Chapter Text
And then the Portal explodes.
Danny is flying; where, he doesn't know. But all around him is searing blue-green light that he can't shut out because his eyes are welded open, and his skin is boiling, and his innards are seizing, and he's screaming, and this supposedly-nonoperational hole in the wall is sending him somewhere, beyond the walls of the lab, beyond sense, beyond reality.
The atmosphere changes. Though the light is still blinding, he can make out a vast nothingness beyond it, stretching on without end, which has been sandwiched between two great somethings. He isn't sure how else to describe it, but it's like he's hurtling over a valley of nonexistence, and behind him is one reality and ahead is another.
That's ridiculous, of course. Yet he knows in his heart of heart that it's true. And reality is coming at him fast.
He braces for impact—
And then the light is punching him through the wall, and he's sailing through air at incredible speed. He has a brief impression of green and existence before he crash-lands onto some surface and knows no more.
He doesn't know how long he lays there. Time is moving strangely; it could have been a second or a week. He isn't even sure whether he passed out or not; it could be that he was awake the whole time, but consciousness was simply nonessential to him for a bit.
Dimly, he becomes aware of several things: he's lying face-down in dirt and grass; he's in a lot of pain around his chest, particularly on his right side; something is picking at his clothing; and someone is speaking several feet ahead of him.
He's a bit too discombobulated to make out most of what is being said, and, to be honest, he really just wants to retreat back into semi-consciousness where things are easy and safe. But whatever is picking at his clothing is doing a good job of keeping him alert. He idly thinks about shoving the offender away, but moving sounds difficult, so he listens instead.
"…Don't be ridiculous…"
"…I know, but…"
"…can't just leave him…"
"…Loyalists will come…"
He eventually gains enough presence of mind to categorize the voice as feminine and pompous. In fact, it wouldn't sound out of place at a Renaissance fair, which strikes him as odd. He doesn't hear the other side of the conversation, though. Is he sliding in and out of consciousness? Or is she talking on a phone?
A particularly painful poke finally convinces him to open his eyes. He lifts his lids a fraction, and gazing back at him is the curious eye of the strangest bird he's ever seen. It vaguely reminds him of a red cardinal or a macaw, but its beak is full of teeth, its feathered tail is long like a lizard's, and its legs seem to have their own set of wings.
The thing hops away, and Danny follows it to see a whole flock of them picking at his jumpsuit. Speaking of which, something is wrong with his jumpsuit, but his addled mind can't figure out what. It's too… dark? And—
For the first time, he gets a shock severe enough to convince him to move for real. The sky! It's green! A roiling, otherworldly green that stretches endlessly beyond the cliffside where he's apparently been lying, framing a round, blue-green portal in the distance.
All of this is so bizarre that, instead of alarm or fear or any other emotion that could have surfaced, his mind simply grinds to a halt.
Is he alright? What is going on?
"Nonsense!" That feminine voice pierces through his torpor, and footsteps approach him with purpose. Before he can gather himself, the birds scatter, a large, powerful hand grabs hold of his bicep, and then he's flying. The island and its feathery residents dwindle into nothing as he's dragged rapidly up and away.
No longer is the world hazy with fatigue; now, it's vivid with detail as he hurtles past purple doors and small islands suspended in a shifting green abyss. He twists around to see who or what has taken hold of him, and, as if he doesn't have enough to cope with, he's met with the teal scales and great wings of a dragon.
That's it. It's time to freak out.
He screams and wrestles against the dragon's talons. In his panic, he doesn't realize that breaking free would send him into a dangerous plunge. One particularly strong lunge saves him, though, because it causes pain to spark from his heart like hammer to steel. He curls in on himself as best he can, whimpering as the pain radiates all the way down to his fingers and toes.
"Worry not, young one," comes a deep but feminine voice. "We are taking you someplace safe."
Were it not for the fact that he looked up, he would not have believed that it was the dragon who spoke. But it was.
His eyes dart around wildly, searching for the "we" she spoke of. It takes him a few moments, given her massive frame, but he finally spots them: a hooded figure is gliding without wings to the dragon's right. Danny wants to call them human, but, again, they are gliding without wings. Their skin is also neon-green, and, instead of legs, their torso tapers into a wispy, ethereal tail. The only humanlike things about them are their cloak and the bow strung over their shoulders.
Is this the source of the woman's voice he heard back on the island? Did the Portal spit him at some archer with a dragon for a pet?
