Work Text:
Yellow is the colour between green and orange on the spectrum of light. It is evoked by light with a dominant wavelength of roughly 575–585 nm.
-=+=-
He couldn’t back out now. Something wanted him here. Something that made the hallway and the forest and the impossibility tall yellow doors that lay right in front of him. D3rlord3 took a deep breath of stagnant cold air in. A warrior wouldn’t run away from the fight. And isn’t that what he is? D3rlord3’s grip on his pickaxe tightened slightly as he walked through the gap between two towering doors.
And that’s when he saw it. When he peered into the eyes of knowledge incarnate and it looked back with a blank stare that held everything behind it.
D3rlord3’s lungs tightened. A towering figure stood before him draped in a torn, faded yellow cloak. A crown made of drip stone sat on his head. The cave shifted as stone moved over stone and D3rlord3 fell to his knees. He spoke with words made of rotted flowers and mountains collapsing.
My knight.
He raised one thin, decaying hand and cupped D3rlord3’s face. He brushed his tears away and tilted his head even further up. D3rlord3’s jaw clenched as his neck started to ache. His thumb was as cold as a cave wall and drew blood as it dragged across D3r’s cheek. His breath stuttered.
D3rlord3 opened his mouth. I’m not your knight-I’m not your knight-please…please I’m not-
All that came out was a whimper. The cave shifted again and rocks fell as laughter.
You will always belong to me.
Another spindly hand was raised. D3rlord3 froze as it came behind and picked him up. He didn’t look down as his feet left the ground. He couldn’t. The smell of rotten flesh and iron hit him and a gust of chilling air came from behind the yellow cloak.
I have given you everything.
D3rlord3 was close enough to his face that he could see the text, sound and colour float around his eyes. One second there was a tragedy written a thousand years ago, then a song of triumph, a colour both light and dark and a poem of only four lines in languages he’d never heard of yet he could still read it. It twisted and changed every time D3r blinked but he never blinked.
What is a king, if not a provider?
Knowledge crashed into D3rlord3 like a tsunami into a well. Images and sound collided inside his head-
(The skull, or cranium, is typically a bony enclosure around the brain of a-).
His tongue went dry with the feeling of words said in languages-
(Language is a structured system of communication that consists of grammer-)yet to be made and long gone.
He took in a shallow wheezing breath-
(Breathing is the rhythmic process of moving air into and out of the-)and knew of when everything had done the exact same.
D3rlord3 finally forced a scream through his throat. His grip on him tightened. Needle-like fingers pierced his armour and red dripped onto yellow. D3rlord3 thrashed and screamed and flailed pleasepleaseplease-stop im not your knight-imnotyourknight-
And yet his subjects are ungrateful.
The king dropped him. D3rlord3 landed with a dull thud and the clank of armour on stone. His vision blurred until the outline of nauseating yellow finally went black.