Chapter Text
Dark Choco Cookie was relieving the nightmare again.
It started off as usual.
He ventured downstairs to the Great Hall to do what he couldn't do awake; gaze as if mesmerized at the mighty portraits of his ancestors.
He lightly traced the moulding of the portrait of his great-great grandmother, Cocoa Bean Cookie. It felt smooth and cool under his fingers. Her daring smile brought a sort of warmth he had longed for in his chest.
Surrounded by the legends of the past, Dark Choco felt as if they were calling out to him, telling him something. It was strange, he knew, but the sound of rustling behind him seemed like words and the sound of the wind seemed like secrets rushing by.
Dark Choco closed his eyes and just took in the moment. The slight breeze in the air made his long hair caress his face thoughtfully.
"Come forth," something whispered to him from behind.
Dark Choco jumped slightly, but having no weapons with him, he continued to listen to the strange voice without making any moves to investigate the source.
The voice didn't sound either male or female. It didn’t really sound like a cookie at all, if he really thought about it.
It continued, "I see that you're destined for greatness. All you have to do is hold my hilt in your hands and you would achieve everything you could've ever wanted. Perhaps even more so."
The voice was everywhere now; Dark Choco could not find the source of the voice no matter how hard he tried, no matter now many times he tried.
It was the sixth time he had dreamt the nightmare and yet, he had failed all six times to find just who was talking to him. The voice was echoing all around the Great Hall.
The portraits of his ancestors were now all pointing and laughing at him. Dark Choco waited patiently for them to stop, but the jeering and laughter didn't seem to cease.
They seemed to find their descendant's frustration hilarious.
Exasperated by the lack of progress in the dream, he shouted, "Show yourself! Stop playing this childish game and come forth yourself!"
The echoes and laughter stopped. For once, he didn't wake up immediately like he usually did in the dream. Instead, everything went dark.
Granted, the Great Hall wasn't very illuminated in the first place, but it suddenly seemed to get even darker.
T he strange voice was much quieter now, as if pondering Dark Choco's words. At last, it conceded:
"Hmph. Very well."
In front of him was a sword floating in the air.
Not just any sword, no; it was the most beautiful sword he had ever seen in his life. Having trained to be a king from the day he could walk, Dark Choco had seen a lot of swords during his time. But a beautiful one?
He couldn't recall a single sword that was as alluring and as glamorous as the one in front of him.
Its scarlet light illuminated the hall. The sword was hard to see through its brightness. Dark Choco kept having to close his eyes to avoid getting blinded by such light.
His ancestors seemed to whisper to him to pick it up. Cocoa Bean Cookie gazed with pride at her great-great grandson. Dark Choco had never seen such an expression in his life.
He couldn't recall at all a time when his father ever had an expression similar to such.
The red gem imbedded in the ricasso reflected the conflict in his eyes. Conflict? It was just a sword, so what was he afraid of?
Something in his mind was screaming for him to drop it, to run far, far away from it. It was dangerous, his instincts was telling him, yelling at him.
Something was off about the sword, it insisted. It wasn't to be trusted.
Ignoring his instincts, he picked it up. It was surprisingly light and not at all a pain to swing. His ancestors were cheering for him now, congratulating him on his new battle servant.
The sound of whistles and clapping filled the hall and echoed gloriously all around him. Dark Choco felt great! He felt terrific, actually, and it was all thanks to the sword.
Now that he had a closer look at the sword, he realized that it looked a lot like the Grapejam Chocoblade, his father's sword.
A lthough at the same time, it looked a lot different too, like how its blade was more shiny than the Chocoblade. (Not to mention how red looked much better than purple on a sword. Red was just a color more fit for the battlefield.) Maybe it was... better, perhaps, than the Grapejam Chocoblade.
Dark Choco was hit with a sudden thought. Maybe the reason he kept having the same dream was a prophesy of a sort. Maybe he was destined for something much greater than he could imagine, just like what the sword had said.
