Archive of Our Own ^beta

1. Techno

They’re coming .

The thought comes with a grim sort of pleasure as Techno watches the line of Fjerdan tanks slowly advance, mounted by Fjerdan soldiers with guns. Following them, like a sea of hungry wolves, are waves upon waves of Fjerdans on foot- not just regular soldiers, but drüskelle as well. The Fjerdans’ special forces, trained in taking down Grisha.

Would be nice if those Grisha were actually here , Techno thinks, only a little bitterly. He knows that the Second Army is doing just as important things to help win Ravka the war- and they’ll be here any second. At least, he hopes they will. 

“General, your orders?” Calvin, his second-in-command, asks.

Techno sighs through his nose and fingers his pistol. “We can’t wait for them any longer. We have to take this fight. Tell your men to form a defensive line. We can’t let them push any farther into Ravka.”

Calvin salutes and slips away, and Techno returns his gaze to the Fjerdan forces approaching. This is it, then- the battle that will decide if Ravka wins or loses, if Phil keeps his throne or not, if it all comes crashing down like the Little Palace a year ago. 

It won’t if I can help it , he thinks. He’s only lost a battle once before, and he intends for that to stay the only one.

He loads his pistol and rifle, slings the pistol back onto his belt and fingers the sword he keeps attached to his hip even though almost everyone uses rifles now. It’s not the most efficient weapon, but it’s done him good in the past, and so he keeps it with him, more as a sentiment than anything else.

A loud boom rings out, and he watches with grim satisfaction as one of the Fjerdan tanks triggers a Fabrikator-made landmine and explodes, throwing the soldiers to the ground. Shouts carry over to Techno is, and he smiles. At least the First Army isn’t going to go down with a fight. The wolves may turn out to be stronger in the end, but even the foxes can hold their own.

The line of tanks keeps advancing- some hitting the carefully planted mines, other getting more lucky. The soldiers and drüskelle on foot charge after them, and Techno breathes in, taking in one last lungful of the cold, crisp air. It’s time .

He fingers his sword for good luck one last time, then turns to his men. “We fight this,” he calls out, letting his voice carry through the ranks. “And we give it our all. When the wolves come knockin’, we don’t let them in. We defend our territory.” And then, just for one last morale boost, he unsheathes his sword and lifts it into the air. “For Ravka!”

“For Ravka!” his soldiers echo, and he feels the familiar rush of adrenaline that he always gets before battles. Even if they lose this, he can weaken the wolves, maybe enough for the Grisha to deal the finishing blow.

The line of Fjerdans surges forward, and instantly, all hell breaks loose. A bullet whizzes past Techno’s ear, missing him by an inch. He keeps his calm, aiming his rifle at one of the soldiers mounted atop a tank and firing. The sooner the tanks are taken out, the better.

He ducks another bullet and reloads his rifle, getting ready to fire again. But when he aims it back at the same tank, he’s greeted with five rifles pointed back at him.

Sh*t , is all he has time to think before the bullets fly.

Then, out of nowhere, a miniature tornado slams into the path of the bullets, scattering them. Techno glances to his right just in time to see a white horse come galloping up, its rider seated upon it with both hands raised. Sunlight glints off of a white porcelain mask and golden hair, and Techno doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to see that familiar blue kefta in his life.

“ Stormveiviser ,” he hears one of the nearby drüskelle breathe, almost reverently. Storm wizard .

His back straight and his head held high, Dream waves his arms in a broad, sweeping gesture. Dark clouds form above, blotting out the sun. Dream claps his hands, and the Fjerdans on the tank don’t get any warning before lightning arcs from the sky, striking each of them one by one and dropping all of them dead.

“The Grisha are here!” Calvin gasps, sounding relieved. Techno hears the same relief echo from the cheers of his men as the rest of the Second Army comes riding in after Dream, dressed in variously colored keftas . Flanking Dream on the left and right are Punz, a Heartrender, and Illumina, their only Shadow Summoner. The Fjerdans look almost as scared of them as they do of Dream. Good , Techno thinks grimly. He’s not a Grisha, but let them feel the same fear as Ravka’s Grisha did when they were at the height of persecution all those years ago.

One of the Fjerdans- a general, Techno is guessing- roars an order in Fjerdan at his men. A wave of soldiers and drüskelle charges forward, rifles raised, and the Grisha come to meet them. Punz clenches a fist, dropping one of the Fjerdans instantly; Illumina waves his arms and sends shadows rolling over the right side of troops like a dark, ominous cloud of death.

Dream pulls up next to Techno. “Orders?”

“I want half of your Squallers with the Fabrikators near the back, helping keep the line tight so they can’t break through,” he replies immediately, grateful that Dream recognizes his superior battle strategy and is letting him lead. He grips his rifle tightly in preparation to charge. “Rest of the Squallers and the Heartrenders can be up front. Healers scatter around to help whoever is injured. You and Illumina are with me.”

“Obviously. Can’t let you steal all the glory,” Dream jokes, sliding off of Spirit.

Techno rolls his eyes, trying not to let the fondness show- he has a reputation to keep up, after all. “Sure, nerd.” He jerks his head at the left flank, and together he and Dream charge.

A group of drüskelle immediately charge at them- or, rather, at Dream. Suicidal, maybe, or just following orders. One of them lunges, trying to grab Dream’s arms from behind. Maybe with any other Grisha it would’ve worked, but Dream is the most powerful Squaller in history, and Techno’s not sure even binding his hands would stop him.

It doesn’t matter. Dream’s snake scale fetters glint as he sweeps his arms to the side, then shoves them forward, hitting the drüskelle with a gust of wind so powerful that it knocks the man into the air. Dream then whirls around and flicks his wrist at the remaining drüskelle . They barely have time to blink before a miniature tornado tears through them, flinging them off in opposite directions.

Techno whistles, impressed. “Have you gotten better, or angrier?”

Dream shrugs. “Both.”

Together, they plunge deeper into the melee. Already the battlefield is a mess- bullets are strewn everywhere, along with shrapnel from blown-up tanks and the occasional body. There are soldiers fighting all around, with the occasional flash of a colorful kefta . It’s loud, and it’s overwhelming. Techno doesn’t care. The battlefield is where he thrives, where he can channel his energy and his intense focus into something productive. It’s where he can best protect his friends and all the innocent civilians living in Ravka.

The problem, however, is that while he is certainly good at fighting, even he can’t take hundreds of soldiers at once- especially if those soldiers have rifles. Back in the days of swordfighting it was easier, but now every enemy has a gun, and he doesn’t have security of a bulletproof kefta like the Grisha do. 

He feels his gut clench with nerves as the Fjerdans turn to him, clearly recognizing him and Dream as the priorities. Then he glances to his side, where Dream is standing, ready to fight. Dream is shorter, leaner, and he has no weapons except for his Grisha abilities- but he’s powerful. He rode into battle next to Techno back in the first war two years ago, and he’s here now, just like he always is. Ready to fight, to watch Techno’s back, to be his half of their unstoppable partnership.

Techno unslings his pistol. “2 versus all?”

Dream tilts his head, and Techno gets the feeling that he’s smirking behind the mask. “Sounds good to me.”

How strange it is, Techno thinks- a commoner and a Grisha fighting side by side when mistrust still runs deep in Ravka’s veins. But that’s how it’s always been for the two of them. Even with their long-standing rivalry, they’ve always been partners on the battlefield- and, above that, friends. Techno knows that there’s no one else he would rather fight with, no one else he’d trust more with guarding his back.

“Let’s go,” he says, and with that, they plunge into the fight.

He fires right away, dropping one Fjerdan with his pistol and catching a drüskelle in the thigh with the next shot. Next to him, Dream flings up an arm to form a wall of air that a few bullets ricochet off of. Together they plow through the Fjerdan ranks, Techno using his gun and Dream using his Grisha powers to cut a swathe through the soldiers.

A searing pain suddenly tears through Techno’s side as he’s reloading to take another shot. He staggers, gasping, one hand flying down to press against his side. When he pulls it away, his palm is wet and shiny with blood. Goddammit- he’s been shot.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he reloads and aims, his hands shaking slightly. Another shot rings out, and he drops to the ground just in time to avoid getting hit again.

Clearly noticing that he’s injured and wanting to take out the general- after all, take out the leader of a pack, and the rest fall- a nearby group of Fjerdans charge at him. He leaps to his feet, cursing at the agony that rips through him, but he’s lost his battle stride now. All he can do is draw his sword and pray that he can fight them off.

One of them fires at him, but the bullet is knocked aside by a sudden gust of wind. Dream practically soars over to Techno and stands protectively in front of him, both hands raised. Techno sees the moment the soldiers’ eyes widen, fear flashing in their pale blue irises.

They don’t get a chance to run, to try and save themselves. Dream is simply just too fast. One sweep of his arms, and two of the soldiers go flying away, screaming. A third charges- maybe brave, maybe reckless, maybe just suicidal- but Dream gives an almost casual flick of his wrist and shoves the soldier to the ground with a powerful gust of wind.

The final Fjerdan holds his rifle up and charges as well, eyes blazing with determination. Dream faces him calmly, and as the soldier draws nearer, Dream clenches his fist. The man drops to his knees suddenly, wheezing, face rapidly turning blue. Techno watches in fascination and mild horror as Dream sucks all of the air out of the man’s lungs, asphyxiating him.

As soon as the man has collapsed, Dream whirls to face Techno. “Get your ass to a Healer right now,” he orders. “Niki’s back with the Fabrikators.”

“What about you?” Techno snaps. “I’m not leavin’ you behind like a coward.”

“You need healing, Techno, and you know it. I’m going to try to take out the tanks.”

Techno feels something like dread curl in the pit of his stomach as he realizes what Dream means. “Ya really think you can-”

Dream gives a short nod. “If I die, don’t let Sapnap do a speech.”

Please don’t die , Techno thinks, a little desperately. I don’t know what I’d do if you sacrified yourself for this . Dream wasn’t even supposed to have anything to do with the tanks- those were supposed to have been taken out already. But he doesn’t say that aloud. He knows that Dream’s too similar to himself- too stubborn, too willing to do whatever it takes for victory, too willing to sacrifice his life for his friends and the future.

“Be careful,” is what he says instead. “I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”

Dream nods, and Techno breaks into the fastest sprint he can manage with his wound. He dashes back to the boulder where he’d initially gathered his army and spots Niki’s pink hair. “Niki!” he calls, wincing. “Niki!”

