded approvingly at the blessings being bestowed upon the child. It was clear that this prince was destined for greatness.

But then, as the third fairy stepped forward, her wand raised and ready to deliver her gift, a cold gust of wind suddenly swept through the grand hall. The candles flickered wildly, and the warmth of the room was replaced by an eerie chill that settled over the crowd. The guests gasped, their eyes darting toward the entrance of the hall as a dark, oppressive presence made itself known.

The grand doors flew open, slamming against the stone walls with a deafening crack. In the entrance stood a figure draped in black, her silhouette sharp and imposing against the dimming light. The air itself seemed to retreat from her as she strode into the room, her long cloak trailing behind her like a shadow of death.

Maleficent.

Her presence sent waves of terror through the crowd. The king and queen stood frozen in place, their hands gripping each other’s as they stared at the dark sorceress with wide eyes. Even the fairy godmothers seemed to tense, their glowing light flickering in the face of Maleficent’s overwhelming darkness.

"Well, well," Maleficent’s voice echoed, smooth and venomous. "What a grand occasion this is. The entire kingdom has gathered to celebrate the birth of a...prince." Her lips curled into a smirk, her cold gaze landing on the cradle where Dream lay.

The king, finding his voice, stepped forward, his face pale with fear and anger. "You are not welcome here, Maleficent."

"Not welcome?" she mused, her voice laced with mockery. "Oh, dear, how rude. I too have a gift for the child." She approached the cradle, her every step deliberate and filled with malice. The guests stepped back, giving her a wide berth as she passed, their fear palpable in the air.

Maleficent stood before Dream, her eyes narrowing as she gazed upon the innocent boy, still blissfully unaware of the danger surrounding him. "I must say," she continued, her voice low and threatening, "I was rather disappointed not to receive an invitation to this little celebration. It appears my presence was...forgotten."

"Enough!" the queen cried, her voice trembling. "You shall give no such gift!"

"Oh, but I insist." Maleficent's smile widened, sharp and cruel. She raised her staff, dark magic swirling around her as she pointed it toward the cradle. The hall seemed to grow darker, the air heavy with her evil power.

"Here is my gift to the child," Maleficent announced, her voice booming with finality. "On his sixteenth birthday, as the sun sets, he shall prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel...and fall into a sleep from which he will never awaken."

Gasps of horror filled the room, the guests recoiling in shock at the curse that had been placed upon their beloved prince. The king stepped forward, his hand reaching for his sword, but Maleficent’s eyes flashed with dark amusement.

"Do not bother to fight it, dear king. The curse cannot be undone," she purred, her voice dripping with menace. "Only death will free him from this sleep, and no power in this world can save him."

With that, Maleficent turned, her cloak sweeping the floor as she made her way back toward the doors. The fear in the room was palpable, the air thick with the weight of her curse. As she reached the entrance, she paused and cast one last, icy glance at Dream, her lips curling into a wicked smile.

"Enjoy the time you have left with him," she said, her words hanging in the air like a death knell. "For it will not last."

And with that, she vanished, leaving behind only the lingering echo of her cruel laughter.

The hall was silent, the weight of Maleficent’s curse pressing down on everyone present. The king and queen stood frozen, their hearts filled with despair as they looked upon their precious son, now doomed to a fate worse than death.

The third fairy, still standing at the cradle, slowly lowered her wand, her face pale and shaken. But as she looked at Dream, her resolve hardened. She knew she could not undo the curse, but perhaps...perhaps she could soften its blow.

Stepping forward, she raised her wand once more. "Though I cannot break Maleficent’s curse," she whispered, her voice steady, "I can offer a small mercy." She waved her wand, a soft light emanating from its tip. "Dream shall indeed fall into a deep sleep, but he will not remain so forever. The sleep will be broken—not by death, but by true love’s first kiss."

A glimmer of hope returned to the hall as the guests held their breath, clinging to the possibility of salvation. The king and queen looked at each other, hope flickering in their eyes despite the dark cloud that hung over their son’s future.

But even as the fairy spoke her words, one question remained unspoken among them all.

Who, in this vast and unpredictable world, would be the one to wake the sleeping prince?

Chapter Text

In the days following the baptism, the once joyous halls of the castle were shrouded in a thick blanket of fear and sorrow. The kingdom’s celebration of Dream’s birth had turned into a nightmare, haunted by the curse Maleficent had laid upon their beloved prince. The king, consumed by desperation, ordered every spinning wheel in the kingdom to be burned, hoping to keep his son safe from the cursed fate that awaited him. Yet, despite all their efforts, the lingering threat loomed large, and the king and queen knew they could never be truly at peace while Dream remained in the castle.

It was then that the three fairy godmothers, who had watched the events unfold with heavy hearts, devised a plan. They could not undo the curse, but perhaps they could delay its fateful strike. If Dream was to be kept safe, they would have to take him far away from the reach of Maleficent's dark influence, to a place where no one, not even the most powerful sorceress, could find him.

The fairy godmothers met in secret in a quiet chamber of the castle, their faces etched with worry as they discussed their plan.

Flora, the eldest and most practical of the three, with her striking red dress and no-nonsense attitude, spoke first. “The only way to protect him is to take him far away from here, where Maleficent won’t think to look for him.”

“But where?” asked Fauna, the gentle and soft-spoken fairy dressed in green. Her eyes were wide with concern, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. “We can’t keep him in the castle, and we can’t take him somewhere Maleficent’s magic might find him.”

“We’ll take him to the woods,” Merryweather, the smallest of the three in her blue gown, said with a determined huff. Despite her tiny stature, she was spirited and feisty, with a fierce determination that often outweighed her size. “We’ll live as simple folk and raise him ourselves, just like any other child. No magic, no royalty—just a quiet life.”

Flora nodded, her expression firm. “Yes, and we’ll hide his true identity. He won’t be Prince Dream anymore. He’ll grow up as a commoner, away from the dangers of Maleficent’s curse.”

“But the king and queen,” Fauna whispered, her voice soft. “How can we take him away from them?”

“They will understand,” Flora replied gently. “They want to keep their son safe more than anything in this world. This is the only way.”

The decision was made, and that very night, under the cover of darkness, the fairy godmothers approached the king and queen. Their plan was met with heartbreak, the queen weeping at the thought of being separated from her son. But with the weight of Maleficent’s curse looming over them, the king and queen knew they had no choice. For the safety of Dream, they would let him go.

With heavy hearts, the fairies took Dream, still a baby wrapped in soft blankets, from his cradle. His golden hair shimmered even in the moonlight, and the queen kissed his brow one last time, her tears falling on his soft skin. The king stood by her side, silent but resolute, his hand resting on his queen’s shoulder as he watched the fairies disappear into the night with their son.

Far from the kingdom, deep within the safety of the woods, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather settled into a small, humble cottage. The dense trees shielded them from prying eyes, and the location was remote enough that even Maleficent’s magic could not easily reach them. The prince, unaware of his royal lineage and the danger that lurked in the shadows, would grow up here, safe and hidden.

The fairies adopted simple lives, no longer godmothers to a royal heir but caretakers to a child. Flora, ever the practical one, took charge of keeping the household running, teaching Dream to read and write as he grew, while always reminding Merryweather not to use magic for the simplest of tasks.

“We can’t risk it!” Flora would snap whenever Merryweather got too eager, brandishing her wand at a stack of unwashed dishes. “If Maleficent catches wind of magic, she’ll find us. We’ve got to keep everything normal!”

Merryweather, of course, would grumble in protest, her little face scrunched in frustration as she reluctantly scrubbed the dishes by hand.

Fauna, ever gentle and nurturing, took on the role of teaching Dream about nature, animals, and how to care for the world around him. She would often be found in the woods with him, picking berries or teaching him how to recognize the songs of the birds. Dream, always curious and full of energy, followed her everywhere, his golden hair catching the light as he ran and played, blissfully unaware of the curse that hung over him.

Despite Flora’s strict rules, there were moments when Merryweather’s mischievous streak got the best of her. She would sneak a bit of magic here and there—turning a pie crust golden brown with the flick of her wand or fixing a torn cloak in an instant. Flora would always scold her, but Merryweather would just roll her eyes and mutter, “It’s just a little help, nothing too dangerous.”

And so, the years passed, and Dream grew into a boy as beautiful and lively as the fairies had blessed him to be. His golden hair shone like the sun, and his bright green eyes sparkled with life. He sang as he played in the woods, his voice sweet and enchanting, just as Fauna’s gift had promised.

Yet, as the boy grew, so did the unease in Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. Though they had managed to keep him hidden from Maleficent for so long, the day was fast approaching when Dream would turn sixteen—the day the curse would seek him out.

“We’ve done our best,” Flora said one evening, as the three of them sat outside the cottage, watching Dream chase fireflies in the fading light of dusk. “But we can’t protect him forever.”

“There must be some way to stop the curse,” Fauna whispered, her eyes filled with worry.

Merryweather frowned. “Maybe true love’s kiss really can break it.”

Flora sighed. “Maybe...but we can’t rely on ‘maybes.’ We’ll keep him safe, as long as we can. He must never know who he really is, not until it’s absolutely necessary.”

And so, the fairies continued to watch over Dream, raising him as their own, while the threat of Maleficent’s curse lingered like a dark cloud on the horizon.

But the woods, no matter how deep and quiet, could not hide the prince forever.

Chapter Text

Dream was no ordinary boy. There was something in his spirit—an energy, a curiosity—that pushed him beyond the boundaries the fairy godmothers set for him. Though his caretakers adored him and kept him busy with chores, lessons, and stories, Dream’s mind always wandered. He longed for more than the life within the confines of the small cottage hidden deep in the woods.

By the time he was ten, Dream had memorized every twist and turn of the forest paths, knew the songs of all the birds, and could tell which flowers bloomed in each season. But the woods, no matter how vast, were not enough. There was something more out there—something beyond the trees. 

Dream had asked once, when he was younger, what lay beyond the forest. The fairies had exchanged uneasy glances and told him that it was dangerous, that it was better for him to stay close. "There are many things out there that could hurt you," Flora had said sternly, her red robes swaying as she lectured. "And you're much safer here with us."

Fauna had added gently, "Besides, what could you possibly want beyond the woods? You have everything you need right here."

And Merryweather had simply shrugged and muttered, "It's boring out there anyway."

But Dream wasn’t so sure. He often heard the distant clamor of voices or the faint clink of metal from far beyond the tree line. He wondered who those voices belonged to, what kind of lives those people led. His dreams were filled with visions of grand castles, bustling markets, and—most of all—knights, with their gleaming armor and swords.

The idea of knights fascinated Dream more than anything. Though the fairies told him stories of great battles and heroes, they always warned him away from danger. But Dream couldn't shake the feeling that there was something exciting about wielding a sword, about being brave and standing tall against enemies.

One bright morning, Dream decided that today was the day he would venture beyond the woods.

“I’m going to play in the forest,” Dream announced, his green eyes sparkling with excitement as he pulled on his boots. The fairies, bustling about with their chores, barely looked up.

“Stay close, dear,” Fauna called absently, arranging some wildflowers on the table.

“Don’t talk to strangers,” Flora added, waving a hand as she swept the cottage floor.

“And don’t go near the edge of the woods!” Merryweather warned, though her attention was fixed on the stubborn pile of laundry she was folding.

Dream nodded dutifully, but as soon as he was out of sight, a mischievous smile spread across his face. He had no intention of staying close. Today, he would go farther than ever before—he would see the village he had only heard faint sounds of in the distance. 

The trees soon grew thinner as Dream ventured deeper into the forest. His heart raced with anticipation as he reached the boundary, where the familiar woods gave way to the unknown. The village lay just beyond—a small, quiet place nestled near the edge of the neighboring kingdom. He crouched low in the bushes, his eyes wide as he observed the people milling about the dirt roads. It was his first time seeing so many people, and though he was filled with excitement, he was also cautious, remembering the fairies’ warnings.

He kept to the shadows, careful not to draw attention to himself. He didn’t talk to anyone, but he watched. His eyes were drawn to the soldiers, tall men clad in armor, their swords glinting in the midday sun. They moved with purpose, their hands resting on their hilts as they marched through the village. Dream watched in awe as one of them paused to demonstrate a move to a younger boy—a simple slash and parry with his sword, but to Dream, it was nothing short of magic.

The way the soldier moved, the fluidity of his stance, the control he had over his blade—it mesmerized Dream. He crouched behind a cart, his gaze fixed on the soldier, trying to memorize every movement. He felt a strange tug in his chest, an urge to try it himself.

After some time, Dream decided it was time to leave. He couldn’t risk being caught, and the fairies would grow suspicious if he was gone too long. But as he turned to leave, his mind raced with excitement. He had seen knights. Real knights! And he wanted to be like them.

Back in the forest, Dream found a sturdy stick, long and straight, and gripped it in his hand like a sword. He stood tall, imagining himself as one of the soldiers he had seen. With a focused expression, he began to mimic the movements he had watched so closely. He swung the stick through the air, trying to remember the stance, the way the soldier had shifted his weight and parried the invisible blows.

It wasn’t perfect. His strikes were clumsy at first, but Dream was nothing if not persistent. Each day, after his chores were done, he would sneak away to a secluded part of the woods and practice with his makeshift sword. His swings became more fluid, his footwork more confident. 

He could almost see it—himself in shining armor, defending the kingdom, just like the knights from the stories. He grinned as he twirled the stick, feeling a thrill rush through him with every imagined strike.

The woods were his training ground, and though the fairies had no idea, Dream had found something that excited him far beyond the quiet life they had carefully built for him. He had found his dream.

Though, he did not know that the world beyond the woods held dangers far greater than any he had imagined.

As Dream practiced, unaware of the dark forces gathering, the curse that had once been cast upon him lay quietly in wait, biding its time until it would finally strike.

Chapter Text

Dream’s body moved fluidly through the forest, his stick slashing through the air as he practiced the swordsmanship he had been refining for years. He had gotten better—much better. At fourteen, his movements were quick and precise, a far cry from the clumsy attempts he had made as a child. The forest had become his private arena, the trees his silent audience, and though he knew the fairies would disapprove, the thrill of mastering his skill was too strong to resist.

His green eyes were focused, his golden hair clinging to his forehead as he twirled his stick in an arc, mimicking a downward strike. But just as he was about to make his final move, a voice—low, smooth, and unfamiliar—broke the stillness of the woods.

“Your stance is all wrong.”

Dream froze, his heart leaping into his throat. He whipped around to face the source of the voice, his grip tightening on his makeshift sword as fear surged through him. Standing against a tree, just a few paces away, was a man—tall and imposing, his presence unnervingly casual as if he had been watching Dream for some time. The man had long, pink hair that cascaded over his shoulders, and his eyes—deep red, like blood—pierced through Dream’s soul with an intensity that made him want to shrink back.

For a moment, Dream couldn’t speak. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the stranger, his mind racing. He was not supposed to talk to anyone, especially not strangers, but he was too shocked to move, too startled to even consider running.

“Huh?” The confused sound slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

The man smirked, his lips curving into an amused smile. “Sloppy work. You’re too tense. Your grip is off, and your balance is all wrong.”

Dream’s eyes widened, his mind still struggling to process what was happening. The man, whoever he was, was speaking to him as if they were in the middle of a casual conversation—as if it wasn’t strange for him to appear out of nowhere in the middle of the forest and criticize Dream’s swordplay.

He looked the stranger up and down, noting the fine, noble clothing that clung to his broad frame. This was no ordinary traveler. The pink-haired man exuded an air of authority and power, and his presence alone made Dream’s pulse race with a mix of fear and something else—something unfamiliar.

“I... uh...” Dream stammered, his voice catching in his throat. He wasn’t sure what to say. He knew he should run, that he should at least refuse to speak to this man. The fairies had warned him countless times not to talk to strangers, especially those who wandered the woods. And yet, his feet felt glued to the ground, unable to move.

The man pushed off the tree, taking a few steps closer, though his demeanor remained relaxed. He glanced at the stick in Dream’s hand and raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“I could show you how to hold it properly,” the man offered, his voice smooth and commanding. “You’re trying to fight, but all you’ll do with that grip is hurt yourself.”

Dream’s throat tightened, and he glanced down at his hands, unsure of how to respond. Everything about the man screamed danger, but at the same time, his words were tempting. Dream had practiced alone for so long, relying on what little he had observed in the village. The thought of having someone—someone who clearly knew what they were doing—show him the correct way to fight was more appealing than he cared to admit.

“I... I don’t know,” Dream mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

The man chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming as he took another step forward. “What’s the harm? I’m not going to bite. Besides,” his smile widened, showing a flash of teeth, “I’ve been watching you for a while. It’s a shame to see someone with potential waste it on poor form.”

Dream’s stomach flipped at the realization that this man had been observing him without his knowledge. But even with that unsettling thought gnawing at him, something about the man’s offer was too enticing to ignore. He knew he should run—every instinct told him to—but his curiosity, his desire to improve, overpowered the small voice in his head warning him to stay away.

He swallowed hard and took a shaky breath. “Okay... show me.”

The man’s smirk softened into something almost approving. He stepped forward, close enough that Dream could feel the overwhelming presence that radiated from him. He was taller, stronger, and his aura was suffocating. Dream tried not to let his nerves show, but it was hard when the man’s eyes seemed to look right through him.

“First, you’re holding it too tight,” the man said, his voice low as he reached out and gently adjusted Dream’s grip on the stick. His touch was firm but controlled, his movements slow and deliberate. “A sword isn’t just about force. You need control. Loosen your grip a little, let your hand guide the blade instead of forcing it.”

Dream stared at his hand, his heart still racing as he followed the man’s instructions. The stranger’s presence was overwhelming, but he did his best to focus, to absorb what he was being taught.

“Good,” the man said, stepping back slightly. “Now, your stance.”

With a swift motion, the man nudged Dream’s feet apart, adjusting his posture with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. Dream’s breath hitched in his throat as the man’s hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, his touch both commanding and strangely reassuring.

“Better,” the man said, taking a step back to observe. “You need balance, or you’ll be on the ground before you even get a chance to strike.”

Dream’s head spun as he tried to process everything that was happening. He had never imagined meeting someone like this, let alone having them help him with something he had kept hidden for years. The man was intimidating—terrifying, even—but there was something about him that made Dream want to trust him.

“What’s your name?” Dream asked, his voice quiet as he straightened his stance, trying to follow the man’s advice.

The man’s red eyes flashed with amusement. “Technoblade,” he said simply, his smirk returning. “And you, kid?”

Dream hesitated for a moment, the name sounding strangely familiar. He swallowed his nerves, though his green eyes stayed locked on the imposing figure before him.

“Dream,” he finally answered, his voice steady despite the knot of anxiety in his chest.

Technoblade’s smirk widened, his gaze lingering on Dream for a moment longer, as if he was sizing him up. “Well, Dream,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “you’ve got potential. But you’ve got a lot to learn.”

Dream didn’t respond, his mind still whirling with everything that had just happened. He knew he shouldn’t have accepted Technoblade’s help, shouldn’t have spoken to him at all. And yet, something told him that this encounter was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Dream found himself wandering deeper into the woods more often, not just to practice his swordsmanship but in hopes of seeing Technoblade again. It was strange. When they first met, the pink-haired man had frightened him, with his red eyes that seemed to see right through him and his imposing presence that left Dream's heart racing. But over time, those fears had slowly given way to something else.

The more Dream met Technoblade, the more comfortable he became around him. Technoblade was blunt, often teasing, and at times intimidating, but there was something about him that Dream found reassuring. He was the only person Dream ever spoke to outside of his caretakers, and the lessons in swordsmanship had become something Dream looked forward to. Every time they met, Technoblade would correct his form, show him new techniques, and push him to be better. It wasn’t easy, but Dream could feel himself improving.

Technoblade never pried too much into Dream’s life, and Dream didn’t ask about his either. He enjoyed the company, enjoyed learning from someone who was clearly skilled, and though Technoblade’s presence was overwhelming at times, it felt good to have someone to talk to who wasn’t Flora, Fauna, or Merryweather.

One day, when Dream arrived at their usual spot, Technoblade was already there, leaning casually against a tree. But this time, he had something with him. In his hand was a small, flaky pastry that Dream had never seen before. He tossed it toward Dream without warning.

“Here, try this,” Technoblade said, a casual smirk on his face.

Dream caught the pastry and stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to do. "What is it?" he asked, holding it cautiously.

Technoblade’s smirk widened. “It’s called a croissant. You eat it.”

Dream eyed the pastry warily. It wasn’t that he was afraid of it, but food had never really been something he enjoyed. Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather were loving, but their cooking was... well, not the best. He usually ate because he had to, not because he wanted to. But this croissant smelled different—better.

He took a small bite, more out of curiosity than anything else. As soon as the buttery, flaky pastry touched his tongue, his eyes widened. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted—rich, soft, and practically melted in his mouth. Dream quickly took another bite, and before he knew it, he had devoured the entire thing.

“That’s amazing,” Dream said, still in disbelief. “I’ve never tasted anything like it!”

Technoblade chuckled at Dream’s reaction. “Better than what the old folks make, huh?”

Dream nodded, his mouth still full. “Way better,” he admitted, swallowing his food. “They try, but their cooking is... different.”

