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The forest feels like a memory.
A gentle breeze swims through the air, blowing the bright coloured leaves around the sunny pocket. He knows the forest well, recognizing the gentle rustle of soft leaves and bird chirping as sounds within the Millennial Tree Forest.
He clocks his surroundings immediately as those of a dream. It’s clear from the hazy way the world fades in the corner of his eyes, and a light feeling in his body that signals this body is not solid, and the fact that Wind Archer is walking in front of him, lingering close.
It’s a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Wind Archer is a friend, after all!
To enter one’s dreams is a rare power. Only the moon guardian herself, giver of the sweetest of slumbers, is known to move through the dreamscape. Of course, though, such a fact is far from true.
Stardust has always dreamed, though for the longest time it was simply a warm and sour feeling that sat, sharp as crystal, in his celestial dough. It festered and bubbled until his body baked, and he fell from his ebony loneliness to his birthplace deep below.
He supposes that his ability to navigate dreams is a small remnant of the gifts the wizards had tried to create him for, though weaker due to their supposed failing. Moonlight herself had been delighted with the news of his ability, but the star shared little of her enthusiasm.
“There is no use searching through dreams when there is a real galaxy to explore.” He’d told her. “Nothing waits for me in the dreamscape.” But his curiosity does manage to win, of course. Even for a while, he’ll linger in the mind.
He never means to pry: not at all! It happens sometimes is all, when he rests. He finds himself in someone’s dreamscape, partaking in their slumber’s story until the mind rejects his presence. Leaving isn’t exactly an option, always.
He realizes his feet are not moving, planted firmly on the ground. Ah.. he’s supposed to be here, then.? It happens, now and then, where he fills in the role of someone else. He continues to walk, not wishing to disrupt the dream.
Wind Archer walks ahead, their bow still summoned in his hand, scanning the trees. Even in their slumber, the archer remains diligent to their duties. The star finds it quite endearing how endless the guardian’s devotion runs, though he finds himself worried at how the thorns come so close to the archer’s skin as they navigate through the thicket.
Stardust observes them curiously. They seem to be the only one here besides himself, so it’s not hard to reason that this is their dream. He doesn’t know how he feels, intruding into their mind like this. Wind Archer is a private person, someone distant and hard to pry.
He holds his arm, suddenly guilty. It may be best to ignore the contents here, he decides. Walk off elsewhere, let the dream play out without him.
“There is an ill spirit opposite the northern star,” they say, peeking back at Stardust with an expectant. “…Stick close to me.” They add, their ears pointing backwards.
…Stardust discards all intentions of doing otherwise.
“What is ill about it?” He dares to ask.
Wind Archer’s onward march does not cease.
“Wind Archer?”
They continue, a hunch forming in shoulders. Stardust does not press, despite how deeply his curiosity begs him to.
The forest changes as they continue forward. Deep green grass slowly starts to brown under their feet, and a howling breeze fills the silence.
Stardust watches the changes with a passive observation. He’s aware it’s not real, that this is simply a mirage of the mind, but he does admit that it’s off putting to see the world shift so darkly.
It’s only once faces beging twist into the dark wood of the trees, illuminated by red, that the archer grabs his hand and sprints. The star has hardly a moment to shout as they barrel deeper and deeper into the dark.
Poison bubbles up from the ground, a sickly purple substance heating the earth like a rising hell. The air reeks of a rotting smell, compressing them both through the sounds of screaming and silence and an immensely hateful pressure.
Blood seeps out of the archer as they scrape against the dead and dying trees, gasping for breath as the twisting wilds begin to blur into bright light. They don’t seem to know where they’re going, running blindly ahead, holding Stardust’s wrist in a death grip, as though letting go would be akin to losing a limb.
When they break into a clearing, the change of light is so sudden that Stardust has to squint to adjust. He only has a moment to comprehend the bright trees and colourful blooms until Wind Archer falls forward, dragging the both of them onto the ground.
Stardust yelps as he hits the dirt, laying on his stomach a foot or so away from Wind Archer. Their hands have separated, a dull ache replacing the spot the archer had held.