She runs over to him and immediately starts working on his wound, using her powers to heal it. He doesn’t bother watching, though- he’s seen plenty of that for a lifetime. Instead, he scans the battlefield, full of blazing guns and wounded soldiers and bits of bloodstained shrapnel, searching for a familiar blonde head.

There. He watches, holding his breath, as Dream faces the last three Fjerdan tanks. He looks small in front of the massive machines, but at the same time, he’s powerful- like a Saint as he raises his arms and clenches his fists.

The storm clouds reappear, blotting out the sun again. Dream seems to take a deep breath, bracing himself. As the tanks roll closer, he brings his hands together, then flings them up again, reaching for the sky like someone praying to the Saints.

And it’s like the Saints replied. The clouds flicker with light as lightning breaks free, arcing down with dangerous accuracy. All three tanks are struck and explode in unison, sending shrapnel everywhere and tongues of flame racing across the ground. Shouts ring out as Fjerdans and Ravkans alike scramble away; Techno hears more than one scream of stormveiviser.

Dream staggers, nearly falling. One of the drüskelle , clearly sensing weakness, lunges and grabs him from behind. It’s a mistake- even exhausted and nearly spent, Dream is as powerful as any other two Squallers combined, and unlike other Grisha, he can summon with his arms bound. He twists in the man’s grasp, and another bolt of lightning races down from the sky, striking the drüskelle on the head.

Techno hears some of his men gasp reverently, and he lets himself feel a little bit of that same awe. He doesn’t believe in the Saints, but even he has to admit that Dream does seem like one of them sometimes. He’s like a flicker of lightning, here one moment and there the next, dancing between fights and striking when he feels like it. And just like lightning, although Dream doesn’t kill often, when he does, it’s instant.

The drüskelle collapses, dead. His skin practically glowing from using his power, Dream dives into the heart of the battle once more. Techno almost wants to call after him, tell him to stop. Even for a powerful Grisha like Dream, summoning so much lightning in one go is bound to leave fatigue. But he knows that Dream would never listen. They’re similar, in that way- neither of them stop fighting until the battle is won.

Techno pulls away from Niki, reloads both his guns, and plunges back into the melee. Dream had taken out the tanks for him- now all he has to do is lead his men to victory. He knows that Dream will be leading the Grisha as well; together, maybe they can do this. Maybe they have a chance.

He catches a glimpse of Dream a couple yards away, the silver embroidery on his kefta gleaming as he raises his hands, summoning the storm again. Dream’s head tilts,  making eye contact through the mask, and Techno grins, feeling a spark of hope.

Me and you, Dream , he think as he holds his rifle up and aims. Just like old times .

---

2. Phil

They win the war.

They win the war, but of course Phil doesn’t get any time to stop and catch his breath. Instead, he’s immediately swept up in peace negotiations with Fjerda and Shu Han, which had also been a thorn in Ravka’s side lately. 

He wouldn’t trust anyone else to take his place, even his most trusted advisors- he is the king, after all, and this duty can’t be passed onto anyone else. Still, he wishes he were anywhere but here as he dismounts his carriage outside of the city hall in Os Kervo, where the negotiations will be held.

At least he has Dream and Techno with him- his two generals and most trusted friends. The meeting should go peacefully (Phil prays that it does, at least), but Techno still has his pistol in case things get hairy. Dream has no weapon- he doesn’t need one. Just his kefta and his glittering snake scale amplifiers are enough to warn the Fjerdans that he’s dangerous. Phil doubts they need the warning, though, after witnessing Dream’s might on the battlefield.

He braces himself for a long, headache-inducing next few hours as he steps into the hall and takes his place at the circular table. Techno and Dream sit on either side of him, providing a bit of space between him and the Fjerdans and Ravkans. Phil is thankful for it- he’s not scared of them, but Jarl Brum looks particularly sour and Phil really would not like to deal with a sore loser of a drüskelle today.

As soon as everyone has settled, Phil takes a deep breath and looks Brum in the eyes. “I’m sure you and I both want to get this over with, Commander Brum, so I’ll get straight into it.”

“Very well,” Brum snaps. 

Phil maintains eye contact as he slides out a roll of parchment. “I want a new deal. Your men and our Grisha have been at odds for far too long. I doubt that will change any time soon, but I’m tired of all the bloodshed. I don’t want any more wars or fights over this. So here’s the deal. You abolish the drüskelle or train them in something else, and in return, we keep our Grisha out of your lands. They won’t venture into Fjerda anymore, and your men won’t sneak into Ravka to hunt them.”

Brum’s men look outraged, and Phil sees more than one hand go to a knife. On his left, Techno casually slides his pistol from its holster and rests it on the table in response.

“What? No,” Brum growls, his face turning red with anger. “The drüskelle are a sacred organization dating back hundreds of years. We cannot abolish it.”

“Your sacred organization is killing people simply for what they are,” Phil replies, trying to keep his calm. He’s not even Grisha himself, but Saints, he hates the drüskelle ’s treatment of them. He knows that not all the Grisha are innocent, knows that many have killed drüskelle themselves, but none of the children in the Little Palace deserve to grow up frightened. None of the Grisha living in Ravka deserve to be under the threat of execution at the pyre (without a fair trial) simply because of the abilities that they’re born with, ablitlies that they never asked for.

“And your Grisha are witches,” one of Brum’s men hisses. “How many of us have they killed?”

“How many Grisha have you and your drüskelle brothers killed?” Dream shoots back. “How many Grisha have ever had a truly fair trial under your hands?”

None of the Fjerdans reply.

“That’s right,” Dream says, sounding at once smug and angry. “None. Because our crime is merely existing. I can tell you that none of the Grisha children growing up in the Little Palace have ever had a thought about killing Fjerdans. But as soon as they graduate, as soon as they’re sent out to the field, they risk being captured by you drüskelle . They risk being burned on the pyre - without a fair trial- simply because they are born with abilities that other people don’t have.”

Brum’s eyes narrow as they land on Dream. “Dream Waztayken,” he murmurs, his voice as cold as the ice sheets of Fjerda. “The Storm Wizard. I hope you realize how many men I’ve lost to you and your abilities .”

“Snakes don’t just bite, Commander.” The dot eyes on Dream’s mask seem to bore holes into Brum’s soul, and Phil watches with guilty satisfaction as the man squirms just the tiniest bit. “Anyone with half a brain should know what they’re getting into when they kick one. It’s not like my power is a secret.”

“Your power is unnatural,” Brum snaps. “We are merely taking precautions against it.”

“By executing Grisha, even ones who have done nothing?”

Again, none of the Fjerdans seem to have an answer to that. Phil takes advantage of the silence to steer the conversation back on track. “Commander Brum,” he says politely, because civility is key if he wants to avoid more conflict. Ravka may have won the war, but they can’t afford to get into another one. “What do you propose for this treaty, then? I see nothing wrong with my terms, but I’d be happy to hear yours as well.”

Brum glares at him. “We cannot abolish the drüskelle . They are a sacred organization and Fjerda’s first line of protection against your Grisha.”

Phil takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm and patient. “If you agree to my terms, there won’t be any more need for protection against Grisha because they will stay away from your country. I will ensure that none ever wander past the border, and if they do, they will be punished accordingly. But I can’t accept your unfair treatment of Grisha any longer.”

“It’s a fair deal, Commander Brum,” Techno says in his rumbling monotone. “You keep your drüskelle out of Ravka and abolish the whole burnin’-at-the-pyre thing. King Philza and General Waztayken will keep the Grisha out of Fjerda in return. I don’t see what you have to lose- unless you’re that bent on killin’ all Grisha because they’re an ‘insult to Djel’? I don’t know about you, but if your god is gonna discriminate against people for what they are, I wouldn’t be followin’ him anymore.”

A muscle in Brum’s jaw ticks. The general grits his teeth, face turning red again, and bites out, “Grisha magic goes against the fair laws of the world that Djel has set in place.”

“Oh, no. We’re blasphemous. How tragic,” Dream deadpans.

“Silence, witch ,” one of Brum’s men hisses.

Phil spots Techno’s fist clench out of the corner of his eye and gives his friend a gentle kick under the table. Getting angry at the Fjerdans will get them nowhere, although Phil can’t deny that giving them all a good punch to the face is extremely tempting. Luckily, Dream doesn’t seem bothered by the insult and continues to watch Brum calmly, his mask’s eyes still staring daggers into the man.

If the situation were less serious, Phil would find it funny to watch. As it is, he’s far too stressed about everything going on to find much amusement in anything, but it gives him a refreshing sense of satisfaction to see the clear discomfort on Brum’s face as Dream’s mask pins him down like a rabbit under an eagle.

“My statement still stands,” Brum snaps. “The drüskelle are needed to keep the natural order of the world. And who’s to say that your precious Grisha won’t still invade our lands? Burn our villages to the ground?”

“The burning of the villages was back when Jay Schlatt was in control of the Grisha,” Phil says in his steadiest voice. “I can assure you that General Waztayken will not allow the Grisha to kill any more innocent Fjerdan civilians. If you could extend that same courtesy to the Grisha-”

“The Grisha are not innocent,” Brum hisses, his face mottled red with fury. “Especially not your general. How many of my men has he hurt? How many has he sent to their graves? How many people has he left without brothers and sons?”

Phil sees Dream’s hands twitch just the tiniest bit beneath the cuffs of his kefta . “Snakes don’t just bite,” the blonde repeats, and now his voice has a bit of an edge to it, but he still sounds remarkably calm. “If you kick one, smash its eggs, you can’t expect it to not fight back. You and your men prey on Grisha simply for what they are. We are not the same. And I can assure you, those men had a far less painful death than all the Grisha who have burned on your pyres.”

Brum opens his mouth, but Phil cuts in. His patience has already started to fray- he doesn’t want this to last any longer than it has to. “Commander. I understand that your beliefs differ from mine or General Waztayken’s, but I cannot allow you and your drüskelle to continue hunting Grisha. It’s cruel, it’s inhumane, and it’s completely uneccessary. So I suggest, again, that you agree to keep your drüskelle out of Ravka. Find some other use for them that’s not hunting Grisha. In return, I will make sure that no Grisha ventures into Fjerda ever again, and if one does, they will be punished accordingly.”

A pause. Suddenly, Brum stands up and gestures for his men to do the same. “A kind offer, King Philza, but I refuse, and I will not waste any more time here.” He glares at Phil and starts for the door.

But the Fjerdans barely make it halfway there when a powerful gust of wind knocks them back. All of them stumble, and their chairs slide under them, forcing them to sit once more. Phil blinks, his mind not fully caught up yet, as the chairs are shoved back to the table by some unseen force, the Fjerdans still slumped in them, looking outraged. 