Technoblade smirked, clearly amused. “Yeah, I figured you weren’t eating much good stuff out here in the woods. You don’t look like you enjoy food.”

Dream shook his head. “I didn’t really. I guess now I know why.”

The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a while, Technoblade pulling out another croissant and handing it to Dream without a word. Dream took it eagerly, savoring each bite. It was so different from the bland meals he had grown used to.

After a moment, Technoblade broke the silence, his red eyes watching Dream closely. “So, why do you live in the forest, anyway?”

Dream hesitated, caught off guard by the question. He had grown up in the forest with his caretakers, and to him, that was normal. But now, faced with Technoblade’s question, it did seem a bit strange.

“I just... live here,” Dream said, avoiding Technoblade’s gaze. “With my caretakers.”

Technoblade raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with Dream’s vague answer. “Caretakers? You mean those old people you live with?”

Dream nodded, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “Yeah. They’ve always taken care of me.”

Technoblade leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded Dream. “So, what, you’re homeless?”

Dream nearly choked on his croissant. “What?! No! I’m not homeless!”

Technoblade laughed, a deep, rich sound that made Dream’s face flush with embarrassment. “Sure sounds like it. ‘I live in the forest with my caretakers,’” he mimicked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m serious!” Dream spluttered, trying to defend himself. “I have a home! It’s just... in the forest.”

Technoblade’s laughter didn’t stop. “Yeah, right. Sounds like homelessness to me.”

Dream frowned, crossing his arms in frustration. He knew Technoblade was just teasing, but it still annoyed him. “I’m not homeless,” he muttered under his breath.

Technoblade smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “If you say so, kid.”

Dream huffed, but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. As much as Technoblade’s teasing got under his skin, there was something about it that felt oddly comforting. He had never had someone in his life who teased him like this, someone who challenged him but also made him laugh. It was a strange feeling, but Dream found that he didn’t mind it.

After a while, Technoblade leaned forward, his red eyes gleaming with curiosity. “So, why are you always out here in the forest? Don’t you ever go to the village?”

Dream shook his head. “I’m not supposed to. My caretakers say it’s too dangerous.”

Technoblade raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous? For what? You’re just a kid.”

Dream hesitated, not wanting to admit that he didn’t really know the answer. “They’re just... really protective,” he said, his voice quiet.

Technoblade didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned back against the tree, his arms crossed. “Well, if you ever want to learn how to properly defend yourself, I can keep teaching you,” he said casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

Dream’s eyes lit up at the offer. “Really?”

Technoblade shrugged. “Sure. You’ve got potential, but you’re still sloppy. You need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Dream nodded eagerly, excited at the prospect of getting better. He had been practicing alone for so long, but Technoblade was the first person to actually show him how to fight properly. It was hard work, but it was worth it.

“Thank you,” Dream said, his voice soft but sincere.

Technoblade smirked, giving Dream a nod. “Don’t mention it, kid.”

As they sat there in the forest, the world around them quiet and peaceful, Dream couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of contentment. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone. He had Technoblade—his mysterious, intimidating, yet oddly reassuring teacher and friend. And while Dream didn’t know much about the man, he knew one thing for certain: he was glad they had met.

Chapter Text

The morning of Dream’s fifteenth birthday was quiet, the sunlight streaming through the trees, casting soft, golden light over the forest. He had always loved the way the woods seemed to come alive with the first light of dawn. Today, though, something felt different—special. It wasn’t just any day; it was his birthday. And though he hadn’t mentioned it to his caretakers, he had every intention of sneaking away into the forest to meet with Technoblade.

As Dream prepared to leave the small cottage, however, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather seemed to be hovering around him more than usual. Merryweather was the first to break the silence, her tone sweet but suspicious.

“And where are you off to today, dear?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Dream hesitated, not wanting to lie to them, but knowing he had to if he wanted to see Technoblade. “I was just going into the forest,” he said casually. “To, uh... watch the birds. They’re really beautiful this time of year.”

Flora gave him a warm smile, but there was something in her eyes that suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Birdwatching again, are we?” she asked gently.

Dream nodded, trying to appear nonchalant. “Yeah, I just... really like birds.”

Fauna looked at him closely, her brows furrowing slightly. “Are you sure that’s all you’re doing? You’ve been spending an awful lot of time in the forest lately.”

Dream forced a smile, his heart racing. “Yeah, just birds. I promise.”

The three women exchanged glances, clearly uncertain, but after a long pause, Merryweather sighed and nodded. “Alright, then. Just be careful, dear. And come back soon.”

Dream nodded quickly, relieved they hadn’t pressed him further. “I will!” he called over his shoulder as he hurried out the door and into the woods.

When Dream reached the clearing where he usually met Technoblade, he found the tall, pink-haired man already waiting for him. As always, Technoblade was leaning casually against a tree, his red eyes watching Dream as he approached.

“Happy birthday, kid,” Technoblade greeted him with a smirk.

Dream blinked, surprised. “How did you know?”

Technoblade shrugged. “I have my ways.”

Dream laughed, still a little surprised that Technoblade even cared enough to remember. “Thanks.”

Technoblade pushed himself off the tree and walked over to Dream, his expression a little more serious now. “How old are you today?”

“Fifteen,” Dream replied, a little sheepish.

Technoblade nodded, as if considering something. “That’s an important day,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re practically an adult now.”

Dream wasn’t sure if he agreed, but he smiled anyway. “I guess so.”

Technoblade’s smirk returned as he gestured toward the trees. “Come on. I’m taking you to the village.”

Dream’s eyes widened in surprise, panic flashing through him. “Wait, what? No, I’m not supposed to go there! My caretakers—”

“Your caretakers won’t know,” Technoblade interrupted, his tone dismissive. “Besides, it’s your birthday. You should celebrate.”

Dream hesitated, torn between wanting to obey the rules he had grown up with and the thrill of doing something new and exciting. He had never been to the village before, always told it was too dangerous, but the idea of seeing it for himself... that was tempting.

“Come on,” Technoblade said, more gently this time. “You’ll love it. Trust me.”

Dream bit his lip, still uncertain, but the way Technoblade said it made the idea seem less frightening. And honestly, part of him really wanted to see the village. With a deep breath, he nodded.

“Okay,” Dream agreed, trying to push down the nervousness bubbling in his chest.

Technoblade’s smirk widened. “Good. Let’s go.”

The village was unlike anything Dream had ever seen. It was bustling with life, people going about their day, stalls filled with goods, the sound of children laughing and the chatter of merchants filling the air. Dream’s eyes were wide with wonder as he took it all in. He had never seen so many people in one place before, and everything seemed so vibrant, so alive.

“See?” Technoblade said with a grin. “Told you you’d love it.”

Dream nodded, speechless as he took in the sights and sounds. The village was so different from the quiet, secluded life he had lived in the forest. There was so much to see, so much to experience.

As they walked through the streets, Dream noticed something odd. People were giving Technoblade fearful looks, their eyes widening in recognition before they quickly averted their gazes. It was subtle, but Dream couldn’t help but notice the way they seemed to shy away from the pink-haired man.

“Why are they looking at you like that?” Dream asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Technoblade chuckled, his red eyes gleaming with amusement. “I have a bit of a reputation,” he said vaguely.

Dream frowned, not entirely sure what Technoblade meant by that, but he didn’t pry. He had learned that Technoblade didn’t always give clear answers, and pushing him for more wouldn’t get him anywhere.

Instead, Technoblade led him through the village, taking him to different stores and bakeries. They stopped at a small sweet shop, and Technoblade bought Dream an assortment of sweets—candies, pastries, and treats that Dream had never even heard of.

Dream hesitated at first, unsure of what to try, but Technoblade encouraged him, and soon he found himself sampling everything. The sweets were incredible, each one more delicious than the last. Dream had never tasted anything like it. He had grown up eating the simple, bland meals his caretakers made, and while he loved them dearly, their cooking had never been something he looked forward to.

“This is amazing!” Dream exclaimed, his mouth full of sugary goodness.

Technoblade grinned, clearly pleased with Dream’s reaction. “Told you.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of fun and excitement. Technoblade took Dream to different shops, showing him all the things the village had to offer. They bought more food, looked at swords in a blacksmith’s shop, and even visited a small pet shop where Dream marveled at the animals he had never seen before.

By the time the sun began to set, Dream was exhausted but happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had so much fun. It was strange, but for the first time in his life, he felt like he was truly free.

As they made their way back toward the forest, Dream glanced over at Technoblade, his heart full of gratitude.

“Thank you,” Dream said quietly. “For today. It was... really amazing.”

Technoblade glanced at him, his expression softening slightly. “You’re welcome, kid.”

Dream smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. He had always been alone, sheltered by his caretakers and kept away from the world. But now, with Technoblade by his side, he didn’t feel so alone anymore.

It was the best birthday he had ever had.

Chapter Text

The familiar rustling of leaves filled the air as Dream and Technoblade met in their usual spot in the forest. The atmosphere between them had shifted slightly since Dream’s birthday, the bond between them deepening. Technoblade seemed different today—more focused, his usual smirks and teasing words replaced with a quiet intensity.

Dream could feel it too. After their visit to the village, he had seen something new—a world beyond the forest, filled with soldiers, blacksmiths, and people who moved with purpose. He’d never thought much about swordsmanship beyond a game or something fun to do, but now he saw how important it could be. He wanted to get better.

Technoblade leaned against a nearby tree, watching as Dream worked through some of the movements they had practiced. But something was off. Dream was hesitant in his strikes, his posture a bit too stiff.

“Your form’s sloppy,” Technoblade said, breaking the silence.

Dream froze mid-strike, glancing over at Technoblade. “What?”

“You heard me,” Technoblade continued, pushing himself off the tree and walking over. His red eyes bore into Dream’s, as if reading every thought in his head. “If you ever plan to actually fight someone—really fight—you can’t be that sloppy. You’ll get killed.”

Dream swallowed hard, his heart suddenly beating faster. Technoblade wasn’t teasing him like usual. His words were blunt, and Dream could feel the weight behind them. “Killed? You think... I’ll need to fight for real someday?”

Technoblade stopped in front of him, his gaze unwavering. “You live in a world where kingdoms wage war, Dream. Where men fight over power, land, and blood. You’ve seen soldiers now. You think they’re out there just to look pretty?”

Dream shook his head slowly, feeling a bit embarrassed. “No, I just... I never thought I’d be involved in any of that. I live in the forest, remember?”

Technoblade’s expression softened slightly, but only for a moment. “You live in the forest now. But that doesn’t mean you’ll always stay here.” He stepped closer, taking Dream’s wrist and adjusting the way he held the sword. “The world is dangerous. You can’t afford to be weak.”

Dream looked up at him, his curiosity piqued. Technoblade’s words carried a weight that hinted at something deeper. “Have you... fought in wars?”

Technoblade hesitated, his hand lingering on Dream’s wrist before he stepped back. For a moment, Dream thought he wouldn’t answer, but then Technoblade sighed, glancing away. “Yes. I’ve seen battle.”

Dream’s eyes widened. He had always known Technoblade was strong, but hearing that he had fought in real wars made him feel a strange mix of admiration and fear. “What’s it like? Fighting in a war?”

Technoblade’s expression darkened, his usual smirk fading. “It’s chaos. It’s brutal. You see men—your own soldiers—die in front of you, and there’s nothing you can do. It’s kill or be killed. No mercy, no second chances.”

Dream’s throat felt tight. He could hear the bitterness in Technoblade’s voice, the weight of experience that Dream couldn’t begin to imagine. “Is that... why you’re so good with a sword?”

Technoblade gave a small, humorless laugh. “Part of it. But strength isn’t just about swinging a sword, Dream. It’s about control. Precision. Understanding your enemy before they understand you.”

Dream nodded, his mind racing. He had always thought of swordsmanship as something fun, something to pass the time. But hearing Technoblade talk about it like this made him realize how serious it could be.

“Show me, then,” Dream said suddenly, surprising even himself. “I want to learn. Not just the basics, but... what you know. I want to get better.”

Technoblade raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Are you sure, kid? Once you go down this path, there’s no turning back.”

Dream’s resolve hardened. He thought about the soldiers he had seen, the way they moved with purpose. He thought about the uncertainty of the world beyond the forest—the dangers that he didn’t fully understand but knew existed. And more than anything, he thought about the strength he had seen in Technoblade, the kind of strength he wanted to have for himself.

“I’m sure,” Dream said firmly.

Technoblade studied him for a long moment, as if weighing Dream’s determination. Then, with a nod, he gestured for Dream to ready his sword.

“Alright then,” Technoblade said, his tone serious. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The training that followed was unlike anything Dream had experienced before. Technoblade pushed him harder than ever, correcting his every mistake with precision. Dream’s muscles ached, his body drenched in sweat, but he refused to give up. Each time he faltered, Technoblade was there, not with mockery, but with advice.

“Keep your feet grounded. Don’t overextend.” Technoblade’s voice was calm but commanding as he guided Dream through more advanced strikes and blocks. “A sword isn’t just about power—it’s about balance. Control your movements.”

Dream could feel the difference immediately. The way Technoblade moved was fluid, almost effortless, and for the first time, Dream felt like he was beginning to understand the real art of swordsmanship.

After what felt like hours, Technoblade finally called for a break. Dream collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily, his muscles burning from the intense training.

“You’re getting better,” Technoblade said, sitting down beside him. “But you’ve still got a long way to go.”

Dream chuckled weakly, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Yeah, I figured.”

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the forest filling the air around them. Dream glanced over at Technoblade, his curiosity still burning. “Why do you fight? I mean... if it’s so horrible, why keep doing it?”

Technoblade’s red eyes flickered with something Dream couldn’t quite place. “Because sometimes, it’s necessary,” he said quietly. “When you have something—someone—to protect, you fight.”

Dream felt a pang of understanding. He didn’t know who Technoblade had fought for in the past, but he could tell it had left a mark on him.

“And what about now?” Dream asked. “Who are you fighting for?”

Technoblade looked at him for a long moment, and Dream wondered if he had pushed too far. But then, Technoblade’s expression softened, just a little.

“Maybe you, kid,” Technoblade said, smirking again, though there was a hint of something more serious in his tone.

Dream blinked, caught off guard by the response, but before he could say anything, Technoblade stood up, brushing off his coat.

“Come on,” Technoblade said, offering a hand to Dream. “You’re not done yet.”

Dream grinned, despite his exhaustion, and took Technoblade’s hand, pulling himself to his feet.

He wasn’t sure where this new path would lead, but for the first time, he felt like he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead—with Technoblade by his side.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the forest. Dream leaned against a tree, his breath coming in heavy pants as he tried to calm himself after another grueling training session. It had been almost a year since he first picked up a sword, and now he could hardly believe how much he had improved. Technoblade had pushed him relentlessly, expecting nothing less than excellence, and somehow, Dream had risen to the challenge. 

“You’ve gotten surprisingly good, Dream,” Technoblade said, a hint of admiration lacing his voice as he took a seat on the grass beside him. “I didn’t expect you to catch on this quickly.”

Dream couldn’t help the proud smile that crept onto his face. “Thanks, Technoblade. I’ve had a great teacher.” His eyes wandered to Technoblade, who looked effortlessly majestic sitting there—his long pink hair catching the light, red eyes sharp and piercing, yet softening when he turned to Dream. 

It was in moments like these that Dream found himself lost in thought, captivated by the boy beside him. He had spent countless hours training, laughing, and even sharing pastries with Technoblade, but something felt different now. As he watched Technoblade lean back on his hands, a tranquil expression on his face, an unfamiliar sensation bloomed in Dream’s chest.

Was this what they wrote about in the books? This warmth that wrapped around him like a comforting blanket? The fluttering in his stomach? The way his heart raced as he gazed at Technoblade, a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words. It was love, wasn’t it? But they were boys. This wasn’t supposed to be how it worked, was it?

Caught in a whirlwind of confusion and curiosity, Dream shifted slightly closer, hoping that Technoblade wouldn’t pull away. The idea of rejection gnawed at him, but the urge to bridge the distance was stronger. Taking a deep breath, he leaned against Technoblade’s side, cautiously resting his head in his lap.

To Dream’s relief, Technoblade didn’t move away. Instead, he seemed to relax into the moment, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Dream’s heart raced at the warmth radiating from Technoblade’s body, and he closed his eyes, letting the sensation wash over him. 

Then he felt it—Technoblade’s hand gently running through his hair, fingers weaving through the strands with a tenderness that took Dream by surprise. It felt incredible, as if the world around them faded away. He hoped Technoblade couldn’t hear the rapid thudding of his heart, or see the flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like outside the forest?” Technoblade’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he continued to stroke Dream’s hair. “The world isn’t as kind as this place. Sometimes, I think it’s good to hide away from it for a while.”

Dream nodded slightly, though his heart was too busy fluttering to form a coherent response. He had seen glimpses of that world—soldiers with hardened faces, kingdoms at war—but now, nestled in Technoblade’s lap, the thought felt distant. “I... I think about it,” Dream finally managed, his voice barely above a murmur. “But I don’t mind staying here. Not when I’m with you.”

Technoblade paused, his fingers stilling momentarily. Dream held his breath, uncertainty flooding his mind. Had he said too much? Should he have kept quiet? But when Technoblade resumed his gentle caresses, Dream felt a spark of hope.

“Good,” Technoblade said, a smile creeping back onto his face. “Because I think I’d rather stay hidden away too. There’s too much chaos out there.”

Dream’s heart swelled at those words. It was as if Technoblade understood him in ways no one else ever could. There was a profound comfort in their silence, the soft rustle of leaves around them creating a serene backdrop.

Time seemed to stretch as they sat together, Dream feeling a mix of contentment and fear. He wanted to stay like this forever, but the weight of unspoken words lingered heavily between them. Did Technoblade feel the same way? Did he ever think about love and friendship in this way, or was Dream alone in his feelings?

As if sensing the turmoil in Dream’s heart, Technoblade broke the silence again. “You know, Dream, you’re stronger than you think. I’m not just talking about your sword skills. You have a fire in you, a determination that I admire.”

Dream felt a rush of warmth spread through him at the compliment, but it was quickly overshadowed by a wave of insecurity. “I’m not that strong. I’m just... learning. I still have so much to prove.”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Technoblade replied, his tone firm. “It’s what you do with that fire that matters. You could be a great swordsman if you keep at it. You could be anything you want, really.”

Dream’s heart raced at the thought. He wanted to be someone Technoblade could be proud of. Someone worthy of standing by his side. “What if I wanted to be more than just a swordsman?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. 

Technoblade’s gaze intensified, locking onto Dream’s. “Then do it. Don’t let anyone tell you what you can or can’t be. Not me, not anyone.”

There was something in Technoblade’s eyes—an understanding that made Dream’s heart leap. In that moment, surrounded by the tranquility of the forest and Technoblade’s unwavering gaze, Dream felt a surge of courage.

“What if I wanted to be someone you could rely on? Someone important to you?” Dream’s voice wavered slightly, but he pushed through the uncertainty, holding Technoblade’s gaze.

Technoblade’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. “You already are,” he said quietly, his hand pausing in Dream’s hair. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

And with that simple admission, something shifted between them. It was as if the boundaries that had once held them apart began to dissolve, the air between them charged with an electric anticipation.

Dream felt his heart soar at Technoblade’s words, a thrilling mix of joy and nervousness coursing through him. In that moment, he knew they were stepping into uncharted territory together, and though uncertainty lingered, it felt like the beginning of something beautiful. 

He closed his eyes again, letting Technoblade’s presence wash over him, and for the first time, Dream allowed himself to dream of a future beyond the forest—one where their bond could grow stronger, where love could flourish amidst the uncertainty of the world outside.

Chapter Text

The sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor as Dream and Technoblade sat together in their usual clearing. The air was warm, and the sounds of nature surrounded them—the gentle rustle of leaves, the distant chirping of birds. It was peaceful, and for once, there was no training, no intensity. Just the two of them, content in each other’s presence.

Technoblade stretched out on the grass, his pink hair fanning out behind him like a silken waterfall. Dream sat beside him, his legs crossed, watching the way the sunlight caught the strands of Technoblade’s hair, turning them almost golden at the tips.

“You know,” Technoblade began, his voice breaking the comfortable silence, “I’ve never let anyone touch my hair before.”

Dream blinked, looking down at him in surprise. “Really? Why not?”

Technoblade shrugged, his eyes half-closed as he lay back, seemingly unconcerned. “It’s personal. I don’t like people getting too close.” He turned his head slightly, his red eyes meeting Dream’s. “But I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

Dream’s heart skipped a beat. The idea of running his fingers through Technoblade’s hair sent a rush of warmth through him. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached out, his fingers brushing against the soft pink strands.

It was like touching silk—smooth, delicate, and impossibly soft. Dream couldn’t help but marvel at how long Technoblade’s hair was, the way it cascaded over his shoulders and down his back. He carefully gathered some of it in his hands, twisting it gently as he admired the color and texture.

“It’s beautiful,” Dream murmured, almost to himself. He was so focused on the task that he didn’t notice the faint smile that crept onto Technoblade’s lips.

“I’m glad you think so,” Technoblade replied, his voice softer than usual. “Most people think it’s strange.”

