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The Golden Hour wasn’t safe.
Really, that was to be expected. Ever since the revival and second death of the Order, the Bloodhounds have been patrolling seemingly everywhere, to the point where the guests are complaining about the constant surveillance. They seemed to have let up, finally, a few days ago, only to increase security again the moment someone reported seeing the former Oak Family head.
The worst part, Sunday reasoned, was that they hadn’t been wrong.
He’d been careless, and someone had seen him, forcing him to flee into a quiet hiding place and wait for the responding Bloodhounds to lose interest. Avoiding their constant patrols had only become more difficult, and, quite frankly, he was out of ideas. The only remaining place he knew they wouldn’t search was the hotel within the Dreamscape, but that area wasn’t safe…
Still, it was his only option, and so he steeled himself as the door creaked open at his touch. The moment he stepped inside, he knew there was no turning back.
Inside, the hotel was unnervingly quiet. Even the gentle creak of the door shutting behind him cut sharply through the silence. His footsteps echoed through the empty lobby and into one of the many hallways. Out of curiosity, he tried one of the doors, only to find that it was locked.
“That makes no sense.”
He spoke before he could stop himself, the sound of his own voice startling him. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard another voice answer.
Against his better judgment, he followed the hallway in the direction of the sound.
The environment was less stable here. The walls ahead of him twisted in on themselves, but unfurled as he approached. Risking a glance back, he could see the environment in his wake changing again. It creaked and hummed in unnerving ways.
(Was it his imagination, or did he hear something else?)
His path took him to an open area with a large fountain in the centre of the room. Memory bubbles drifted up from the pulsing waters, memoria whales floated by and sang their harmonious song. Sunday watched, mesmerized by their movements. To think this beauty was hidden from the guests purely because the surroundings were too unstable…
Seeing the depths of the Memory Zone with his own eyes made him wonder how much of the Dreamscape’s original charm had truly been captured in the Twelve Hours. He wondered why the Twelve Hours were so mundane by comparison. Stability couldn’t have been the only reason, could it?
“▓▓▓▓▓ Is an▓▓one ▓▓?”
What in the world-!
Sunday froze in place, staring at the whales, who still floated by unbothered. Their song echoed, echoed, through the halls. The strange voices mirrored their call with broken-up, fragmented sentences.
Throwing all caution to the wind, Sunday turned into a random corridor and ran.
“Are ▓▓▓ finally ▓▓▓▓…”
“Can ▓▓▓… Hear me..?”
The echoes followed him as he ran, bouncing off of the ever-shifting environment, mirroring the sound of his footsteps and the distant call of the memoria whales. As he ran, an odd static hiss joined the strange orchestra.
“Mi▓▓▓, I’m scared…”
“It won’t hurt ▓▓▓, right..?”
“Can you hear me?”
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
Sunday turned a corner, pushed through a heavy door, and stopped. The room ahead of him was full of old tv’s, piled on top of each other, their screens showing only static. Behind him, the door slammed shut. He flinched at the sudden noise.
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
Something moved on the other side of the room.
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
He stumbled back, turned, tried to open the door he’d just come through. It had locked itself when he wasn’t looking. Turning back to the pile of screens, he could see something raise its head in the shadows behind the pile.
“Is any▓▓ there? Can you hear me?”
“Who goes there?”
The something hissed at the sound of his voice. Static crackled in the air, a shadow reared up in the darkest corner, a glint of light reflecting on sharp golden- Were those fangs?!
Too late, Sunday recognized the monster that had haunted the Dreamscape once before.
Face to face with Dormancy again, he raised his hand in an attempt to summon his weapon, but what could he do? Calling on the Order was impossible, and the Harmony wasn’t suited to fight this beast of dissonance, this disruption to the sweet dream. At best he’d be able to buy himself some time. Maybe that was all he needed.
A spark of light solidified in his hand. He flung it at the beast, which only blinked one of its many eyes and stared him down. Why isn’t it attacking me?
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
It was trying to speak. Sunday couldn’t tell if that made it any more or any less terrifying. Frozen in fear, he could only stare as it moved, slowly, closer, closer, coiled around him-
The room twisted around them, and his vision went dark.
“▓▓▓▓hear me?”
Something isn’t right.
He’d expected pain, perhaps. Dormancy’s razor-sharp claws should have left him with the sense of being wounded, even if there were no physical marks on him. That strange feeling wasn’t there.
He’d expected to have fallen. He should have felt the cold tile floor beneath him, should have pushed himself up with one arm. He was still standing.
He could hear Dormancy moving nearby, its tail tapping the floor, the walls, the tv screens. It seemed to be circling him.
He was afraid to open his eyes.
“Mister Sunday?”
