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Coming to the taiga was a mistake.
Dream didn't have much choice in the matter—his hunters were so hot on his heels that he couldn't think, couldn't plan for the horizon, only run. Before he knew it, the ground had turned frozen and the breath in his lungs followed. Dream released his iron armor to his inventory as he wove through the ancient spruce. The metal was a hindrance now; without leather or enchantments, he'd risk frostbite.
The pack that had come after him this time were total amateurs. They saw Dream doff his protection and it only made them more eager to keep their own armor. One trip and fall from Dream and they could be upon him with their iron axes and forever delete him from this server. The taste of victory was too sweet for them to resist.
Too bad for them, Dream never tripped.
Meanwhile, the sharp bite of cold metal on their skin made the hunters sluggish, and after making a clever leap over a ravine that they couldn't match, Dream was lost to them.
Still, he spared them a final glance over his shoulder in spite of his better judgement.
Not a single familiar face among the pack of four.
Whatever. Fine. Dream huffed a cloud of breath (almost like a dragon, ha!). His blood was running hot from the thrill of the chase, but that could only sustain him for so long.
He had a dragon to slay, and the snow in this biome was coming in strong. Dream frowned as he knelt and sifted through it with gloved fingers. It was finely powdered. Deceptively dangerous stuff, and not what he was used to dealing with, having always favored temperate forests and warm deserts.
He needed leather. He wanted a campfire.
He trudged forward, covering his tracks as he went (he had no faith that this hunting party could catch up to him, but it was still good practice).
The pine sap air was crisp in these parts, but there was a tinge of smokiness to the smell of it. Dream passed by stumps left over from felled spruce trees, thinking. There was a village around here, nestled deep in this forest of forever-winter.
He set off towards it.
By the time Dream came across it, the powdered snow was to his ankles, and the light of the sun dimmed dangerously close to letting mobs spawn. Under the warm lantern light, the village was a quaint thing, fenced in by sweet berry bushes that brought protection and sustenance both.
Dream found an unoccupied spruce and cobble shack and claimed it. With how deadly the night reigned, many villages kept spare shelter and beds available for down-on-their-luck adventurers. Dream grinned at the furnishings in this one—jackpot. There was a whole furnace in here. And, Dream checked, coal in the fuel hatch. He threw open the lid of the double-wide chest and cheered at what he found: whole loaves of bread and cooked mutton.
Usually, Dream took the offerings leftover from previous occupants and continued his journey, regardless of whether monsters roamed the night. Mobs were hardly a threat to him, anyways, and he wasn't one to idle while the End was waiting for him.
But... He had no need to worry about hunters anymore. And he still had no leather to craft a proper pair of boots to trek through the building layers of powdered snow, nor any iron bars to craft a sturdy shovel and carve out his own path. He peeked out the window again, and yup, there was a full blown blizzard in effect now. He'd be snowed in any moment now. He had no pickaxe on hand to mine down and out of here, either.
This room was luxury compared to what he was used to sleeping in (which was often just the cleanest section of stone he could find in a walled-off cave with a torch on the wall). The server granted him a gift tonight, and Dream might as well use it.
He took the raw pork chops from his inventory and placed them to roast on the furnace, stoking the coals to run hot and warm the cabin air. Then he reorganized his inventory and put the unnecessary junk in the chest (nothing much, just some balls of clay and wheat seeds that someone else would find more useful).
Finally, he drew the curtains shut and took his mask off. He massaged where the straps had bit too hard behind his ears and sighed. The mask went into his inventory, of course.
Dream touched his face to remind himself that it was still there. He felt out the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw. He didn't see himself often, these days. New servers kept popping up left and right, each chained by tyranny as the Ender Dragon claimed the realm for herself. The person he'd been before he took on this fight was a far-off memory. Dream was the mask now. The man underneath was just a shadow of that.
It was a good night not to be "Dream"; he'd found a place to rest. He could be this shadow, waiting in the dimming light as the furnace burned out. And in the morning, he'd stoke the flames anew and don the mask again.
Then the cabin door swung open wide.
A blast of frigid air swept through the room. Dream's eyes stung at it; he wasn't used to his face being exposed to the elements like this.
A shivering man holding a cracked stone shovel and wearing leather boots stomped inside. The snow behind him was heaped as high as the door frame, and some of it spilled past the threshold. The man shook out his hair, clumped with white snow, and almost released his equipment, but then—
He locked eyes with Dream.
And Dream knew him.