Dream shook his head. “It’s not strange at all. It suits you.” He continued to work with Technoblade’s hair, braiding small sections and running his fingers through the rest. It was a strangely intimate moment, one that made Dream’s heart feel light and warm.

Technoblade shifted slightly, sitting up so Dream could continue more easily. He watched Dream with a thoughtful expression, his sharp red eyes softened by the gentleness in Dream’s touch.

“You’re good at this,” Technoblade commented, closing his eyes and relaxing under Dream’s hands.

Dream chuckled softly, a bit of pride swelling in his chest. “I’ve never done anyone’s hair before, but it’s kind of fun.”

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the bond between them feeling deeper with every passing moment. Dream couldn’t help but feel that this was more than just a normal day. It was as if something unspoken was lingering in the air, something that neither of them dared to address directly.

Finally, when Dream finished the braid he had been working on, Technoblade turned to face him, his expression serious but not unkind. “Dream,” he began, his voice low, “I’ve been thinking.”

Dream felt his pulse quicken. The way Technoblade said his name always sent a shiver down his spine, but this time, there was something different in the air—something charged with emotion.

“About what?” Dream asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Technoblade’s gaze locked onto Dream’s, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. The intensity in Technoblade’s eyes was undeniable, and Dream felt himself being drawn in, unable to look away.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Technoblade said quietly, his voice unusually vulnerable. “But when I’m with you, everything feels... right. I’ve never felt this way before.”

Dream’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, his breath catching in his throat. Was this really happening? Was Technoblade feeling the same things he had been trying to understand for so long?

“I feel the same,” Dream whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He didn’t care anymore—he just wanted to be honest.

The air between them was thick with tension, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with an unspoken connection, a bond that neither of them could deny any longer. Dream’s gaze flickered down to Technoblade’s lips for the briefest moment, and when he looked back up, he saw that Technoblade had noticed.

Technoblade didn’t move at first, but then, ever so slowly, he leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Dream felt his heart race, his breath quicken. This was it—the moment he had been waiting for, the moment he had dreamed about but never thought would come true.

Their faces were inches apart now, and Dream could feel the warmth of Technoblade’s breath on his skin. His own breath hitched as the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, everything else fading away. His pulse thundered in his ears, and for a split second, he thought he might pull away, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed still, his heart pounding as Technoblade’s hand gently cupped the side of his face, drawing him closer.

And then, just as their lips were about to touch, there was a pause, a moment of hesitation, and Technoblade connected their lips. 

He tasted like berries, a sweet taste that had invaded his senses the moment he touched his red lips. 

Techno pulled back, and Dream’s mind raced, the emotion of the moment too much to process all at once. His heart was full, overflowing with feelings he could no longer ignore.

Technoblade’s hand lingered on his cheek for just a second longer before he pulled away, his expression unreadable. They sat in silence for a moment, both of them trying to catch their breath, the weight of what had just almost happened hanging between them.

Dream swallowed hard, his chest tight with unspoken words. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process what he was feeling. All he knew was that this moment had changed everything, and there was no going back.

Technoblade finally broke the silence, his voice quiet but steady. “We should probably head back soon,” he said, though there was a strange softness in his tone. “It’s getting late.”

Dream nodded, his throat tight with emotions he wasn’t ready to face. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he simply stood up, offering Technoblade a small, tentative smile.

But even as they walked back through the forest, the memory of that kiss lingered in the air, a silent promise of something more, something neither of them could yet fully understand.

Chapter Text

Dream sat at the kitchen table, the dim light flickering overhead. His caretakers—Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather—bustled around the small cottage, exchanging worried glances as they whispered among themselves. They weren’t really his family, but they had raised him in this hidden life, pretending to be ordinary humans, keeping him sheltered from the outside world. 

Today, the atmosphere felt tense. Dream sensed it before he even entered the room. Flora finally cleared her throat, drawing his attention.

“Dream, dear,” she began, her voice a mixture of concern and authority. “We need to talk.”

He felt a knot form in his stomach. “About what?” he asked, knowing full well what was coming.

“About how much time you’ve been spending in the forest,” Flora said, her brow furrowing. “You can’t keep disappearing like this. It’s not safe.”

Dream stiffened, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I can handle myself,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m fine out there.”

Merryweather fluttered closer, her tiny wings shimmering in the light. “But it worries us, Dream. You’re still so young, and the woods are full of dangers.”

“I know how to take care of myself! You don’t need to worry,” he snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I just want some space. Is that too much to ask?”

Fauna stepped forward, her tone softer. “Dream, we’ve kept you safe for a reason. You have a destiny to fulfill, and it’s important that you don’t stray too far from where we can watch over you.”

Dream’s heart raced with anger and a sense of betrayal. “You mean you want to keep me locked away! I’m tired of being trapped in this cottage. I want to explore. I want to be free!” 

Flora’s expression shifted from concern to sadness. “We love you, Dream. We only want what’s best for you.”

“Love? This isn’t love! It’s control!” He couldn’t stay there another second. Without waiting for a response, he shot out the door, slamming it behind him.

As he dashed into the forest, the cool air filled his lungs, refreshing yet heavy with the weight of his emotions. He ran deeper, his mind racing. The trees blurred around him, but he didn’t care; he needed to escape the confines of the cottage and the suffocating expectations that came with it.

After what felt like an eternity, Dream slowed to a halt in a clearing, his heart pounding. Ahead lay the village he had only glimpsed from afar, a vibrant place full of life and color. He hesitated, unsure of what he was doing there. The villagers didn’t know him, and he didn’t belong.

But the urge to explore was too strong. He stepped forward, his feet crunching against the dirt path leading into the village. As he walked, he took in the sights—small homes with smoke curling from chimneys, children playing in the streets, and the inviting smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air.

Dream felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. He was both a stranger and a spectator in this world, and he loved it.

As he strolled through the bustling marketplace, he passed vendors calling out to attract customers. The vibrant colors of fruits and vegetables filled his vision, and he couldn’t resist the urge to stop at a stall displaying warm pastries. 

Just as he was about to approach, he overheard a group of villagers chatting nearby. They were speaking in hushed tones, their faces serious.

"Do you know him?" they were looking at him.

"No, who is he?"

Without realizing it, he had run away.

He stepped into the a narrow alley, the air heavy with an uncomfortable stillness. The cobblestones were slick with a recent rain, and the walls of the buildings loomed high above him, blocking out the fading light. He shivered, feeling the weight of the darkness surrounding him. 

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows. A man, tall and gaunt, with wild hair and a crooked smile, stepped into Dream's path. The man's clothes were tattered and stained, and his eyes glinted with an unsettling intensity. 

“Lost, are we?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, oozing a predatory tone. 

Dream's heart raced. “I—I’m fine,” he stammered, trying to sidestep the man, but the stranger moved swiftly, blocking his way.

“Don’t be afraid,” the man purred, his smile widening. “I just want to talk. You’re far from home, little one.”

Dream felt a surge of panic. He had heard stories of dangers lurking in dark corners of the world, and this man fit every description. “I should go,” he said, his voice trembling. 

Before he could turn away, the man lunged forward, pinning Dream against the cold, damp wall of the alley. The impact knocked the breath from Dream’s lungs, and he gasped, fear coursing through him like ice.

“Not so fast,” the man said, leaning in closer, his breath hot and foul. “You don’t want to get lost in these parts, do you? I can help you… if you’re willing to listen.”

Dream’s eyes widened as he struggled to break free, but the man’s grip was unyielding. “Let me go!” he shouted, panic rising within him. 

The man chuckled darkly, his eyes glimmering with twisted amusement. “Why would I do that? You’re a curious one, aren’t you? All alone in the dark, with no one to protect you.” 

“Please…” Dream whispered, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He desperately looked around for any sign of help, but the alley was deserted, the fading light leaving him vulnerable.

The man smiled, his hands had begun to explore his body and Dream had begun to gasp for air, trying to push the stranger off of him. 

The man just laughed a sinister laugh, one hand gripping his waist tightly while the other slid down his pants. 

Dream panicked, tears pooling in his eyes, his hands still trying their best to push him away. 

"...p-please, don't!" he had choked out.

But again, that doesn't help at all. And just as the man's stinky hands touched inside his underwear, the weight of hopelessness settle over him, the alley was suddenly illuminated by a flickering light. He heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching, accompanied by a voice that resonated with authority. 

“Get away from him!” Technoblade’s commanding tone rang out, echoing through the narrow passageway. 

In an instant, Technoblade appeared, his tall frame imposing as he kicked the man away from Dream with precision and strength. The man stumbled back, surprise etched on his face as he lost his grip on Dream. 

Dream fell forward, collapsing into Technoblade’s outstretched arms. Relief washed over him, but it was quickly overshadowed by the terror of the moment. He buried his face against Technoblade’s chest, his body shaking as the sobs erupted from deep within him. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Technoblade whispered, holding Dream close. His embrace was warm and reassuring, and for a moment, Dream felt safe. “You’re safe now.” 

With one hand, Technoblade unsheathed his sword, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light as he turned his gaze back to the man, who was now scrambling to regain his composure. “You picked the wrong boy to mess with,” Technoblade growled, his voice low and threatening.

The man’s bravado crumbled as he realized the danger he was in. “W-wait! I didn’t mean—” 

Before he could finish, Technoblade lunged forward, the sword slicing through the air with lethal precision. In one swift motion, the man fell to the ground, the life extinguished from his eyes. 

Dream gasped, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt the finality of the moment. Technoblade’s grip tightened around him, grounding him as he processed what had just happened.

“It’s okay, Dream,” Technoblade murmured, rubbing soothing circles on Dream’s back. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Dream’s tears continued to flow, but he felt a strange sense of relief. He was safe now, cradled in Technoblade’s embrace, even if the world around them was dark and frightening. 

As his sobs began to subside, Dream looked up at Technoblade, the fierce protector he had come to rely on. “I thought…I thought I was done for,” he whispered, voice shaky.

Technoblade’s expression softened, and he brushed a thumb gently across Dream’s cheek. “You’re stronger than you think, Dream. But you don’t have to face everything alone. I’ll always be here for you.”

In that moment, Dream felt a bond deeper than any fear or uncertainty. He nodded, the warmth of Technoblade’s presence filling him with courage. 

“Thank you,” Dream said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

The weight of what had just happened lingered in the air, but in Technoblade’s arms, Dream knew he was safe. 

Technoblade held him tighter, the threat now gone, leaving only a sense of peace amidst the chaos. They stood there for a moment longer, allowing the silence to wash over them, both aware that they had crossed a line, and nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter Text

As Dream's tears slowly subsided, Technoblade remained steadfast, allowing him to cry it out. The night air was cool against their skin, but the warmth of their connection wrapped around them like a comforting blanket. 

After a few minutes, Technoblade gently pulled back, looking down at Dream with concern etched on his face. “How about some ice cream?” he suggested, trying to lighten the mood. Dream nodded, grateful for the distraction as they made their way to a nearby shop.

They sat on a bench outside, ice cream cones in hand, Technoblade’s towering figure providing an air of protection as Dream took a tentative lick of his treat. The sweetness contrasted sharply with the earlier encounter, but he felt a flicker of happiness for the first time since the incident.

Technoblade watched him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “What’s wrong, Dream? You seem miles away.”

Dream hesitated, looking down at his ice cream. “I just… can’t stop thinking about that man. He… he touched me,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why would someone do that? Just… why?”

Technoblade’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he processed Dream’s words. “People can be cruel,” he said slowly, his voice heavy with emotion. “Some think they can take what isn’t theirs, and they don’t care about the pain they cause. It’s… disgusting.”

Dream’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But why? I don’t understand. What’s the point of hurting someone like that?” 

It was then that Technoblade realized just how much Dream didn’t know. “You really don’t understand what sex is, do you?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

Dream shook his head, his expression earnest and innocent. “No, I don’t. Is it something bad?”

Technoblade took a deep breath, carefully choosing his words. “It’s not bad in itself. It’s a natural part of life between two consenting people who care about each other. But some people misuse it, turning something beautiful into something awful. That man… he crossed a line, Dream. He didn’t care about you; he only saw you as a target.”

Dream’s eyes widened, realization dawning on him. “So… he wanted to hurt me because he’s… broken?”

Technoblade nodded, his heart aching for Dream’s innocence. “Exactly. But it’s important to understand that it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Dream processed this, a frown forming on his lips. “I still don’t get why anyone would want to hurt someone else like that. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“That’s because you have a good heart, Dream,” Technoblade replied, his voice softening. “Not everyone is like you. Some people let their darkness consume them. But you have to remember, there’s also a lot of good in the world. And I’ll always be here to protect you from the bad.”

Dream smiled faintly, comforted by Technoblade’s words. “Thank you for being here, Techno. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Technoblade said, ruffling Dream’s hair playfully, a smirk returning to his face. “You’ve got me, and I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”

As they sat there together, the world around them felt a little brighter. Despite the darkness they had just faced, the bond between them only grew stronger, weaving an unbreakable thread of trust and protection.

Chapter Text

After their outing, Technoblade couldn’t shake the image of Dream trembling in his arms, the fear that had clouded his bright green eyes. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest, Technoblade’s thoughts spiraled. He should have been more vigilant, should have known that something like that could happen. 

Sitting beside Dream in their usual clearing, Technoblade watched as Dream twirled a stick in his hands, the remnants of their ice cream treat forgotten. The innocence that radiated from him was a sharp contrast to the harsh reality of the world outside their sanctuary. 

“Dream,” Technoblade began, his voice serious yet gentle, “we need to talk about your safety.” 

Dream looked up, surprise flickering across his face. “What do you mean? I’m fine. I can handle myself.” 

“No, you can’t,” Technoblade replied firmly. “What happened in the village was a reminder that there are dangers out there. I want to make sure you’re prepared for anything that could happen in the future.” 

Dream's brow furrowed, a mixture of confusion and concern crossing his features. “But I have you to protect me.” 

Technoblade sighed, his heart aching at the trust Dream placed in him. “Yes, but I won’t always be around. You need to learn how to defend yourself.” 

Dream hesitated, glancing away. “But I only want to learn swordsmanship. That’s enough, right?” 

“It’s a good start,” Technoblade said, moving closer, “but self-defense is more than just swordplay. You need to be aware of your surroundings, know how to escape if you’re cornered, and how to handle different situations.” 

Dream looked thoughtful, the weight of Technoblade's words settling over him. “Okay… what do we do?” 

Technoblade smiled, relieved by Dream’s willingness to learn. “We’ll start with the basics. First, let’s work on your awareness.” 

For the next hour, they practiced in the clearing. Technoblade instructed Dream to focus on his surroundings, using all his senses to detect potential threats. He taught Dream how to position himself, how to stand confidently, and how to read body language. 

“Imagine you’re in a crowded village,” Technoblade explained. “What would you look for?” 

“People acting strangely?” Dream suggested, eyes wide with understanding. 

“Exactly. Look for signs of trouble,” Technoblade replied, nodding in approval. “Now let’s work on escape techniques.” 

As the evening deepened, Technoblade demonstrated various ways to break free from holds and evade attackers. Dream watched intently, absorbing every detail, his determination palpable. 

“Now, let’s see you try,” Technoblade encouraged, moving closer to Dream, who hesitated, a nervous grin spreading across his face. 

“Okay, just be gentle?” Dream asked, half-laughing. 

“I promise,” Technoblade said, mirroring Dream’s smile as he gently grabbed his wrist. “Now, focus. You want to get out of my hold, not just flail around.” 

Dream took a deep breath, remembering Technoblade’s earlier instructions. He twisted his wrist, applying the technique he had just learned, and was pleasantly surprised when Technoblade let go with a mock gasp. 

“Impressive!” Technoblade cheered, clapping his hands together. “You’ve got the hang of it already!” 

As they continued to practice, Dream's confidence grew. He felt empowered knowing he could defend himself, but deep down, he also realized how much he wanted Technoblade’s approval. 

After a long training session, Technoblade finally declared a break, sitting down on the grass with a sigh. “You did great today, Dream. I’m proud of you.” 

“Thanks, Techno,” Dream said, feeling a warmth spread in his chest. “I just want to be strong enough to handle things on my own.” 

Technoblade looked at him, a serious expression on his face. “You already are strong, Dream. But remember, it’s okay to rely on others too. I’ll always be here to help you.” 

Dream nodded, feeling a sense of security in Technoblade’s words. “I know. I just want to be someone you can rely on as well.” 

As the stars began to twinkle overhead, the bond between them solidified even further. They were not just teacher and student; they were friends, confidants, and something deeper that neither fully understood yet. 

Chapter Text

It had been two months since that fateful day in the village, and although the memory still haunted Dream, he felt stronger, more capable. Technoblade had been a constant presence in his life, teaching him not just how to defend himself but also how to face the world with courage. 

One afternoon, as they sat in their clearing surrounded by the familiar whispers of the forest, Technoblade looked serious. “Dream, I need to talk to you about something.” 

Dream’s heart sank. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’ll be gone for a week,” Technoblade said, his voice steady yet gentle. “I have some personal matters to attend to.” 

Dream’s chest tightened. “Gone? For a whole week? Why?” 

“I can’t go into detail, but I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Technoblade replied, a hint of regret in his eyes. 

“Will you come back?” Dream asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. 

“Of course I will,” Technoblade assured him, reaching out to cup Dream’s face with his hand. “I’ll always come back.” 

The warmth of Technoblade’s touch made Dream’s heart race, and he leaned into the hand that cradled him, feeling a mix of anxiety and affection. “I’ll miss you.” 

Technoblade’s expression softened, and he drew Dream closer, wrapping his arms around him. Dream felt safe, cocooned in Technoblade’s embrace. The world outside their little sanctuary faded away as they held each other, both needing the connection. 

“Just remember, you’re strong on your own, Dream,” Technoblade whispered, his breath warm against Dream’s ear. 

“I know,” Dream murmured, pulling back slightly to meet Technoblade’s gaze. “But I want you here.” 

“Me too,” Technoblade said, his voice deep and earnest. The moment hung heavy between them, charged with unspoken feelings. 

Dream’s heart raced as he leaned in closer, the distance between them shrinking. He could feel Technoblade’s warmth radiating, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to bridge the gap completely. 

They both leaned in, and the world around them seemed to vanish as their lips met in a soft kiss. It was gentle and tentative, filled with unexpressed emotions that had been building over time. Dream’s heart raced, and he felt a rush of warmth spread through him as he melted into the moment. 

When they pulled away, Dream’s cheeks flushed, and he could hardly meet Technoblade’s gaze. “I—” 

“Let’s not think about what happens when I’m gone,” Technoblade said, his voice steady yet warm, as if he was trying to keep the moment alive. “Just know that I’ll be back.” 

“I’ll be waiting,” Dream replied, his voice barely a whisper as he held onto the fleeting warmth of their kiss. 

As the week stretched ahead of him, Dream felt a mix of emotions. He would stay with his caretakers, and while he understood they were only trying to protect him, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being caged. They fussed over him, insisting he stay indoors and away from the dangers of the outside world. 

“Why can’t you just let me be?” Dream argued one afternoon, frustration bubbling over during yet another lecture about safety. “I can take care of myself! I’m not a child anymore!” 

“We’re just trying to protect you,” another caretaker pleaded, trying to diffuse the tension. “There are so many threats outside these woods. You don’t realize how dangerous it can be.”

“I’m not afraid!” Dream shot back, his heart racing with anger. “I want to see the village, to meet new people. You can’t keep me locked up like a prisoner!” 

His caretakers exchanged worried glances, their expressions filled with uncertainty. “Dream, we care about you. We just want to keep you safe.”

Feeling the walls of the house closing in on him, Dream stormed out, heading toward the forest. The sun filtered through the trees, casting a warm glow that felt like a reminder of the freedom he longed for. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being caged, and the thought of Technoblade’s return filled him with both hope and impatience.

Once in the cover of the trees, Dream’s mind raced with thoughts of exploration. He didn’t want to remain a sheltered boy; he craved adventure and a taste of the life beyond the boundaries set by his caretakers.

Chapter Text

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the majestic castle of the neighboring kingdom. Its towers soared into the heavens, adorned with banners fluttering softly in the evening breeze. The scent of blooming flowers wafted through the air, a stark contrast to the tension that simmered beneath the surface of the grand estate.

Technoblade stood at the entrance, his heart heavy with anticipation. He was here for a dinner hosted by King Stefan in honor of his son, the prince who had been cursed into hiding for most of his childhood. Rumors had swirled for years about the prince’s fate, and now, on the eve of his sixteenth birthday, the kingdom awaited his return with bated breath. 

Beside him, his father strode forward, exuding the regal authority that came with his title. “Remember, Technoblade, this is not just a dinner; it’s a show of solidarity between our kingdoms. The prince’s future may depend on it,” he urged, his voice low yet commanding.

Technoblade nodded, though his thoughts drifted elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the memories of the tranquil moments he had shared in the forest with Dream—the laughter, the training, the simple joy of companionship. As he entered the grand hall, the air buzzed with the chatter of nobles and courtiers, all dressed in their finest attire. Yet, the splendor felt suffocating, a stark reminder of the responsibilities he was burdened with.

Seated at the long table, Technoblade observed King Stefan and Queen Leah, their expressions a mixture of hope and anxiety. He recalled the tales of the cursed prince who had vanished from the kingdom, leaving only whispers in his wake. Tonight, that empty chair was a haunting reminder of a fate unknown.