The child’s voice gave him pause. Surely he was hallucinating. There were no children in the Dreamscape, let alone in the twisted reflection of the Reverie Hotel. There shouldn’t be anyone here.
“Are you alright, Mister Sunday?”
Slowly, warily, he opened his eyes.
The child in front of him looked older than their voice had made them sound, but definitely no older than fourteen. They had silver-blue hair with bangs that fell over one eye, and their clothes resembled the Reverie staff uniform.
No, that couldn’t be right. There were no children among the hotel staff.
But that uniform was all too familiar. He had seen it before, many times, both in the Dreamscape and in the waking world. Except…
Did the Reverie always have a bellboy?
Surely not. Surely he would have known if there had been a child among the staff.
This didn’t make sense.
The child was still looking up at him, concern in their striking purple eyes, and he realized he hadn’t answered them.
“I am fine. Thank you.”
“That’s a relief!” They beamed a gentle smile. “Sleepie ran off all of a sudden, and I couldn’t catch up to it in time. I was really worried it was going to hurt you…”
Sleepie?
Sunday risked a glance at Dormancy. It had settled on the pile of tvs on the other side of the room and stared, unblinking, back at him. When the child turned their gaze its way, something in its posture softened and it let out a noise that almost sounded like a purr.
This child named the monster Sleepie, and it listens to them?
What are they doing here? Where did they come from? Why is Dormancy so kind to them, and why was it following me?
He had many questions, but the first to come out of his mouth wasn’t any of the questions he so urgently wanted to ask.
“Forgive me, I do not believe we have met. Who are you?”
“Ah!” The child flinched at his question. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot my manners! I’m Misha, the bellboy of the Reverie Hotel. Um, the hotel in the Dreamscape, anyway…” They briefly trailed off, but then immediately continued. “I’m supposed to keep this area safe! Sleepie helps me by chasing the wandering memes away.”
That would have sounded reasonable, had it not been for the fact that Misha was a child. Sunday simply could not believe that a child had been employed by the Family at all, let alone assigned to such a dangerous task.
“Which of the Families do you belong to?”
“Um… None of them. I live in Dreamflux Reef with my grandpa-“ Misha paused. Something changed behind his keyhole-shaped pupils. They seemed to notice and quickly looked away to avoid Sunday’s gaze. “…It’s just me now. Grandpa isn’t there anymore.” Then, as quickly as their eyes had darkened, they lit up again and his smile returned. “But it’s okay! Mister Gallagher helps me, and I’m never lonely. I have Sleepie and Clockie and the Origami Birds to keep me company when I’m alone!”
This poor child only has memetic entities and fictional characters as friends…
(That gold-and-purple brooch pinned to their ascot, was that supposed to be the mark of the Nameless? Surely a Nameless wouldn’t simply leave their child behind. This was no place for a child to live alone.)
For the first time in many years, Sunday made an impulsive decision.
“The people of Dreamflux Reef… Would they be willing to grant refuge to a fugitive?”
Trusting Misha had been a gamble, and Sunday was pleasantly surprised to see it pay off. Most residents had been (and still were) wary of him, but no one seemed particularly keen to alert the Family to his whereabouts, and most people paid him no mind.
Dreamflux Reef was a truly odd place. There was no better way to describe it. It was home to the outcasts of Penacony, the odd ones out who had nowhere else to go, the dreamers whose physical bodies had failed them. Sunday had been surprised to see none of the residents bat an eye at Dormancy’s presence, until Micah, the unofficial leader of Dreamflux Reef, explained that Dormancy’s unique ability was their primary method of transport between the town and the rest of the dreamscape.
“You get used to it with time”, he’d said. Sunday wasn’t sure he ever would.
Another surprise came in the form of Gallagher’s appearance. Sure, Misha had mentioned him, but Sunday had assumed Gallagher had left after the fall of the Order. The pretend-Bloodhound bartender had been equally surprised to see Sunday, but hadn’t asked any questions. Sunday had responded in kind and let him be.
After a few days, Sunday noticed something even stranger. Apart from himself and Gallagher, no one ever talked to Misha or otherwise acknowledged their existence. He asked Gallagher about it once, but only received a vague answer along the lines of “That is how it is.” Sunday hadn’t been satisfied with that answer.
It took another few days of looking for the answer until he, entirely by coincidence, happened to find it. In the park past the monument for the Nameless who had founded Penacony, on the terrace at the top of the long staircase, sat a lone dream bubble in front of an empty wheelchair.
(Sometimes, if he looked at it from the corner of his eye, he could see an old man resting in the chair. He hoped the phantom was only sleeping. Something told him it wasn’t.)
