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Chapter Text

Reala was tired

Reala was not used to being tired. Not like this. 

This wasn’t hunt-tired, the ‘muscle’-sore ache of the strain of unassisted shape-changing into something much bigger than they normally were without the aid of a Persona. Not from a long night of pursuit or lurking in wait until, finally, the pounce, the success. Not the stiff-sore pain from punishment for failure, aches that they deserved, joints dislodged as was deserved, as was expected for failing to meet expectations.

This was worse. Much worse.

It was only the second time they had ever felt so tired. A core-deep exhaustion that dragged at them so much that they could only manage moving in short bursts. 

Their colors were washed-out pale, their claws dull, their limbs toneless unless they spent the precious energy maintaining their appearance. 

(Like this, it was more apparent that NiGHTS was their twin, not just simply another one of their many myriad siblings.)

They’d only time they’d ever felt like this before, they’d woken up on the foggy floor of their lair with an aching head and numb limbs.

They hated it.

Reala pulled their elder sibling’s mantle tighter around their shoulders. The fabric was soft and warm, warm enough to provide a sliver of relief for their aching body. With the humans gone, there was no pretense to keep up, no appearances to maintain, so Reala could hunker down and simply not move, to try and recover some energy.

Their siblings weren’t fairing much better. Jackle was half propped up on the rim of the Dream Gate’s fountain, one finger tracing the designs that ran around the edge of the fountain. Their horns were drooping, barely keeping their shape, colors washed out. Instead of seamless transitions between patches of color, their horns were a patchwork of rough stitches, some with flyaway threads, their normally invisible form rippled into visibility whenever they moved too fast, their gloves in danger of splitting apart at the seams.

NiGHTS was just as badly off, colors dull and horns drooping, their sleeves swallowing their hands as they sat in the fountain, arms propped up on its rim and their head buried in their arms. They seemed smaller, slighter than normal, the fabrics they wore were taking up more space than they did.

Like this, Reala noticed, both they and their twin had nearly identical horn shapes. They slumped the rest of their weight onto the fountain they were already leaning on.

NiGHTS lifted their head up slowly, dark circles under their eyes, a mimicry of the visible exhaustion humans felt when they didn't rest enough.

“Anyone feel up to moving yet?” they asked.

Jackle let out a toneless hum. Reala settled for a low grumble.

“I thought so,” NiGHTS said. “We can’t just stay here forever. The fountain’s not that comfy.”

“There’s nowhere to go,” Reala snapped. “Nightmare’s gone .”

Not forever, but they all knew that without Mas- ...without Wizeman, the pathways were too unstable to traverse safely, and if you managed to get into a Lair, if it wasn’t anchored to a Nightopia strongly enough there was a good chance there wouldn’t be a way out for a long, long time. 

“You can stay with me!” NiGHTS said brightly, visibly perking up at the prospect.

Reala gave them a look.

“What? Did you think I’ve been living at the Dream Gate for the past decade?”

Reala’s glance was enough to communicate their obvious answer.

“Dreams are dreams and the gate of the dreams,” Jackle said simply. “Elsewhere does not exist of which we know.”

“There’s more to this place than just the Dream Gate,” NiGHTS said. “I’ll show you.”

They climbed out of the fountain, not so much as a drop of water clinging to them. They held out their hands.

Jackle allowed themself to be helped to their feet, none of them having enough energy to do so much as float, standing was hard enough.

Reala ignored the offered hand and managed to get to their feet under their own power.

They grumbled as NiGHTS looped an arm around one of theirs, their other hand holding onto one of Jackle’s.

They held up their free hand, fingers held together in a gesture that Reala recognized as the preceding thing humans did for something called a ‘snap.’ They’d seen it before, but it seemed purposeless.

The stitching on their twin’s gloves glowed with a faint, but noticeable, silver light.

They snapped their fingers.

There was a bright flash of light, a momentary feeling of weightlessness, and then they were somewhere else.

Somewhere sunny .

Reala and Jackle both hissed, raising an arm each to shield their eyes.

