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Summary
Dream first learned how to hide his wings before he learned how much dying hurt. Like all young phoenixes, he burned bright and hot, devouring several of his lives before he learned control. He lasted longer after that, but he still felt like a wildfire spreading across a field of dry grass. He knew the myths and the stories. He knew the colors of his feathers, of the ones he had seen. They were always fire-orange, maybe red, maybe even yellow.
The first time he saw someone like him, but with colors that extended even past that, it was long before L’Manburg first waved its flag. His server, the home he knew with his friends that he built with his own hands, brought in people of all kinds. He had traveled far, just to see how far the world extended, when he found a simple house in the woods. From it, a path had been carved into the dirt. It looked almost natural, but with a touch that was just off. Like the world, but just to the left. Dream followed the path over a hill, then saw at the bottom, a man with wings.
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