The dinner commenced, an elaborate display of culinary delights, yet Technoblade felt like an outsider looking in. He exchanged polite conversation with the surrounding nobles, but his heart was not in it. He glanced toward the empty chair, feeling a sense of unease. What awaited them with the prince's return?.... Uhhh, what was his name again?

As the night unfolded, the discussions turned toward the prince’s impending birthday celebration. Excitement crackled in the air, but Technoblade remained unmoved. He felt a nagging worry gnaw at him. There was something deeper at play, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the prince’s re-emergence might change everything.

After what felt like an eternity, the dinner finally concluded, and Technoblade excused himself from the table. Stepping out onto the balcony, the cool night air wrapped around him like a comforting embrace. He leaned against the stone railing, staring into the darkened woods beyond, longing for the freedom they represented.

“Lost in thought again, my son?” his father’s voice broke through the silence, pulling Technoblade from his reverie.

“It’s just… a lot to take in,” he admitted, forcing a casual tone. 

“Stay focused. This is important for our alliance,” his father reminded him sharply.

“I know,” Technoblade replied, though his mind wandered to Dream—the boy who had become his secret refuge, a light in the shadows of royal expectations.

As he gazed into the distance, he wondered what the prince would be like. Would he even resemble the boy he was destined to marry if the curse had been different? He shook his head, refusing to entertain such thoughts. 

But deep down, he knew that no matter what the future held, his heart would always find its way back to the forest, where laughter and freedom awaited him amidst the trees.

And as the stars sparkled overhead, Technoblade felt a flicker of resolve ignite within him. He would face the challenges ahead with courage, but he would never forget the simple joy of being with Dream, the boy who had taught him the meaning of companionship and hope.

Chapter Text

The following day dawned bright and clear, the sun casting golden rays across the kingdom as Technoblade rode away from the castle, his mind still swirling with thoughts of the dinner and the upcoming birthday celebration. He felt a pressing need to escape the formalities and return to the familiar embrace of the forest, where his heart truly belonged.

The forest was the border between the kingdoms, so he could get there from either side. 

As he neared the boundary of the woods, he quickened his pace, eager to see Dream. The forest felt like a sanctuary, and with each step, he felt the weight of royal expectations lift from his shoulders. The trees loomed overhead, their branches whispering secrets in the gentle breeze.

Finally, he arrived at their usual meeting spot, a small clearing where sunlight poured through the canopy. There, leaning against a tree, was Dream, his bright green eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Techno!” Dream called out, his voice filled with joy as he spotted him. Without hesitation, he rushed forward and enveloped Technoblade in a tight hug.

Technoblade's heart warmed at the embrace, a flutter of happiness spreading through him. He wrapped his arms around Dream, feeling the comfort and safety of their bond. “I’m here,” he said softly, letting the moment linger before stepping back to meet Dream’s gaze. 

“So, I wanted to ask you something,” Dream began, fidgeting slightly. “Tonight, I want you to come to my house and meet my caretakers.”

Technoblade’s heart skipped a beat. He had never met Dream’s caretakers before, and the thought made him feel both nervous and excited. “Are you sure? I know how strict they are...” he replied, trying to play it cool.

“No, it’s important to me! I want them to see how great you are. Plus, it’ll be fun!” Dream insisted, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

“Alright, then. I’ll be there. What time?” Technoblade asked, a smile breaking across his face.

“After sunset!” Dream exclaimed, practically bouncing on his feet. “I’ll be waiting.”

They spent the day together, practicing swordplay in the clearing, laughter ringing through the air as Technoblade taught Dream new techniques. The boy’s determination impressed him more each day; it was clear that Dream was growing stronger, both physically and mentally.

As the sun began its descent, Technoblade reluctantly made his way back to the edge of the forest. He wanted to be sure to arrive on time.

As Technoblade made his way back to the castle, he felt a growing sense of dread mixed with anticipation. The formalities of the royal court always weighed heavily on him, but tonight was different. He was excited to meet Dream's caretakers and share a meal together, something he had been looking forward to for days.

However, upon arriving at the castle, Technoblade was met with a bustling atmosphere that was hard to ignore. Servants hurried past him, carrying trays laden with lavish foods, while guards moved with purpose through the halls. The air was thick with excitement and tension, and he felt a sense of unease begin to settle in his stomach.

His father was waiting for him in the grand hall, his expression stern. “Technoblade, there you are. I was beginning to worry,” his father said, glancing at the ornate clock that hung on the wall. “We need to prepare for the prince’s birthday celebration tonight.”

“What prince?” Technoblade asked, confused. 

His father looked at him as if he were daft. “The prince of the neighboring kingdom. Remember the one who was cursed as a child? He will turn sixteen today.”

Suddenly, it all clicked for Technoblade. The prince he was meant to marry if he had been born a girl. His heart sank at the thought. He had been so wrapped up in his excitement about Dream that he had completely forgotten about the event. “But I have plans,” he protested.

“You will attend this dinner, and you will represent our family,” his father insisted, his tone brooking no argument. “The royal families must maintain relations, especially with a cursed prince now coming of age. It is a matter of duty.”

Technoblade felt a wave of frustration wash over him. He didn’t want to be a part of this royal charade; he wanted to be with Dream, where he felt free. But he knew there was no arguing with his father when it came to matters of politics and duty. “Fine,” he grumbled, resigning himself to the inevitable.

As the preparations for the evening began, Technoblade couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in his gut. He found himself wishing he could skip the dinner entirely and spend the evening in the forest with Dream, who surely would be waiting for him.

As the hour drew nearer, he dressed in his formal attire, donning a dark tunic and trousers that contrasted with his long pink hair. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the evening ahead, but all he could think about was Dream and their planned time together.

“Let’s go,” his father said, already moving toward the grand dining hall. Technoblade followed, his heart heavy as they made their way through the castle’s opulent corridors.

When they entered the hall, Technoblade scanned the room, spotting the other guests and the royal family. 

As he took his place beside his father, Technoblade couldn’t help but feel that he was supposed to be elsewhere, with someone who made him feel alive. He promised himself that once this evening was over, he would return to the forest and see Dream, no matter what it took

Chapter Text

The sun streamed through the leaves of the forest, creating a patchwork of light and shadow as Dream entered the cozy cottage he shared with his caretakers. Today was special—his sixteenth birthday—but he had nearly forgotten amid his adventures. The air was thick with the mouthwatering aroma of cake, drawing him into the main room.

“Happy birthday, Dream!” his caretakers exclaimed in unison, their voices filled with warmth and cheer. The sight of a beautifully decorated cake adorned with colorful frosting and delicate flowers took his breath away. Beside it hung a set of splendid clothes, far more elegant than anything he had ever owned.

“Wow! You guys did all this for me?” Dream gasped, his heart swelling with gratitude.

“Of course! It’s a very important day! You’re growing up!” one of the fairies chirped, her eyes sparkling with excitement. But their smiles faded slightly as they exchanged worried glances, and Dream noticed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“We have something we need to talk to you about,” one fairy began, her tone serious. “You’ve been spending a lot of time in the forest. You’re not supposed to be alone out there.”

Dream shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. “But I’m fine! I’ve been practicing swordsmanship and—”

“Who have you been with?” another fairy interjected sharply, her voice tinged with concern. “You haven’t been talking to any strangers, have you?”

“I’ve made a friend!” Dream said hesitatingly, his eyes lighting up just a bit. “His name is Technoblade....and he’s amazing...”

The fairies exchanged horrified looks. “You cannot befriend a stranger, Dream!” one fairy exclaimed. “You have no idea who he is or what he wants! What if he’s dangerous?”

“But he’s not! He’s—”

“You don’t understand!” the first fairy insisted. “You’re special. And it’s time you knew the truth!”

“What do you mean?” Dream’s voice wavered, confusion washing over him.

With a heavy heart, the fairy continued, “You’ve been hidden away from the world for your protection, but you are destined for more, you are a prince, you must attend the palace soon to fulfill your royal duties... And Technoblade… he is not a friend."

“No!” Dream shouted, the realization hitting him like a wave. “I can’t leave! I don’t want to go to the palace! I want to stay here, with you!”

Tears welled in his eyes as the fairies closed in, their expressions softening. “Dream, you have to understand. If Technoblade is who we think he is, you may never see him again once you fulfill your duties.”

“But he’s my friend!” Dream cried, his heart aching. “Why does it have to be this way?”

The fairies exchanged sympathetic glances. “You have to be strong, Dream. This is part of your destiny.”

Just then, a pang of sadness swept over Dream, feeling as though the walls were closing in around him. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” he whispered.

One fairy placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We only want to protect you. But today is still your birthday. Let’s celebrate it and enjoy the moment.”

Dream wiped his tears, trying to muster a smile as they began to sing a cheerful birthday song (he could not smile, no mather how much he tried..). But deep down, his heart was heavy, knowing that the friendship (the love) he cherished was slipping through his fingers, and soon, he would have to step into a world he wasn’t sure he was ready for. 

As the candles flickered in front of him, Dream made a silent wish—not for a gift or a grand celebration, but for the chance to hold on to the friendships (relationship, a love) that had made him feel truly alive. 

Chapter Text

The fairies moved quickly, their wings fluttering softly as they guided Dream through the dense forest toward the castle, careful to avoid any prying eyes. Dream’s heart raced with a mix of anxiety and anticipation, the weight of his impending destiny pressing down on him.

As they approached the grand castle, its towering spires pierced the sky like daggers, Dream couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. He stole glances at the opulent structure, its walls adorned with gold and colorful banners. It felt overwhelming, like stepping into a world that didn’t belong to him.

Once inside, the fairies led him through dimly lit hallways until they reached a small, elegant room. “This will be your hiding place,” one of the fairies said gently, pushing the door open. “Stay here until we can arrange things.”

Dream stepped inside, feeling the plush carpet beneath his feet and the ornate decor that surrounded him. It was beautiful, but it only deepened his loneliness. The fairies hurriedly placed a small, jeweled crown upon his head, its weight heavy with expectation.

“Dream, remember you are a prince. You have a responsibility now,” the fairies reminded him, their voices tinged with sorrow. “We’ll do everything we can to protect you, but you must be strong.”

As the door closed behind them, Dream felt the tears he had been holding back finally spill over. He sank onto a velvet chair, burying his face in his hands. The realization that he was now thrust into this new world was suffocating. 

He was supposed to be celebrating his birthday, laughing with Technoblade, and practicing swordsmanship in the forest. Instead, he felt isolated, trapped in a castle that felt more like a prison. 

“Why does it have to be like this?” he whispered into the silence, the crown pressing uncomfortably against his head. “I just wanted to be free… I just wanted to be with my friend.”

Time seemed to stretch as Dream allowed himself to cry, the weight of the crown symbolizing the burden he now bore. It felt like a cruel joke, his life suddenly transformed from carefree days in the forest to royal expectations. 

He thought of Technoblade’s warm smile, the way he had felt safe in his presence, and the laughter they had shared. Would he ever see him again? Would he be forced to give up everything he had come to cherish? 

The room was quiet, save for the sound of Dream’s muffled sobs. He looked around, seeking solace in the lavish surroundings, but they only served as a reminder of the stark reality he now faced. 

After what felt like an eternity, Dream wiped his tears away, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He knew he had to be strong, not just for himself, but for the future that awaited him. 

With determination, he stood up, smoothing the fabric of his outfit and adjusting the crown on his head. He would face whatever challenges lay ahead, but he would also hold on to the hope that one day, he could reunite with Technoblade and reclaim the freedom he had lost. 

As he took a step toward the door, ready to confront his fate, he heard the faint echo of laughter in the distance—a sound that reminded him of what he was fighting for. 

Just as Dream prepared to face whatever awaited him outside the room, a strange sensation washed over him. It started as a tingling at the tips of his fingers, slowly creeping up his arms. Confusion clouded his thoughts as he tried to shake off the feeling, but it only intensified.

“What’s happening?” he whispered to himself, his voice barely above a breath. Dream’s heart raced, and he felt as though he were losing control of his own body. Panic began to bubble within him.

Suddenly, his gaze was drawn to an ornate spinning wheel in the corner of the room, its delicate wooden frame intricately carved with floral designs. A shimmering spindle glimmered enticingly, and despite the urgency to escape, he felt an inexplicable pull toward it. 

The wheel began to spin slowly, the rhythmic whirring filling the air as if calling out to him. Mesmerized, Dream stepped closer, entranced by the dance of the spindle. 

“No… I shouldn’t…” he muttered, but his feet betrayed him, drawing him nearer as the tingling sensation surged through him. It felt as though something was guiding him, urging him to touch the spindle. 

Before he could stop himself, Dream reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the spindle’s sharp point. In an instant, a sharp pain pierced through him, and he felt a prick—a brief moment of clarity before a wave of numbness washed over him.

“No!” he gasped, pulling back, but it was too late. The sensation spread through his veins like ice, paralyzing him. His body became heavy, and he stumbled backward, hitting the ground as darkness crept at the edges of his vision.

“What’s happening to me?” he choked out, fear flooding his heart. His thoughts raced as he tried to comprehend the weight of the curse that had suddenly taken hold of him. 

As his breathing quickened, he felt the world around him fading, the once vibrant colors dimming into shades of gray. The room, once filled with soft light, now felt like a shadowy void.

“Techno!” he cried out, desperation lacing his voice as he thought of his friend. He couldn’t let this be the end—not like this. 

But the darkness continued to envelop him, and Dream realized he was losing the battle against whatever force was consuming him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to cling to consciousness, but the numbness spread, stealing his breath away.

In that moment of despair, a final thought flared within him—a hope that echoed in the silence: Techno will come for me… he has to

And then, with one last shuddering breath, Dream succumbed to the curse, the darkness swallowing him whole as he slipped into an endless sleep, leaving the world behind.

Chapter Text

Technoblade moved swiftly through the shadowy paths of the forest, having sneaked out of the castle at any cost, each step fueled by a growing sense of urgency. The enchanting evening air was filled with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, but his mind was solely focused on reaching Dream. Something felt wrong, a gnawing instinct urging him to hurry.

As he approached Dream’s house, an unsettling silence hung in the air. The door creaked open, and Technoblade stepped inside, calling out softly, “Dream?” His voice echoed through the empty space, but there was no response. 

Suddenly, a rustle from the shadows caught his attention. He turned just in time to see grotesque creatures lurching forward, their eyes glowing with malevolent hunger. Technoblade’s instincts kicked in; he drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the dim light. 

“Stay back!” he shouted, lunging at the nearest creature. The clash of metal against flesh filled the air as he fought with precision, his movements honed by years of training. One by one, he dispatched the foul beasts, their forms collapsing in grotesque heaps. 

But just as he thought the danger had passed, a deep, chilling laugh echoed around him, reverberating off the walls. Technoblade’s heart sank as he turned to face the source of the voice.

From the shadows emerged a tall, dark figure draped in an elegant cloak—Maleficent. Her presence filled the room with an oppressive energy, and Technoblade felt an inexplicable chill race down his spine.

“Ah, the dashing prince,” she mused, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and malice. “I expected a girl, a commoner to come for the boy, but it seems you’re much more interesting.”

Technoblade tightened his grip on his sword, ready to defend himself. “Let Dream go, witch! You have no right to him!”

Maleficent chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers through him. “You think you can protect him? You’re merely a pawn in a game far beyond your understanding.” 

With a flick of her wrist, the air around Technoblade thickened, and he found himself ensnared in a swirling vortex of dark magic. He struggled against it, but the force was overwhelming, binding him in place.

“Let me go!” he roared, but his voice was drowned out by Maleficent’s laughter. 

“You’re not as clever as you think,” she said, gliding closer. “Soon, you will join the prince in eternal slumber. After all, his fate is now intertwined with mine.”

Technoblade’s eyes widened in realization. Dream is in danger! He fought harder against the binding magic, but it only tightened its grip. 

“Your power means nothing here,” Maleficent taunted, her voice dripping with disdain. “You will serve me, and together, we will ensure the prince never awakens.”

With those final words, she began to summon more dark creatures from the shadows, and Technoblade felt the darkness closing in around him, threatening to consume him just as it had Dream. 

He had to find a way to escape, to save Dream from whatever fate awaited him. In that moment of desperation, he vowed to fight against Maleficent’s darkness, to break the curse that held Dream captive—even if it meant facing the most powerful sorceress in the land. 

As the shadows gathered, Technoblade’s determination flared like a beacon, refusing to let despair take hold. He would not give up on Dream. Not now. Not ever.

Chapter Text

The air in the castle was thick with dread as the fairies, in their human guise, burst into the chamber where Dream lay unconscious on the floor. Their hearts dropped at the sight. 

“Dream!” one of them cried, rushing to his side. They knelt by him, panic overtaking them. The peaceful look on his face belied the tragedy they knew had befallen him.

“What… what have we done?” murmured the eldest fairy, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes. “We should have kept him safe, never let him stray.”

They carefully lifted Dream, carrying him with sorrow etched in their faces. They climbed the winding stairs of the tower, each step heavy with the weight of their guilt. Dream was placed gently on a large bed, surrounded by delicate fabrics and embroidered pillows.

“He looks so peaceful,” one whispered, trying to suppress a sob. “But he’s lost to us.”

The others nodded, their eyes filled with unshed tears. They draped a blanket over Dream, smoothing his hair back, as if that could somehow undo the curse that had taken hold of him.

From the balcony of the tower, the fairies gazed down at the bustling courtyard below. Unbeknownst to the kingdom, their prince now lay under the spell of an evil far greater than anyone could imagine. The festive decorations that lined the streets for Dream’s sixteenth birthday stood in stark contrast to the silent tragedy unfolding in the tower.

As the fairies watched the people, their hearts ached. They knew the kingdom celebrated today without knowing the true fate of their beloved prince. 

“He was never meant to live like this… kept from the world,” one of them said softly, their voice breaking. “And now… we’ve lost him.”

At the Banquet Hall...

Meanwhile, in the grand banquet hall, the atmosphere was lively, filled with laughter and the clinking of goblets. The celebration for Dream’s sixteenth birthday was in full swing, though the guest of honor was nowhere to be seen. 

King Hubert, Technoblade’s father, paced back and forth, his expression darkening by the second. His eyes flicked toward the grand doors every few moments, waiting for his son to arrive.

“Where is that boy?” Hubert muttered angrily under his breath, turning to one of his attendants. “I swear, if Technoblade doesn’t show his face soon, I’ll—”

“He’s been gone all day, Your Majesty,” the attendant said, nervous under the king’s glare. “No one knows where he is.”

“Gone?” King Hubert’s voice thundered through the hall, causing several guests to stop mid-conversation and look his way. His hand tightened on the armrest of his chair as he sat back down, the fury rolling off him in waves. “What does that boy think he’s doing? On a day like today, he should be here, not gallivanting gods know where!”

The queen, seated beside him, gently placed a hand on his arm. “Calm yourself, dear. He’s a young man now, capable of making his own choices.”

King Hubert shook his head, the anger simmering beneath the surface. “We’re royalty! He has responsibilities! And today, of all days…” His voice trailed off, but the frustration was evident. “He will be found, and when he is, there will be consequences.”

As the banquet continued, the king’s eyes never stopped scanning the hall, growing more furious with each passing moment. Little did he know, his son was far from the castle, caught in the grip of something far more sinister than anyone could have anticipated. 

And in the tower above, Dream lay in a deep, enchanted sleep, his fate now tied to powers beyond anyone's control.

Chapter Text

The fairies, cloaked in grief and determination, knew what had to be done. With Dream lost to Maleficent’s curse, they could not let the kingdom descend into panic. Flying above the courtyard and banquet hall, their wings fluttered with a delicate hum as magic began to swirl around them. 

As the fairies moved through the air, a shimmering trail of enchantment followed in their wake. Below them, the citizens, unaware of their prince’s plight, started to feel their eyes grow heavy, their laughter fading into yawns. One by one, they slumped in their seats, heads resting on tables, or gently leaning against the walls. The magic flowed through the castle and into the streets, casting its spell over everyone.

Inside the grand banquet hall, King Hubert’s anger still simmered. He slammed his goblet down, about to demand Technoblade’s whereabouts once again when his voice faltered. His eyelids grew heavy, and his body sagged against the chair. He fought the sensation, trying to resist, but the spell was too strong. 

The fairies floated silently into the banquet hall, their wings barely making a sound as they cast the enchantment over the royal family and servants. 

Flora was about to leave the room when a soft murmur caught her attention.

“He was last seen heading toward the forest… near the border,” one of the king’s servants whispered to another, just as they too succumbed to the magic. “Prince Technoblade…”

Flora froze mid-air, her heart racing. “Technoblade?” she whispered, her eyes widening in shock. The name sent chills down her spine. 

She hovered, piecing it all together. Dream had spoken of someone… someone from the forest… Technoblade And now this servant claimed the prince was last seen near the very forest they had hidden Dream in for years. 

Her breath hitched, panic rising in her chest. “Could it be…?” she whispered, eyes darting toward her sisters, who were still weaving the spell over the kingdom.

Flora quickly flew to them, her voice urgent. “Fauna! Merryweather! I think I know who Dream’s been meeting!”