Dream lowers his arm and shakes out his cuffs. “Commander Brum.” His voice is as sharp and hard as an iron blade. “My king has already shown you far more respect than you deserve. I suggest that you do the same.”

Brum sneers. “One day you’ll get what you deserve, stormviveiser . One day you’ll realize that you’re as much of a monster as your Grisha accuse us of being. And you’ll regret everything that you’ve done.”

The smile on Dream’s mask seems to leer, and even Phil feels a small tremor run down his spine. “I wish the same to you, Commander.”

In the end, Brum finally caves to Phil’s demands and signs the legislation. Phil leaves the building exhausted but satisfied- he’d successfully made peace, no matter how fragile, with the Fjerdans, and he’d gotten rid of the drüskelle threat at the same time. He doesn’t know how long the tenuous peace is going to last, and he doesn’t doubt that Brum might try to keep training the drüskelle in secret, but it’s a start- a small step in the right direction.

As they head back to the carriage, Phil spares a glance at Dream. The Squaller’s shoulders are tense, the gaze of his mask fixed straight ahead. Clearly, Brum’s words had affected him more than he’d let on back in the city hall.

“Dream,” Phil says hesitantly. “I- thank you for helping me back there.”

“Well, it’s not like I was going to let him just walk out,” Dream replies, his voice tight. “He should’ve given you more respect.”

“It’s alright. Brum doesn’t give anyone respect.”

A small huff of laughter- at least he’s still laughing. That’s good , Phil thinks. He takes a deep breath and plows on. “Dream, you know that what Brum said isn’t true, right?”

Instantly, Dream’s shoulders tense even more. The blonde stares straight ahead, the wide smile on his mask seeming even more emotionless than usual. His voice is clinical, detached, as he murmurs, “We’re all somebody’s monster.”

Phil frowns. Techno comes up on Dream’s other side and gives him a gentle squeeze on the arm. Dream says nothing but leans into the touch. 

They reach the carriage, and Dream waves a hand, blowing the door open. He tilts his head at Phil. “Your Majesty.”

As Phil passes by to get into the carriage, he pauses and faces Dream. He only gets one shot at this, one shot to say something that Dream will listen to- he has to pick his words carefully.

“Monsters aren’t just monsters,” he says softly. Dream might have the blood of many Fjerdans on his hands, but Phil doesn’t know what he would do if he didn’t have the Squaller at his side, helping him run things and hold fragile, nearly-shattered Ravka together. And he knows Dream better than Brum. He knows that Dream joined the Second Army because he wanted to help people. He knows that Dream accepted the position of general because he wanted to keep Grisha- and Ravka as a whole- safe. He knows that past the walls and layers that Dream puts up, the cold and emotionless facade, there’s a heart made of platinum and gold.

He reaches out and touches his hand to Dream’s. “We’re all somebody’s Saint too,” he whispers.

Dream’s mask meets his gaze. “Maybe.”

Phil debates saying more, but Dream probably wouldn’t listen, so he drops it there and clambers into the carriage. As he gets settled, he makes a mental note to check up on Dream later, after they’ve returned to the palace.

It’s the least he can do.

---

3. Tommy

Tommy should be resting. After his lesson (in which he’d made frustratingly little progress), Seapeekay had told him to go take a break and relax- “calm down”, were the exact words. Instead of doing that, though, Tommy had snuck out to the lake where the Summoner pavilions are so he could practice.

There’s thankfully no one else around- no other Etherealki to watch him absolutely fail at being a Squaller. He just doesn’t understand . When he was younger he’d been at the top of his class, but now he can do barely half of what everyone else can. It’s humiliating, and he hates it- which is why he’s here, practicing instead of resting so he can catch back up.

He takes a deep breath, focusing on the straw dummy he’d stolen from the arena and thrusts his hands out again. A gust of wind slams into the straw dummy, knocking it back- but in almost the exact opposite direction that he wanted it to go.

A frustrated snarl escapes his lips. He storms over to the dummy and drags it back into position. “Now listen here, you little bitch,” he mutters- never mind that the dummy is straw and can’t understand him. “You’d better f*ckin’ listen to me and go the right way, or else.”

He thrusts his hands out again, urging the wind to blow the dummy in the right direction. This time it goes spiraling to the left and lands in the lake with a splash.

With a scream, Tommy whirls around and punches the column of the pavilion as hard as he can. He immediately regrets it when his knuckles explode with pain, sending a jarring shock up his arm. He staggers back, clutching his injured hand to his chest, tears stinging his vision.

Suddenly, a familiar voice calls his name. “Tommy?”

Tommy turns. Dream is striding towards him, blue kefta billowing majestically in the gentle wind. The older Squaller has his mask on, as usual, and his snake scale amplifiers glitter in the sunlight. Tommy swallows back a sudden wave of jealousy. He knows he’s nowhere near good enough to deserve an amplifier, but still- he wants one so badly that it aches. And the thought that he’s not good enough for one- might never be good enough for one- hurts even more.

“Hi, Dream,” he mumbles as Dream draws closer. God, he hopes that Dream is in a good mood. It’s not that Dream has ever truly snapped at him before, and if Tommy is honest, Dream is one of the closest things to an older brother he has outside of Wilbur (not that he’d ever tell anyone). Still, Dream is scary, and Tommy isn’t sure how kindly he’d react to Tommy throwing practice dummies into the lake.

Dream pauses, studying him through the mask. “What are you doing? Don’t you have a lesson?”

“Seapeekay cut it short,” Tommy mutters, wrapping the fabric of his own kefta around his injured fist and kicking at the floor of the pavilion with his shoe. “I guess he saw how frustrated I was and told me to go take a break.”

“This doesn’t look like taking a break,” Dream notes.

“I wanted more practice. To keep up.”

“Hmm.” Dream paces to the edge of the pavilion. With one neat flick of his wrist, the straw dummy comes flying out of the lake and lands perfectly on its feet, dripping water all over the floor.

Dream turns to Tommy abruptly. “Close your eyes.”

Tommy squints. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

“If this is a prank, you bastard, I swear,” Tommy mutters, but he closes his eyes. “What now, bitch?”

“Can you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The wind. The air. Everything.”

“What do you mean?” Tommy demands. “Obviously I can feel the wind . It’s pretty hard not to feel it.”

“I’m not talking about like that,” Dream says, sounding exasperated. “I’m talking about with your powers. Can you feel the wind? Touch it? Grab a hold of it?”

“You know, you’re starting to sound a bit like Captain when he gets all philosophical and existential. Why-”

“Tommy. Do you want to improve your ability or not?”

Tommy snaps his mouth shut.

“Good. Then listen to me. If you want to make your power more precise, then you can’t just push the wind to your bidding. You have to feel as if it’s an extension of your limbs, and you have to feel like it will bend to you without you having to force it. If you’re still having to fight to control the wind, then you’re doing something wrong.”

As tempted as he is to make another jab, Tommy manages to hold his tongue and instead bites out, “Well, how do I do it right, then?”

“It’s less about getting it to obey you and more like getting it to see you as an equal,” Dream explains. “The wind is just like fire or water. It’s powerful. It doesn’t want to bend to you, and you can’t force it. So you have to connect to it. Feel it. Bend with it instead of fighting it.”

“What does that even mean?” Tommy snaps, feeling his patience fray. “I’m sorry, big man, but I have no clue what you’re talking about. You just sound like you’re trying to give a philosophy class.”

“Just feel, Tommy.” Dream’s voice is calm and far more patient than Tommy had expected. “Keep your eyes shut and feel .”

Tommy takes a deep breath and tries to listen to Dream’s instructions. Connect to it. Feel it . He wiggles his fingers, trying to feel the wind, whatever that means. He supposes that he can feel it, but not in the way Dream probably wants him to- in the way that he can sense it brushing over his skin and past his fingers, here and then gone.

He just- doesn’t get it. It doesn’t feel like the wind is fighting against him. Then again, it’s not exactly listening to him either. He can grab onto it, control it, but it never seems to do quite what he wants it to. So maybe Dream has a point- Tommy just doesn’t understand.

“Don’t force it,” Dream murmurs from behind him. “Just breathe. Bend with it. When you’re ready, blow the dummy off.”

Tommy breathes in and out, in and out. He feels the wind between his fingers, brushing against his skin. Bend with it . He still doesn’t really get what that means, but there’s only one way to find out.

This time, instead of pushing against the wind, he tries to give it a boost. He steps forward and shoves his arms forward, trying to channel it towards the dummy. And, shockingly, it works. The dummy flies backwards, this time in the right direction.

Tommy can’t help it- he whoops, jumping up and pumping his fist in the air. “Oh my god, Big D, did you see that? It worked! I did it!”

“Nice,” Dream praises, his tone warm, and Tommy feels his chest swell with pride. He lifts his head up and scoffs at the dummy, lying several yards away. Take that, you stupid straw man.

Dream steps in his field of vision. “Now do it to me.”

Tommy blinks. “What?”

“Do it to me,” Dream repeats. “That dummy is nowhere near as heavy as an actual person, and chances are you’re going to need to use your power on people- or things even heavier. So do it to me. Throw me into the lake.”

“Dream-” Tommy starts nervously. Throwing Dream does not sound like a good idea, even if Dream himself had asked Tommy to.

“Tommy,” Dream says, laughing a little. “I’m not going to kill you for throwing me into the lake. I want you to.”

“Weird thing to want,” Tommy mutters, but he readjusts his stance and shakes out his hands. “Alright, you bastard- why are you standing like that?”

“What, do you want me to stand like a dummy?” Dream deadpans, lifting his arms out on either side of him. “Alright, there.”

“You look stupid.”

“That’s rich, coming from a child. Now shut up and throw me into the lake.”

“I’m not a child,” Tommy snaps with zero bite. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, his hands spread and ready for the wind. This time, when it comes, he latches on and shoves , bending it like a Tidemaker would split a current- not controlling the wind like he had been, but rather giving it a boost in the right direction.

He opens his eyes just in time to see Dream go flying backwards. The Squaller lands in the lake with a loud splash , water spraying everywhere as he vanishes below the surface. Tommy yelps- an embarrassingly high-pitched sound- and dashes as fast as he can down to the banks of the lake. “Dream? DREAM!”

Dream’s head pops up above the surface, blond curls drenched and sticking to his mask. “I’m fine,” he calls. “That was nice, Tommy. Good job.”

