Work Text:
“So I just…lie here?” Ezran asked, lifting himself onto a plush bed of moss.
“Mmhmm,” Mukho nodded. “Just lay back, relax, and embrace the mush magic!”
Ezran sat back as Mukho went to retrieve the special mushrooms he had set aside. Now that he was alone he could appreciate the work that had gone into setting up the tree hollow. It was dim save for the faint glow of the bioluminescent lichen that lined the walls. Shrunken-down melodaisies had been planted amid cracks in the wood, softly playing a lively tune. The hollow was small enough to be cozy but not enough to be claustrophobic, and the opening was just large enough to let in a soothing breeze.
Having noticed the care Mukho had clearly put into making the space comfortable, Ezran couldn’t imagine why he was so nervous. The two of them had already discussed exactly what was going to happen. He had met Mukho by chance in Everkynd, toward the end of its construction. When he spotted an earthblood elf with a comically large mushroom cap on his head, he knew it must’ve been the mysterious mushroom mage he’d heard about from Soren and Corvus. He’d approached to offer his thanks for Mukho’s kindness toward Zubeia, but the mage had taken one look at him and told him that he sensed “a heavy heart.”
They talked for a rather long time after that. Six years on from Aaravos’ defeat, Ezran still couldn’t figure out how to move on. It didn’t so much matter that he and his allies had succeeded in the end. He still couldn’t reconcile that the whole conflict had stolen three years of his life, his father, his childhood, and nearly shattered his relationship with his brother. And now he was grown up, with a crown on his head, and thousands of lives in his hands. The war might’ve been over, but he was still under strain.
Mukho listened politely, and after Ezran had divulged all that he could, the mushroom mage gently placed a hand on his arm and told him “the healing powers of fungi extend beyond the realm of the physical.” They stayed out until the sun was low as Mukho spoke about a special kind of mushroom that granted powers of insight and perception, though only for a few hours. Ezran could try some if he liked, but only if he used them with intention. Exhausted and near desperate for a bit of relief from the weight he’d been carrying, Ezran had agreed.
He’d spent the next month preparing himself for it and, honestly, worrying himself sick. A few days before the date he and Mukho had set, he told his advisors that he would be gone for a few days. That done, he set out for Fungi Lane aboard a now much larger (and fully verbal) Zym.
“You’ll be alright,” the dragon had said, more to himself than Ezran.
“Yeah, buddy,” Ezran had replied. “I will.”
Now, Ezran almost wished he hadn’t had a month to mull over today’s events. Maybe he’d be less anxious if he’d had less time to build up expectations.
He was saved from his spiraling when Mukho returned with a single shriveled mushroom in his hands. “Here, take this.”
Ezran grabbed it from him, but hesitated before putting it in his mouth. “So…about these visions. Do your other clients ever feel any pain, or…”
“What other clients?” Mukho asked, and Ezran’s eyes went wide Mukho noticed his distress and started laughing softly. “Oh. My bad. I mush have forgotten to mention. You’re the first person I’ve tested this process on. Except for myself, of course, but that’s a bit different.” He was still smiling, as if he hadn’t just shattered Ezran’s sense of security.
“I-I’m not sure I-”
Mukho sat down next to him and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. This guided healing is my own invention, but earthblood elves have been using these mushrooms for centuries, and no one has ever been seriously hurt.” He looked away guiltily. “Of course, you’re welcome to leave if you don’t feel safe, but-”
“No, no,” said Ezran, setting his jaw in determination. “I’ve spent long enough waiting around for everything to start making sense. I want to do this, Mukho. Really.”
Mukho’s smile returned and he stood back up. “Alright, then. Whenever you’re ready.” Ezran nodded, and lifted the mushroom to his mouth. He chewed it once, twice, then swallowed, and lay back on the soft mound of moss. Mukho laid a wet cloth over his eyes, and told him to breathe deeply.