Maybe... maybe he was destined to defeat his father, Dark Cacao Cookie, in combat. After all, the sword in his hand was big and sharp for a reason, right?
He shook his head. What was he thinking? Such a thing could cause an unnecessary rebellion and even an exile against him. He would be rejected from the title of king and even the crown prince.
He shouldn't think such thoughts just because his father was distant to him. Plenty of cookies had it worse.
The sword seemed to disagree.
His arm suddenly pulled back and slashed the portrait right in front of him without Dark Choco even initiating the action.
Dark Choco watched in horror as the painting split into two. The wood shavings from the frame rained pathetically to the floor.
What just happened? His arm just moved on its own record. That was definitely not normal. He felt abnormally powerful, too. Dark Choco wouldn't admit it out loud, but he couldn't deny that he was definitely on the higher scale when it came to strength.
Empowered by the sword, however, he felt like a king.
He felt almost inhumane. Powerful.
Godly.
The careless, holy strength that came along with the sword was doing numbers on his mentality. He didn't know how to feel about it, if he were to be honest with himself.
"Don't you feel great?" the sword asked, breaking Dark Choco from his train of thought. He didn't realize he was still holding onto the sword.
It continued, "Everything I've said is true. I can, and I will make you the greatest warrior this land has ever seen."
Dark Choco didn't respond. He didn't know how to respond. He tore his gaze away from the sword but it spoke again, seductively, promisingly, "I sense uncertainty in you. Don't be afraid, Dark Choco Cookie. I shall guide you to greatness and beyond. All you have to do is grab onto my hilt."
He was getting tired of the sword already.
"Ugh, shut up. I can't hear you, la la la," Dark Choco said loudly, as if to convince himself. He tried to throw the sword to the ground, but the cursed blade seemed to be glued to his hand. He said to the sword, feeling silly and humilated at the prospect of talking to an inanimate object, "You don't get to control me or my arm. I don't need you to become a great warrior! I'll accomplish that on my own. I'm sure of it."
The sword clattered to the floor just as suddenly as it had appeared in the dream. "Oh, but I've seen the future, Dark Choco Cookie. I can take you to the road to greatness way faster and surer than you on your own. You'll regret throwing me and will search for me within days. Don't worry though, I'll be waiting for you right here, as your subservient servant and new companion."
He should've listened to his instincts when he had the chance. The sword was insane.
Kicking the sword away from him, Dark Choco turned to run. To his surprise, someone was blocking the way. The strange man was facing away from him, so that Dark Choco couldn't see his face.
Dark Choco could still see that the stranger was bigger and taller than him, though.
He definitely wasn't there before. Dark Choco made sure he was the only one in the hall before entering. He tried to swerve out of the way, but the strange cookie kicked out his foot in an attempt to trip him.
It worked, and he fell to the floor with a mighty crash.
"Ugh, what's your fucking deal, man? Move out of the way!" Dark Choco yelled. It wasn't very prince-like to use such vulgar language, he knew, but did he care?
The stranger stood very still. It was as if he couldn't hear Dark Choco's words.
Maybe he didn't care.
Dark Choco used his arms as leverage to try and get up from the ground but his arms failed him and he slipped onto the floor once more. He scrabbled on the floor like rat. The floor seemed to get more slippery the more he struggled.
What kind of a dream was this? How could he wake up from it?
The stranger made no moves to stop him, or get out of the way. It was perhaps his first moment of humiliation. It felt dehumanizing. Why was he running away from a sword in the first place, anyway?
Hot tears pricked at his eyes. No, that wasn't right! Princes never cry. But tears fell down his face in great, big drops of mortification, no matter how hard he tried to stop them. Shame colored his cheeks red. He was a flushed, crying mess in a matter of seconds, and it was all thanks to the sword.
The stranger let out a sigh. "Get up, Dark Choco. Such a state is unfit for royalty."
The stranger's voice was deep, like a forgotten memory, and quiet, like the uneasy rumble before a storm. It was familiar, too.
Perhaps too familiar for Dark Choco to not recognize.