Tommy breathes a sigh of relief and feels a sudden, inexplicable rush of warmth for his older brother. Only Dream would willingly let himself be thrown into a lake so that Tommy can practice his abilities and compliment Tommy while still in the water. And to think that Tommy had once thought of Dream as haughty and self-obsessed. Of course, Dream is rather haughty, but there’s more to him. Tommy is once more reminded of that as he extends a hand out to help Dream ashore.

Once on his feet again, Dream flicks his wrist and summons a gust of wind that breezes through his hair and kefta , drying most of the water. “I should probably have taken this off before letting you do that.”

“You want to strip?” Tommy makes a face. “Ew. I’m a minor, you know.”

“The kefta , Tommy,” Dream says, and Tommy can tell that the Squaller is rolling his eyes behind the mask. “I have stuff on underneath.”

“Whatever you say, big man. Can we do that again?”

“Sure.” Dream shucks off his kefta and drapes it over the branch of a small tree. “That was good. Do you see what I’m talking about now?”

“Yeah,” Tommy admits. “Seems awfully inconvenient, though. I don’t wanna have to stop to f*cking breathe for a minute every time I have to summon.”

“It’ll get easier,” Dream promises. “The more you practice, the more it’ll become second nature. So- again.”

“What about lightning?” Tommy asks as he follows Dream back to the pavilion. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Dream laughs fondly and ruffles Tommy’s hair. Normally Tommy would pull away, but this time he allows it to happen and relishes in the warmth that rushes through him again.

“Maybe one day, Toms. But let’s focus on this for now, yeah?”

Tommy nods, grinning. He follows Dream back to the pavilion, his footsteps light and wind rustling through his hair, this time greeting him like an old friend.

---

4. Illumina

Monster. Shadow witch.

Illumina’s heard the whispers among Fjerdans and Ravkans alike. He’s seen the looks of terror. He’s heard the way the peasants of Ravka talk about him. The Shadow Summoner , they whisper. I heard he can split a man in half with one sweep of his arms. I heard he can shatter bone as easily as snapping a twig. I heard that he can command all the shadows and twist them to his bidding.

Some of the rumors are exaggerated- contrary to what some people seem to believe, he’s not nearly powerful enough to “control the night sky”. But many of them aren’t far from the truth- and the words cut deeper than he’d like to admit. Or maybe it’s less about the words and more about the fear behind them.

He’s only ever used the Cut twice. The first time, it had been instinctive- a hidden ability brought to the surface by his desparation to save himself and Fruit from drüskelle . They had come out of nowhere, and one of them had lunged at Fruit from behind, a knife raised. Illumina had thrust his hands out, and some gut instinct inside of him had tugged at the darkness, channeling it into a blade of shadow that had sliced the drüskelle in half.

He’ll never forget the look on Fruit’s face when he’d done that- the awe and the fear.  His friend had never looked at him with fear before, but for the weeks after that, Fruit had been cautious and even skittish. He’d gotten over it eventually, but the memory still lingers in Illumina’s mind, even if Fruit is back to playfully knocking their shoulders together and joking with him.

The second time he’d used the Cut was in the war against Fjerda. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t do it again (the fear from Fruit was more than enough to last him a lifetime, and besides, people were scared of him enough already). But in the battle, he’d done it to take out one of the Fjerdan tanks that was getting too close for comfort. This time it hadn’t been instinctive. He’d reached for the shadows and shot them at the tank, cutting it cleanly in half- along with several unfortunate Fjerdans who had happened to be in the way.

He hasn’t used the Cut since, and he doesn’t want to use it ever again. Sometimes, when he’s alone in his room with only the darkness for company, he’ll think about the splatter of blood the very first time he’d used the shadows to kill; about that drüskelle , lying dead on the ground with his head and left arm separated from the rest of his body; about the wide-eyed expression of terror on Fruit’s face. He’ll think about it all, and he’ll think that maybe he’s a little scared of his own power. That maybe all those people are right to be scared of him.

Illumina tugs his kefta closer to his body to protect against the bite of the chilly winter air as he walks down to the lake. The first snow of the season had come last night, and the grounds of the Little Palace are dusted in a thin layer like sugar on a pastry. Despite the cold, though, there are still plenty of Grisha out and about- adults and children alike. Illumina smiles at one of the little Heartrender kids as he passes by, but the kid only gives him a terrified glance and sprints away.

The smile drops off of Illumina’s face. He sighs, running a finger over the black wool of his kefta . He doesn’t blame the kid for running, for being scared of him- but it still hurts. It hurts to know that there are children who might see him as a monster, a creature of the darkness who can kill as easily as Heartrenders can snap bone. Maybe even more easily.

(He doesn’t want to be seen as a killer, a monster. But isn’t that what he is? He murdered that drüskelle and all those other Fjerdans. He’s a killer. People have every right to be scared of him, no matter how much it hurts.)

He crosses down to the lake, passing the Summoner pavilions where the Etherealki are practicing. The surface of the lake had frozen over- whether naturally or by the work of the Tidemakers, Illumina’s not sure. But he’d brought his ice skates, so he sits down at the banks to tug his skates on. Maybe a few laps around the edge of the lake will help clear his mind.

As he’s lacing up the skates, he hears footsteps crunching through the snow behind him. He glances over his shoulder and can’t help but smile. “Hey, Dream.”

Dream sits down as well and begins to put on his own skates. His mask is off for some reason, and even though though he’s seen Dream’s face before, Illumina still does an instinctive double take at the sight of his friend’s freckled cheeks and emerald green eyes. He’s not used to seeing Dream’s face- the Squaller so rarely takes off his mask that sometimes it’s easy to forget that he even has one. But that only makes it a bigger show of trust when the mask does come off, so Illumina doesn’t exactly mind.

“What’s up?” he asks, watching as Dream’s curls ruffle in the slight wind. “Why’d you take off the mask?” 

“What, you want it back on?” Dream shoots him a teasing smile. “If you think I’m ugly you can just say it.”

“I don’t think you’re ugly,” Illumina protests. “You have a lovely… jawline.”

“Ah, yes. My famous jawline.” Dream runs a finger over his chin. Abruptly, he stands up and reaches a hand down to Illumina. “Come skate with me.”

“Are we going to hold hands?” Illumina jokes, taking Dream’s hand and allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.

Dream gives him a small smile. “If you want.”

So their fingers stay intertwined as they step onto the ice. It’s smooth and unscathed beneath Illumina’s skates- a perfectly glossy surface, not yet skated over so much that there are deep grooves in the ice. He lets go of Dream’s hand and does a little spin, testing it out. “It’s nice today.”

“Foolish and the other Tidemakers were experimenting with it, I think. It froze naturally, but they used their powers to make it smoother or something. I’m not sure.” Dream glides out in a wide circle, his kefta billowing out around him. Here, with his curls loose and his face exposed to the weak winter sun, he looks much less like the terrifying Storm Wizard that he’s known as and more like… well, just a regular Grisha. A Grisha who wears a kefta like all the rest and enjoys skating on the lake like all the rest.

Maybe that says something about Illumina too. He also likes skating on the lake- but his kefta is the only black one in the whole palace. And it’s not like any other Grisha can quite literally cut a person in half with pure shadow.

He glances down at the ice. HIs reflection stares back at him- messy brown hair, nearly black eyes, and vaguely disorted facial features. Is that the face of a monster? Or a regular Grisha? 

A monster , his mind whispers, and it replays the memories again- a splatter of blood, a severed head, two terrified brown eyes looking at him. You’re a monster. You killed that man. You’re a monster. Monster, monster, monster .

“Illumina? You okay?”

“Fine,” Illumina manages to choke out, forcing his eyes up from the ice. “I’m fine.”

Dream glides closer, as graceful on ice as he is on land. He comes to a halt and tilts his head, studying Illumina with piercing, unreadable eyes. “Are you sure about that?”

“I-”

“Illumina. What’s wrong?”

“Have you been into Os Alta since the war?” Illumina blurts out.

Dream frowns. “A few times. Why?”

He hadn’t been particularly cold before, but now Illumina can feel the chill slicing through his bones like a knife ( or like the Cut , his mind whispers). He trains his eyes on the tops of the trees, hugging his arms around himself and blinking back the tears that suddenly press against his eyelids.

“They’re calling me a monster.” His voice sounds shaky, detached- foreign to his own ears. “A shadow witch. The Fjerdans too.” And I think they’re right , he adds silently.

He feels a slight breeze ruffle through his hair as Dream glides up behind him, nearly silent except for the scrape of blades on ice. Illumina closes his eyes, trying to breathe and steady himself. He hadn’t expected to be having a breakdown in the middle of the frozen lake today, but life seems to be going downhill lately. Maybe he should have expected exactly this.

“They call me a monster too, you know.” Dream breaks the silence. “ Lindjevelen . The lightning devil.”

“That seems harsh,” Illumina mumbles, finally turning to face his friend. “I mean, you’re scary, but I wouldn’t call you a devil.”

Dream smiles a little. “Wouldn’t you? It’s not too far off.”

“Well, it’s not as if you’re evil.”

“But you are?”

The question hangs over both of them, and Illumina squeezes his eyes shut again. Is he? A monster, maybe, but is he evil? It’s not as if he’s worse than Dream- surely if Dream isn’t evil, then he isn’t either.

(But Dream can’t control shadows. Dream can’t slice a man in half with pure darkness.)

“People will always be afraid of what they don’t understand,” Dream says, serious now. “They see something powerful, and they become scared. They’ll call you a monster. They’ll call all of us monsters. Doesn’t mean we are. If I’ve killed so many people and there’s still hope for me, then you are nowhere near evil, or bad.”

“But you can’t slice someone in half just like that,” Illumina says miserably. 

Dream raises an eyebrow. “And striking people with lightning is any better?”

A good point- and yet Illumina’s brain remains stubborn. He sees it again- that drüskelle ’s body, severed limbs covered in splatters of blood. Crimson liquid on his own kefta , on Fruit’s. His friend looking at him with an expression of wide-eyed terror- looking at him in a way that no one had ever looked at him before.

“I’ve killed people,” he whispers. “I’m- I’m dangerous .”

“So am I. But do you think I’m a monster?”

Illumina looks at Dream, trying to see the terrifying, all-powerful Storm Wizard that the rest of the world seems to see. But he can’t. All he can see is his friend of ten years who hides emotions and his heart behind a mask. All he can see is Dream- a little cold sometimes, a little vicious, a little sharp, but deep down caring and kind. Dream, who has scars that cut deep and a past he almost never talks about. Dream, who's killed and hurt, but only because he was hurt first, because he wants to protect the Grisha.