The two fairies looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Flora’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was laced with fear and realization. “Prince Technoblade. He’s the one Dream’s been seeing in the forest. He doesn’t know who Dream really is… and Dream has no idea that Technoblade is the prince!”

Fauna and Merryweather gasped in unison, their eyes wide with the weight of the revelation. “It all makes sense now… They’ve been together all this time!” Merryweather said.

Flora’s expression darkened with dread. “And if Maleficent knows… she’ll use Technoblade against him. We have to act quickly.”

The realization hit them all at once—Dream and Technoblade’s fates were more intertwined than they had ever imagined. They needed to find Technoblade and protect Dream, before it was too late.

Chapter Text

The fairies flew through the cold, desolate night, their wings beating fast as they approached the dark, twisted silhouette of Maleficent's castle. The once beautiful forest surrounding it had withered, now a wasteland of gnarled trees and blackened earth. Shadows loomed over the crumbling structure, and the sky seemed eternally dark, as though the sun itself feared to shine upon the cursed land.

As they neared the gates, the fairies shivered. Maleficent's magic tainted the very air, thick and oppressive. But they pressed on, their thoughts focused on Dream, and now on Prince Technoblade, who was imprisoned somewhere within.

The castle doors creaked open with a loud groan as they entered, careful to stay hidden. Inside, the eerie silence of the stone halls was broken only by the occasional drip of water or the rustling of creatures that lurked in the shadows. 

They flew through the winding corridors, following the faint sense of life, until they reached the dungeons deep below the castle. 

There, locked in a dark, damp cell, was Technoblade. His hands were bound with heavy iron chains, his face streaked with dirt, and his clothes torn from the struggle. His eyes, though, burned with defiance, unbroken despite his captivity. When the fairies saw him, their hearts sank—he looked weary, but there was still strength in him.

Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather hovered near the iron bars. Flora whispered softly, "Technoblade... Technoblade, can you hear us?"

Technoblade's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room. He spotted the three fairies floating just outside his cell. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with suspicion.

“We’re friends of Dream,” Fauna said, her voice urgent but gentle. “We’re here to help you.”

“Dream...” Technoblade’s expression softened for a moment, and then hardened again. “Where is he? Is he safe?”

Merryweather shook her head. “Dream has fallen under Maleficent's curse, just like the prophecy foretold. But you’re the only one who can save him. We need to get you out of here.”

Technoblade's jaw clenched at the mention of Dream’s fate. He pulled at the chains, anger and frustration clear in his eyes. “Then what are we waiting for? Get these things off me.”

With a wave of her wand, Flora's magic glowed and flowed into the chains, turning them into glittering dust. Technoblade rubbed his wrists as the shackles fell away, standing to his full height. He gave them a determined nod.

“We can’t just let you face Maleficent unprepared,” Flora continued. “We’re going to give you a blessing, one that will give you the strength to break her magic.”

Merryweather fluttered up, her face serious as she waved her wand over Technoblade’s sword. The blade began to glow with a soft blue light, shimmering as though it had been forged from the very stars.

“Take this,” she said, handing the sword to him. “This will protect you from Maleficent’s magic. No spell she casts will be able to stop you.”

Technoblade took the sword in hand, its weight familiar and comforting. He gave the fairies a curt nod. “Let’s finish this.”

With the sword in his hand, blessed by magic, the fairies guided Technoblade out of the dungeon, careful to avoid Maleficent’s guards and creatures. They flew through the crumbling halls, their hearts pounding as they neared the exit.

But as they made their way out, they knew the real challenge was yet to come. Maleficent would not let her prey escape so easily. And Dream’s life—and the kingdom’s future—depended on Technoblade’s success.

Together, they left the dark castle behind, but the battle to free Dream had only just begun.

Chapter Text

Just as Technoblade and the fairies reached the crumbling gates of Maleficent’s castle, a sudden chorus of guttural growls and screeches echoed through the air. Dark, twisted creatures, Maleficent’s minions, leapt from the shadows, their grotesque forms blocking the exit. Their glowing eyes locked onto Technoblade, their snarling faces full of vicious intent.

Without hesitation, Technoblade raised his enchanted sword. "Get ready," he muttered to the fairies, gripping the hilt tightly as the creatures lunged toward him.

Arrows whistled through the air, shot by the skeletal archers stationed along the castle walls. Technoblade braced for impact, but before the arrows could strike, Flora waved her wand, transforming the deadly projectiles into delicate flowers that fell harmlessly to the ground. 

"Go, go!" Flora urged, her voice strained with the effort of casting the spell.

Technoblade surged forward, cutting down the monstrous creatures that tried to block their path. His sword, glowing with the fairies’ magic, sliced through them with ease, their dark forms disintegrating into black mist upon contact. But for every creature he felled, two more seemed to take its place.

Meanwhile, Merryweather darted through the chaos, her eyes locked on Maleficent’s crow, Diablo. The wicked bird soared above, cawing frantically, trying to warn its mistress of the escape. Merryweather scowled and shot after it, her wand glowing with determination.

"You’re not getting away this time!" she shouted, her wand sparking with blue light.

With a flash of magic, Merryweather transformed the crow into solid stone, freezing it in mid-flight. The petrified bird fell from the sky, crashing into the ground with a resounding thud. 

Back in the castle, Maleficent, seated on her dark throne, sensed the sudden stillness of her trusted companion. Her eyes flared with rage as she realized what had happened. She stood abruptly, her staff crackling with dark energy, and with a wave of her hand, a portal opened, showing her the fleeing Technoblade and the fairies.

"So... you thought you could escape," she hissed, her voice low and menacing. "I’ll see about that."

With a flick of her wrist, Maleficent began casting spells, dark tendrils of magic shooting from her staff, wrapping around the forest outside her castle like a living entity. The ground trembled beneath Technoblade’s feet as the vines and thorny branches erupted from the earth, snaking toward him and the fairies with terrifying speed.

“Run!” Fauna cried, pushing Technoblade forward as the massive thorny vines closed in around them, twisting through the air like serpents.

Technoblade charged ahead, slashing through the vines with his enchanted sword, the blade cutting through the dark magic as if it were mere smoke. But with every step forward, more vines grew, thicker and darker, blocking their path.

Maleficent’s laughter echoed through the night, her dark magic relentless. “You can’t escape me, prince,” her voice boomed, carried on the wind. “You and that pathetic kingdom will fall!”

Technoblade gritted his teeth, his muscles straining as he swung the sword, desperately cutting through the advancing thorns. The fairies darted around him, casting their magic to clear the way, but it was becoming harder and harder to keep the dark magic at bay.

Just as they neared the edge of the cursed forest, Maleficent unleashed one final, powerful spell. A massive wall of black fire erupted before them, cutting off their escape.

Technoblade stood, panting, his sword raised defensively as the fire roared in front of them. The fairies hovered behind him, their expressions grim but determined.

“This is it,” Flora whispered, her eyes narrowing as she watched the wall of flames grow larger.

But Technoblade wasn’t ready to give up. With a fierce battle cry, he raised his sword high, its magical glow intensifying as he charged toward the flames.

Chapter Text

Technoblade burst through the wall of black fire, the enchanted sword in his hand glowing fiercely as it cut through the dark magic. As he stepped out of the flames, the twisted, dark forest opened up before him, eerie and silent. He caught his breath for just a moment, the fire behind him crackling menacingly.

But before he could take another step, a figure appeared before him, tall and menacing, her dark cloak billowing in the sudden gust of wind. It was Maleficent, her wicked smile twisting her lips as her glowing yellow eyes locked onto Technoblade.

"You’ve come far, prince," she said mockingly, her voice dripping with venom. "But this is where your journey ends."

Technoblade’s grip on his sword tightened. He took a defensive stance, his eyes never leaving her. "You’re not going to stop me."

Maleficent laughed, the sound cold and harsh, echoing through the cursed forest. "Foolish boy," she sneered. "Do you really think you can defeat me? I am the Mistress of all Evil!"

With a dramatic flourish, Maleficent raised her staff, dark magic crackling from its tip. Her form began to twist and shift, her dark cloak spreading and growing as her body morphed. In a matter of moments, she had transformed into a massive, towering dragon. Her scales were as black as night, her eyes glowing with an unholy green light. Her mouth opened in a terrifying roar, revealing sharp, glistening fangs, and from her throat came a torrent of green flames, hotter than the pits of hell.

Technoblade barely had time to move before the dragon unleashed its fire upon him. He rolled to the side, the flames scorching the ground where he had just been standing. His heart raced, but he held his ground, his sword glowing even brighter with the fairies’ magic.

With a powerful leap, he charged at the dragon, swinging his sword at its massive legs. The enchanted blade bit into the dragon’s scales, but only barely. Maleficent roared in fury, swiping at him with her massive tail, knocking him back.

Technoblade hit the ground hard, but he quickly regained his footing. He couldn’t afford to lose. Not now. Dream was depending on him.

The dragon’s fiery breath lit up the dark forest as Maleficent advanced on him, her massive claws tearing through the earth. Technoblade dodged and weaved, his sword cutting through the air as he fought to stay ahead of her deadly attacks.

But Maleficent was relentless. Her massive wings beat against the air, creating gusts of wind that almost knocked Technoblade off his feet. She lunged at him, her fangs snapping dangerously close to his head.

Technoblade swung his sword, narrowly avoiding being crushed by her massive jaws. He rolled to the side, his eyes scanning the dragon’s form, looking for a weak spot. He needed to end this—fast.

Suddenly, he saw it. A vulnerable spot in the dragon’s chest, right between her massive scales. It was small, but if he could land a direct hit there, it might be enough to finish her.

Summoning all his strength, Technoblade charged forward, ducking under the dragon’s fiery breath. He dodged her claws, his eyes locked on the weak spot. With a mighty leap, he raised his sword high and plunged it into the dragon’s chest.

Maleficent let out a deafening roar, the sound echoing through the forest as her massive body convulsed. Green fire exploded from her mouth, lighting up the sky as her dark magic began to unravel. The dragon thrashed violently, but Technoblade held firm, pushing the sword deeper.

With one final, agonized roar, the dragon’s body began to disintegrate into green smoke, her dark form dissolving into nothingness. The fire around them died out, leaving only the glowing embers of Maleficent’s demise.

Technoblade stepped back, panting, his sword still glowing faintly with the fairies’ magic. The ground was silent once more, the dark forest no longer oppressive. He had done it. Maleficent was gone.

As the last of the green smoke faded into the wind, Technoblade looked up toward the distant castle. His heart was still pounding, but he allowed himself a brief moment of relief.

"Hold on, Dream," he whispered. "I’m coming."

Chapter Text

The fairies guided Technoblade through the silent, eerie halls of the castle. As they moved, Technoblade noticed something strange: everyone was asleep. Servants slumped over where they stood, guards leaning against walls with their spears slipping from their hands, even King Hubert lay snoring in his throne room, unaware of his surroundings. 

Technoblade furrowed his brow but didn’t comment. His thoughts were consumed by Dream. He had to find him, had to know he was okay.

They climbed the winding staircases of the castle, reaching a secluded tower at the top. Inside, the fairies led Technoblade to a room, the door creaking open softly as they entered. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Dream lying on a grand bed, his face peaceful, as if in the deepest of slumbers.

“There he is,” Flora whispered, gazing at Dream with sadness. "But only the kiss of true love can wake him."

“True love?” Technoblade echoed, turning to look at the fairies, confusion and a hint of exasperation crossing his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Fauna began hesitantly, “we’ll need to find a girl...”

“A girl?” Technoblade repeated, incredulous. “No, I’m not waiting around for that.”

Without another word, Technoblade stepped forward, brushing past the fairies, ignoring their squeaks of horror. He knelt beside Dream, staring at him for a moment. His heart ached. Dream looked so vulnerable, so still, and the thought of losing him was unbearable.

Ignoring the fairies’ frantic whispers, Technoblade leaned down, gently cupping Dream’s cheek. His lips hovered over Dream’s for just a moment before he pressed them softly against his.

The fairies gasped audibly, frozen in shock, but Technoblade didn’t care. 

Dream’s eyelids fluttered, and Technoblade pulled back, watching with bated breath as Dream slowly opened his eyes. 

“Dream?” Technoblade whispered, his voice soft, full of hope.

Dream blinked a few times, his vision blurry, but then his gaze locked onto Technoblade, and a wave of recognition washed over him. “T-Techno...?”

Technoblade didn’t wait. He pulled Dream into his arms, holding him tightly as Dream’s arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him back just as fiercely. Dream’s body shook as emotions overwhelmed him.

“I thought...” Dream’s voice trembled. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Technoblade held him closer, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m here, Dream. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dream buried his face in Technoblade’s shoulder, clinging to him. Tears slipped down his cheeks, but this time they were tears of relief. "I was so scared."

"I know," Technoblade whispered, stroking Dream’s hair. "But you’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you."

They stayed like that for a long moment, just holding each other, neither of them willing to let go. The fairies stood off to the side, their expressions a mix of surprise, confusion, and...a tiny bit of awe. 

Flora cleared her throat awkwardly. “Well...I suppose that works, too.”

Technoblade ignored her. All that mattered was Dream, safe in his arms.

Chapter Text

The moment the fairies’ magic washed over the castle, a soft shimmering light danced in the air, and everyone began to stir. One by one, the people awoke, confused but relieved. The spell that had plagued the kingdom was broken. Technoblade stood by Dream’s side as the fairies bustled about, waking up the last of the castle’s inhabitants.

Dream still held onto Techno’s hand as if letting go would somehow break the moment. His mind raced, heart pounding in his chest, but the comfort of Techno’s steady grip grounded him.

Flora fluttered over, a kind but firm expression on her face. “Come, Dream. There’s a ball being prepared in your honor. We must not delay.”

Dream hesitated, his gaze flicking to Technoblade. The thought of facing everyone, especially his father, weighed heavily on him. He still hadn’t fully processed the truth—that he was a prince, that his whole life had been a lie. But with Techno by his side, maybe, just maybe, he could get through it.

The ballroom was alive with light and music when Dream and Technoblade arrived together. All eyes turned to them as they entered through the grand doors, arm in arm. The crowd murmured in confusion, some even gasped. After all, it wasn’t just Dream, the long-lost prince, returning—it was him and Technoblade together.

Dream’s father, King Stefan, stood at the far end of the room, his regal figure towering above the crowd. When his eyes landed on Dream, they softened with relief. He stepped forward quickly, embracing Dream with a father’s overwhelming joy.

“Dream! My son... You’ve returned.” His voice cracked with emotion as he held Dream tightly.

Dream returned the hug awkwardly, still not used to being embraced by the man who he’d only recently learned was his father. “Yes, Father. I’m here.”

Across the room, Technoblade’s father, King Hubert, had other matters on his mind. His eyes narrowed as he spotted his son, pulling him aside with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Technoblade. What in the world is going on? Where were you? You missed your duties—no, you’ve been gone for days!”

Technoblade glanced sideways, watching Dream greet his father from the corner of his eye. “I had something more important to do,” he muttered under his breath.

King Hubert’s nostrils flared. “More important than your responsibilities? What are you talking about?”

Before Technoblade could answer, a sudden yell echoed through the ballroom.

“WHAT?!”

All heads turned toward Dream, who stood in shock, staring wide-eyed at his father. King Stefan was gesturing toward a young woman dressed in elegant silks. Dream’s heart dropped.

“This is Lady Elara,” King Stefan announced proudly, unaware of the horror etched on Dream’s face. “Your future wife, my son.”

The room buzzed with whispers, but all Dream could do was stare. His entire world came crashing down in that moment. A wife? He’d never even known who he was, let alone agreed to marry someone.

Technoblade, sensing the shift, immediately pushed past the guests, making his way to Dream’s side. His presence was like a lifeline for Dream, but his father’s next words only added to the chaos.

“You can’t be serious!” Dream exclaimed, his voice shaking as he looked between his father and the woman who was supposed to be his bride. “I’m not marrying her. I’m in love with someone else.”

King Stefan’s face froze, the proud expression slipping into confusion. “What... what are you talking about, Dream?”

Dream took a deep breath, squeezing Technoblade’s hand for courage. “I’m in love with Technoblade. We’re together.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The music had stopped, and the eyes of everyone in the room were glued to the unfolding drama. King Stefan’s face paled as the words sunk in.

“With... with him?” King Stefan stammered, his voice shaking with disbelief. “This is... this is impossible!”

Dream stood his ground, his heart racing but his voice steady. “It’s not. I love him.”

King Stefan’s eyes darkened, and a cold, furious expression took over his features. He turned toward Technoblade, his voice low and dangerous. “You... you’ve stained my son’s honor.”

Technoblade’s father, King Hubert, who had been silent until now, erupted in anger. “How dare you accuse my son of such a thing?! He has done no wrong!”

King Stefan’s face twisted with rage. “No wrong? He’s corrupted my son! He’s destroyed his future!”

Technoblade’s grip tightened on Dream’s hand, his expression hardening. “Dream’s future is his own, not something to be decided by you.”

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with impending conflict. King Stefan’s fury only grew, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “You think you can just take what’s mine?! My kingdom? My son?! This is an outrage!”

Dream and Technoblade exchanged a glance, their hands still locked together in defiance of the storm brewing around them. In that moment, there was only one truth between them—they would not be separated.

“We’re at war then!” King Hubert’s booming voice silenced the room once again.

The declaration hung in the air like a final blow, the weight of it crashing down on everyone present. Dream’s heart sank, knowing that his love for Technoblade had just sparked a conflict that neither of them had intended.

The ballroom remained tense, the guests frozen in the aftermath of the declaration. Dream clung to Technoblade’s arm as the reality of the situation set in. Their love, their defiance, had just changed everything.

Chapter Text

Dream stood by the window of his new room, his forehead pressed against the cold glass. The kingdom lay sprawled beneath him, oblivious to the storm brewing within its walls. He couldn’t see Technoblade’s figure anywhere in the distance, but he knew he was gone. Gone with his father to prepare for a war Dream never wanted.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout, to cry, to demand answers. Why? Why him? Why Technoblade? Why had everything spiraled into chaos the moment they dared to love each other? He clenched his fists, feeling a hot wave of frustration and helplessness wash over him. This room, with its silk curtains and gilded furniture, felt like a prison. It wasn’t his home. It never would be.

He hadn’t even been able to say goodbye.

The echo of the declaration still rang in his ears. War. A single word that had torn apart his world. The thought of Technoblade going to fight, risking everything, sent a cold shiver down his spine. What if he never saw him again? What if...?

Dream squeezed his eyes shut, choking down the sob that threatened to break free. He was a prince, wasn’t he? He had to be strong. But all the strength in the world couldn’t keep him from feeling lost in the wake of everything that had happened.

A sharp knock on the door startled him. Dream quickly wiped his face, trying to regain composure as the door creaked open. A servant stepped inside, bowing her head before him.

"Prince Dream," she said quietly, her voice devoid of emotion. "I have been ordered to dress you. The king requires your presence."

Dream felt a wave of bitterness rise in his throat. The king. His father. The man who had locked him away like some treasure to be kept from the world, from his love. He hated every moment of this—every fancy piece of clothing, every step further away from freedom.

Without a word, he allowed the servant to approach, her hands already gathering the ceremonial robes he was meant to wear. Dream’s body moved automatically as she dressed him, but his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking of Techno—of the way he’d held him just days before, of the warmth and safety that Technoblade always brought him. And now, he was alone, left to grieve in a room that wasn’t his own.

Dream clenched his jaw as the servant tightened the laces of his vest. He wanted to rip it off, to run, to disappear into the forests where he’d first met Technoblade, but he was trapped. Trapped by his title, by his blood, by the expectations placed upon him.

When the servant finished, she stepped back, offering a polite nod. "The king is waiting, Your Highness."

Dream didn’t respond. He simply stood there, staring out the window once more. The servant lingered for a moment before leaving quietly, shutting the door behind her.

Dream was alone again, but the weight of the kingdom pressed down on him harder than ever.

Dream stood before his father, his heart pounding in his chest, still raw from everything that had happened. The grand hall of the castle felt even colder than usual, its vastness only amplifying the tension between them. King Stefan looked at him with a stern expression, his brows furrowed, the disappointment palpable.

"You've disgraced our family, Dream," the king said, his voice low but sharp. "Do you understand what you've done?"

Dream clenched his fists, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I haven’t done anything wrong, Father."

The king’s eyes flashed with anger. "Nothing wrong? You’ve been consorting with that... that boy, Technoblade. A prince, yes, but he’s stained your honor! You were meant to marry someone of noble blood, and you’ve thrown it all away for what? A few moments of foolishness?"

"It wasn’t foolishness," Dream shot back, his voice rising with emotion. "I love him, Father!"

The king's face darkened, his grip on the arms of his throne tightening. "Love? You don’t know what love is, boy. You’ve been bewitched, led astray by that boy. He has poisoned you, and now we must cleanse you of his influence."

Dream felt a lump in his throat, his entire body trembling with the weight of the words. "Cleanse me? What are you talking about?"

"You will be taken to the church," the king declared coldly, rising from his throne. "The priests will purify you of whatever mark that boy has left on you. You’ll be cleansed of this disgrace, and then... we will restore your honor."

Dream took a step back, his eyes wide with horror. "You can’t be serious! You want to... erase everything? Everything that Technoblade and I—?"