The star rises to sit on his knees. “Wind Archer?! Are you alright?” He asks, hovering over the bundle of green and feathers next to him. He refrains from touching them. This is merely a dream, sure, but something about handling them without permission creates a burning itch in Stardust’s skin.
He’s met with no answer, only a worried feeling, until the guardian slowly rolls over onto his back, towards the star. Their breath is labored and shaky, inhaling sharply with a wince. Wind stares up at him, a glazed expression on their face.
“Stardust..?” They ask, not quite believing their vision. They still appear dazed, blinking slowly at him. ‘Had they not noticed who they were holding?’ Stardust ponders.
“Wind Archer.” He replies as calmly as he can, taking the opportunity to gaze over their injuries. It’s pointless, they aren’t really hurt, but seeing his friend torn up still causes his stomach to clench.
The archer makes a noise: something between passive acknowledgment and confusion. “…Hello.” They say, casual as they can, but for once they’re smiling. “What time is this… I think it’s…” They lift their hands, dropping their fingers in an order that makes no sense.
“…” They drop their hands in defeat. “Are you real?” They ask instead, and Stardust swears it sounds almost practiced.
That catches him off guard. He falters for a moment, blanking on how to answer that, yes, he is real, but he’s technically not, and Wind Archer… giggles. Their body curls in on itself, the gem in their forehead digging into his knee as they hold their stomach lightly. The sound is melodic, if not for the exhaustion that seems to seep from it.
“Of course not…” They huff defeatedly, and Stardust says nothing. He’s never seen Wind Archer this affectionate to any degree. When they pet animals, it’s a gentle graze, and when they correct their student’s form, it’s a scholarly hold.
This feels different. This feels like longing, the way their nose presses into the front of their lower leg, gentle and cautious. Stardust isn’t sure what to do, really. This is new, fake as it is. He fears his actions, even if they’re in a body he does not really exist in, must be so heavy.
Wind Archer’s hand’s lifts, suddenly yet slowly, and hooks itself into Stardust’s. He feels heat start to simmer in his chest at the movement. “Another doll..” They say, but they aren’t speaking to him. They bring his hand up to their lips, mummering into his glittering skin.
They plant a kiss on his hand, and Stardust is suddenly all too aware of the world around him.
The warm glow of the golden hour. Grass as soft as a blanket, littered with mindful bugs and flora of all sorts surrounding them in a pocket of forest, like a small sanctuary. Running water coming from a nearby stream. Sounds of the incoming night, but nothing with danger. Birds singing themselves to sleep, the rustling of a delicate and calm wind, the closeness of a body they know.
This is their paradise, isn’t it? Somewhere safe, somewhere vulnerable. Stardust should not be here; it’s too intimate. It’s selfish to intrude like this for curiosity’s sake and nothing else. He eyes bear down at the guardian nestling against him, and feels sick.
They look peaceful.
Their face has turned upwards now, their cheek squished in by the knee pushing on their face. They breath softly with slightly parted lips, their chest rising and falling smoothly now, as if they were never hurt. Green strands of hair drape over their neck, and their body looks rather feeble now that they aren’t tense, with their small wings tucked comfortably against their sides.
Without thinking, Stardust’s hand rests on their forehead. The gem imbedded in it their skull is sharp, but not enough to cute. It shines with the falling dusk light. It’s a fascinating artifact, this jewel that has existed for hundreds of years and yet has sustained not a single dent. Wind Archer sounds content below their touch.
“…I love you.” They mumble. It’s abnormally upfront for the guardian, who is so often standoffish and stiff lipped. But they are not looking at him. They look into your hand, still curled around their own. Stardust’s throat closes up.
“…”
“…Won’t you say something?” They ask, plead, and their voice is so fragile you start to wonder if this is not their dream, but yours.
“Wind Archer,” he starts, but ceases, because what is there to say?
The dreamer seems to catch on. Or rather, they seem to expect it.
“It’s fine.” They breathe aloud. Contented, but not enough to discourage worry. “Just stay fully, this time.”
Stardust obliges.
When he wakes, he can hardly think. The only thing he can see is the false memory of an archer, delicate hands and quiet voice.
”i love you.” They’d said so truly. So tiredly. Practiced. Painfully, like if they blinked he would have disappeared.
…Stardust’s head hurts.