At first, the mushroom didn’t seem to have any effect at all. That was normal, according to Mukho, but the longer Ezran laid there, the harder it was to keep his nerves from getting the best of him.
At Mukho’s command, the melodaisies began to play a slow, ethereal tune in the style of a string quartet. Ezran drew in another breath, concentrating on the soothing scents of the tree hollow’s greenery.
“Remember, it’s best to keep an open mind,” said the mushroom mage. “Whatever you see, don’t look away. If you see staircases, go up them. If you see worlds, explore them. If you see bodies of water, go into them. If you see windows, jump through them.”*
Ezran nodded slightly, and repeated the instructions over in his head. He had stared down monsters in the waking world. Surely he could do anything in the dream world, or vision world, or wherever he was going.
That proved to be easier said than done, once the mushroom actually took effect.
By then, relaxation had overtaken him entirely. The world was dark and Ezran thought he might have drifted into the early stages of sleep.
Then he heard a noise. A sharp, metal clang! He opened his eyes.
He wasn’t supine anymore but standing straight. There was a man in front of him, with his back turned. His long, black dreadlocks were tied into a bun. He wore regal clothing and held an imposing posture that Ezran had come to know very well. It was the posture of a king.
Not just any king, either, but his late father, King Harrow.
“Dad?!” Ezran exclaimed, staggering backward a bit. He reached forward to tug his father’s sleeve. “Dad!”
King Harrow didn’t respond. He just stared forward. Ezran leaned to the side to try to see what had captivated his father’s attention.
He realized, then, that he was standing in a line. A decently long line at that, filled with all the people from the portraits that once lined the halls of Katolis’ castle. His grandfather, and great-grandmother, and great-great-grandfather and so on, all the way down to the Orphan Queen of legend, who ascended to the throne of Katolis so long ago. In front of her was a short figure - a child, maybe - wearing a downy parka, complete with a hood that shrouded their face in shadow.
Next to the figure was a woven basket, filled to the brim with golden Katolian crowns. Ezran watched as the Orphan Queen knelt down to receive her crown, which the figure placed on her head gently. Once she’d been coronated, she stood back up, nodded, and turned away to her left, disappearing into the surrounding darkness.
One after another, Ezran’s ancestors were crowned. No one in the procession made a sound beyond the echo of their footsteps. They moved stiffly, and once they’d had their turn, they dissipated into the shadows, just like the Orphan Queen before them. Ezran shuffled forward as the line moved along, following the path of his father. He noticed, abruptly, that he was nearly as tall as King Harrow now. It felt wrong. He hadn’t seen his father since he was ten years old. Harrow had always towered over him before.
As he progressed through the line, Ezran began to feel a sense of dread. His turn was coming, he knew, and he didn’t want to think what lay in that eerie darkness. He looked behind him to see if he could go back the way he came, but the path had disappeared, claimed by the darkness. The only way out was forward.
All too soon it was Harrow’s turn. He knelt down, and the hooded child placed the crown upon his head. He stood up, emotionless, and began to move away to the right. Without thinking, Ezran caught his arm.
“No!” he screamed. “Dad!” But the arm phased right through his hand, and Harrow disappeared into the dark. Ezran’s breath hitched and he turned back to the child. “Who are you?” he asked.
The child pulled back their hood to reveal a freckled face and braided hair. Ellis. The village girl he’d followed up the Cursed Caldera nearly eight years ago. Except, something was off. Her cheeks were sunken, and her face was pale. Her coat sleeves hung loosely over her bony wrists. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.
She bent down over the woven basket and pulled out the final crown. But this crown wasn’t like the others. It was bent out of shape and its golden sheen was tainted by dark red stains.
Ezran didn’t kneel when Ellis held out the crown toward him. He just stared.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why not?” said Ellis. She spoke what Ezran recognized as the language of wolves.
He still didn’t kneel, but he took the crown in his hands. As soon as he touched the metal, however, the crown began to glow. It floated upward so it was hovering above his head and expanded, forming a portal just large enough to climb through.