“It’s just the sun,” NiGHTS said with a roll of their eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

Reala hissed their displeasure.

Once their eyes adjusted, they took a proper look at their surroundings.

They were on a small path of light gray crushed stones leading up to waist high white wooden fence that lead to a two story structure made out of wood, the roof a different color from the walls. To one side was a garden with neat rows of plants that sprawled out quite far from the structure. A winding dirt path branched off from the opposite side of the area, trailing off into the distant woods.

The grass was an almost obnoxious shade of vibrantly green. There were little wooden boxes filled with flowers at each window on the structure. There was a towering tree to one side, a hollow high up on the trunk, a little table and two chairs in the tree’s shade. Everything smelled of spring flowers and there was the not too distant sound of a stream.

Reala’s lips drew back in disgust. This was where their sibling had been staying? Disgusting.

“Small,” Jackle remarked.

“Cozy,” NiGHTS said as if they were correcting their elder sibling. “This is where Owl lives. It took a little getting used to, but it’s nice.”

So this is where Guides lived? Reala had expected... more. A mansion, at the very least. Perhaps a castle. Something befitting an entity that could stand a chance in a fight against a Nightmaren. Not... whatever this was. It was too small. Too human .

Pathetic.

“My room’s upstairs,” NiGHTS said. “Come on.”

NiGHTS guided Jackle and all but dragged Reala down the path, through the low gate in the fence, and through the front door, Reala noting a small illustration of an owl on the door in what appeared to be ink on the wooden door.

Inside was a hallway with tiled floors and deep green walls with illustrations of plants on them hidden behind an assortment of framed paintings. The hall branched, one doorway to the right, one to the back, and stairs to the left.

Something smelled... sweet?

Reala opened their mouth just enough to scent the air. Sweet. Sweet and... something with fruit. And an herbal scent, faint but lingering.

“Ooh, Owl’s making jam again!” NiGHTS exclaimed. “You’ll have to try some later. He won’t be back for a while though, he'll be out helping Visitors for a while. Come on, my room’s this way.”

NiGHTS directed their siblings up the stairs, the trio leaning on one another and the wall and the railing for support.

They managed to make it up the stairs. There were doors here, not just doorways, the walls white with designs of small blue and yellow flowers, more paintings scattered along the walls, the floor beneath their feet a bright yellow wood. NiGHTS lead the way to one of the doors at the far right end of the hall. The door had been painted a deep purple and had various... things that were too flat in texture to be paintings on them in shapes ranging to small stars to odd human things Reala didn’t recognize. 

There was a wooden sign hanging on the door, hung from a length of twine on a little wooden peg. The current design on it was a red diamond matching the Ideya shard on NiGHTS’ chest surrounded by stars.

NiGHTS reached up and flipped the sign over. It showed, in a looping hand and deep purple paint, the words ‘Come In!’ The sign was accented by little splatters of paint, some attempt to draw either stars or flowers, Reala couldn’t be certain.

NiGHTS flipped the sign over again. This time it read ‘Do Not Disturb’ with painted white ‘Zs’ in little clusters of three and a... pillow? A pillow painted on it, if it wasn’t a cloud.

With that, NiGHTS turned the little golden handle and the door swung inward.

The room beyond was distinctly being inhabited by NiGHTS.

The floor was a bright yellow wood, though most of it was hidden beneath a plush-looking deep violet rug. The wall was similarly colored to the rug, the paper-like covering dotted with deeper violet stars. The ceiling was a midnight black-violet-blue and painted to look like a stretch of starry sky. 

The room’s lone window - tall, arched - had a windowsill with rich magenta cushions on it, clearly comfortable ones. There were several stained glass pieces attached to the window or dangling in front of it, causing the sunlight to turn into a scattered myriad of vibrant rainbow colors as it entered the room.

Curtains or richly colored fabrics and silks were hung across the top of the room, dipping down in spots, vibrant pinks and yellows and paler purples, a scattering of sky blues and a few rich violet and black with shimmer to the fabric, some with tassels and some with metal charms at their edges, others without.