He wonders what Dream sees when the Squaller looks at him. A monster? Or just Illumina, the Shadow Summoner who sneaks pastries from the kitchen and has fallen into the lake three separate times?

“We’re all somebody’s monster, Illumina. That doesn’t mean that it’s all we are.” Dream’s eyes dig into Illumina’s, and there’s something hidden in there, something that makes Illumina wonder which one of them Dream’s words were said for.

He reaches out for Dream’s hands and lightly threads their fingers together. “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

“I know,” Dream says simply; whatever had been hidden in his eyes vanishes, as suddenly as if it was never there. “Come with me.”

They skate to the edge of the ice together, and Dream points to a small group of Grisha children, no older than seven at most, playing in the snow near the banks of the lake. “You see that girl with the auburn hair? Her name’s Anastasia. She thinks you’re the coolest Grisha in the whole palace.”

Illumina blinks, something startled and warm blooming in his chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dream says, smiling. “She’s an orphan. She came here last year. I’ve talked to her, and she thinks your powers are super awesome. Most of the kids aren’t scared of you, Illumina. They think you’re cool.”

“Oh.” Illumina cups his hands together, summoning a small pool of inky shadow. He looks down at it, at the lightly twisting tendrils and wisps- like clouds stained black with paint. Maybe it’s not something monstrous, something to be afraid of. Maybe he’s not monstrous; maybe he’s just a Summoner like all the rest. And can’t darkness just be just as beautiful as light? As wind, as water, as fire?

“Here.” Dream waves his arms, gathering clouds above. One sweep of his arms, and it begins to snow- little white sparkles raining from the sky. The little Grisha kids immediately squeal in joy and abandon their snow angels to run around, trying to catch the snowflakes on their tongues.

“Now you,” Dream says, turning to Illumina. “Go on.”

Taking a deep breath, Illumina tentatively lets a tendril of shadow unfurl and shoots it into the sky. He watches as the little auburn girl- Anastasia- turns to look at it, her eyes wide with awe. 

She whirls around to face him, beaming. He smiles back and takes a mental photo of her grin, storing it in the back of his mind where it will be safe forever. 

“See?” Dream’s smile is softer, smaller, but no less genuine. “You have an admirer.”

Illumina laughs, feeling lighter than he has all morning. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

His friend threads their fingers together again and squeezes, leaning in to whisper, “We’re all somebody’s savior as well. Somebody’s hero. Remember that.”

The snowflakes continue to fall- little diamonds raining from the clouds. Illumina squeezes Dream’s hand back, and together they set off again, gliding over the ice like dragons soaring through the sky.

---

5. Punz (+ everyone)

“All hands! Do we have everything?”

Punz tosses a coil of rope over his shoulder and glances up at the majestic ship, sails lifted and ready to launch at Phil’s command. The king had been working on a brand new fleet of flying ships ever since the last one was destroyed in the war, and this one is sleek and shiny, armed with new technology. It's perfect for making an entrance, perfect for showing the world that Ravka is still going strong.

Summons for a meeting between all the world’s leaders, to be held in Ketterdam, had been sent to the Grand Palace a few weeks ago. Phil had put together a delegation consisting of himself, his two generals, and a mix of both Grisha (that Dream had chosen) and trusted, non-Grisha advisors. Punz, of course, had made the list instantly- he is Dream’s right-hand man. He’s not terribly excited at the prospect of spending two days straight sailing to get to Ketterdam, but he’s always wanted to see Kerch’s capital. At least the ship is sturdy, and he trusts the Squallers not to let them fall.

He clambers onto the ship- the Crow , Phil had named it. It’s the best ship in the fleet, although as far as Punz can tell, there’s not too much different between the Crow and the others- but Phil has always had an inexplicable fondness for crows. Punz supposes he can’t judge- Dream has just as much of a love for snakes.

Speaking of Dream- Punz joins his friend at the mast, where Dream is fiddling with one of the ropes connected to the sail. “We good to go?”

Dream hums. “I think so, yeah. We’re just waiting on Phil.”

With perfect timing, Phil appears. “I think we’re all good,” he says, striding up to the cockpit that’s nestled between the two masts of the Crow . He gives the ship a quick glance over, then nods at Dream. “Set sail.”

Dream raises his hands, slamming a powerful gust of wind into the sails. Usually, flying ships like these would have two Squallers each, one for each sail, but Dream is strong enough to control both at once. They still have a backup Squaller- George- but Punz doubts that George will need to step in.

Using the wheel and the complicated system of levers, Phil eases the Crow out of the hangar and into the air. Once free, the ship quickly gains height and rises like a balloon, easily going high enough to clear the tops of the Little Palace. 

“To Ketterdam we go, then,” Techno says, taking his position at the bow and training a spyglass out over the terrain. “Phil, you’d better not steer us the wrong way.”

“It’s fine, Techno,” Phil says, rolling his eyes. “I know where we’re going, but if I need help then Niki has a map. You should be more worried about Dream back there.”

“I still don’t feel like you should be controlling both sails at once,” Illumina says, fidgeting with his kefta . “George can help.”

“I don’t want to help,” George replies from where he’s leaning against a pile of crates. “Dream can handle it.”

Dream hums in agreement. One of his hands is held up with the palm facing the sails, pushing the wind forward; the other is making circular motions to bring in more air. The sunlight catches on his snake scale fetters, making them glint like diamonds.  “I’ll be fine,” he says confidently. 

Punz is a little worried, too, but he knows that Dream is powerful, maybe the most powerful Squaller in history. If anyone can handle filling two sails solo, then it’s Dream.

He walks over to the railing and gazes over the side, watching as the ragged steppe of East Ravka rolls by below. The ship has reached its height now, and the ground is easily a couple thousand feet away. Punz had never considered himself scared of heights, but seeing how far up they are makes his stomach roil uneasily. He tries to breathe through it and focus on the stark beauty of the landscape, the sun on his back, the gentle breeze rippling through his hair.

Remember what you’re here for . He’s here because Dream asked him to. So did Phil, really, but Punz’s loyalty will always be to Dream first. Dream was the one who saved him from drüskelle on his first ever mission, the one who shielded him from debris during the attack on the Little Palace when he was wounded and trapped. Phil has done good for this country, and Punz has respect for the king, but Dream will always come first for him. He owes the man his life, after all.

The hours tick by steadily. Punz continues to lean against the railing, watching the clouds instead of the ground to avoid getting sick. The others on the deck- mostly Grisha; all of Phil’s advisors had gone below decks- are relaxing, some reading books and others just talking. Techno has a chess board set up and is playing with Illumina; Niki is braiding Hannah’s hair. At the masts, Dream is still feeding wind into the sails, his arms never faltering, his skin already glowing from using his power.

As the sun begins to dip low in the sky- probably around eight hours since they’d left, then- Phil clears his throat. “Okay, slight change of plans. The barometer is detecting a storm brewing up ahead, so we’re going to skim closer to the Sikurzoi mountains to avoid it.”

Punz frowns. Being caught in a storm would be bad, but he doesn’t see how getting close to Shu Han is any better. The war between it and Ravka had ended with Fjerda’s defeat at the final battle, but relations are still far from friendly. 

“Is that safe?” Sapnap asks, voicing Punz’s thoughts. “The Shu control those mountains, and I don’t feel like they would take kindly to us hanging around there.”

“Well, it’s that or the storm.” Phil chews on his lip. “We just need to stay high and keep as much distance as possible. They can’t do anything unless we actively try to cross the mountains.”

“Let’s hope,” Techno mutters, fingering his pistol. “We should still be ready. I don’t have much faith in the friendliness of the Shu.”

“We could try to send a message?” Illumina suggests half-heartedly. “Tell them that we’re going to have to get close?”

“And how do you suggest we send that message- by one of the pigeons I conveniently have stocked belowdecks?”

As the others argue, Punz slips over to where Dream is. “Hey. You okay?”

Dream gives a short nod. “Fine. You?”

“I don’t think going near the mountains is a good idea,” Punz admits. “The Shu have never been friendly, especially when it comes to their territory. I don’t see why they’d start now.”

“It’s dangerous, but being in a storm is even more dangerous.”

“Not if we have you.”

Dream laughs. “I can’t control a whole storm, Punz. I’m good, but not that good.”

“You’re literally the Storm Wizard, though,” Punz points out. “I’m sure controlling a storm is within your talents.”

“Maybe,” Dream concedes. “But I don’t want to risk it. I’m going to be tired after keeping this ship going for so long. If there is a storm coming, then avoiding it is the safest option.”

“Do you want me to take over?” George asks, finally getting up. “I can.”

“Dream, let George help,” Phil calls over his shoulder as he spins the wheel. “We might need you for other stuff if things get hairy.”

“Fine. George, you take the other sail.” Dream moves aside, and George steps up to the left sail, bracing his hands to push air into it. His and Dream’s twin blue Squaller keftas ripple in the wind as they keep the sails full, propelling the ship onwards.

Punz runs a hand over the cuff of his own red kefta as he stares out at the mountains, looming in the distance. He supposes that going that way is probably safer than heading right into a storm, but the idea still makes him uneasy. The Shu have never been friendly with Ravka; if their ship is spotted, Punz doubts that they’ll get away scot-free. If he’s honest, he would prefer going for the storm. 

As they sail closer to the Sikurzoi range, Punz hears Techno suck in a breath. “Phil, we gotta turn back. I see one of their military camps. They might shoot us down.”

“Are you sure it’s too late to send that message?” Illumina asks.

The others begin to murmur anxiously, but Phil remains calm. He orders Niki to warn the people below decks and the rest of the Grisha to prepare. “We’re going to try to avoid detection if we can, but if things go wrong, be ready to fight. Dream, George- take us higher up.”

Punz grips the railing tightly as Dream and George channel more air into the sails, lifting the ship. For the first time, an inkling of doubt about the ship’s capabilities seeps through his confidence. Phil had said that the Crow is his best and strongest ship yet- but how high of altitudes can it handle before something breaks? How high of altitudes can they handle before the air gets too thin and they all suffocate?

“Phil,” Dream calls after a few minutes. There’s a twinge of nervousness in his tone, and Punz feels the doubt trickle deeper. If even Dream is nervous…

“Yeah, mate?” Phil replies, his voice tight.

“I don’t know how much higher we can go. Air’s getting thin.”

“Okay. Stop here, then, and just take us forward. Can you go faster?”

Dream and George glance at each other. “Yeah,” George says. “How fast?”

“As fast as you can while still having enough energy to get us at least past this stretch of the mountains.”

