Chapter Text
All Phantom (but that name felt so wrong. Who even were they?) could do as Legend left the room was stare. Stare at the closing door, stare at Legend in disbelief, and just… stare because they could.
Had he really just left them like that? Let them stay alone? They thought that he'd be madder. He was gentler than he was supposed to be.
Perhaps that was just part of the act, though. It had to be. There was just no better explanation for what this was. Surely, after knowing how demonicthey were, he'd—
They winced.
Why did their head hurt so much? It had never been like this before. Never. So what was wrong now? Were they broken? They had to be broken. If they weren't broken, nothing would have happened, and—
It felt like tears were building up behind their eyes, but for whatever reason, those tears just wouldn't come out! It was like duct tape was holding them together, and very weak duct tape, at that.
Get yourself together, Ph—
…
Phantom… was that even their name? It had been just a moment ago, so what had changed?
They weren't sure, and that scared them.
They kept a journal for writing, didn't they? Maybe that could be used. Surely that had enough information to figure out a name. It had to. Otherwise…
…
They didn't want to think about that. Not that they knew where they were going anyway.
Besides, maybe if they wrote, they could distract themselves from the pain. They could avoid having that tape fully peel off, and wouldn't that be nice?
With this thought in mind, Phantom took their journal and began to write.
It was names, mainly. Just any sort of name. They needed one, after all. They didn't want to be nameless. Not again.
(When had they ever been nameless, though?)
It hurt, though, to not have a name. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, like a sewn puppet being torn apart at its seams.
("Torn at the seams"… wasn't that what Legend's friend in blue had said? They didn't know anymore. Maybe they could ask, but that was dangerous.)
(Besides, they weren't sure if they could recognize "Legend" at the moment. They didn't even remember his face. Was he a friend though? It felt like it, even if only vaguely.)
Several came to mind, from Shallow to Crimson to Raphael to—
None of them fit. Why wouldn't they fit them? Why couldn't they just figure out who they were?
They started at the journal page, now full of overlapping names and ideas and smeared pen.
The smeared ink was all over their shaking hands too, and the pen felt like it was going to break under Phantom's grip.
Something was wrong with them at this point. There had to be something wrong.
(They wondered now why the person they thought of as "Hyrule" couldn't have just killed them. Maybe that would be easier than having to deal with this torment for any longer. Besides, a broken demonic person like them deserved death, and—)
…death, huh? That sounded… nice. Maybe it'd be better to die than have to live like this. Especially when life was so hollow.
Besides, the others would prefer it if they died. That, at least, was something the Chain had made clear.
A gaze wandering to their sword (had they not let go of it? When had it gotten into their hand? So many questions, yet so little answers…), they contemplated slitting their throat with it. Maybe stabbing their heart.
Both of them, after all, were very effective ways to die.
Maybe a demon deserved a more painful death, though. No mercy should be given to evil, and—
—blink.
Something was even more wrong now. They felt different. Their head was still muddied, they still wanted to just end their pathetic existence, but… something had changed.
Maybe they could try thinking of their memories. What had happened recently?
…
To their terror, they found nothing. Nothing that gave any clues as to why they were in this room, what had happened to make them think that they deserved death, and especially not how—
Before they could panic any more, their eyes caught a name. A word, really. It was one of the many they were sure that they had written down earlier (perhaps in a panic? The smeared pen sure seemed to suggest that, at least), and… it sounded right.
Crimson. That was one of the words they had written down earlier.
They liked that name. It felt nice. Fitting.
Can you see if there's one for me too? A voice wondered, and while Crimson didn't question it, they did get to looking.
They weren't sure why communication with this other voice felt so natural. They didn't have much communication with the others, right? So who was this?
…they could worry about that later, they guessed. Any communication was welcome, after all.
Agreeing to the voice's request, Crimson got back to reading. After all, surely if they had found a name in that journal, the voice could too!
With that, Crimson decided to pay closer attention to the journal's words.
Dusk, Dawn, Sky, Willow, Luna, Lunar… the names just kept going on. Despite that, though, the voice still couldn't find something that they liked.
I think I'm a he, actually, was said at one point, and Crimson decided to accept that as fact. They weren't the voice, after all.
What about Clover? He asked. I like that name a lot.
You can use it then, was Crimson's reply, a small smile on their face.
Perhaps it was just them, but they could've sworn that they felt Clover radiate happiness when they said that.
Weird.
We have names, Clover stated, but what now?
Get ourselves away from danger, Crimson immediately replied. I don't know. I think we're alone.
Clover didn't reply.
Taking a deep breath and looking around, they wanted to figure out exactly where they were. Maybe an inn room? It was shared with someone. They could tell that.
I think we should leave.
Crimson had to agree with that statement. From what Crimson knew, they had almost— they had almost…
Never mind. Point was: they wanted to be with someone. Maybe then, they wouldn't die.
With that thought in mind, Crimson discarded their sword, and began to try and find someone else.
Leaning against the wall as to ensure that they wouldn't stumble, they began walking.
Their vision felt so weird. They weren't sure if they were actually touching the wall anymore. Was this even real?