His worldview is toast. As the shreds of his sanity search for anything to latch on to, he is suddenly struck by the significance of what he just thought.
The Ghost Portal.
The Ghost Portal.
He had been in his parents' Ghost Portal, and it had turned on. The same Ghost Portal his parents had built to connect their world to what they called the "Ghost Zone" and prove that ghosts exist.
His entire body goes numb with chills. No way. It can't be. Ghosts aren't real. But — green skies, floating islands, a dragon, a flying person without legs… What other explanation is there?
For a few weighty seconds, he is rendered useless by the realization. He hangs like a ragdoll from the dragon's talons, buffeted by the ethereal winds.
And then the other possibility hits him.
Clumsy with dread, he jams his thumb into his neck just beneath his jaw, searching for his pulse point.
The seconds pass, but he feels nothing.
He's not going to freak out. There could be several reasons why he hasn't felt a pulse. He could be looking in the wrong spot. Maybe his glove is getting in the way. Using his teeth, he unzips his glove and tries again.
Nothing.
Stay calm. He shifts his thumb a bit to the left.
Nothing.
He tries the other side.
Nothing.
The panic is rising. He looks down at his body, searching for some sign to prove that it hasn't happened, but he isn't sure what to look for. He doesn't look like a dragon — which is something, he guesses — but the colors of his jumpsuit have become inverse, and that's admittedly weird.
There's got to be something. Something he can latch on to. Something that will prove he's still alive.
His search is interrupted by a change in the scenery around him. The doors are beginning to clear up, and the islands are becoming more common. The islands are also growing thick with spooky, skeletal forests. He hears high, forlorn calls and hollow screeching, and, once or twice, he catches the movement of something that could be draconian. Or perhaps avian, but not like regular birds — more like those reptilian ones back at the island he woke up on.
"Here we are!"
Startled, he twists to look ahead. Before them is a great medieval castle, upon which they are descending. He's never been across the Atlantic, so he's never seen a castle before — the view is admittedly enthralling. Something tells him that most castles are not like this one, though. Its blackened walls are grim and imposing, and the draconic sculpture atop the highest tower seems to whisper stories of death.
He's got to be in the Ghost Zone, hasn't he?
The castle is approaching fast. Within seconds, he can make out a courtyard with a manicured garden, which looks only marginally less frightening than the forest around them. He braces for a tough landing, but the dragon is gentle when she lowers him onto the ground just inside the gates. However, he's still so weak from his ordeal that he crumples to his knees immediately.
"Are you alright?"
It's that voice from the island again. Danny looks up, and then he does a double-take. The archer is still there, but the dragon is gone. In her place is a young woman with braided blonde hair, a blue dress, and a tiara. She helps him to his feet, but he is too stunned and overwhelmed to do anything more than stare with his mouth agape.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sure this is all very overwhelming for you. I do wish our meeting had been under better circumstances. But allow me to make things right: I am Princess Dorathea, and this is Sir Aldrin, an esteemed member of my guard. And we have brought you to the safety of our home. Welcome to Castle Aragon, my friend."
Figures are gathering, drawn to the commotion like moths to flame. At first, Danny takes them for normal people, given their clothing is colorful and well-maintained, but a closer look leaves him reeling. Their skin is gray with death, and many of them seem to be rotting, or to be no more than skin stretched taut over bones. He covers his mouth, expecting to gag or vomit, but no such urge rises inside him.
Which brings him back to the issue at hand…
Slowly, he lowers his shaking hand. He looks back to the princess, who seems to have been spared from the ghastliness the others have been subjected to; her beauty is only slightly marred by the pallor of death. He isn't sure what he wants to say, but what comes out is, "You are ghosts."
The statement hangs in the air like a truth that was waiting patiently to be acknowledged. It feels like something so profound should be accompanied by a display of divine power, but there's no lightning in the sky or trembling of the earth. There's just him and two souls and their audience, coexisting with the fact that ghosts are real.
The princess's hands clasp tighter together as the silence grows long. She looks off to the side and shifts her weight from foot to foot, as if unsure how to conduct herself, but then she seems to come to a decision. She looks Danny directly in the eyes. "I've never seen anything like that explosion before, but it's clear that whatever it was, it brought you to this realm. I am sorry to be the one to tell you, but you are a ghost, too."
The world grows dim and narrow. He lowers himself to his knees, not caring how he looks to the others in the garden. Unwilling to face his new reality, he admires how ethereal the cobblestones are.