George scowled and pointed the spade of the shovel at Dream, but he made no move to attack him. "What are you doing in here?"
"George?" Dream gasped, heart fluttering like it just found its wings. He looked for anything he could use as a makeshift weapon, then caught himself.
He wasn't wearing his mask. He wasn't Dream right now, and George wasn't trying to hunt him. This was some bizarre coincidence of fate, where the two fighters crossed paths without crossing swords.
This was uncharted territory.
"Mhmm. And what's your name?"
"Um..." Dream's eyes darted around the room. They settled on the haphazard assortment of items he'd dumped into the chest. "Clay!"
"Okay, Clay. I had this place claimed first, and you're already going through my food. So, shoo."
Dream looked at the avalanche of snow blocking the door. He wondered if it had reached the roof yet. "What? No, maybe you shouldn't have abandoned this place until after the sun set if you wanted it so bad!"
"That's not how houses work, Clay."
Whatever. It wasn't like Dream could remember the last time he tried to build for himself.
Dream said, "You're the one with boots and a shovel. I think I might actually die if you kick me out."
Well, Dream was a lot harder to kill than that. But that still wouldn't make the experience a pleasant one. And, he couldn't give George any more clues as to who he could be. Because... Well, Dream couldn't deny it—he'd missed having George be the one pursuing him. The new hunters like the ones from earlier this day were just no fun compared to George. But having George see his face and know Dream for what he was without the mask... The thought of it made Dream's chest ache. It couldn't be a good thing, right?
George crossed his arms and sighed. Then he dropped the shovel and walked over to spruce wood door and shut it. The warmth settled in again, after that. "Fine. We can share tonight, because I'm nice, but I'm kicking you out when the sun rises."
This was so strange. Had Dream ever exchanged so many words with George at the same time? He felt like he knew George, but only the wrong things. He knew that George was left-handed from the way he gripped a sword or axe, that George teased his opponents with their own name ("Oh, Dream..."), that George knew how to weave around hoards of monsters without taking a single hit.
"What are you doing here?" Dream asked, suddenly. What did George get up to when he wasn't chasing a bounty? (Why had George stopped coming after Dream?)
"Cooking, eating, sleeping. That's what houses are for," said George, rolling his eyes.
"Of course I know that. I mean, what are you doing here? In this whole town. Like, what's your deal?"
George put his fist to his chin in thought. Dream wasn't used to seeing George like this; calm, shoulders relaxed, face lit by the amber glow of lantern-light. He was... quite handsome. (Not that he hadn't managed to stay impossibly attractive as his face contorted to a battle cry, blood and sweat dripping down his forehead... But that was a totally different kind of good-looking.)
George said, "I'm waiting for something big to happen, I guess."
"What does that even mean?"
"It's a new server. I've never stuck around for the beginning of one before. I'm curious, that's all." Then George added, "Why does it matter to you?"
That made no sense. George had been to plenty of infant servers in his pursuit of Dream. Was George really here to hunt him after all? Did he just not realize that Dream was already here, standing in front of him with no armor and no tools?
"I was just curious," said Dream, trying to brush off the whole matter.
What could he say now... His pork chops! He rushed to the furnace and started to pull them out, cursing as the flames nipped at his now-bare fingers. "I brought some of my own food. There's enough for both of us, if you want it."
George came and knelt by Dream's side. Then he laughed, "You made charcoal!"
"They're still edible," said Dream. Taking a bite of one to prove his point. It was hard to chew and like ash his mouth, but whatever. It still recovered hunger like anything else. "See?"
"No, no. I'm making stew. I have the mushrooms and everything still in my inventory. And I'll cook enough for the both of us, because I'm so nice."
"When did you learn to make stew?"
George shrugged. "You learn a lot of things when you slow down for a bit. I can make pumpkin pie now, too. It's pretty awesome, but I don't have any wheat for it."
Dream let the failed pork chops serve as fuel for the furnace and let George take the lead. He sat cross-legged on the wood floor as he watched George. It was such a simple thing, making a stew in a fire pit, but seeing George do it could keep Dream enraptured all night.
As he worked, George asked, "So, what do you do?"
"Huh?"
"What's your deal? You asked me first, so it's my turn."
Dream bit his lip. He couldn't just lie and pretend to be a farmer or something, that would be too transparent. "I know PvP, even more parkour. I've done some contests. Y'know, in those big servers with tournaments and stuff."
That was all in the past. His life was fighting the Ender Dragon now. Over, and over, and over.
