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On the first cycle, Thornmaster is created. He is the Nightmare Knight’s fourth creation… and, to that point, his finest. Intelligent where Splashmaster is foolish, cunning where Noisemaster is brash, and with an appetite for destruction and mayhem that almost surpasses them both, he’s a welcome partner in his conquering of Dreamside.
But, by the time the Nightmare Knight is revived, things are already different. His own heart is no longer in it… and neither, he suspects, are the hearts of his creations.
Every cycle, he watches over Thornmaster, as he watches over all of them, and he wonders when Thornmaster became so… sullen. The way that Thornmaster looks over at the kings, the queens, and the princesses of the Flower Kingdom reminds him distinctly of the way he looks at them himself - a combination of jealousy and longing that tears at him from the inside out. He suspects that Thornmaster, too, desires not to be a conqueror.
Still, he knows that look, and it makes even the Nightmare Knight fear for him. It’s more than the fear that Thornmaster will give up, will refuse to take part in the cycles any longer, though that is part of it. It’s a fear of what that kind of longing will do to you after thousands of years. It’s a concern, a worry, for Thornmaster’s very well-being.
So he watches.
He watches as, on the thirty-sixth cycle, Thornmaster stands on a balcony and stares out at the castle of Princess Forsythia and the queens, Queen Petunia and Queen Zinnia. He watches as Thornmaster lays over the side of the balcony, resting his arms on the top, and sighs at something he cannot have.
He wonders what it is that Thornmaster wants. He doubts it’s the princess or either of the queens - Thornmaster has never shown that sort of interest in others. Is it their adoring followers? Is it their beautiful castle? Is it merely the opportunity to wear the clothing of the so-called “fashion capital of Dreamside”?
Or is it a different kind of love? When Thornmaster stares out at the Princess, being hugged and kissed by her two mothers, does he desire parents that love him the same way? Does he desire a relationship that he, the Nightmare Knight, cannot possibly give him?
Or is it something else, something the Nightmare Knight can’t even begin to understand?
He wishes he could appear in front of him and ask. A simple “what is it you desire” and he would grant it. But he knows he can’t - even his servants must fear him, respect him. He cannot be their friend, their companion, or everything he’s worked for will be lost.
They will be lost. Forever.
He realizes Thornmaster has looked up from his position on the balcony and is starting to look his direction. Instantly, before Thornmaster can see him, he disappears in a wisp of purple smoke.
On the fifty-eighth cycle, the Nightmare Knight appears in Thornmaster’s room, deep within the Botanica Ruins. The room, a bright ruby red, fills with dark purple clouds, and the light within the room fades away until there is barely any at all.
None of that is unusual. Every cycle, he appears in Thornmaster’s room, saying something along the lines of “the heroes approach.” And, every time, Thornmaster replies something like “How exciting. Won’t you tell me what they’re like?”
But, this time, things are different. This time, when the Nightmare Knight speaks, his voice a deep rumble, he says:
“Why have you summoned me?”
Thornmaster stands in front of his enormous mirror, frowning. His hands, fingernails as sharp as his namesake, rest on the mirror’s surface.
“Fifty-seven,” he says. “Fifty-seven times I’ve failed you. And now, surely, is the fifty-eighth.”
Oh, thinks the Nightmare Knight. He has had this conversation before, although never with Thornmaster. Noisemaster and Glitchmaster, many times, yes. But Thornmaster has never questioned his role, never wondered aloud why he has failed so many times. He has always promised to do better, that this will be the time they win, never suspecting for a moment that the only reason he always loses is the Nightmare Knight himself.
It’d be ideal, if it didn’t wrack him with guilt all the more.
“Fifty-seven times,” Thornmaster continues, “and here I am, thinking I can ask you for a favor .”
The Nightmare Knight’s eyes widen. Of all his creations, Thornmaster has never asked him for anything before.
“What...?”
“I know,” Thornmaster says, sighing. His arms droop to fall by his sides. “How presumptuous of me. To think that I have the right …”
The Nightmare Knight doesn’t say of course you do.
“Tell me what you have summoned me for,” the Nightmare Knight says instead. He wants to be gentle, but he says it more bluntly than he intends.
Thornmaster stares up at him through his red eyes. But then his eyes fall, his frown deepening.
“It’s foolish. Forget I said anything.”
The Nightmare Knight stares down at Thornmaster. He can see him trembling, just slightly - in his long life, he’s never seen Thornmaster look so vulnerable.
It’s fear, the Nightmare Knight thinks. Fear of him. The fear that’s necessary for all of his creations to survive. So he can hardly comfort him, as much as he wishes he could - it would break the facade he’s kept up for fifty-six thousand years.
“Speak, Thornmaster,” he says, but his voice is softer.
At the name, though, Thornmaster cringes.
“I’ve always hated that name.”
The Nightmare Knight blinks, taken aback. Thornmaster takes a step towards him, spreading his arms out wide.