Then it dawned on him. Fear coiled in his stomach.
Dark Choco whispered, "Father?"
The stranger, or rather, his father, turned to look at Dark Choco. His dark mane of hair and his hands covered his face entirely, but Dark Choco was sure he was glowering like usual.
Dark Choco was hit with a rather daunting realization. His father heard him cry. He knew Dark Choco had tried to run away from a sword and fell to the floor and cried.
Dark Choco was absolutely sure that his father would disown him right then and there; such behavior was disgraceful to his own name and kingdom.
But as he watched his father, he realized that something was amiss; his father's hair was longer and messier than he remembered, and his hands were clutching his face but there was blood dripping down to the floor, as if he was attacked by something. His clothes were torn like a peasant's.
Just what had happened to him? Was he actually attacked by something?
Or rather, someone. (There wasn't a single beast alive that could lay a paw on Dark Cacao Cookie as far as Dark Choco knew.)
Judging by the length of his father's hair, ragged clothes, and gaunt body, he realized with a jolt that the man in front of him wasn't his father. Well, his father at the moment, anyway. It was his future self, if his assumptions were correct.
Then that meant that sometime in the future, he would go search for the sword and his father would get injured by someone.
Was this dream a prophesy of a sort? Was it perhaps an omen?
Dark Choco flinched.
Dark Cacao let his hands fall to his sides, and Dark Choco was left to face what his father had become. One thing was clear, at least: he looked like the shell of a man he used to be.
He had a look of utter betrayal on his face that was somehow worse than anything Dark Choco could've imagined.
He looked like a man that was broken both inside and out.
Dark Choco locked eyes with his father. Crimson met violet, and son met father. The eyes that were once so full of life and power were now lifeless with defeat. The violet irises were dilated beyond recognition.
There was something else reflecting in his eyes, too. It was something red and - Dark Choco turned his head to face the sword - radiant.
The gleam of the sword was the last thing Dark Choco saw before waking up in a pool of cold sweat.
He realized he was shivering slightly. No amount of cotton candy sheets piled atop him helped with the sudden cold. Ditching the covers and his bed, he got up from his bed and started to pace back and forth in his room.
The nightmare was... odd, to begin with. There's no way he would even try to run away from a sword, let alone cry when he fell to the ground. And where the hell did the idea of a rebellion come to him?
He wasn't the guy to ever think such thoughts.
The nightmare was totally inaccurate, if he was to really think about it.
But the way his father looked - older, fiercer, sanguinarius - made him realize that it wasn't just a normal nightmare.
And the way he looked so somber made Dark Choco almost recoil in repulsion. That certainly wasn't like his father at all.
Maybe he was right in the dream to think that it was a prophesy of a sort. But then again, was he really destined to run away from a damn sword?
And did he really slash his grandfather's portrait?
Of course not.
Dark Choco looked into a mirror. He looked the same as he looked before he went to sleep; fully clothed in sleepwear, hair braided neatly to the side, and definitely no evil sword sheathed in his belt. That was a relief.
He felt a sort of calmness wash over him the longer he stared at his reflection.
Dark Choco smiled questioningly at the mirror and it smiled back with no hesitation. Well, that was that. If he was still troubled by the dream, then he would visit the Moon goddess tomorrow.
Maybe she would be able to give him some answers. For the time being, he went back to his bed and closed his eyes. He could check if the portrait is okay tomorrow.
Right now, though, he was just so tired that he couldn't even keep his eyes open.
Dark Choco felt himself fall back into the land of dreams once more.
He let out a snore that was enough to rival a Cream Wolf's. The moon shone bright through the window in his room, lulling him into a deeper and a promising sleep.
Something told him that he would not be having the nightmare again.
Pulling the cotton covers up to his face, Dark Choco let out a content sigh. The recurring nightmare was finally gone.
There was peace at last.
A few hours later, when the sun was up and bright in the sky, Dark Choco would be notified that the painting of his grandfather had been destroyed during the night.