"It’s not a choice, Dream!" the king snapped, his voice thunderous. "You are a prince, and your actions affect the entire kingdom. I won’t let you destroy us for a fleeting fantasy!"

Dream shook his head in disbelief, his voice cracking. "This isn’t just some fantasy. I love him, Father. And you can’t just... take that away from me."

The king’s gaze was cold and unrelenting. "I can, and I will. You are going to that church, and when you return, this will all be behind you. You will marry, as you were destined to do, and Technoblade will be nothing more than a forgotten mistake."

Dream felt tears welling up in his eyes, but he blinked them away, refusing to let his father see them. "I’ll never forget him," he whispered, his voice defiant. "No matter what you do."

The king’s lips pressed into a thin line. "You will do as I command, Dream. The kingdom demands it."

Without waiting for another word, the king turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Dream standing there, heartbroken and furious, knowing that his fate was no longer in his own hands.

Dream’s footsteps echoed through the marble hallways as he was led toward his next fate. His father’s words rang in his ears, a cruel decree. "To purify you, to remove whatever Technoblade has left on you", he had said, his tone cold and unforgiving. 

The beauty of the towering cathedral felt like a prison. Statues of angels, fairies, and gods loomed over him as if judging his every step. He felt their stone eyes bearing down on him as if they, too, disapproved of the love he had for Technoblade. His heart ached for the man he hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye to.

As they reached the center of the vast cathedral, Dream’s pulse quickened. A massive stone table lay beneath a statue of a goddess, her face solemn and unforgiving. Priests stood in a circle around it, chanting prayers that echoed against the walls, their low voices vibrating through his chest like a storm ready to crash down on him. 

Before he could protest, his wrists and ankles were bound to the cold, unforgiving stone. He struggled against the restraints, but they held firm. His heart raced as he realized the magnitude of what was happening. They were trying to strip him of everything, to erase every part of Technoblade that still lingered on his soul.

Dream’s throat tightened. “No... no, no, no...” he whispered, barely loud enough for himself to hear.

The chanting grew louder, each word making his fear intensify. He twisted his head, searching for a way out, for anyone who might help him, but the room was filled with priests, their faces emotionless, focused only on their ritual. He was trapped.

As the words of the priests rose to a crescendo, Dream squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out, the numbness creeping into his body just as it had when Maleficent had controlled him.

Chapter Text

Everything felt like a dream—a swirling haze of sounds and voices, but nothing was clear. Dream’s vision blurred. He couldn’t focus on their chanting, couldn’t make out the intricate statues of gods and angels surrounding him. His body felt heavy, as if weighed down by the suffocating air of the church.

Then, he hit something soft and unfamiliar. It felt like he was falling into a cloud, and before he could understand what was happening, the world slipped away. Darkness embraced him, pulling him into unconsciousness, and all his thoughts, his fears, and his anger disappeared into the mist.

When he woke, everything was still. The faint moonlight streamed through his bedroom window, casting pale shadows across the floor. Dream blinked slowly, his head pounding, as if his mind was trying to make sense of what had happened.

Then it hit him—what the king had said, the priests, the altar... His father had tried to strip him of everything that mattered. Technoblade. His memories, his love, everything he had cherished, everything that made him feel alive. The weight of it crashed down on him, overwhelming his senses. He felt numb, yet at the same time, every emotion he had been holding back began to flood his chest all at once.

He sat up in bed, his breathing shallow as the full realization struck. His father wanted to erase Technoblade from his life, as if their love was nothing. As if Technoblade was nothing. It wasn’t right. None of it was right.

Dream’s chest tightened, and before he knew it, tears spilled down his cheeks. His sobs started softly but quickly grew louder, uncontrollable. He buried his face in his hands, trying to muffle the sound, but it didn’t help. It felt like everything was crashing down around him, like the walls of the castle were closing in.

His entire body shook as the sobs wracked through him. He felt so small, so powerless. All he wanted was to be with Technoblade, to hold him, to feel safe again in his arms. But now...now it felt like that dream was slipping further and further away.

Tears streamed down his face, soaking his hands as he cried out into the silence of the room, overwhelmed by the loss, the fear, the anger, and the love that still burned fiercely inside him

Chapter Text

Days passed like a slow, suffocating fog, each one dragging Dream deeper into the endless monotony of his new life inside the castle. His once carefree days in the forest felt like a distant dream, and the weight of his crown, of his title, pressed heavier on him with each passing hour. The king had made sure Dream stayed within the castle walls, appointing tutors to flood him with lessons on politics, etiquette, history—things Dream couldn’t care less about. He tried, at first. But no matter how hard he concentrated, the words blurred together, the lessons seeming pointless and irrelevant to the life he wanted.

Every time Dream sat in those grand, suffocating rooms, he felt smaller and smaller. The tutors droned on, ignoring the way his gaze would wander toward the windows, to the open sky, the forest he longed to run back to. They never seemed to notice how little he understood, how disconnected he felt from their teachings. Or maybe they did, and just didn’t care.

Weeks later, Dream found himself in the midst of another lesson about the royal lineage. The tutor’s voice, deep and lifeless, lulled the room into a drowsy silence. Dream’s eyes drifted to the window again, the sunlight glimmering in a way that reminded him of the freedom he had lost. It was unbearable. He shifted in his seat, growing restless.

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer.

Without much thought, Dream excused himself from the lesson, mumbling something about needing air, and slipped out of the room. He didn’t stop walking once he was in the hall, not caring if anyone noticed his absence. His feet led him through the twisting corridors of the castle, down to places he hadn’t yet explored. He wandered aimlessly at first, just happy to be moving, to be away from the stifling presence of tutors and lessons.

Then, he heard it—the rhythmic sound of clashing swords, shouts of effort, the unmistakable clink of armor. Curious, Dream followed the noise, feeling his heart pick up speed. It reminded him of the times Technoblade had taken him through sword training, showing him how to defend himself, teaching him to be strong. He hadn’t trained in weeks, not since Techno had left. And as much as he tried to push those thoughts away, the longing hit him all at once.

Dream finally reached the training grounds. Peeking from behind a stone wall, he saw soldiers practicing drills with heavy blades, clashing with one another, their movements sharp and calculated. The air smelled of sweat and metal, and the field was alive with shouts of encouragement and groans of defeat. It was raw and real, nothing like the distant, cold life inside the castle.

Dream’s heart raced. Watching them stirred something deep inside him, a longing he hadn’t realized he’d been suppressing. He felt the familiar desire to pick up a sword, to feel the weight of the weapon in his hands, to fight. But it wasn’t just for fun now—it was necessity. He knew deep down that he needed to be able to defend himself, that he couldn’t rely on Technoblade forever. But he was trapped, watched by his father, and the risks were too high. If they caught him training, the consequences would be severe.

But still… watching them made him ache for the feeling of control, of freedom. His body almost hummed with the memory of moving through the forest, of fighting alongside Technoblade. His hands twitched at his sides, wanting to grip a sword, wanting to move, wanting to be anything other than what he was right now.

For a long time, he stood there, watching the soldiers move with precision and strength. Some were young, not much older than him. They trained under the watchful eyes of veteran warriors, their shouts carrying across the field. Dream could feel his blood pounding in his ears, excitement mixing with the sadness that weighed him down. He was caught between wanting to run out there, grab a sword, and fight until he couldn’t anymore—and the fear of being discovered.

He stayed hidden, his heart yearning for something he couldn’t have. The soldiers fought with a confidence Dream envied, their strength and focus something he longed for. But as much as he wanted to join them, he knew better. His father would never allow it. 

Yet, in that moment, Dream promised himself something. He wasn’t sure when, or how, but one day he would train again. One day, he would fight, and no one—king or not—would stop him.

For now, though, all he could do was watch. Watch and hope that maybe, someday, he’d be free again.

Chapter Text

The days dragged on with Dream feeling more like a prisoner in the castle than a prince. Every moment spent in lessons or under the watchful eyes of his father’s servants was suffocating. The memories of the training ground haunted him, the sounds of swords clashing and soldiers shouting staying fresh in his mind. He could hardly think of anything else. The desire to fight, to train again, grew stronger with every passing day. 

Finally, Dream decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to feel that sense of freedom again, even if it was only for a short time. He wasn’t sure what drove him to make the decision, but he woke up one morning and knew that today would be the day. The day he would finally go to the training grounds—not to watch, but to train.

It was the day when new recruits were scheduled to arrive, young men being prepared for the upcoming war. Dream thought that maybe, just maybe, he could blend in with them. He wasn’t dressed in the elaborate royal clothes he hated so much; he wore something simpler, hoping it would help him blend in.

He slipped out of the castle early, avoiding the guards and servants, and made his way to the training grounds. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached, anxiety mixing with excitement. He wasn’t sure if this was a terrible idea or the best thing he had done in weeks.

When he arrived, the new recruits were already gathered, standing in a row as they listened to the man in charge. Dream made his way to them, keeping his head low, hoping no one would recognize him. He sat down among them, his heart racing, glancing around nervously.

The man in charge, a gruff-looking soldier with a scar down the side of his face, noticed Dream immediately. He frowned, looking Dream up and down, his eyes lingering on his clothing. Dream hadn’t thought much about it, but compared to the other recruits, his clothes were far more refined, though still simple by royal standards.

“Unusual for a noble boy to join the recruits,” the man said, his voice rough but not unkind. His eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Don’t see many of your kind out here wanting to get their hands dirty.”

Dream felt his stomach drop. He hadn’t anticipated this kind of attention. But he couldn’t tell the truth, not now.

“I… I wanted to try,” Dream said, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. “I want to learn.”

The man nodded, seemingly impressed by Dream’s response. “Well, at least you’ve got some guts.” He glanced at Dream’s hands and then back at his face. “What’s your name, boy?”

Dream hesitated for a moment. He couldn’t risk giving his real name. “Clay,” he finally said, hoping the name would be common enough to not raise any eyebrows. It was, after all, the name his caretakers used for him, and it felt more natural than his royal title.

The man raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Alright, Clay. If you’re here to train, then you’ll be treated like everyone else. No special treatment for nobles, understood?”

Dream nodded eagerly. “Understood.”

The man barked orders to the recruits, getting them ready for drills. Dream followed along, feeling a thrill of excitement surge through him. He wasn’t a prince here—just another boy among the recruits, learning to fight. It was freeing, exhilarating even, to be treated like anyone else for once.

As the drills began, Dream found himself moving through the motions of swordsmanship, muscles remembering what Technoblade had taught him. The weight of the sword in his hands felt familiar, comforting even, and for the first time in weeks, he felt a sense of purpose. He moved with precision and determination, quickly catching the attention of some of the others around him.

As they practiced, Dream felt the eyes of the man in charge on him again. The man seemed to be watching Dream closely, assessing his movements. After a while, he walked over and clapped a hand on Dream’s shoulder.

“You’ve got some skill, Clay,” the man said, his voice full of approval. “Not bad for someone with noble blood. Where’d you learn?”

Dream tensed, but he quickly shrugged, keeping his answer vague. “Just… from someone who taught me.”

The man grunted, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and moved on.

Dream smiled to himself, a small, quiet triumph blossoming in his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was doing something he loved. Something that felt real. He didn’t know how long he could keep it up without being discovered, but for now, he would enjoy every second of it. 

And as he practiced, he couldn’t help but think of Technoblade. What would he think, seeing Dream here among the recruits, training for a war that loomed on the horizon?

As the recruits settled after their training, stretching out tired muscles, Dream remained seated, catching his breath. His thoughts raced between the physical toll of the training and the unusual freedom he felt away from the castle.

Suddenly, two figures approached him, both with easy-going expressions. One was taller, with dark brown hair and sharp features, while the other was shorter but stockier, with a fiery look in his eyes.

"Hey," the taller one said, smiling. "I’m George, and this is Sapnap. You’re Clay, right?"

Dream blinked, "Yeah, that’s right."

"Nice to meet you," Sapnap added, giving him a nod. "We saw you during the training. You’re not bad, for someone dressed like that."

Dream chuckled nervously, looking down at his noble clothes, clearly out of place among the recruits. "Yeah, I just… wanted to give it a try, i guess..."

George raised an eyebrow. "Not many noble kids come out here to train with us. Most just hire people to fight for them." His tone wasn’t accusatory, just curious.

Dream shifted slightly, unsure of how much to reveal. "… I guess I just wanted to see what it was like, you know? The real work."

Sapnap grinned. "Well, if you’re serious about it, then you should definitely stick around. We could always use more hands—and, to be honest, it’s kind of refreshing to see someone like you not treating this like a joke."

George glanced between them and then added, "So, what do you say? Want to stick with us? We could always use another friend."

Dream hesitated, but there was something about their energy that drew him in. They felt genuine, nothing like the nobles or the people around the castle. Maybe, just maybe, these were the kind of people he needed right now.

"Yeah," Dream said, a small smile forming. "I’d like that."

With that, George and Sapnap exchanged approving looks, and Dream felt a spark of hope. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t alone, and maybe, just maybe, he’d found something real.

Chapter Text

When Dream had accepted George and Sapnap’s offer of friendship, he had no idea it would lead to this—he thought as he was running through the castle’s winding hallways, clutching stolen cookies from the kitchen in his hands, crumbs flying everywhere as they tried to flee the scolding kitchen staff.

George was at the front of their trio, trying to shout something through a mouthful of cookie, but all that came out was a garbled mess. Sapnap, right next to Dream, burst out laughing at the sight of George, half choking as he sprinted ahead, still attempting to shove more cookie into his mouth.

"George! Stop trying to talk and run at the same time!" Sapnap called out between fits of laughter, barely managing to keep pace. Dream doubled over as they ran, his own laughter bubbling up uncontrollably, nearly tripping over his feet as he tried to hold onto the cookies.

They swerved down another hallway, avoiding the patrolling guards with barely a second to spare, ducking into a smaller corridor lined with old tapestries. Dream’s heart pounded, a wild, exhilarating thrill rushing through him. For so long, he’d been trapped in the monotony of royal life—his every move watched, every step calculated. But now, here he was, racing through the halls like a child, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard.

They eventually made it to the garden, an overgrown, forgotten part of the castle grounds that no one ever visited anymore. It was their secret spot, the perfect hideaway from watchful eyes. Dream, George, and Sapnap collapsed onto the soft grass, gasping for air between their laughter, clutching their aching sides.

"Y-you almost choked back there!" Dream managed to say, wiping tears from his eyes. "I thought you were going to die!"

George groaned dramatically, rolling over onto his back. "I was trying to tell you… but… too much cookie!"

Sapnap threw an arm around Dream’s shoulder, still snickering. "I can’t believe we got away with that! I thought for sure someone was going to catch us this time."

Dream nodded, staring up at the sky, feeling his chest rise and fall in the aftermath of their mad dash. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like this, so free and unguarded. For weeks, he’d been buried under the weight of everything—his royal duties, the looming war, the expectations of his father. And then, there was Techno, the one person who understood him but was now so far away. Yet, with George and Sapnap, it was different. They didn’t expect him to be a prince or a leader. He was just… Clay to them.

Lying there on the grass, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, he realized that maybe this was what he had needed all along—real friendship, not the kind dictated by duty or status. When he’d accepted their offer to be friends, he had thought it would be simple. Normal. But this? This was something else entirely. It was wild, chaotic, and full of moments like this—running through the castle with stolen cookies, laughing until his stomach hurt.

Dream closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the sun wash over him, a soft smile on his lips. He wasn’t sure what would come next, or how long this carefree feeling would last, but for now, he was content. Friendship like this, wild and untamed, was exactly what he needed. And though it was far from the kind of friendship he had expected, he wasn’t complaining. Not at all.

Chapter Text

Days had passed since Dream, George, and Sapnap had become fast friends, their camaraderie growing with each stolen moment and shared laughter. Dream found himself enjoying their company far more than he ever imagined, their friendship giving him a sense of normalcy in a life that had felt anything but.

One afternoon, after a long day of training and sneaking cookies from the kitchen, George and Sapnap exchanged a glance, their usual mischievous expressions even more pronounced. Dream noticed it immediately, bracing himself for whatever plan they had brewing.

"Hey, Clay," George began, using the name Dream had adopted among them, "we’ve been thinking..."

"Uh-oh," Dream muttered with a grin, already sensing trouble.

Sapnap nudged him playfully. "Oh, come on, it’s nothing crazy. We just thought it’s about time we go… outside... Into the city."

Dream blinked, caught off guard. "The city? You mean outside the castle walls?"

George nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. The capital is just down the hill, and it’s amazing. You’ve gotta see it for yourself. It’s nothing like this place. It’s alive, man."

Dream's thoughts raced. He had been confined to the castle ever since his father’s overprotectiveness had locked him in. The idea of escaping—even for just a little while—was tempting. But it also felt dangerous, though for reasons beyond being caught. He had never seen the capital. It was a mystery to him, and a small part of him was excited by the idea of experiencing something new.

"I don’t know," Dream hesitated, though his heart already tugged at him to say yes.

"Oh, come on," Sapnap urged, grinning. "We do it all the time. No one’s gonna stop us. Just throw on a hood, blend in with the crowd. No one will know you’re a recruit or anything. You’ll just be Clay, hanging out with us. It'll be fun."

Dream still wasn’t sure. He hadn’t lived a life where he could make these decisions freely, but as he looked at George and Sapnap’s excited faces, he felt something stir inside him. He had trained hard, kept his head down, and followed the rules, but just this once… maybe he could taste freedom. 

"I… okay, fine. Let’s do it," Dream finally said, a smile creeping onto his face.

"Yes!" George and Sapnap cheered quietly, clapping Dream on the back.

As night fell, they gathered near a small side gate in the castle’s outer wall, a place George had discovered earlier that was poorly guarded. The three of them slipped through easily, cloaked in shadows and adrenaline.

Once outside, the path down to the capital lay before them, winding and narrow, but free. Dream’s heart beat faster with every step, his mind racing with the reality of what they were doing. The towering buildings of the city soon came into view, their lights twinkling like stars against the night sky. As they reached the city streets, the smells of food, the sound of laughter, and the energy of life flooded Dream's senses.

He’d never experienced anything like it.

George and Sapnap led him down winding streets lined with merchants packing up their goods, taverns bustling with noise, and small alleyways lit by flickering lanterns. Everything was different from the quiet, controlled life he had lived in the castle. Here, it felt like the world was pulsing with life and movement.

They wandered the streets, blending into the crowds. Dream found himself marveling at the shops, the colors, and the strange smells. It felt like stepping into another world. He barely noticed when George and Sapnap stopped in front of a bakery, grinning mischievously.

"Wait here," Sapnap whispered, already sneaking toward the shop’s back entrance.

"What’s he doing?" Dream asked, his heart racing as he watched.

"Getting us some snacks," George whispered back, eyes twinkling. "Sap’s got a talent for 'borrowing' things."

Dream stifled a laugh as Sapnap reappeared moments later, his arms full of freshly baked goods. The three of them took off down the street, laughing as they ran, trying not to draw attention. It felt exhilarating, like a secret adventure they shared.

Dream, George, and Sapnap explored the bustling streets of the capital with reckless abandon. The city was alive, filled with sights and sounds Dream had never experienced before. Every corner they turned offered something new, and the trio eagerly soaked it all in.

They found themselves in front of a puppet theater, where a small crowd gathered to watch a dramatic reenactment of some noble dispute. The puppets were exquisitely detailed, their wooden faces painted with exaggerated expressions of fury and sorrow. The story seemed to revolve around a quarrel between two aristocratic families, and the audience was enthralled, gasping and laughing at the over-the-top dialogue.

Dream, sitting with George (Snapnap disappeared who knows where), couldn’t help but snicker at the absurdity of it all. He had heard his fair share of noble drama in the castle, but seeing it reduced to mere puppets made it seem laughable. George leaned in, whispering, “I bet this is how the nobles back at the castle argue, huh?”

Dream chuckled and nodded, but before they could continue watching, the group suddenly heard an angry shout from behind.

“There they are!” came the furious voice of a baker. Dream turned around to see a red-faced man storming toward them, pointing accusingly at the group.

“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath.

It was one of the bakers they had stolen pastries from earlier. The man was livid, and Dream’s heart began to race.

“We should probably go,” George said, already standing.

But before they could run, they heard a commotion from across the street. Dream turned his head and, to his shock, saw a market stall suddenly catch fire. Flames licked the wooden frame, and smoke began to rise into the evening sky. People shouted in alarm, rushing to put out the flames.

“What happened?” Dream asked, wide-eyed. He didn’t get a good look because Sapnap was already pulling at his arm, urging them to run.

“We need to go. Now,” Sapnap said, his voice low and serious as he dragged them away from the scene.

George, confused, shot Sapnap a questioning glance as they ran. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I… I set that thing on fire,” Sapnap said breathlessly.

George’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You what?! How did you—”

“I don’t know!” Sapnap exclaimed, his voice frantic as they weaved through the crowd. “It just happened!”

They ran through the chaotic streets, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the fire. Eventually, they reached a part of the city where the streets sloped upward toward a higher level of the capital. The central part of the city sat on a raised platform, and to get there, they would usually have to take the long stairs leading up.

But Sapnap wasn’t willing to waste any time.