“Thornmaster. Such a violent, unforgiving name. Are flowers not meant to be... admired? To be loved? Who raises a rose for its thorns?”
Thornmaster steps closer to him, his arms still spread out. The Nightmare Knight nearly backs away - he feels strangely cornered by the much smaller Disaster Master.
“I suppose one does not,” he says.
“No, one doesn’t,” Thornmaster says. “One raises a rose so that it may bloom.”
Thornmaster raises a hand to his chest.
“Is it not my turn to bloom? To be the rose that people admire, and not the thorn that pricks them?”
Slowly, something like comprehension begins to dawn on the Nightmare Knight, and for the first time in a long time, he feels afraid. Not of Thornmaster, no, but that - of all possibilities - he’s going to speak and say the wrong thing.
“You wish to be...” he starts to say, carefully. “A rose?”
“Yes,” Thornmaster says. “A woman.”
Thornmaster’s gaze as he - she - looks up at the Nightmare Knight is firm, but the Nightmare Knight only feels… foolish. How could he have not realized sooner? Wasn’t he closer to his creations than anyone else?
“How long have you desired this?”
“Oh, goodness,” says Thornmaster, frowning again. “How many centuries has it been? I’ve lost count. Suffice to say it has been… a long time.”
And yet, Thornmaster never indicated it to him. Why, the Nightmare Knight wonders? Were his creations so afraid of him that they never dared to confide in him their deepest struggles?
What is he supposed to do in this situation? He wants so desperately to tell Thornmaster that it is alright, that she has nothing to be afraid of anymore. That he will grant her anything, everything, she wishes, and then some.
That he cares about her. That he loves her.
But he can’t. He can’t say those things. He doesn’t know how to form the words, even if he had the ability - even if it wouldn’t ruin everything he’s worked on for so long.
“But…” Thornmaster sighs, looking defeated. “I’m being ridiculous. I know this is too much to -”
Before Thornmaster can say another word, a bright light fills the room as her entire body, from the tips of her feet to the top of her hair, begins to glow white. Thornmaster looks down at herself incredulously as her form shifts. Her black hair expands into a rose-red coif that covers her eyes, her lips become a dark red, the thorns on her shoulders become leaves, and her arms take the shape and color of green gloves. Her body becomes lithe and slender, a backless, floor-length black dress taking shape around it.
In moments, the glow is gone.
The Nightmare Knight turns around, so that only his back can be seen.
“Rosemaster,” he says, lowering his glowing white hand. “Your form… your name… it makes no difference to me. I only ask that you do the task I have given you.”
He doesn’t know how he expects her to react. But the last thing he expects to hear, behind his back, is a sob.
He instantly wants to turn around and make sure she’s alright, sure he’s made a tremendous mistake. But he finds himself frozen to the spot, unable to do more than simply float there with his back turned, surrounded by a mountain of purple fog.
“It… I…” he hears Rosemaster stammer, her voice breaking. “You...”
He turns his head just slightly to look at Rosemaster over his shoulder. Her head is buried in her hands and there are tears rolling down her cheeks, but… she’s smiling. For the first time in thousands of years, she’s smiling.
The feeling when he sees it is indescribable. It’s a feeling unlike anything he’s ever known - a feeling that, for maybe the first time in his life, he’s done something truly, undeniably good.
He clutches his chest and lets out a sharp, deep breath, overwhelmed. He doesn’t know what to do with this feeling at all - it threatens to erupt out of him, consuming everything.
“Thank you,” Rosemaster mutters, although she can barely speak. “Thank you.”
“You can thank me by defeating the Legendary Hero and his companions,” he says, as calmly as he can manage. “That will be gratitude enough.”
“Of course,” she says. “I won’t fail you. Not this time.”
But you will, he thinks, feeling guilty again. This time, and the next, and the next after.
“Then I will take my leave,” he says instead. "Do not disappoint me."
“Of course,” Rosemaster says. “I wouldn’t want to keep you… Mr. Knight.”
He nods silently. In a twinkle of purple stars, he vanishes.
Once he has reappeared inside Caketown Castle, in a place nobody can see him, he wipes a tear, sparkling with stardust, from his eye.
It’s been so long he’s forgotten he’s even capable of crying.
On the fifty-ninth cycle, when he appears in front of Rosemaster and says “Rosemaster, come forth,” she smiles at him.
On the sixty-third cycle, when he says “I trust you will have rose to the occasion,” she laughs.
On the seventy-fifth cycle, when he says “We will see if your plan will blossom,” she chuckles.
On the ninety-first cycle, he says “We will see what has arose from this,” there’s a pause before she playfully chastises him for taking a thousand years to come up with that.
And, even by the hundredth cycle (when she no longer makes much of his puns) all he has to do is call her “Rosemaster” and she’s still filled with a radiance he’s never seen from any of his other creations.
It’s such a small gesture, he knows, when he could do so much more for her. When he wishes he could do anything for her.
But it makes her happy, and that is enough.