Sunday had tried to enter the dream bubble, but it always kept him out. Misha, however, had no problems entering or leaving it, and did so frequently. That could only mean one thing.
Misha was a memetic entity.
Memoria phantoms were common in Dreamflux Reef. Memetic entities born from memoria were even more common, not just here but in the entire Dreamscape. But a memetic entity born from a dream bubble, taking the form of a memoria phantom? Sunday had never heard of anything like that before. Misha seemed to be entirely unique.
Maybe that was why Dormancy was so fond of Misha. Maybe that was why no one else could see the child. Maybe that was why he talked about cartoon characters as if they were real… On second thought, that last part was still strange, but it wouldn’t be entirely unreasonable of the Dreamscape to create memetic projections that could only be seen by other memetic entities. Sunday certainly wasn’t about to question it now.
If anything, this discovery only made him more determined to take care of Misha in any way he could. But where was he supposed to start, and how was he supposed to take care of himself? He couldn’t stay here forever, no matter how kind the residents were. He was already starting to feel the toll on his psyche from residing in the Dreamscape for too long. Surely his body was starting to feel it, too.
(He didn’t know where his body was, or what condition it was in. He hadn’t been awake since Madam Jade had extended her offer. He was afraid to wake up.)
Sooner or later, he’d have to wake up. Sooner or later, he’d have to leave Penacony. Staying simply wasn’t safe. The Family had eyes everywhere, surely they were still looking for him. It was only a matter of time before someone thought of Dreamflux Reef.
But where could he go?
He found his answer one quiet night, close to the dream bubble Misha called home. Few people ever made their way up to the terrace, so Sunday had picked up the habit of stargazing. Sometimes Misha joined him, but most of the time, he was alone. Today seemed to be no different.
The keyword here was ‘seemed’.
Sunday stood in quiet meditation, eyes focused on the distant lights of the Golden Hour, for an uncertain amount of time before the sound of footsteps behind him snapped him out of his thoughts. He mentally went through the options. It couldn’t be the grave keeper, Micah always announced his presence sooner. Gallagher’s tread was heavier and always a little unsteady, and these footsteps were lighter and consistent, which ruled him out, too. The sound wasn’t as quiet as he was used to hearing, but perhaps…
“Misha?”
“Not quite, but close enough.”
That voice was unfamiliar, yet something about it felt like he should know it. Had he met this person before?
Sunday turned to look at the stranger standing beside him, and was met with someone vaguely familiar, yet foreign at the same time. His first thought was that they reminded him of the guests in the Golden Hour. They were fairly young, close to him in age if he had to guess, with blue-white hair and pale purple eyes. They were dressed in a simple but fine suit, the chain of a pocket watch hanging from their front pocket, a red-and-gold clip attached to their sleeve.
That clip…
Sunday would recognize that ticket anywhere, as almost anyone in the cosmos would. This stranger was a Nameless who had travelled with the Astral Express, and that meant this could only be one person. Under any other circumstances, Sunday would have considered this impossible, but in Dreamflux Reef it didn’t seem so strange to be talking to a long-dead hero, even if their phantom was close by.
(A glance back confirmed that the wheelchair was empty.)
“Why are you here, Watchmaker?”
“You caught on quickly. I suppose my ticket gave it away.” Their voice was neutral, but their expression was amused. “There’s no need to be so formal. Please call me Mikhail.” They paused, seemingly mulling over his question before they answered. “To answer your question, I’m not quite sure myself.”
Sunday blinked. That… wasn’t the answer he had expected.
“If you meant to ask how I am here,” the former Nameless continued, “I’m not quite sure of that either, but I have a suspicion. Before my death, I left a part of me behind to guide the Nameless who would soon arrive in Penacony. A little fragment of my memories took a form of its own, gained a life of their own, and created his own dream to make sense of their existence. Once he fulfilled his purpose, they were supposed to fade away.” They looked back at the dream bubble.
More words were unnecessary. Sunday caught on to what was left unsaid. “Yet Misha is still here.”
“Yet Misha is still here.”
A silence fell between them. Sunday wasn’t sure how to break it, but before he could, Mikhail spoke up again.
“As long as Misha slumbers within his dream bubble, a part of me remains. While he sleeps, I can appear, if I so choose.”
That raised more questions than it answered, and again, Mikhail continued before Sunday could find the words to ask any of them.
“I thought at first that Misha would eventually disappear, if I waited long enough. Now I see that isn’t the case. His desire to follow the Trailblaze as I did is simply too powerful. He has seen a glimpse of what lies beyond the stars, and there is no force in the cosmos that could keep a Nameless from following the path ahead.”