“We can’t take the stairs,” he said, scanning the area. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Dream and George, pulling them toward the nearest building. With surprising agility, he leaped up onto a low rooftop, and before Dream could even protest, they were running across the roofs.

“Wait—what are you doing?!” Dream shouted, his heart racing as they jumped from one roof to another.

“Keep running!” Sapnap called back, his voice filled with adrenaline. “It’s the fastest way!”

Dream, struggling to keep up, had never felt so reckless. But at the same time, there was a thrill to it—a freedom he hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever. They sprinted across the rooftops, leaping over gaps and skidding across tiles as they made their way toward the edge of the city’s upper level.

Finally, they collapsed onto a random rooftop, out of breath and exhilarated. For a moment, they sat in silence, catching their breath.

George was the first to break the quiet, glaring at Sapnap. “What were you thinking, setting something on fire? We’re supposed to be training as knights, not burning down the city!”

Sapnap threw his hands up defensively. “It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t mean to!”

George groaned, clearly frustrated. “You accidentally set a market stall on fire, we’re supposed to be the ones protecting the city, not causing chaos!”

"I stole from the bakers and you weren't so angry, what's the difference?!"

Dream, who had been trying to stay serious, couldn’t hold it in anymore. He burst out laughing, the ridiculousness of the situation finally catching up to him. George and Sapnap turned to him, startled by the sudden laughter.

Dream wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “I don’t know why, but this is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

Sapnap grinned, clearly relieved that Dream wasn’t angry. “See? Even Clay gets it.”

George sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “I can’t believe we got away with that.”

The three of them lay back on the rooftop, staring up at the stars, the chaos of the city below them momentarily forgotten. Dream felt a warmth spread through him. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged somewhere. Not in the grand halls of the castle, but here—with his friends, laughing and causing mischief, even if it was unintentional.

This wasn’t the life he had been destined for, but in that moment, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Chapter Text

The room was cloaked in a murky twilight, the faint rays of the sun struggling to pierce through the heavy, blood-colored curtains that veiled the high windows. They cast the chamber in a somber red hue, as if the shadows themselves had been drenched in blood. It was a room of great authority and weight, yet its oppressive stillness spoke volumes about the man who sat within.

At the center of the room, a long, polished table stretched out like a wooden battlefield. Papers, maps, and decrees lay scattered upon its surface, bearing the marks of restless hands and sleepless nights. King Stephan sat hunched over these documents, his broad shoulders slightly slumped, his fingers tracing the inked lines absently. His expression was carved from stone, a mask of focus that betrayed the turmoil brewing beneath.

It had been less than a month since the war began, and already, uncertainty clawed at his thoughts. The front lines had been disturbingly quiet, and the trickle of information that reached him carried more questions than answers. His gaze lingered on a map, the enemy's borders marked with bold lines that seemed to mock his authority.

And yet, his thoughts wandered elsewhere, to his son.

Dream. The boy was absent from his lessons, a fact his tutors were quick to report with sharp disapproval. "He is distracted," they had said, their tone laden with judgment. "He does not apply himself, nor does he seem to care for his duties as a prince."

He could feel his own blood boiling every time he thought about it. He had known from the beginning that letting his son, a prince, be raised in a forest with fairies was a bad idea, and he had been right, look what had happened because of it! 

A sharp knock at the door shattered his reverie. The sound echoed through the chamber, jolting Stephan from his thoughts. He straightened in his chair, his hands falling to the table as his gaze shifted toward the door.

“Enter,” he commanded, his voice steady but tinged with the authority of a man unaccustomed to interruptions.

The heavy oak door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. He was tall, his frame broad and imposing, and his presence filled the room like a storm cloud. His face was framed by a beard as dark as midnight, thick and well-kept, but with a rugged edge that hinted at countless battles. Scars crisscrossed his skin, faint silver lines against the weathered tan of his face, each one a testament to his past. His clothing was practical yet refined, a dark ensemble of leather and wool that bore the faintest trace of nobility, functional but unmistakably worn by someone of rank.

This was Sir Randolph, Commander of the Knights, a man Stephan trusted as much as he trusted anyone in this treacherous world.

Randolph stepped forward, his boots striking the floor with measured precision, and bowed his head. “Your Majesty,” he began, his voice deep and gravelly, the kind of voice that carried bad news even when it spoke of good things.

“Speak,” Stephan said, his tone clipped.

Randolph lifted his head, his dark eyes locking with the king’s. There was a weight in them that made Stephan’s chest tighten before a single word was spoken.

“There is news from the front,” Randolph said.

Stephan’s frown deepened, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “And?”

“It is not good, Your Majesty.”

The silence that followed was as sharp as a blade. Randolph took another step forward, his posture rigid as though bracing for impact. “The decoy army you sent… they are lost. More than half have been slain. The survivors, if they can be called that, are grievously wounded. They will not return to fight again.”

Stephan’s jaw tightened, his fingers digging into the edge of the table. He stared at Randolph, his mind racing. “How?”

Randolph hesitated, and Stephan could see the conflict in his eyes. Finally, the commander spoke, his voice low but steady. “The Blade.”

The words hung in the air like a curse.

“The Blade?” Stephan repeated, leaning back in his chair. He let the name roll off his tongue as if testing its weight. It was a name that carried more myth than meaning, a phantom from the shadows of another kingdom.

Randolph nodded grimly. “The Blade is there, Your Majesty. The enemy wields him as their weapon.”

Stephan’s brow furrowed deeply as he struggled to make sense of it. The Blade was a tale, a story whispered across borders, a warrior, a ghost of war whose skill was said to rival entire armies. It was said that years ago, when their enemies had fought amongst themselves, an civil war, the Blade had risen from obscurity and carved his name into the annals of legend. He was said to be ruthless, unstoppable, more monster than man.

But Stephan had dismissed the stories as folklore, exaggerated tales born from fear and defeat.

“You’re certain it’s him?” Stephan asked, his voice low but sharp.

Randolph nodded once. “I am.”

The king exhaled slowly, his mind racing. If the Blade was real, and if he fought for their enemies, this war would be unlike any other. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his hands clasped tightly together as though in prayer.

For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint rustle of papers in the breeze. Stephan’s thoughts churned. Who was this Blade? A mercenary? A madman? How could one man, a thief, no less, wield such power?

“Do we know anything more about him?” Stephan asked at last.

“Only what the stories tell us,” Randolph replied. “No one knows his true name or his origin. But wherever he goes, death follows. And he fights for the highest bidder.”

Stephan’s gaze darkened as he processed the news. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the table. “Then we must learn more. If this Blade is real, and if he threatens our kingdom, we cannot afford to remain ignorant.”

Randolph bowed his head. “I will see to it, Your Majesty.”

As the commander left the room, Stephan remained seated, his thoughts heavy. The Blade… A man of myth and shadow. If the stories were true, then this war had become far more dangerous than he had anticipated.

Chapter Text

The cellar was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single lantern casting long shadows on the damp brick walls. The air was cool and carried a faint earthy scent mixed with the sharp tang of fermenting wine. Large wooden barrels lined the space in neat rows, their polished surfaces gleaming faintly in the lantern’s light. The floor beneath their feet was uneven stone, slightly damp from the moisture that seemed to seep from the walls themselves.

Dream, George, and Sapnap huddled together in the depths of the cellar, their muffled giggles echoing softly. The three of them were hiding behind one of the largest barrels, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Above them, the faint creak of floorboards gave away the presence of maids who were clearly searching for them.

"Do you think they know we're down here?" George whispered, clutching the last stolen cookie tightly in his hand.

"Probably," Sapnap snickered. "But they’ll never find us."

Dream pressed a finger to his lips to shush them, though a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "They’ll hear us if you don’t shut up," he muttered, his voice low.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, and the three froze. A maid’s voice, sharp and annoyed, called out from above. "I know you brats are down here! Wait until I catch you!"

The trio stifled their laughter as the footsteps receded. When they were sure the coast was clear, they dashed out from behind the barrels, cookies still in hand, and made their way toward the cellar’s exit.

As they stepped back into the main halls of the castle, their laughter bubbled over again. Dream couldn’t help but shake his head at how reckless they were being.

"That was way too close," George said, still catching his breath.

"But worth it," Sapnap added with a wide grin.

Their joy was short-lived. As they turned a corner, Dream suddenly froze in his tracks. Standing in the hallway, arms crossed and face etched with displeasure, was his tutor.

Dream’s heart sank. Panicking, he shoved George and Sapnap into a nearby corridor, ignoring their protests as he stepped forward to face the man.

"Stay here," Dream hissed over his shoulder.

George and Sapnap peeked around the corner, watching the interaction. They quickly stopped whispering among themselves when they got a better look at the man. His stern demeanor and imposing presence made it clear this was someone important.

Dream approached cautiously, his mind racing. "Sir," he greeted, his voice steady but his nerves evident in the way he avoided eye contact.

The tutor raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of suspicion and disappointment. "Prince Dream," he said firmly, "I’ve been searching for you. Where were you? You’ve missed two lessons today."

"I—" Dream stammered, glancing toward the corridor where his friends were hiding. "I got... distracted."

The tutor didn’t buy it. Grabbing Dream by the arm, he turned and began walking down the hall, pulling him along. "Come with me. We need to have a serious conversation about your priorities."

Dream cast a quick glance back toward the corridor, where George and Sapnap were watching with wide eyes. Their expressions mirrored the panic Dream felt.

As the tutor’s voice carried down the hall, but still to far for them to hear anything at all, George leaned closer to Sapnap and whispered, "What do you think is happening, who is the guy?"

"I don’t know," Sapnap replied, looking genuinely concerned. "He didn’t tell us he was supposed to be here... Is he in trouble?"

They exchanged worried glances, realizing they might not know their friend as well as they thought.

The sun beat down on the training grounds as the recruits clashed wooden swords, laughter and groans blending with the sharp clatter of strikes. Dream was among them, his focus locked on keeping up appearances. George and Sapnap, however, weren’t letting up.

“Dream,” George huffed as he dodged a swing. “You’re seriously not going to tell us what happened yesterday?”

Sapnap, holding his sword at the ready, chimed in. “Yeah, come on! What was that about? Who is that guy?”

Dream feigned a laugh and parried George’s half-hearted strike. “Nothing important,” he said, dodging the question with practiced ease. “Just... focus on training, alright?”

“Nothing important?” Sapnap scoffed. “That guy looked ready to skin you alive!”

Dream didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention to the teacher, who was already making his way toward their group, likely about to chide them for their distracted sparring. But before the teacher could say a word, a sharp gasp broke through the air, cutting the moment short.

The teacher stiffened, his gaze snapping to the left. Dream, George, and Sapnap turned to see what had caused the reaction. Standing at the edge of the training ground was a man who seemed to command the very air around him.

The commander.

He was tall, his presence looming like a storm cloud. Dressed in dark, practical clothing that bore subtle signs of his noble status, he exuded authority. His black beard was streaked with a few threads of silver, and scars etched across his face told the story of countless battles.

The teacher straightened his back and saluted sharply, his voice trembling slightly. “Commander! An unexpected honor. Soldiers!” he barked. “Attention! The commander has come to observe your progress and determine your readiness for the front lines!”

The recruits fell silent, their wooden swords dropping to their sides as they stood at attention. But the commander paid no mind to the rest of them. His piercing gaze was fixed solely on Dream.

Dream felt his blood run cold, his heart hammering in his chest. The commander’s eyes were like a weight, dragging him down, suffocating him. He knew that look. He knew this man.

And worse, this man knew him.

The commander began walking across the training grounds, his steps deliberate, his expression unreadable. He stopped directly in front of Dream, his towering form casting a shadow over the prince.

“Prince Dream,” the commander said, his voice carrying across the grounds like a thunderclap. “What are you doing here?”

The words struck Dream like a blow. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Around him, the training ground was deathly silent. George and Sapnap exchanged wide-eyed glances, their wooden swords forgotten. The teacher, frozen mid-salute, stared at the scene in stunned disbelief.

Dream didn’t know what to do. His mind raced, but his body refused to move. He felt every eye on him, burning with confusion, curiosity, and shock.

The commander knelt, bowing low enough for his words to carry to everyone present. “Your Highness,” he said, his tone heavy with disapproval, “your father will not be pleased to learn of this... charade.”

Dream’s heart sank further. The weight of his friends’ stares pressed against him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at them.

The commander rose to his full height, his presence as suffocating as ever. Without another word, he grasped Dream’s arm—not roughly, but firmly—and turned to leave.

“Teacher,” the commander barked over his shoulder, “resume your training. This soldier will not be returning.”

Dream could do nothing but follow. His legs moved mechanically, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. He didn’t dare glance back at George and Sapnap. He didn’t want to see the confusion—or worse, the betrayal—on their faces.

As he was led away, the only sound that reached him was the distant murmuring of the recruits behind him. His secret, his carefully constructed lie, had shattered in an instant.

Chapter Text

The grand throne room was cold and imposing, the kind of place that swallowed sound and made even the boldest feel small. Stone columns loomed high above, their surfaces etched with centuries of history, and the light filtering through the stained-glass windows cast haunting, fractured colors on the floor.

Dream knelt on the cold marble in front of his father, King Stephan, whose imposing figure loomed over him like a storm about to break. The king’s face was a mask of fury, his voice echoing in the vast chamber.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done?” the king thundered, his voice reverberating off the walls. “You are a prince, Dream! A prince! Not some common boy from the streets who can go around fighting with random civilians!”

Dream remained kneeling, his head bowed, every word hitting him like a physical blow. His heart pounded in his chest, and he clenched his fists against his thighs, trying to hold himself steady.

King Stephan continued, his voice dripping with disdain. “You have been given the best teachers, the finest tutors, and yet you squander it all! Fooling around when you should be studying! Sneaking out of the castle like a thief in the night! Do you think this is a game?”

Dream wanted to respond, to say something, anything, but his throat felt tight, and he couldn’t muster the words. He could only stare at the floor, his pulse roaring in his ears.

“You’ve made a mockery of everything I’ve worked for,” the king went on, pacing before him. “Do you think the kingdom can afford a reckless prince? Do you think this war can be won with foolishness?”

The room seemed to grow colder with every word, and Dream’s muscles tensed, every fiber of his being resisting the urge to break his silence.

Then, the king said something that made his blood run cold.

“And as for your so-called friends...” The king’s voice turned icy, his gaze piercing. “They will be sent to the front lines at first light tomorrow.”

Dream’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “Father—”

“Silence!” King Stephan roared, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will not see them again. Perhaps then you’ll learn the consequences of your actions. Perhaps then you’ll understand the weight of your title.”

Dream felt his chest tighten as panic set in. “You can’t do that! They’re not—”

“I can, and I will,” the king interrupted, his tone final. “This is not up for discussion.”

Dream’s protests died on his lips. He stared at his father, his mind racing. George and Sapnap were not redy for war yet, even he, with his barely bearably skils, probly could not survive, but them? They would die... The thought was unbearable.

Before he could say another word, King Stephan gestured sharply to the guards flanking the room. “Take him to his chambers. He is not to leave until I say so.”

Two guards stepped forward, their heavy boots echoing against the marble floor. Dream’s shoulders slumped, defeat weighing on him like a boulder as they grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t resist. What was the point?

As they escorted him out of the throne room, his father’s parting words followed him like a shadow. “You will learn, Dream. One way or another, you will learn.”

Dream’s mind was a storm of emotions as he was led through the castle halls. Anger, guilt, and helplessness churned within him, threatening to consume him.

When they reached his chambers, the guards opened the door and pushed him inside. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing like the final toll of a bell.

Dream stood there, staring at the closed door, his hands trembling at his sides. The silence of the room pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity.

He crossed the room and sank onto the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. George and Sapnap didn’t deserve this. They didn’t deserve to be punished for his mistakes.

The night was unbearably still, the kind of silence that felt oppressive, pressing down on Dream's chest and making it impossible to breathe. He lay on his bed, staring at the dark ceiling of his chamber, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Only a few hours remained until sunrise, and with it, the inevitable departure of his friends to the warfront.

George and Sapnap. His closest companions, his partners in mischief, and now the victims of his mistakes. The thought was unbearable.

His fingers curled into the sheets, his frustration building with each passing moment. He was a prince, wasn’t he? And yet here he was, powerless to stop this. No amount of pleading or reasoning had worked with his father, and now...

A spark of defiance flickered within him. I might not be able to stop them from going, but I won’t let them go alone.

The thought grew, taking root in his mind until it was the only thing he could focus on. Determination surged through him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He couldn’t stay here, lying idle while they were sent off to face who-knew-what horrors.

Quietly, Dream stood and moved toward the door. His movements were deliberate, his ears straining for the sound of footsteps in the hall. The guards stationed outside would be patrolling, but he knew their patterns well enough from weeks of sneaking out. He waited until the sound of their boots faded into the distance before carefully opening the door.

The corridor beyond was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls. Dream slipped out, closing the door behind him without a sound. He moved quickly but cautiously, his bare feet silent on the cold floor.

He took the hidden paths he’d discovered during his adventures with George and Sapnap, unused corridors and servant routes that snaked through the castle like veins. He knew these paths well; they had been his escape routes during countless escapades.

He considered them risky, perfect for assassins, but he did not expect to be gratefull for their existence.

Finally, he reached the armory, its heavy oak doors creaking softly as he pushed them open. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of oiled metal and leather. Racks of swords, spears, and shields lined the walls, and mannequins wearing armor stood like silent sentinels in the gloom.

Dream moved quickly, pulling off his princely attire and replacing it with a set of simple rags and a mandatory soldier's armor. The metal was heavier than he expected, and it hung awkwardly on his frame, but he didn’t care. He grabbed a standard-issue sword, its weight unfamiliar in his hand, and strapped it to his side.

Now dressed as one of the soldiers, Dream left the armory and made his way to the castle gates. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, the vast expanse of the castle grounds stretching out before him.

Ahead, he could see the silhouettes of carriages being prepared. Rusty and utilitarian. Soldiers moved about in the darkness, loading supplies and equipment for the journey.

Dream approached one of the far walls surrounding the castle gates, its surface adorned with stone statues of long-forgotten heroes. He began to climb, using the statues as handholds, his fingers gripping the cold stone tightly.

He reached a spot high enough to give him a clear view of the carriages from afar. Carefully, he settled himself among the statues, his armor clinking softly as he adjusted his position. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, blending into the shadows.

Now all he could do was wait.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. Dream’s heart raced in his chest, his thoughts swirling. Would George and Sapnap hate him for following them? Would they even recognize him in this disguise?

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they wouldn’t face this alone.

Finally, the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pale gold and pink. Below, the soldiers began to gather, their voices low as they prepared to board the carriages.

Dream's fingers gripped the edge of the stone wall as he watched the soldiers climb into their assigned carriages, their movements methodical, their faces grim. The early morning light glinted off the dull metal of their armor and the worn wood of the wagons, lending the scene an air of quiet inevitability.

From his perch, Dream's eyes followed George and Sapnap, his chest tightening as he saw them being ushered toward one of the worst carriages, the last one too. It was obvious that they were worse off than the others. They moved with nervous energy, their usual banter replaced by subdued silence. It wasn’t right. They didn’t belong here.

When the carriages finally lined up beneath the wall, Dream crouched lower, the rough stone pressing against his knees. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for the perfect moment, the noise of boots and horses masking his soft breaths.

As George and Sapnap’s carriage pulled directly beneath him, Dream moved. He jumped, landing softly on the wooden roof with a muted thud. For a terrifying second, he froze, ears straining for any sound of alarm. But the creaking of the carriages and the murmurs of the soldiers below seemed to cover his presence.

Dream slid down the side, gripping the edge tightly, and swung himself silently into the open carriage. He landed lightly on his feet, crouched in the shadows. George and Sapnap were seated on one side, their heads bent as they whispered to each other.

Dream moved swiftly, he reached out and clamped a hand over each of their mouths, muffling the startled noises that threatened to escape.

"Shhh," he hissed, his voice low and urgent. "It's me. Don’t shout."

Their eyes widened, George’s in confusion, Sapnap’s in immediate irritation. Dream held them firmly until their struggling stopped, waiting until their breathing slowed before he slowly let go.

George gasped quietly, leaning back against the wooden side of the carriage. His wide eyes met Dream’s, panic and confusion swirling in his gaze. "Dream? What... What are you doing?!"

Sapnap, on the other hand, scoffed loudly, crossing his arms and fixing Dream with an incredulous glare. "What the hell, your highness? Did you get lost on your way back to the palace?"

Dream sighed, his shoulders slumping as he moved to sit across from them, his armor clinking softly. The tight space forced him to keep his voice low. "I had to come," he said, his tone firm but tinged with an edge of regret. "I couldn’t let you go alone."

George gawked at him, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form words. Sapnap raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "You what? Do you even understand what you’re saying? This isn’t some adventure, Dream. It’s a war."

"I know," Dream said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting in his lap. "I know it’s dangerous. I know I shouldn’t be here. But..." He raised his gaze, meeting theirs earnestly. "You’re my friends. I couldn’t just stay behind, knowing you were being sent into something like this. I had to come with you."

For a moment, the carriage was silent except for the distant clatter of wheels on the cobblestone road. Then George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You’re an idiot," he said, his voice trembling slightly.