The roar of wind becomes almost deafening as Dream and George shove their arms forward, hitting the sails with a blast of air. The ship rockets forward, cutting through the sky like a large, sleek falcon. Punz braces himself against the railing and scans at the mountains that are rapidly approaching, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach. He can see the camp Techno was talking about now- a small cluster of buildings and lights nestled in one of the crags. His insides clench with nerves. Somehow, he gets the feeling that this isn’t going to go as smoothly as any of them want.

As they get closer, Phil turns the wheel, angling the ship away so that it’s flying parallel to the mountains. The Shu military base is approaching now, close enough that Punz can see the little dots that are soldiers moving around. He doesn’t believe in the Saints, but still he finds himself praying. Please don’t look up. Don’t spot us . The last thing he wants right now is for the Shu to shoot their ship down and send them all plummeting to their deaths.

Almost as if the universe had heard his prayers and decided to be cruel, the next thing Punz hears is Techno yelling, “Phil! Turn!”

Phil curses, spinning the wheel so fast that the ship almost does a complete 360. Punz ducks as an artillery shell soars over the ship. It misses the tops of the masts by a good several dozen feet, but the whoosh still sends Punz’s heart into overdrive. Just their luck- the Shu had spotted them.

He can feel the heartbeats of the others quickening in sync with his own, can hear every ragged breath as he taps into his power. He might need it, if things get worse. There’s no time for fear now. If the Shu keep firing, then Punz might have a battle on his hands soon.

“Guys, I need you to go faster,” Phil yells at Dream and George. “Go as fast as you can. We don’t want to retaliate if we can avoid it, but someone get on the cannons just in case we need to fire some warning shots back.”

Punz rushes to one of the cannons. He grabs the ammo, starting to load the cannon.

And then the second shell crashes through one of the sails.

It pierces clean through, falling to the ground off the starboard side and leaving a gaping hole in the fabric of the sail. With only the other one still intact, the ship immediately jolts, careening to the right as its balance is thrown off. Punz staggers, hand flying out to try and steady himself on the railing- but he misjudges the distance. His hand misses the railing, and he screams as he topples over the side.

A millisecond later he’s falling, the wind rushing past him and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His mind is muddled with panic and fear; he twists in the air, limbs flailing, reaching for something to grab ahold of, but there’s nothing. Only the wind, laughing at him as he plummets to a certain death. 

This is it , he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut as he falls. I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die I’m going to die-

Suddenly, something slams into him. His eyes fly open as arms wrap around his waist, holding him tight. He screams, more out of shock than anything, and instinctively flails in the person’s grip. But then a glint of familiar gold catches his eye, and he realizes who it is.

“Dream?” he yelps.

Dream twists in the air, putting himself underneath Punz, and flings an arm out. Punz gasps as they slam into a thick cushion of air, mere feet above the ground. Jolts of pain shoot up his body at the impact, jarring his very bones, but he feels dizzy with relief as the cushion lets up and drops them gently to the ground- the sweet, solid ground.

“Ow,” he groans, clutching his aching ribs as he rolls over. His whole body hurts- but he’s alive. He’s alive. He’d fallen off of the Crow and plummeted thousands of feet, and he’s only alive because Dream had jumped after him. Dream had caught him and saved them both with his Squaller powers. If it weren’t for Dream, Punz would be dead right now- just like he would’ve been dead if not for Dream rescuing him from drüskelle , or Dream shielding him from debris when the roof of the Little Palace was caving in.

He tries to sit up- only for Dream to suddenly shove him aside again. Punz grunts as he hits the ground, his ribs screaming in protest, and looks up to see two things: the Crow spiraling down towards the ground, shadow falling over him- and Dream, standing with his arms raised above his head like some statue of a Saint.

The Crow ’s descent slows as it’s caught by air. Dream’s arms shake, his amplifiers glittering, as he buffers the ship with wind, slowly lowering it to the ground.

The hull hits the earth with a hollow thud , but Punz doesn’t pause to hear the gasps of relief. He scrambles to Dream’s side as the Squaller collapses, completely exhausted from the strain of catching a person and a ship. Dream’s blue kefta billows out beneath him, his hair spreading out around his head like a halo, and for a moment he bears a terrifying resemblance to the paintings of martyred Saints.

But when Punz places a hand over Dream’s chest, he can feel the blonde’s heartbeat, still going strong. He exhales shakily, relief coursing through him, and squeezes his eyes shut. Dream’s okay. Unconscious, but okay.

“You’d better not die on me now, you big idiot,” Punz whispers as he carefully speeds up Dream’s heartbeat. “Come on. Wake up so I can punch you for being an idiot.”

Dream stirs slightly, his fingers twitching. “‘Unz?” he slurs.

“Yes, you stupid idiot,” Punz says, half-laughing in relief. “Are you okay?”

Dream weakly swats Punz’s hand away. “Stop that.”

“Sorry. I had to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Dream says, struggling to his feet. Punz gets up with him, offering an arm for support- which, surprisingly, Dream takes. 

The Crow is parked a couple yards away, its sails torn and its deck a mess, but everyone on board seems alive and okay. A few people are sporting mild injuries, but Niki and the other Healers are already bustling around, taking care of everyone.

George and Sapnap come running over. “Dream! Are you okay?” they yell at the same time.

“I’m fine,” Dream says dismissively. Punz can tell that he’s clearly not fine- his skin is slick with sweat, and his shoulders are sagging from exhaustion- but Punz lets it slide for now. 

“Can I get a Healer?” he asks. “I think I cracked my ribs.”

George goes to fetch a Healer; Sapnap helps Dream sit down and presses a flask of water into his hands. Dream casts aside his mask to drink, then leans against Sapnap, his eyes fluttering closed in a rare show of exhaustion.

“I guess we might as well set up camp for the night here,” Phil says, sliding down from the Crow . “If we can get all hands on deck to help set up, that’d be great. Except for you, Dream- you stay there and rest.”

“I can help,” Dream protests, but he makes no move to get up.

Punz sits down next to his friend. “Just rest, idiot. You’ve done enough. You saved my ass.”

“Like always.” A small, teasing smile flutters over Dream’s face. “What is this, the third time?”

“Yeah. Now I owe you three lives.”

“Hmm,” Dream says. “I’ll settle for some food.”

“I’ll get you some in a moment. Drink more water first.” Punz presses the flask into Dream’s hands. “You gotta hydrate after that.”

Techno comes over with some jerky, an apple, and Niki. “Here ya go, nerd. For savin’ all of us.”

“Yeah, whatever. You can pay me back by admitting that I’m not a ‘green teletubby’,” Dream replies as Niki crouches down and begins to work on Punz’s ribs.

“Never,” Techno says, smirking. “You know, that Heartrender guy told me about his new nickname for you. Green screen, wasn’t it?”

“Oh my god,” Dream groans. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Okay, but eat first,” Punz says, opening the bag of jerky and flashing Niki a grateful smile as she finishes with his ribs and turns to leave. “You need to get your energy back. You look dead on your feet, dude.”

“That’s what I get for saving your sorry ass,” Dream mumbles. He looks at Punz, his eyes soft in a way that they rarely are. “You’re welcome.”

Punz feels warmth tingle in his stomach. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I owe you. I really do.”

“No,” Dream says, shaking his head. “You don’t.”

“You saved my life. Three times, actually.”

“Because you’re my friend. Just don’t do it again, yeah?”

Punz laughs softly. “Yeah, okay.”

He sits there with Dream as the sun starts to set, relishing in the simple comfort of his friend’s presence and the cool wind on his face, reminding him that he’s alive.

---

+1. Dream

Dream used to believe in the Saints, when he was younger. There was a statue of Sankta Lizabeta in the town square of his village, and he would use to stare at it whenever he passed by with his mother. He knew her story by heart- how she saved her village from raiders with a miracle, but when she couldn’t repeat it in other villages, the people killed her. It was said that her blood stained the field of white roses red.

When he was seven and Fjerdan witchhunters raided his village, looking for Grisha, he’d prayed to the Saints to help him. He’d begged them to help his family, to save his parents and his sister. But the Saints had done nothing. The drüskelle had dragged his parents away; they’d thrown a knife into his younger sister’s head- and the Saints had done nothing.

He stopped believing in them after that.

He’d managed to escape capture by hiding in a tree- and so, orphaned and alone, he’d left his ransacked village behind and walked all the way to Os Alta. The Grisha at the Little Palace had found him and taken him in to be trained. He was the runt of the class, at first- a small, scrawny kid with underdeveloped powers. But he’d worked harder than anyone else, driven by the knowledge that if he got good enough, he would be allowed to go on missions when he was older- and then he could go find his parents, find them and save them like the Saints didn’t.

When he was eleven, he learned that his parents were dead- burned at the stake like all the Grisha captured by drüskelle . His whole family was dead. There was no one left for him.

Still, he trained hard. From then on out, it was a burning desire to help that drove him- a desire to save Grisha from the fate of his parents, a desire to help people like the Saints were supposed to help him. If the Saints wouldn’t save Ravka’s persecuted Grisha, then he would. He would make sure that no Grisha children would have to lose their parents to the drüskelle like he did. He would help them.

By age thirteen, he was the strongest Squaller in his class. By age fifteen, he’d acquired his snake scale fetters to amplify his power. When he was twenty and Phil, the new king, appointed him head of the Grisha after Schlatt was expelled, he’d already earned himself the nickname that people still whisper- Storm Wizard .

There’s more, of course. Lightning devil from the Fjerdans. Son of the Storm . General Waztayken , is what some still know him as. But then there are people who take a different approach, people who are still believers like he was when he was younger. Sankt Dream , they whisper when they see him. Sankt Dream of the Lightning.

He doesn’t feel like a Saint, though. He never does. Most days, he looks into mirrors and sees not a hero but a monster, a monster with bloodstained hands and countless taken lives.

They call him a monster- not just the Fjerdans but even Ravkans. They glare at him whenever he passes by, or their cower. Monster , is what always falls from their lips. Devil. Storm Wizard . In those moments, it’s not a glorious title like Commander or General or King- it’s a curse, an insult. But it’s not like he hadn’t earned it. It’s as much of his name as Dream is, now. And some days he’s proud- proud to be the most powerful Squaller in history, proud to be the head of the Grisha, their beloved Storm Wizard. But other days, he wants nothing more than to fling his amplifiers into the lake and set his kefta on fire.