"I've done some of that too." George looked intently at his stew. It filled the cabin with an inviting, herbal smell. "But what about when you put the sword down? What else?"
"I..." Dream started, but went quiet. He was a man of the present. Each day, each hour, sometimes each moment, was its own battle for survival. He didn't think beyond making it to his next battle with the Ender Dragon. "I break into people's houses and make them cook me dinner."
George laughed, and it was a wonderful sound. "Okay, sure, Clay. Food is done now. How hungry are you?"
Dream was happy to now know that George was a good cook. He wasn't sure why it mattered so much, considering they may be on opposites sides of the next hunt the next time the sun rose, but he liked knowing this. He took two bowls of it, and George looked satisfied as they continued small, pleasant conversation.
The easy peace between them found its next test when it was finally time to sleep the night away. They stood together, measuring up the single bed pushed up against the wall. As an added insult, it only had a single pillow and a single blanket.
"I'll just take the floor," said Dream.
"What?"
"Well, you're the one who said you claimed this place first, anyways."
"Well, that technically makes you my guest. I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor, that would be rude."
Now Dream rolled his eyes. He started to lay down on the bare, hard spruce floor, ignoring George's protests. "I'm not used to sleeping on something soft, anyways. I'm more comfortable like this."
"I don't believe you," said George. He tore the blanket off the bed and settled down on the floor near Dream. Not close, but close enough to throw some of the blanket Dream's way and share.
"You're such an idiot," Dream mumbled. He took his end anyways and curled up into it, and the blanket was pulled taut between them. He was growing tired; he always crashed the hardest the night after he no longer had to worry about being hunted. His body had its own sense for when Dream was finally safe, and it took those sparing moments whenever it could. "There is no reason for you to be doing this."
"I have plenty of good reasons."
Dream shook his head at that, and let sleep take him.
Until George began to complain.
"It's so cold," he groaned, as if he wanted Dream to do something about it.
"Then go to the bed," said Dream.
"No," said George. Then he rolled over, so he and Dream could see each other eye to eye. They were closer now. "Are you going to leave when the sun rises?"
"I thought you were kicking me out."
"I don't have to."
"I'm just a stranger," said Dream.
George was quiet at that. "I want to go to the End," he whispered. "That's why I'm really here."
Dream almost bolted upright. He was wide awake now. "What?"
"I'm tired of wasting my life chasing after diamonds without seeing the world for what it can actually be. It's just been the same routine over and over again. And I figured... If there's someone fighting so hard to give people the chance to go to that place, then it has to mean something."
"You'll get a bounty on your head."
"Trust me, I know."
"And... How do you know that this is where it's going to happen?"
George smiled. It was hardly visible in the darkness of the night, but Dream could feel it. He reached across the distance between them, offering a hand. "Because you're here."
"How did you know?" Dream should be panicking. He should run, hide, cover his face. It's not meant for others to see.
But he doesn't. Because it's George.
"You never asked for my name, idiot. You just knew it, and it wasn't hard to piece together from there. All that time chasing after each other, and you thought I wouldn't recognize the sound of your voice?"
"I didn't... Is it that, uh, distinct?"
"If you listen for it, yeah. It's a good thing, Dream."
Dream felt a warmth in his chest. He took George's hand, gripping it gently. Their palms mirrored each other, both marked with callouses. Hands meant to fight, now holding each other.
George asked. "Why do you do it? Why do you fight so hard to open the End? Even with the dragon slain and the portal open... Most will never dare."
"I was born there," Dream confessed, feeling lighter than ever. It was the secret he held closer than that of his own face.
Whenever he closed his eyes, in the dark, he saw that infinite blanket of stars he grew up knowing. The endless universe, so full of love that it ached with it. Any player should have a chance at experiencing that.
"When you go tomorrow, I'm coming with you," said George. "I'll help you free the End."
Dream didn't bother with meaningless protests of how dangerous it would be. He knew George could handle it. He instead gave George's hand a squeeze.
There was an easy silence between them, and then—
"Dream?"
"Hm?"
"I want to sleep on the stupid bed now."
For the first time, the Ender Dragon fell, and Dream didn't have to do it alone.
The End erupted into life. Dream hardly paid attention, having seen it so many times before, and instead watched George, who stood awestruck. The stars were reflected in his dark eyes.
He was so beautiful in that moment.
Dream lifted his mask so it sat higher on his head, exposing his face but not caring. Then, when the light faded, Dream took George's smiling face in hand and closed the distance between them.