Ellis crossed over so she was standing behind Ezran and grabbed onto his tunic. He startled, but collected himself quickly. She climbed up his back as if he were a tree and stood on his shoulders. Then she gripped the edge of the crown portal with her gloved hand and scrambled upward to the other side. She beckoned Ezran to follow. He shook his head. “I can’t,” he insisted.
He spoke the language of humans.
“But you will,” Ellis replied. Ezran looked down, squeezing his eyes shut.
If you see windows, jump through them.
Hot tears slipped down his cheeks. “Okay,” he whispered. He took Ellis’ hand and squeezed his eyes shut as he was sucked upward into the portal.
When he opened his eyes, he and Ellis were on a giant maple seed (or maybe the seed was normal, and they were tiny) falling through a dark vortex. Around them, giant flecks of pollen danced through the air. One hit Ellis and she vanished in a puff of golden dust. “Ellis!” Ezran shouted. The pollen rained down around him, and he did his best to dodge it, but the seed was impossible to steer. He saw other seeds around him being disintegrated, disappearing just like Ellis had, and all he could do was hold onto the seed’s edge and hope he’d be lucky enough to make it to the ground.
The seed eventually landed, and Ezran felt something cold and earthy around him. He was underground! He reached upward, and began to dig his way toward the surface. He wasn’t buried too deep, and he could feel the warmth of sunlight above him. Within minutes he broke the surface, and he could see the soothing green color of tree leaves high above him. The light stung his eyes for a brief moment and he shut them until something grabbed his arm and pulled him over toward the shade.
It was a mushpal, but one nearly as tall as Ezran. The mushpal placed an oversized mushroom cap on Ezran’s head. It spoke the language of mushrooms, too, which was no language at all. Just shared thoughts, communicated to Ezran instantaneously from every mushpal in the area at once. With the cap on, Ezran could see through a dozen sets of eyes, and walk with a dozen sets of feet.
Unfortunately, the thoughts the mushpals had to share were nothing pleasant.
“We must be careful,” said the hive mind. “Or they’ll find us.”
An enormous human with transparent skin stalked by. Inside of the large man were hundreds of smaller, identical men, turning wheels and pulling levers, all working as one to coordinate the large man’s movements. Every mushpal in the grove crouched down as the man walked by, trying each and every one doing their best to keep still.
But the man was observant, and it wasn’t long before he spotted one of the larger mushrooms and knelt down to grab it.
The mushpal tried to run, but its short little legs couldn’t carry it fast enough. A hand snaked around it, and Ezran felt his ribs being crushed. “It’s mine,” said the human, even as the smaller humans inside of him pedaled and pushed and labored. He squeezed the mushpal until it exploded into golden dust, and Ezran felt an agonizing pain, as if a piece of him had been amputated.
The human stalked off, but behind him was a sunfire elf, just as transparent as the human, and with just as many miniature versions of herself inside. She did the same as the man before her, nabbing a golden brown mushpal and lifting it off the ground. “I earned it,” she said, and crushed it in her hand, making Ezran cry out in pain.
Next came a moonshadow elf. “I deserve it,” he said.
The giants came, both human and elf, one after another, each grabbing up a mushpal for their own and turning it to dust. Ezran felt as if he had been lit on fire, as the horrible stinging pain spread across his body. They didn’t stop, though. They kept coming, and coming, each of them piloted by a hundred little workers, and one by one they laid claim to the creatures of Fungi Lane.
“It’s my right. I need it. I own it.”
“ I, I, I, I"
"I"
“STOP!” screamed Ezran, when a human reached out to grab him, though he couldn’t do more than vainly kick his legs and sob when a tight fist closed around him. He writhed and whimpered, skin burning, bones aching. Even his tears felt like acid on his skin.
“Stop what?” a voice sounded. Mukho’s.
