Chapter Text
Life was never so simple. Why would it be?
Banded crimson contrasted starkly against the vibrant meadow of flowers and Tim. Reala couldn’t have looked more out of place, aloft a patch of brilliant pink and scanning his surroundings with a judgmental perk of his brow. He hadn’t said a word yet. Still, NiGHTS sighed, noting their sibling’s sudden appearance tiredly--the joy of their Wonderworld outing suddenly mired in what they knew would only be the same thing yet again. They held up a hand to stay Balan from interrupting. This was their sibling. They’d handle it. Although, they’d never have guessed that Reala would bother following them here. Of all places.
At least it was
only
Reala.
“Oh, what do you want?” NiGHTS accused, hovering just beyond the border of ‘a safe distance’ and ‘not yelling across the meadow’. A few scattered Tims flocked behind them, peeking at Reala from between their legs. Another stranger. Curious. Unfriendly? Definitely more intimidating than NiGHTS had been, his golden persona glinted in the perpetual sunlight like a beacon of ill-intent. Reala scoffed, leering across the way. Predatory.
“My, my, is that how you greet me after all this time?” Reala countered, holding his hands out--palms facing the sky in mock offense. Tsk. He dispelled the thought with a wave. Rhetorical question. “I was simply curious where my dear brother had been disappearing to lately. I see now that you’ve been very busy... making new friends, are we? Have you grown tired of your old playthings, after all? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Are you
still
going on about that?” NiGHTS rolled their eyes. Flippant. Annoyed. Old arguments never died, and they fell for the bait like clockwork. A broken clock, never fully mended -- ticking further backwards each time. It rankled them, and so, once again, their argument started anew. From afar, Balan spectated the affair, thoughts forming and interlocking with every new word. NiGHTS stoked the fire.“You know, unlike you, I can have more than one friend at a time. You should try it someday. Maybe you’ll finally lighten up.”
Reala’s face twitched.
“Irresponsible as always…” His voice faded into a contemptful mumble. Reala glanced toward Balan, forcing the conversation back onto NiGHTS. Call him petty. Call him unoriginal. Call it a lack of closure. He seized the opportunity with sharpened claws, sneering, “--and does your friend know about you? What you’ve done? What you are? Or are you lying to them--just like you lied to your precious Visitors?”
“I’m sorry, Reala. I really hate to burst your bubble, but I learn from my mistakes.” Usually. Yet, despite their confidence, NiGHTS faltered, jittering midair--almost unnoticeably--under the full weight of Reala’s accusation… the context that Balan couldn’t fully appreciate. After all, Balan already knew what they were. They’d been upfront about that. They’d played it off. It wasn’t important. NiGHTS refused to let it be, and Balan hadn’t rejected them. So, there they were! There it was! They were both Nightmaren. NiGHTS was Nightmaren, and that was fine .
“So, if you don’t have any new material, then why don’t you get to the point? Surely, you’re not here to try bringing me back again, are you? You know it never works.”
“Hmph. Unlike you, I’m still loyal to our master. It was His will that you return to Nightmare, and so it will be -- by my hand.” The presence of Balan brought about an unsettling unknown, but Reala was confident. Arrogant, perhaps. What good was he as Wizeman’s faithful servant if he couldn’t fulfill this one task?
Yet, NiGHTS had enough. Frustration overruled anxiety--overruled their overwrought banter in ways even they hadn’t expected. They were so tired, so suddenly tired; an exasperated growl silenced the peeping of Tims that still huddled behind them. Throwing up their hands, NiGHTS’ countenance took on an uncharacteristic scowl, manic in a fit of irritation. It was the same old song and dance as it always had been, but there was one thing… one major difference. NiGHTS blurted, “He’s not even around anymore!”
“We’ve had this conversation before! What’s it been? Nearly fifteen years? He’s not coming back, and even if he does--! I’ll just beat him like I did last time. I’m not afraid of him.” NiGHTS puffed up indignantly. “Reala, I was relieved when I found out that you hadn’t disappeared. I’d hoped--”
Words escaped them, crumpling under a wave of bitter disappointment. Taken aback by the outburst, Reala couldn’t find his, either. Their silence was poignant and commanding, disturbed only by the faint, mechanical noise of the Clock of Happiness far above them. Even Balan, who’d been slowly piecing their patchwork of brotherly issues together, remained quiet. Remained still. He dared not disturb what wasn’t finished, but instead kept vigilant for signs of a fight. My, what lurked in the hearts of nightmares…
“He’s no god,” NiGHTS finally interjected, forcing words into existence. Reala needed to hear this. He needed to. Something had to change. “--and he’s certainly no master . He was just a human who abused our world for his own gain!”
Confusion flickered across Reala’s features, tangling in a convoluted web of anger and spite. Masked disappointment. Considering everything with the vitriol of a sibling wronged, Reala discarded the new information--had Wizeman been human? How would NiGHTS know that? --and he snarled. Whatever. NiGHTS could keep their little, unproven fun facts to themself. Shove it. He didn’t care. He insisted, “Master Wizeman created us or have you forgotten that, too?”
“So? It’s not like he’s ever been nice to us. We were just pawns to him! Don’t you understand that? The moment you’re not useful to him, he’ll--”
Somehow, Reala managed a laugh, although strained and incredulous. He cut them off. Enough, they’d both had enough. Talking in circles they’d tread a thousand times or more, Reala was done. Balan or not, he was prepared for a fight. Pink flowers wilted. “ Nice? What world do you live in, dear brother? Our Master has no need to be. A failure is a failure, and failures are dealt with. ”
It was then, as it happened, that Balan suddenly appeared between them with that same toothy grin and flourish he always wore. There it was, and he couldn’t have it. Not here. Not in his theatre so long as he was still Maestro. Although, Balan suspected that NiGHTS was just as ready for a fight as their twin, shifting focus between the two of them with a practised air of mischief. Showtime. Something glimmered, tucked into Reala’s bracer, and Balan tipped his hat to him. “If I may interrupt--pardon me if this is abrupt. Yet, it seems the two of you are very late, indeed. Although, one ticket is all you’ll really need. So, with that in hand, please follow me for an adventure most grand.”
Balan snapped and the withered flowers sprung back to life, sparkling brilliantly under the dimming lights. A spotlight shone on the pair, yet NiGHTS was nowhere to be seen. Oh, but they were there! One thing at a time. Two, then three, then more copies of Balan swirled around the baffled red jester. Each and every one of them coaxing and herding Reala toward a door that simply materialised out of nothing--as most things did--and as most things did, Reala needed all of the pushing and prodding Balan could afford. He fought the spirited Maestro every step of the way, only to find that his claws tore through the illusions like mist. He hissed. Yet, the door only drew closer. Closer still.
It opened--a wellspring of solid blackness the likes Reala was all too familiar with. Home and nothing more. Yet, the darkness closed around him like a heavy curtain of dread, subduing his senses and eliminating all hope of escape. Balan--one of them--closed the door with a hush, sealing away one last frantic attempt to see, to know where his sibling had gone. Then, it was quiet. The Isle of Tims slowly brightened, an empty patch of flowers rippling in the breeze where Reala had just been. NiGHTS looked on, dazzled and aghast.
“What did you do to my brother?”