Sapnap shook his head, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief crossing his face. "The prince of the kingdom sneaks out to follow his friends to war. You realize how stupid that sounds, right?"

Dream chuckled softly, a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. I do."

George’s frustration seemed to melt away as he leaned forward suddenly, wrapping his arms around Dream in a tight hug. "You idiot," he repeated, his voice muffled. "What were you thinking?"

Sapnap hesitated for a moment before sighing and leaning in as well, clapping Dream on the back. "You’re still an idiot," he muttered. "But... thanks, I guess."

Dream closed his eyes, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips as he hugged them back. For the first time since this ordeal had begun, he felt a sliver of peace. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.

Chapter Text

Dream hated this.

He hated all of this.

The fabric clung to him in ways that could only be described as criminal. It was the kind of outfit that made him want to crawl into a hole, die, revive, and then die again out of sheer embarrassment.

And it was Sapnap’s fault.

Earlier, when he’d realized that half the marching soldiers recognized him as the prince, and would no doubt drag him straight back to the palace, he had panicked.

A lot.

He’d started pacing between the tents, hands in his hair, voice rising.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t go back, I literally, I just escaped! They’ll put me under five layers of guards, I’ll never breathe again! This was a mistake, oh gods, this was such a mistake-”

George and Sapnap just stood there, watching him spiral like two extremely unimpressed statues.

Eventually, Sapnap blew out a long breath.

“You know, Dream… there is one option.”

Dream froze. “…What option?”

Sapnap leaned closer, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You could disguise yourself as a prostitute.”

Dream stared at him. Then blinked.

“Excuse me?”

George pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning. “Sapnap, you can’t just-”

“What?” Sapnap shrugged defensively. “Tell me it wouldn’t work.”

“It wouldn’t work because why...WHY would there even be prostitutes in an army camp marching to WAR?” Dream hissed. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

Both George and Sapnap slowly raised an eyebrow at him. A matching pair of “really?” expressions.

Before Dream could protest further, Sapnap tugged him behind a stack of crates where no soldiers were looking. George pushed aside a flap of canvas, revealing a passing caravan.

Dream’s jaw dropped.

Inside were men and women dressed in scandalous scraps of fabric, all shimmering, tight, and strategically loose in all the wrong places.

Dream gaped. “WHAT- Why- How- This is- ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

George cleared his throat. “The commanders figured it out long ago.”

“Figured what out?!” Dream demanded.

“That an army full of bored men is a disaster waiting to happen,” Sapnap said bluntly. “Better to hire volunteers than let soldiers take out their frustrations on civilians.”

“That’s- that’s horrifying!” Dream spluttered, scandalized. “You’re telling me this is considered normal?!”

George shrugged helplessly. “Compared to the alternative? Yes.”

Dream bristled. He wanted to argue. He really did. But his upbringing was ringing in his ears, the horrors he’d heard whispered among advisors about sacked villages and traumatized civilians.

He closed his mouth.

He didn’t like it. But he couldn’t deny the logic.

“Fine,” he muttered miserably. “Give me whatever you found.”

George and Sapnap exchanged a look, then handed him a small bundle of clothes.

Ten minutes later, Dream stepped out of the tent.

Sapnap dropped to his knees, howling with laughter.

George simply stared, eyes wide, mouth open, visibly fighting the urge to look away or stare harder.

Dream wished the earth would swallow him whole.

The shorts were a disgrace, barely covering his ass, the fabric riding up every time he breathed. The strange abdomen-to-kneecap drape thing swished around him like decorative humiliation. And the top, gods, the top was just two pieces of transparent fabric pretending to be clothing.

At least the thin veil wrapped around the lower half of his face hid his identity.

“This is the worst day of my life,” Dream muttered, folding his arms,  which did absolutely nothing to cover his chest.

Sapnap wheezed. “Bro- you look- oh my gods, I’m going to die-”

Dream’s face burned red hot. “Shut UP!”

George coughed into his hand. “Well… it’s effective.”

“Effective at what? Humiliating me to death?!”

“Exactly,” Sapnap grinned. “No one will think you’re the prince. They’ll just think you’re-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Dream warned.

Sapnap finished it anyway.

“A very expensive one.”

Dream lunged at him.

Dream knew this plan was stupid.

And yet he’d gone along with it, because apparently he was not only a runaway prince but also a certified idiot. A double idiot, even, because now he had to keep up the act.

And oh, did he regret it.

It had only taken a few days for the real workers to start calling him “Emerald.”

At first, Dream had no idea why- until one of them tugged at his veil and laughed.

“Pretty green eyes like yours don’t hide easy, sweetheart.”

Dream had nearly combusted.

Worse, they assumed he was “picky” because he only slipped into two tents: George’s and Sapnap’s.

It was the most ridiculous misunderstanding in the history of misunderstandings, but he couldn’t correct them without revealing everything.

So he suffered.

Tonight, everyone was gathered around the fires, eating dry rations and pretending they tasted like anything other than sadness. Dream sat quietly near the edge of one group, wishing he could bury himself under a blanket until winter ended.

No such luck.

A pair of soldiers glanced over at him, smirking.

“Sooo, Emerald,” one of them drawled, “why don’t you warm up some other tents, huh? You only visit the same two. Picky little thing, aren’t you?”

Dream clenched his jaw so hard he felt it crack.

“I’m not-” He caught himself. “I just… have regulars.”

“Ohh, fancy.” The soldier leaned in, breath smelling like cheap ale. “But y’know, sweetheart, you could make a lot more men happy if you-”

His hand slid down Dream’s back. Too low. Far too low. Fingers drifting dangerously close to where Dream would break his wrist without hesitation.

Dream froze. Heat crawled up his spine, but not the good kind, the angry, humiliated kind that made his stomach twist.

The man leered. “Bet you’d be real sweet-”

Dream stood. Abruptly. Sharply. Enough that the soldier blinked in confusion.

Without a word, Dream stalked away, ignoring the cold wind that immediately bit at his nearly-bare skin. He marched straight to the fire where George and Sapnap sat, talking quietly.

Both looked up when he arrived.

Dream didn’t give them time to speak. He grabbed George’s shoulder, then Sapnap’s, shoved them apart, and dropped into the space between them like an angry cat demanding protection.

The entire ring of soldiers stared.

It wasn’t unheard of for a soldier to approach a prostitute’s fire, but the other way around? A worker sitting comfortably at their fire? Choosing them specifically?

Very unusual.

The creep from earlier looked disappointed, probably expecting a scene. Instead, George blinked once, then quickly shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Dream’s shoulders.

“Cold?” he asked softly.

Dream nodded, grateful but refusing to say it out loud.

Sapnap passed over a plate of food without even making a comment, which was how Dream knew Sapnap had noticed the interaction earlier and was furious.

The other soldiers raised eyebrows but said nothing.

Dream ate quietly, focusing on the fire instead of the stares. Eventually, people lost interest and went back to their own conversations.

When the night wound down, the three of them slipped into their shared tent. Or, rather, squeezed into the tiny excuse for a tent the army allowed them.

George lay down first, rolling to one side. Sapnap flopped down next to him. Dream sighed and settled between them, pulling the jacket tighter around his shoulders.

Outside, moans and laughter floated across the camp, the nightly soundtrack he had grown to despise.

Sapnap whispered, “You okay?”

Dream didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded and closed his eyes, letting their shared body warmth soak into his freezing skin.

The tent was small, the situation ridiculous, and the night loud-

but they were friends.

And for now, that was enough.

Was it bad that Dream didn’t… exactly know how sex worked?

He understood the concept. Techno had explained it to him once, awkwardly, bluntly, in the most unhelpful “here are the facts, don’t ask questions” way possible. And his royal tutors had tried to teach him in carefully sanitized lectures he almost never paid attention to.

But the reality?

The actual reality of it?

He didn’t understand it at all.

Tonight made that painfully clear.

Dream had gone for a walk just to get some distance from the noise, ignoring the way the snow bit at his bare legs and how the wind hissed between the flimsy strips of fabric on his chest. He just needed fresh air. Just a moment.

He rounded a corner of trees-

And froze.

A soldier was pinning someone against a trunk, bodies moving with aggression rather than intimacy, muffled sounds blending with the wind. Nothing tender. Nothing beautiful. Just raw, unpleasant force.

Dream’s stomach lurched.

His breath caught.

A sour, metallic panic hit him all at once.

He ran.

He didn’t think. Didn’t look. Just sprinted through the snow, feet numb, lungs burning, the icy air clawing at his throat. He tore open the flap of Sapnap’s tent and stumbled inside, collapsing to the ground.

The world spun.

Dream curled in on himself automatically, knees to chest, arms wrapped tight as if he could hold himself together by force alone. His breathing shattered into broken, quick gasps.

Images rushed forward unbidden-

a dark alleyway, a man’s hand on his arm, the taste of fear in his mouth, the feeling of being trapped...

“No- no, no, stop-” Dream whispered, shaking. Tears slipped down his cheeks before he even knew they were there.

He pressed his forehead to his knees, trembling.

He missed Techno.

Gods, he missed Techno so much his chest hurt.

Techno, who had pulled him away from that alley.

Techno, who had explained things in his own blunt, clumsy way.

Techno, who always made Dream feel safe.

But Techno wasn’t here.

He was alone in a freezing tent, wearing almost nothing, breathing like he might choke on his own fear.

The sound of approaching footsteps outside the tent snapped him back, and Dream swallowed hard, wiping his face in panic, trying desperately to pull himself together...

But the tears didn’t stop.

He missed Techno.

And right now, more than anything, he hated this entire disguise, this camp, this cold, this world, everything that made him feel small and vulnerable and so, so far from home.

Chapter Text

The battle had begun.

Dream sat with the other prostitutes in a huddled cluster, a few sentinels standing guard around them. Their flimsy clothing was useless against the biting wind, so they pressed close together, sharing whatever warmth they could.

They were stationed far from the front lines, far enough not to see the fighting.

But not far enough to avoid hearing it.

The distant clang of steel.

The echo of shouted orders.

The raw, ragged screams carried by the wind.

Dream hugged his knees, trying not to imagine George or Sapnap among those cries.

Time blurred. Minutes stretched like cold winter shadows.

Then-

They returned.

Dream sensed the smell before he saw anything, that metallic, iron-sharp scent that made his stomach tighten. Blood. Too much blood.

He looked up just as George and Sapnap broke through the line of soldiers.

Dream’s breath caught.

They were covered in crimson, splattered across their armor, staining their hair, streaking down their faces. For a terrifying heartbeat, he thought it was theirs.

But neither limped. Neither clutched a wound. Their eyes were wild but clear.

And that almost made it worse.

They came straight to him.

Without a word, both dropped down on either side, leaning their foreheads against Dream’s arms like exhausted animals seeking shelter.

The other prostitutes startled at the sudden approach of two blood-soaked warriors, shrinking back, eyes wide.

Dream stayed still.

Their gasping breaths hit his bare skin, hot and shaky in the winter air.

Slowly, too slowly, the sticky, half-dried blood transferred onto him, sliding down his arms in dark trails before dripping onto the snow.

Red on white.

He swallowed tightly, forcing himself not to flinch.

George’s breathing steadied first, then Sapnap’s. Together, they grounded themselves against him, like he was something safe in a world that had none.

Dream exhaled shakily.

They weren’t hurt.

The blood wasn’t theirs.

He should be relieved.

But all he felt was cold horror trickling down his skin.

He stared at the crimson drops melting into the snow, dyeing it in uneven patches, and one thought echoed in his mind... was covered in a corpse's blood....

The tent was dim, lit only by a single flickering lantern.

Dream sat on the thin blanket, hugging himself as he stared down at his arms.

The blood was drying now.

Turning dark.

Changing the color of his skin into something foreign and wrong.

He tried not to breathe too deeply. The metallic scent clung to him, threading into his nose, his hair, his clothes, if they could even be called clothes.

Sapnap and George stripped off their armor nearby, not speaking. The only sound was the soft splash of lukewarm water in a metal basin as they cleaned themselves, movements slow and tired.

Dream couldn’t look at them at first. Not because of the nudity, gods knew he’d seen enough of bare skin in this camp, but because he didn’t know if he could bear the image of the blood coming off them.

It took everything in him not to shake.

Finally, he forced himself to glance at his arms.

The streaks of red looked even darker in the lantern-light. They clung to the faint hairs on his skin, pooled in the dips of his elbows, stained the delicate fabric strips around his chest.

His throat tightened.

He should wash. He knew he should.

But when he tried to lift his hands, his arms trembled so violently he couldn’t keep a grip on the cloth.

He swallowed hard, blinking fast.

Sapnap noticed first.

He paused mid-wipe, eyes lifting to Dream, then flicked toward George. They exchanged a quiet, worried look, the kind Dream pretended not to see.

Then Sapnap stood, grabbing a damp cloth from the basin.

He knelt in front of Dream without a word.

And before Dream could stammer out something like “I can do it” or “I’m fine,” Sapnap reached for his arm, gently, hesitantly, giving Dream a chance to pull away.

But Dream didn’t resist.

He let Sapnap take his arm and begin to scrub away the dried blood, slow circles, careful pressure, not enough to hurt.

The water was lukewarm, but the touch felt warm compared to the cold night.

George joined silently, wringing out another cloth. He settled behind Dream, cleaning the back of his neck, the curve of his shoulders, working with the same caution someone might use on a frightened animal.

Dream closed his eyes.

Their hands were steady even though they were still trembling from battle.

Their breath brushed his skin in soft, exhausted huffs.

The water dripped down his arms in thin, pink trails as the blood dissolved and faded.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t flinch.

He just let them clean him.

It felt… safe.

Almost like the world wasn’t spinning apart outside the canvas walls.

Sapnap murmured, voice quiet and rough, “We’ve got you.”

And Dream believed him.

When the last of the blood was wiped away, Sapnap dropped the cloth back into the basin with a soft splash. George sat down beside Dream, offering the faintest smile, tired, worn, but real.

Dream blinked slowly, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. His muscles felt heavy, like someone had poured sand into his limbs. The adrenaline that had kept him upright was gone, leaving him hollow and trembling.

The tent was quiet.

Outside, the camp murmured with distant movement,soldiers exchanging shifts, soft voices carrying through the cold air, but inside, the world felt small and still.

Sapnap lay down first, stretching out on the cramped bedroll with a grunt of relief.

George nudged Dream gently. “Come on. You need rest.”

Dream hesitated. 

George didn't push. He simply held out his hand.

And Dream took it.

He slid down between the two of them, still shivering. The cold seeped into him too deep to shake off alone. Sapnap shifted closer, throwing an arm over Dream’s waist in an easy, familiar gesture. George curled in behind him, pressing his chest to Dream’s back, pulling a blanket over all three of them.

Warmth bloomed slowly.

Not from the blanket, it was thin and barely covered them, but from their bodies surrounding his.

Dream’s breathing steadied.

His eyelids drooped.

George’s hand rested gently over Dream’s heartbeat. “You’re okay,” he whispered into Dream’s hair. “We’re here.”

Sapnap hummed sleepily in agreement, his fingers absently tracing patterns on Dream’s arm.

For the first time since he’d slipped into this disguise, Dream felt the tension in his spine loosen.

Chapter Text

The footsteps crunched loudly against the snow, steady, disciplined, yet hesitant all the same.

The soldier stopped in front of the tent and swallowed. His hand shook as he reached out, fingers brushing the curtain of thick fabric. He hesitated for half a heartbeat longer, then pulled it aside and stepped in.

Warmth hit him instantly.

Not the comforting kind, but the unnatural kind that shouldn't exist in a thin tent in a frozen forest.

His eyes adjusted slowly.

At the center of the tent stood a throne-like chair carved from dark wood, its edges worn smooth by use. A figure lounged within it, posture relaxed in a way that felt deeply wrong. Noble fabrics draped over him, rich and heavy, yet the soldier knew, with a certainty born of fear, that the man before him was no noble.

The soldier’s breath hitched.

He cleared his throat shakily.

“S-sire.”

The figure didn’t look up right away.

He was busy sharpening his sword, dragging stone along metal with slow, deliberate strokes. The sound filled the tent, calm, patient. The weapon was already beautiful, already deadly, its handle darkened with dried blood. But beneath the stains, faint traces of white and gold still gleamed.

At last, the man looked up.

Pink hair slipped loose from his shoulder as he lifted his head. His face was hidden beneath what looked like the skull of a boar, empty eye sockets fixed on the soldier with a predator’s focus.

The man’s grip tightened on the sword.

The soldier’s heart slammed against his ribs. He prayed, desperately, to every god he had ever heard of that this was not where he died.

With trembling hands, he extended the letter.

The blade was at his throat before he could blink.

Cold metal nicked his skin. 

The soldier froze completely, eyes squeezing shut on instinct before forcing them open again. The masked man stared at him, then at the letter, waiting.

Expectant.

The soldier sucked in a shaky breath.

“A crow carried it,” he said quickly. “But— but it was shot before it reached you.”

The sword pressed closer. A sharp sting followed, then warmth as a thin line of blood began to slide downward, trickled freely now.

“Shot?”

The single word carried a note of anger sharp enough to cut.

The soldier nodded frantically, hands shaking so badly the letter trembled. “None of us use crows, sire. We thought it might be a spy, someone trying to—”

The man’s eyes narrowed behind the skull mask.

This was it, the soldier thought. This was how he died.

But instead, the blade withdrew.

The man took the letter, tilting his head slightly as he regarded the soldier, not with mercy, but with something like amusement.

“You have five seconds,” he said calmly.

The soldier did not wait for a sixth.

He turned and ran, legs barely holding him upright as he burst from the tent and into the snow, breath tearing from his lungs.

Inside, the man finally rose.

The Blade turned slowly, lowering the sword as he read the letter. His gaze sharpened with every line.

Then he huffed, a low, humorless sound,  crumpling the parchment in one gloved hand.

He straightened to his full height.

And began to step out of the tent.

The moment his boots touched the snow, the camp felt him.

Conversations died mid-word. Hands froze halfway through tasks. Fear rippled outward in silent waves as soldiers turned toward him, eyes lowering just a fraction too late. No one spoke. No one dared.

He didn’t acknowledge them.

Boredom sat heavy in his chest, dull and irritating. He wanted something to do. Something real. Something worth the cold.

So he turned and headed for the commander’s tents.

The path between the larger tents narrowed into a tunnel of canvas and shadow. The wind howled overhead, but here it whistled strangely, carrying sounds that didn’t quite belong.

A sharp caw broke the air.

The Blade paused and looked up.

A crow sat on a tent pole above him, feathers puffed in irritation, head cocked sharply to one side. It watched him with accusing black eyes, as if mourning the other one. The dead one.

He stared back, unmoved.

Before he could decide whether to swat it from the sky, something collided with his chest.

Small. Light. Soft.

He looked down.

A scrawny little creature had run straight into him, fragile, shaking, wrapped in scraps of fabric that barely qualified as clothing. A prostitute, by the looks of it. The stupid outfit confirmed it.

The thing froze.

Wide eyes snapped up to his hair, and recognition flashed across it's face.

The Blade turned to move past it.

A hand grabbed his.

Everything went very still.

His brow twitched.

Steel sang.

The sword was in his hand in a blur, arcing upward with lethal intent, edge aimed clean and efficient, decapitation in one smooth motion.

“SIRE!”

The shout tore through the air.

The blade stopped a breath from the creature’s neck.

The Blade turned slowly, irritation bleeding through his calm as he faced a frantic soldier sprinting toward them, face pale, breath ragged.

“Emergency,” the man gasped. “The commander, you’re needed immediately—”

The Blade looked back down.

The small thing stood frozen, eyes glassy with fear, body locked tight like a rabbit caught in a snare. Betrayal flickered there too, sharp and raw, and something about that expression tugged at his attention.

Familiar.

He frowned faintly, studying the eyes a moment longer than necessary.

Then he released the grip.

“You’re lucky,” he said flatly.

He turned away, cloak snapping sharply in the wind as he followed the soldier, already dismissing the encounter as irrelevant.

The smell hit him before he entered the tent.

Blood.

Fresh. Heavy. Rotting at the edges.

He stepped inside.

The commander lay on the ground.

Dead.

His neck was split open in a deep, vicious cut. Flesh was parted wide enough to expose the structures beneath, the ruined passage where breath and voice once lived. Blood soaked everything, pooled thickly on the ground, splashed across the table, smeared up the tent’s support pillar like someone had tried to climb away.

Flies had already found him.

They crawled over the corpse in lazy black clusters, buzzing softly, obscenely alive.

The Blade stared at the body.

Then sighed.

“Well,” he muttered. “There goes my entertainment.”

He stood there for a long moment, letting the scene settle into his memory. The cut. The angle. The force. His mind catalogued it automatically.

Then another thought crept in.

Slow. Insidious.

Didn’t that roach-sized prostitute have blood on him?

The Blade’s head snapped up.

He turned and exited the tent, scanning the camp with narrowed eyes. Snow churned with footprints. Soldiers moved nervously. Prostitutes clustered farther away, bundled together like frightened birds.

But the small one...

Gone.

The Blade clicked his tongue softly.

“Unfortunate.”

Somewhere in the camp, something had slipped through his fingers.

And that annoyed him far more than the dead commander ever could.