There was a problem with that statement, a problem Sunday knew had to be addressed. He finally found his voice again. “Memoria phantoms cannot leave the Dreamscape. If Misha wishes to leave Penacony, they will need someone to help him take that first step.”
“So he does.” Again, Mikhail’s expression was amused, even if their voice stayed neutral. “As it stands now, Misha is still a part of me. That connection will need to be severed if he is to ever find their own Path. May I ask you for a favour?” They turned their attention to the sky above, the distant lights of the Golden Hour reflecting in their eyes. “The Astral Express has landed in Penacony again. In a week, the Nameless will set out for their next destination. I would like for Misha to join them on their journey.”
“How?” Sunday couldn’t stop himself from asking. “I- I am honoured that you think so highly of me-“ even after everything I’ve done wrong “-but I do not have the ability to bring a dream into the waking world.” Not anymore.
Mikhail smiled at that. “I’m aware. It is a crazy idea no matter how I look at it, but I know someone who might be able to make it work. It wouldn’t be the first time Gallagher has made one of my crazy ideas a reality... He is quite used to my nonsense by now.”
That sentence was so absurdly normal that Sunday could only laugh at it. It took him a moment to collect himself. “My apologies, I did not mean to be rude. You… surprised me.”
“Don’t worry. I was, admittedly, trying to make you laugh. You seemed a little tense.”
‘A little’ was an understatement. Sunday still felt tense, but that little moment of normalcy had made him feel more at ease with this quite frankly absurd situation. He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts again. “Gallagher might not be particularly inclined to help me. How do I get the message across?”
As quickly as the moment of levity had happened, it had made way for an equally strange sincerity. Mikhail’s expression hardened, their eyes darkened, their posture somehow looked more rigid now. When they spoke, they were every bit the Watchmaker, the founder of Penacony, the legendary war hero, the Nameless who let nothing stand in their way.
“Tell Gallagher to complete this falsification. It’s time for the little boy who dreams of the Trailblaze to wake up.”
Then, the moment had passed, their expression softening as they again turned their attention to the stars.
“I will relay the message” Sunday promised. What else could he do? Somehow, he felt he had no choice but to accept the Watchmaker’s request.
(But then, what would become of him?)
“…If I may be so bold,” he continued, “I have another question.”
If Mikhail was surprised by that, they didn’t let it show. They seemed more curious than anything else. “Go on.”
Sunday took a deep breath, suddenly uncertain, but now that he had set himself up to ask the question, he had to put it into words. “If I were to take Misha to the Astral Express, would the Nameless allow me to travel with them?”
“I don’t see why they wouldn’t. As far as I’m aware, the Astral Express has never turned any passengers away.”
“…And if I do not intend to follow the Trailblaze as they do?”
“Intentions are one thing. Whether you’ll be able to follow them is another.” Mikhail laughed to themselves. Had that been some kind of inside joke? “All jokes aside, I doubt that would make a difference. The Nameless have always believed that everyone should find their own Path, and if or when yours diverges from theirs, they won’t hold it against you.”
Sunday released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you. That is reassuring to hear.” He still wasn’t sure if joining the Nameless was the right choice, but… What other choices did he have? He certainly wasn’t about to join the IPC, and the Family would hunt him down if he went anywhere within their jurisdiction. Joining the Nameless was, logically, the safest choice.
He still had time to think about that. Right now, he had other things to worry about. Right now, he still had to worry about Misha.
Sunday placed his right hand over his heart, a sincere gesture that was spoiled only by the awkward twitch of his wings as he tried to find the words to say goodbye. “Thank you again, Mr.-“ Watchmaker “-Mikhail. I… hope you can rest soon.” With that, he turned away and started heading down the steps.
Behind him, he could hear Mikhail’s voice answering him. “Thank you, too, Sunday. May your journey lead you starward.”
Sunday didn’t look back.
Three days later, Sunday and Misha had returned to the lobby of the Reverie Hotel in the Golden Hour with Dormancy’s help. This was their last stop before they left the Dreamscape, and the last chance they had to say goodbye if anything had gone wrong.
If it turns out Misha can’t enter the waking world after all, I could never forgive myself.
Sunday took Misha’s hand in his own. “Are you ready?”
“Mhm!” Misha nodded excitedly. They, at least, seemed ready to set out on his own adventure. “Are you ready, Mister Sunday?”
“I am ready.” Sunday forced himself to smile, despite his nerves. “It is time to wake up.”
The crew of the Astral Express had been surprised to see them, but when he asked if the Express had room for another passenger, they had welcomed both new recruits without argument. At the moment of departure, Sunday stood by the window and kept his eyes on Penacony until it disappeared from sight. Misha never left his side.
(In the depths of the Dreamscape, an old Nameless could finally rest.)