Wooden cabinets were lined up along the walls, though erratically, never immediately next to each other. Most nearly reached the ceiling, their fronts glass, their interiors holding strange things that could only be Dreamer created, though most of them were either completely or mostly devoid of contents.

And lastly, there was a bed. A big round one covered in an assortment of pillows in all manner of shapes and sizes, a deep violet blanket of a clearly plush texture covering most of the bed not covered by pillows, the fabric sparkling in the light, shimmering like silvery stardust.

“Here we are!” NiGHTS announced. “The bed’s big enough for all of us, I made sure that Owl found a big one.”

It was all so very painfully NiGHTS. 

The room smelled faintly of a mix of faint scents, no doubt stolen perfumes and fragrances pilfered from a myriad of dreams. 

NiGHTS let go of their siblings’ arms, walking over to the bed and flopping down on it. Jackle went to rifle through the lone bookshelf, though it did not have many books on it. 

Reala wandered over to one of the cabinets, curiosity getting the better of them for the moment. Behind the glass was an... eclectic assortment of things that could only be from Dreamers. Bottles of perfume and strange little porcelain shapes. Jewelry, large gemstones and strange objects that Reala did not know the names nor purposes of.

There were some ‘sports’ objects mixed in too, some with scribbles on them, among other odds and ends. Masquerade masks. Loose puzzle pieces, scraps of paper with drawings on them, pearls and buttons and small plush animals.

“Owl calls them ‘knick-knack cabinets,’” NiGHTS commented.

Reala glanced over. Their twin had rolled over onto their stomach, propping their arms up on a large yellow crescent moon-shaped cushion and resting their head on their arms.

“Much easier to see everything,” they continued. “No losing necklaces under things anymore.”

Reala simply turned back to the cabinet. There was nothing actually interesting in any of these cabinets. NiGHTS had filled the space with stolen Dreamer junk and pilfered useless geegaws.

Foolish. Just as foolish now as they had been then. Maybe more. At any second the Guide could do away with every last useless piece of junk in the room, just as Wizeman had done before.

It was all a waste of time. There was no sense hoarding to decorate a Lair. Or... whatever this room was. It was too soft, too human-ish to be a real Lair, even if NiGHTS had dressed it up like one.

The only thing Reala would concede to being a practical choice was the bed. Beds were a distinctly human thing, but they had been designed by a species that couldn’t function without sleep. As such, few things were better to rest on, pillows only improving such an object, especially as enough could turn a bed into something closer to an actually appropriate nest.

Everything else was just unnecessary.

“I don’t know about you two,” NiGHTS said, “but I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.”

Not that Nightmaren needed sleep, no, none of them did. But it was restful, a way to replenish energy. They did not dream, though. A being of nightmares dreaming? A joke. It was only unconsciousness, a restful unawareness of one's surroundings, that was it.

Jackle’s reply was an audibly absent-minded, reflexive Marish phrase. “[Rest well so your mind may be as sharp as your claws on the morrow.]” 

Reala waited in silence until their twin’s breathing deepened and they knew they would not wake up for anything. NiGHTS could sleep through a summons from Wizeman they slept so deeply.

Jackle’s arm draped over Reala’s shoulder. They stiffened for a moment at the touch before relaxing, pulling the mantle together around their shoulders.

“You should rest,” Jackle chided. “Wakefulness now with us being as we are is a collapse later.”

“This place isn’t safe to sleep in,” Reala responded, staring pointedly at a bit of the wood on one of the cabinets instead of their elder sibling.

“NiGHTS thinks it is.”

“NiGHTS is a fool and a traitor.”

“You missed them.”

“ That ,” Reala hissed, “has nothing to do with this.”

“It does.”

Jackle reached up a hand, lightly smoothing the wrinkling fabric of Reala’s horns. Reala leaned into the contact, unable to stifle a low purr.

“Our creator ripped us apart,” Jackle said. “Stole your mind, your twin’s freedom, and my family. Away is safer. Here is safer than there ever was.”