“Th-they’re going to kill us!” Ezran gasped out between wails.
“Why are you resisting?” Mukho asked. Ezran didn’t know.
So he let himself die.
The human’s fist closed around him, and he disintegrated into bright green spores.
The world was dark again. Until it wasn’t. There was a cracking sound and he realized he was in an egg. Not only that, but the body he was in was new and strange. He realized suddenly that the alien limbs on his back were wings and he must’ve been a baby dragon.
The shell around him cracked again and he felt the coolness of the air on his face. He slammed his beak into the shell and felt the barrier fall away. He heard a voice - his voice. Or not his, exactly, but the voice of a younger boy who had only recently left his castle.
Ezran - the dragon - stumbled forward in the direction of that boy, eager to meet him again for the first time.
“You need to lick them open!”
The boy spoke the language of a phoenix.
Something warm and wet met Ezran’s face, and he opened his eyes to see the face of none other than Bait the Glow Toad. He jumped on top of Bait in a clumsy embrace and looked up to see his own younger self, afro and all, his smile brighter than the full moon above. He dove forward into that boy’s arms, and felt the warmth of his touch. He stayed there, for a moment, letting the child’s love radiate through him.
He was in Zym’s body, he understood. He wondered if he was really feeling what Zym had felt the day he hatched into a world that already had a vendetta against him, among humans and elves instead of his family.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he heard himself say, in the language of dragons. “Without me, you’d be safe and happy back home in your castle. You’d be…ordinary. Like all kids should be.”
The boy’s smile faded slightly, but it didn’t disappear. “You’re right,” he said. “This is all very strange. And you were definitely unexpected.” He lifted a hand to stroke Ezran’s back. “But you, Azymondias, are so very wanted.”
Something broke open in Ezran’s chest. He shrieked with joy, licking the boy’s face as the sound of excited giggles filled the air. Grass sprouted on the boy’s cheek where Ezran had been licking and spread across his face. Lotus flowers bloomed as well, and soon the boy was covered head to toe with green and white. He wrapped Ezran in a tight hug, absorbing him into his body.
And with that, Ezran blinked awake. There was a warm, wet sensation over his eyes, and he lifted a hand to remove the cloth that had been laid over them. He sat up, slowly, stretching his back and letting his knowledge of reality return to him.
“Welcome back,” said Mukho, joining Ezran on the moss bed. “How do you feel?”
“Strange…” Ezran muttered, glancing around the tree hollow. “But not bad. Maybe a little tired.”
Mukho nodded. “Then it’s probably best you head home. Your dragon is waiting for you outside.”
Ezran stood up, and headed toward the hollow’s opening. He hopped out with Mukho’s assistance, and ate the antidote to the shrinking mushmallow when directed. Before he boarded Zym, however, he looked back toward the mushroom mage.
“Mukho,” he began. “Can-can I come back here? When I’m a little more…together? Just to talk about everything?”
“Of course!” Mukho exclaimed. “You are always welcome here on Fungi Lane. You and your friend there.” He gestured at Zym, who gave him a toothy grin.
"Thank you," said Ezran, climbing aboard the back of his old friend.
"Mush obliged," Mukho replied with a bow.
Once Ezran was seated comfortably, Zym gently took to the sky, making sure not to jostle the groggy young king too hard.
“Zym,” Ezran said after a while.
“What?” Zym asked.
“I think I get it now.”
The dragon didn’t respond verbally, but Ezran took his silence as permission to go on. “All this time, I’ve been thinking about how unfair it was. That I lost my childhood, my dad, all of it. I thought they were stolen from me.”
He breathed out, leaning down to rest his face against Zym’s scales. “But…those things were never guaranteed to begin with.”
Zym sighed. “You’ve had a long day. Let’s just get you back to the castle, and we can talk more once you’ve had a rest. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Ezran muttered. “Thanks, Zym.” He closed his eyes, trusting his friend to get him home safely.