They didn't know. They just knew that they didn't want to fall.
So they kept walking.
It felt like it was longer than it actually was. Or was it shorter than it actually was? They couldn't tell.
They just knew that eventually, after ages of walking, they found a group of nine other people.
Said people were talking and talking and talking. Crimson couldn't tell what was being said though.
Eventually, someone with a dirty blonde ponytail (and why was it so long?) spoke to them, and fortunately, they were able to make out the words.
"Sailor? Are you ok?"
All Crimson (Clover?) could do was nod.
They were ok. They had to be. There was no way they weren't. Sure, they felt scared around their supposed teammates, and couldn't even explain why, but—
"Well… I have food if you want it…"
Food. That was something sorely needed. What if it was poisoned though?
They stared at the owl of soup offered to them. They wanted it so badly, but at the same time, they didn't.
"I can eat it first if you want," the voice of a captain volunteered.
That offer sounded helpful. Vague memories of doing the same for this person flashed through their mind, they and a young kid doing that to try and assist in a war where no one, even them, were sure who to trust anymore.
Then again, they had always been fearful. Maybe that contributed to those memories. Besides, who said the memories were real? Maybe they had just all made them up.
Still, the offer sounded nice, so pinching themselves a little to try and regain a bit of focus, they nodded.
They watched carefully as the presumed captain took his spoon, and ate some of the soup.
…
A few minutes passed, and he still seemed unaffected.
If it was poison, Crimson concluded, then it was a very slow acting one.
Slow acting poison was still poison though. That remained true no matter what. So, even if the captain seemed ok, Crimson decided to not have the soup.
I think we have grandma's soup in our bag, Clover noted.
That seemed likely. Besides, Crimson liked their grandma's soup. It was safe.
…unless the others had gotten to it, anyway, but… Crimson wanted to have hope.
They needed to eat something, after all. Otherwise, they'd die. Crimson didn't want to die. That was why they had come down here to begin with.
So, thinking quickly, they took out a bottle of the soup. Crimson was right, it seemed.
Opening the bottle, they drank as quickly as possible. It has to be past, or someone would get them, and…
…it didn't taste weird. The soup didn't taste weird. Why didn't it taste weird?
They weren't sure. They really weren't sure. All they knew was that it was probably best to flee, and now.
After all, if the others knew that they had food, who knew what the others would do to it? It just wasn't a risk that was worth taking at all.
With that thought in mind, they fled. They fled and fled and fled.
Getting back to their room was quicker then leaving it, oddly enough.
Maybe they were being unreasonable. Maybe they weren't. They didn't know. All they knew was that they were scared,and being scared was a reason to run.
For a few minutes, they just sat there. Clover was just trying to figure out what to do, Crimson was calming down, and all they could really hear was the beating of their heart.
As much as they liked Clover, trying to listen to him right now was a nightmare.
Eventually, the door opened, and Legend (at least, the person they believed I be Legend) walked in.
He sighed, relieved.
"There you are. I was hoping to talk to you earlier, you know."
Legend crossed his arms, although it seems to be more of a habit than anything. He didn't look mad.
"You wanted to talk to me?" Crimson asked, cocking their head.
For a moment, all Legend did in response was nod. However, after some time in silence…
"I know a song," Legend explained. "If you're stuck in a dream, it doesn't matter what's happening. It will wake you up."
Crimson stared at him.
"How is this important?"
Legend shrugged.
"I'm just saying that if you ever feel unsure about reality, let me know," he replied. "I get how it feels to not know if anything's real or not. So if you ever need to know for sure, just come to me. Got it?"
They nodded. That made sense.
What if the promise of a song was a lie though? What if it didn't work, but was just Legend acting like it did so that Crimson never questioned anything?
It was that fear that made them decide that they wouldn't ask Legend for any help with the song anytime soon. Maybe if they figured out how to conduct it, they would test it on their own, but they didn't know.
Legend smiled a bit. "I'm glad we've cleared that up then. It's getting late though, so we should probably sleep…"
"Ok," Crimson replied. "I can do that."
They climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling. They weren't sure if Legend did the same, nor when or if he fell asleep, but they had to convince him that they were trying to sleep.
It was what was best for their collective safety, after all.
Their eyes kept trying to shut, even though, and they just didn't know what to do about that. It wouldn't keep them safe. Sleeping was dangerous.
As it would turn out, though, avoiding falling asleep wasn't their forte.
They didn't know when they had fallen asleep. All they knew is that they woke up, and they were crying and it hurt and they just wanted it to end and—
"Hey, hey… uh, you're alright, ok? Safe. It's ok."
They didn't know whether or not to believe him.
They didn't even remember what had scared them. Was that bad? They weren't sure.
All they knew was that Legend felt warm. They liked warmth.
They leaned into him, not caring about the fact that they were still in danger that his tunic was wet thanks to him and oh gods they were so weak right now—
"Do you want me to like, stay as watch for now?"
That sounded perfect.
They nodded eagerly. If he was busy with that, he couldn't hurt them.
"Then I can do that," Legend replied, and that was that.
Crimson only hoped that he was being genuine.