Those other days have been increasingly frequent since the war ended. Brum’s words at the negotiations had cut deeper than Dream would like to admit. He’d known he was a monster, but hearing it aloud- hearing someone say that they hoped he got what he deserved-

It hurts sometimes, still. The names. The harsh words. It hurts, even if he knows that he does deserve it all. He’s killed a lot of people, wounded countless more. He probably deserves to die whatever horrible death Brum and the Fjerdans want for him. Maybe he deserves to die more than once- maybe he deserves to die one time for every life he’s taken.

It makes him wonder sometimes. Snakes don’t just bite- but what if one does? What if one is driven to the point where it bites out of pure spite, even if all its eggs are gone? Is that snake evil then? A monster? Or is it still the person’s fault for tormenting it to that point?

He doesn’t know. But he doesn’t think he’s ever been protecting his eggs. They were smashed when his family was killed. Now he’s just trying to save what there is left to save- other Grisha, the ones who still have a chance. And maybe he is biting out of spite. Maybe he’s the snake that’s been beaten and kicked to the point of lashing out. But does that make him a monster? Or is it the simple act of killing that makes him a monster, no matter if he was provoked or not?

On nights where the darkness of his mind threatens to swallow him whole, the only thing that keeps him sane is the knowledge that he was provoked. He doesn't enjoy killing- he hates the feeling of blood on his hands and his kefta, hates the guilt he always feels, even if it would've been him dead if he had done nothing. But he has to kill to protect the Grisha. He has to kill to protect himself. All the times he's taken a life were because they were going to kill him or his friends if he didn't do something. But maybe he kills a little out of spite, too- because they killed his family. They would’ve killed him. They left him orphaned and alone with no one to run home to. 

Deep down, he’s hurting, still. Hurting from the loss. And maybe that’s why he bites. Maybe he’s just a snake clinging onto the fragments of its shattered eggs, a snake that’s beaten and broken and ready to lash out at anyone. Does that make him a monster?

Or maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s the simple fact that he’s killed so much that makes him a monster.

Sometimes, he has nightmares. Nightmares of his parents being ripped away from him and his sister being murdered while he cowers, unable to help. Nightmares where there’s blood staining his hands and bodies littering the ground around him, and the storm overhead crackles, lightning flashing down around him. It calls to him, even in his dreams. But he can do nothing but stare in horror at the bodies until finally he wakes up, sweating and shivering.

Once, when he was eighteen, on his first ever mission while his power still wasn’t at its strongest, he’d been caught by surprise and captured by a drüskelle. They’d thrown him on a ship, starved him for days, even spat on him. He’d only managed to escape when the ship had docked in Fjerda. That was the day he’d made his first kills- using his power to knock them over and then stabbing them with their own knives. With his hands stained crimson, he’d staggered all the way over the border and stolen a horse to ride back to Os Alta. He’d stumbled into the Little Palace and made it all the way to his room before throwing up.

They’d smashed his eggs; they’d destroyed his nest; they’d kicked and beaten him. Is it his fault that he bites? Or is it theirs?

Is he a monster?

Does it even matter if every day he feels like one, if he looks into the mirror and sees one looking back at him?

He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to think about it. He just wants to pass out forever, wants to curl up and never venture out into Os Alta again, where the people hiss at him and call him names.

(He wants to be loved- loved the way he was with his parents and his sister, before they were taken away from him. He has his friends, but… do they really love him? Or is he a monster to them too?)

“Oi, Big D.” Dream blinks back to reality as Tommy’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “You’re zoning out again.”

Dream winces. “Sorry, Tommy. I’m kind of tired today.” It’s not a lie- he is exhausted- but it’s not the main reason he’s zoning out. He has to focus, though, for Tommy. He’d promised Tommy they would train together today, and right now he’s being a horrible mentor.

He shakes out his cuffs and steps closer. “All right. Again. Throw me.”

“In the lake again?” Tommy asks, already getting into position.

“No, I don’t want to get wet. Just throw me up, as far as you can. I’ll catch myself.”

Tommy’s expression tightens with concern. “Big D, are you sure? I mean, I’m not doubting your power or anything, but are you really sure that’s safe?”

“I’ll catch myself,” Dream promises. He’s done it so many times before- there’s no reason why he won’t be able to do it now.

“Alright.” Tommy draws his hands back, eyebrows crunching together in focus. Then he lunges forward, pushing his arms out and up.

Dream feels the wind slam into him, tossing him up into the air like a ragdoll. He soars well over the tops of the Summoner pavilions, nearly going high enough that if he were closer to the forest, he could reach out and touch the top branches of the trees. As gravity starts to pull him back down again, he twists around and holds out an arm, summoning the air to form a cushion for him.

But his mind is sluggish still, his energy low, and the air comes a little too slowly. He slams into a half-formed blanket and crashes right through, hitting the ground with a crunch . Sharp pain shoots up his ribs, like a knife stabbing him right in his chest, and he gasps.

“Big D!” he hears Tommy shriek, and a moment later there’s a panicking teenager practically on top of him. “Ohmygod, Big D, are you okay?? You said you would catch yourself!”

“I’m fine,” Dream forces out through gritted teeth. He rolls over, clutching his ribs with one arm, and tries to push himself up using the other, but the pain crackles through his bones like lightning and he collapses again. “Sh*t.” Just his luck- broken ribs.

“You idiot , you stupid f*cking moron,” Tommy groans, but the worry in his voice is barely concealed. “I hate you so much, Big D. Stay here- I’m gonna go get a Healer.”

“No,” Dream snaps. His ribs hurt like hell, but his ego is honestly more bruised- because what kind of head Grisha and powerful Squaller fails to catch themselves in the air? “I’m fine. I can handle it myself.” 

“I don’t think you can, Big D.” Tommy worries at his lip. “I can get Niki. What do you have against Niki?”

“I don’t have anything against Niki, but she’s busy. I told you, Tommy, I can handle it myself.”

Tommy crosses his arms stubbornly. “At least let me help you back to your room. Punz’ll have my head if he finds out I threw you twenty feet into the air and then left you there.”

“Fine.” Dream swallows back his pride and allows Tommy to pull him to his feet. Clutching his ribs with one arm and leaning against Tommy for support, he and the teenager slowly trek back into the Little Palace.

They make it back to Dream’s room without anyone else seeing them, thank all the Saints. Dream collapses on his bed, still clutching his screaming ribs, and watches in exasperation as Tommy paces back and forth.

“How about Tina?”

“No, Tommy. She literally had to patch someone up this morning.”

“Bad?”

“No. He’d make me sit still for a week.”

“One of the regular surgeons?”

“Most of them are scared of me.”

Tommy pauses and frowns. “Well that’s stupid. Why would they be scared of you?”

Dream feels that familiar pang rise in his chest again. Because I’m a monster. Because I could kill them as easily as breathing. But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he merely shrugs.

“Stupid,” Tommy mutters, starting to pace again. “Who will you let me get, Big D? Because you need to get your ribs checked out and if you don’t agree to anyone I’m gonna get all the Healers in here and sit on you until you let them heal you.”

“I’d push you off,” Dream points out, rolling his eyes. He considers saying “no one” just to piss Tommy off, but his ribs have begun to hurt more , somehow, and, well. Even his pain tolerance can’t go that high.

“You can get Punz,” he says after a moment. 

Tommy frowns again. “Punz is a Heartrender.”

“He has Healer training too. I trust him.” Punz has seen Dream at his worst, was there when Dream broke down sobbing after a flashback. A few broken ribs aren’t anything new.

Tommy leaves and comes back with Punz, who orders him out for privacy. Punz then crosses the room and sits down on the edge of the bed. “So. Training, huh?”

“Shut up, Punz.” Dream curls his legs up, wincing as his ribs begin to throb, every pulse like a small knife stabbing into his chest. He removes his mask and tosses it aside- no need to wear it around Punz. “Just heal me already.”

Punz hums, reaching over to loosen Dream’s kefta . His hand presses gently down on Dream’s chest, warm and reassuring. He closes his eyes, brows creasing with focus, and Dream shudders as he feels his ribs start to mend themselves. It’s still a strange feeling, but he welcomes it- welcomes the warmth that floods through him as Punz begins to increase his blood flow a little as well.

“You should be more careful,” Punz murmurs as he works. “You barely got any sleep last night. I’m surprised you only broke your ribs.”

“I’ve gotten less,” Dream replies. “It wasn’t really the sleep deprivation.”

“What was it, then?”

The fact that I’m a monster. Or the fact that I don’t know if I’m a monster. I don’t even know anymore.

“I’m just tired,” he whispers, wiggling a little so that he doesn’t have to face Punz. “Thinking about stuff.”

“Like what?”

Dream squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back the tears that suddenly press against his eyelids. He’s just- so tired. He’s tired, and he wants everything to stop. He wants to get rid of all his thoughts forever and just sink into a soft, fluffy mental cloud where everything is warm and safe and peaceful. But he’s already stuck in the quicksand, and now he’s spiraling deeper into the depths.

(He misses his parents. It’s been years, but he still misses them. Maybe he wouldn’t be a monster if they’d lived. Maybe he would’ve grown up safe and happy, become a regular Squaller- but one that isn’t called a devil, or a Saint. Just Dream.

Or maybe he still would’ve become a monster. Maybe he would still be the snake that’s been kicked and taunted and poked at. Maybe one way or another, his eggs would’ve been smashed, and he would become the monster. The snake that bites. Does it really even matter, if he can’t fall into an alternate universe? If he can’t turn back time and change everything?)

Monster . Faces flash through his mind- his mom, his dad, his sister. What would they think about what he’s become? A monster, a horrible creature of lightning and darkness. A bruised and beaten snake, curled around the shards of its eggs, ready to lash out at any moment. A monster.

Brum’s words from the peace negotiations surface again, unwanted and horribly loud. One day you’ll get what you deserve, stormviveiser. One day you’ll realize that you’re as much of a monster as your Grisha accuse us of being. And you’ll regret everything that you’ve done. Does he regret it? Maybe- but then, he kills because he has to. Because they would’ve killed him first. Because they were the ones dragging him to the pyre to be burned; they were the ones who murdered his family; they were the ones who kicked the snake.

But isn’t he a monster still? Isn’t he still just as bad as the drüskelle ? Isn’t a snake who bites still a snake who bites, no matter how badly it was beaten and provoked, no matter if its eggs were smashed and it has nothing left?

Maybe one day he will get what he deserves. A painful death- martyred like the Saints. It would be poetic, considering how he doesn’t believe in them anymore, yet he would become one. They already call him a Saint. He might as well die like one.

He realizes that he’s crying, silent tears trailing down his cheeks like raindrops. He brushes them away and flinches as Punz’s hand brushes against his. “Dream? You okay?”

Fine , Dream wants to say, but his mouth can’t seem to form the word. He swallows, his throat aching from trying to hold back the tears. First the broken ribs, now this. Why is he so pathetic today?

“Dream? Dream, bud, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Punz gently threads their fingers together and squeezes. 

Dream shakes his head, his chest painfully tight as the tears start to come in earnest now, still silent. His breathing is harsh and grated to his own ears, but he can barely even hear it over the thoughts echoing in his head- monster, monster, monster . Half-formed images flash by- Brum’s sneer; his sister lying dead with a knife in her chest; the first Fjerdan he ever killed collapsed on the ground, bleeding out, his blood staining Dream’s hands; the snake he had caught and skinned for his amplifiers, its fangs bared and body poised to strike. He hadn’t even been mad at it when it bit him and left scars on his leg- because really, hadn’t he started it? It was his fault, not the snake’s. It was just trying to protect himself.

Snakes don’t just bite. That much is true. But if that snake bites over and over, even after its eggs are long gone, isn’t it still a monster?

“Dream? Hey, buddy, I’m going to need you to breathe with me. In, out. In, out.” Punz’s hand slides over his chest again, and Dream sucks in a shuddering breath as he feels his heartbeat slow. A sense of relaxation, of sleepiness, washes over him, dulling the pain in his chest. He closes his eyes, breathing in sync with Punz’s words, trying to get air in his lungs.

“Better?” Punz whispers. “Shake your head for no, nod for yes.”

Dream does his best to nod with his head still on the mattress. Shame bubbles up in his gut- did he really just almost have a panic attack in front of Punz? Not that Punz hasn’t seen him at his lowest lows, but still. This is the second time that he’s broken down in front of his friend. He’s starting to feel less like the all-powerful Storm Wizard and more like a pathetic piece of scum- a pathetic monster.

“Dream, what happened?” Punz’s hand brushes against his collarbone. “What’s wrong? If it’s something I can help with-”

“Do you think I’m a monster?” The words tumble out before he can stop them. He opens his eyes and meets Punz’s gaze, trying to gauge his friend’s reaction.

Punz just frowns. “What? No. Why would I think that?”

“I dunno,” Dream mumbles, feeling his chest ache again. His throat feels raw and sore from holding back tears. “Pretty much everyone does.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Oh yeah?” Dream snaps. “Have you heard what people in Os Alta are saying about me? In Fjerda? They’re calling me a devil, Punz. A monster.” He inhales, his hands trembling. “And maybe they’re right.”

For a moment, Punz is quiet. His hand slides away, coming down to grip Dream’s again. His fingers are warm, grounding; Dream squeezes tightly and clings on like a lifeline.

“If someone’s parents are killed by hunters, and they get their revenge, does that make them a monster?” Punz finally asks.

Dream swallows. “No? Yes. I- I don’t know.”

“If someone is kidnapped, dragged onto a ship, starved, and nearly beaten and burned, and they kill to escape, does that make them a monster?”

“I-”

“If someone is trying to protect people from the horrors they experienced, and they have to kill to do so, does that make them a monster? Or if they kill in self-defense, because otherwise they would've been killed- does that make them a monster?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Dream almost screams. He buries his face into the mattress again, his chest heaving as the floodgates finally break. “I don’t know, I don’t know-”

Punz’s thumb rubs over his wrist, slowing his heartbeat again. “You say it yourself all the time, bud. Snakes don’t just bite. You can’t kick one, smash its eggs, destroy its home, kidnap it, and expect it to do nothing.”

“But-”

Someone knocks on the door. “Dream, mate?” Phil’s voice calls. “Can you spare a few seconds? I need you to look over these papers for me.”

“Uh, can it wait?” Punz calls back, before Dream can try to say anything. “Dream’s kind of-”

“ARE YOU TWO KISSING?” Tommy yells.

A laugh unexpectedly bubbles up in Dream’s chest. He feels himself smiling a little, despite the tears. Poor, clueless Tommy- so unaware of what’s going on, yet somehow he still manages to make Dream feel a little lighter with his stupid jokes.

“We’re not kissing,” Punz replies, rolling his eyes. He glances down at Dream and lowers his voice. “Do you want me to tell them to go away?”

Dream hesitates. “Who’s there?”

Punz repeats the question louder, and Phil replies, “It’s just me, Toms, Techno, and Illumina. Why?”

A part of Dream wants to tell them to go away. His pride is already wounded from the fall and from his mild panic attack- he doesn’t want more people to see him like this, see him crying like a pathetic idiot. But… they’re his friends. And, he realizes with a jolt, he does want them to be here. He wants to hear more of Tommy’s jokes and Techno’s sarcasm, see Illumina and Phil’s warm smiles. He wants to bask in their presence, wants to feel less alone.

He clears his throat and calls, “Come in.”

Tommy barges in first and yelps as he sees Dream and Punz on the bed. “EW!” the teen shouts, throwing his arms up in front of his eyes. “WHY ARE YOU NAKED, BIG D?”

“I’m not naked,” Dream says, exasperated, but he feels himself smiling nonetheless. “It’s literally just my chest.” He adjusts his kefta, covering his chest up again, and curls up farther to make space for the others.

“Dream, are you okay?” Illumina asks, his eyes wide and worried. “You’re crying.”

I’m okay . The lie sits on his tongue, ready to be spit out. But for once, he can’t seem to bring himself to say it. So he shrugs, reaching up to wipe the tears from his cheeks even as more drip steadily down.

“This idiot needs a pep talk,” Punz informs the others. “Like, right now. A big one.”

Illumina sits down on the bed and carefully threads his fingers through Dream’s. “Drizzle? What’s wrong?”

Dream closes his eyes, taking deep breaths to steady himself. “They’re calling me a monster,” he whispers, knowing that Illumina will understand. They’ve had this conversation before, after all, except back then the roles were reversed.

“You’re not,” Illumina says almost immediately, his voice firm. “We’re all someone’s monster, remember? But we’re all someone’s hero as well.”

“You stole my line,” Dream points out, another half-smile flitting across his face.

“Yeah. But it sounds like you need to hear it yourself.” Illumina squeezes his hand, gazing at him with warm brown eyes, and murmurs, “You’ve saved way more people than you’ve killed, Drizzle. You might be a monster to the Fjerdans, but that doesn’t mean you’re a monster to everyone. You’re definitely not a monster to me.”

“Monsters are never just monsters, mate,” Phil says softly. “People call you one because they’re afraid of what you can do. Because they don’t understand. But look around you. This palace wouldn’t’ve been rebuilt if not for you. All of the Grisha here- most of them are alive because of you.”

“I’m certainly alive because of you,” Punz agrees, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles on Dream’s wrist. “You saved me, remember? Three times, actually.”

“And all the Grisha children growing up here now,” Phil continues. “They have you to thank for being able to grow up safe. You worked so hard to keep Grisha safe from persecution. You helped abolish the drüskelle .”

“Yeah, and I killed a bunch of people in doing that,” Dream mutters. The war was when he'd done the most damage. Fjerda had sent so many drüskelle after him; so many soldiers had targetted him on the battlefield. He hadn't killed all of them- hadn't wanted to kill them. But what else could he do? They had gone after him, guns and knives blazing; he'd had no choice but to defend himself.

“So have I, nerd,” Techno says from where he’s leaning against the wall, watching. “Heck, I’ve killed more people than I can remember. If killin’ is what makes you a monster, then I’m as much of one as you. But that’s the price ya have to pay durin’ war. And it’s not like you killed those people for fun. You did protect yourself, to protect all of us. To help the Grisha. That’s a pretty noble cause, if you ask me.”

“Snakes don’t just bite, dude,” Punz says. “You say it yourself all the time. And it’s true. They bite to defend themselves. They bite to protect their nest and their eggs. Sometimes they bite because they’ve been provoked and kicked that much. But that doesn’t make a snake who bites a monster. Something made it bite.”

"We've all done things," Techno adds. "We all have our demons. Doesn't mean that we're monsters. Doesn't mean that we're evil. Just means that we're human."

"Will a snake not do what it must to protect itself? Protect its eggs?" Phil asks quietly. "Does that make it a monster?"

No. It doesn't, Dream thinks, swallowing back a lump in his throat.

Illumina gently brushes a lock of hair out of Dream’s face. Dream normally doesn’t love people touching him, but this time he leans into Illumina’s hand, chasing the comforting warmth.

“You’re not a monster, Drizzle,” his friend murmurs. “Maybe you’re one to the drüskelle , but not to me. Not to us. Not to all the Grisha you’ve saved.”

Everyone looks at Tommy, who crosses his arms. “What?”

Phil nudges him. “It’s your turn to give a pep talk.”

Tommy scowls. Instead of saying anything, he crosses the room, flops unceremoniously onto the bed, and throws both arms around Dream. Dream blinks, surprise and warmth blooming in his chest, as Tommy crushes him in a hug with startling strength and glares at Phil and Techno. “Well? Get the f*ck over here, you morons.”

Techno opts to just sit on the edge of the bed, never one to get too close to other people, but Phil sets his crown aside and climbs in next to Punz. “On second thought, I think I’ll get someone else to look over the papers, yeah?” the king says, winking.

“Yeah. Thanks, Phil,” Dream breathes, smiling. He closes his eyes as Tommy continues to crush him and Illumina strokes his hair and Punz rubs his wrist, replaying all of their words in his head. You’re not a monster to me. To us .

Fingers curl around his free hand- not Illumina’s; they’re far too calloused. He opens his eyes and feels a jolt of surprise when he sees that it’s Techno. His rival squeezes his hand gently, brushing over the scar on his wrist that he’d gotten from one of their sparring sessions. Techno gives him a look, a soft one, and signs a quick message with his other hand. You’re not alone .

So simple, but it makes Dream’s whole body tingle with a sudden flood of warmth. And it’s the truth, isn’t it? He’s not alone. He has his friends, his friends who don’t think he’s a monster. He has Techno, who understands what it’s like to be called such things. He has Illumina, who understands too. He has Phil with his wise words and Punz with his unwavering loyalty and Tommy with his dumb jokes and fierce hugs.

He has his friends, and they love him. Not like his parents did, but no less than his parents did, either.

Maybe he’s not a monster. He's not exactly a good person either- far from a Saint, far from pure. But maybe that doesn't make him a monster. Just someone with scars and flaws, someone who can still be loved. 

He's not hopeless. Not evil. Not a monster. More importantly, he's loved. His friends love him despite his bitterness and his scars, despite everything he's done. And- for now, at least- that's good enough for him.