Here was hardly safer than there. Unless NiGHTS had actually managed to cow a Guide into their service. Which was a possibility, much as Reala was loath to admit it. A bird was, after all, a rather underwhelming creature. Reala had heard tales of Guides that took the form of fearsome Waking predators. Owl was distinctly not one of those.

Perhaps they were at least somewhat safe after all.

“Come to bed, sibling mine,” Jackle said. “[The day is long and the night is far off.]”

A Mareish adage. Reala huffed, but shuffled over to the bed anyway.

They pointedly curled up on top of the blanket, underneath the safety of the mantle. With it on, nothing could harm them.

With all of their energy spent by standing and managing to climb a set of stairs, sleep rushed to claim them.

Chapter Text

Reala’s return to awareness was not one they entirely welcomed.

They had never enjoyed sleeping. It was nearly useless, eating restored plenty of energy and took far less time. Eating never left them with the foggy-headed feeling that always lingered after they slept for any length of time.

They were warm, though. Comfortable. Their body still ached, but it was noticeably less now. This was the singular time they would rather be anything but awake.

Reala slowly poked their head out of the safety of the mantle, weary but unable to keep their eyes closed a moment longer. One of NiGHTS’ hands was clamped onto the mantle, clinging to it in their sleep. One of Jackle’s arms was draped over both of the twins, noticeable only because of the weight of their arm as its form was indistinct.

It would have been a normal arrangement, once. But it hadn’t been for many years. 

Right now, they were in a Guide’s home. Potentially dangerous territory. How could the two of them not be bothered by that? Ugh. Why had they agreed to this?

...Not that they had anywhere else to go. They likely could have found a way into Stick Canyon with enough time, providing that the human (their former favorite victim, up until NiGHTS had helped them turn into a very aware Lucid) hadn’t destroyed it. They’d never bothered unanchoring their lair - not that they could remember, at least -  so there should be a safe way in and out once Nightmare was more stable. 

They’d have to figure out how to get there once they were recovered enough to fly again. In the meantime, either this place was always sunny - the room dyed gold by the sun streaming in through the window, accompanied by a rainbow of dappling colors from the stained glass NiGHTS had hung from it - or they’d slept through an entire night. Which was... possible, even though it wasn’t the natural state for a Nightmaren to wake with the sun.

They’d slept for an embarrassing amount of time the last time they’d been this exhausted, sequestered in Jackle’s lair, the only stable lair with a reliable exit for a good while. Aside from their own, of course. Time was indistinct in Jackle’s lair when the curtains were drawn, Reala had no sense of how long they had dozed there, other than it had been far, far too long.

They were still tired now, though less than before, unable to return to unconsciousness for the moment. Their appearance was still atrophied, they could feel it. Reala scowled. They were weak . They were not weak.

Their ‘stomach’ felt empty, insofar as their body could produce the sensation as a way to communicate that they needed more energy, so they had recovered enough to feel ‘hungry.’ That was something. When was the last time they had eaten? Their scowl deepened. A few scraps of Nightopian given to them by their twin was hardly a meal.

(Had they remembered to eat when they had been unaware, their body moving without their will or knowledge? They didn’t know. They would not think about it.)

They should find food. Reala doubted that a Guide would keep Nightopians around. They couldn’t exist outside of Nightopia anyway, though removed bits of them could be. A Guide... Reala didn’t know what Guides ate, but it certainly wasn’t Nightopians.

They would have to see if there was any food here. NiGHTS would have had to eat something while they were gone. 

Reala carefully slipped out from the pile, the tangle their siblings had wound up in. Neither of their siblings so much as stirred. Good.

They were in a Guide’s lair - or whatever passed for one - which meant danger was likely to be around every corner. NiGHTS hadn’t died yet, though, and Reala was the General of Nightmare. If anyone could elude the danger in a Guide’s lair, it was them.

Reala slipped out of the room, though they paused after their first step into the hall. Their boots would cause noise on the floor. If they floated, they would waste precious energy, energy they did not have to spare.

They would be slow, then. Methodical. They did not need to breathe and risk making noise, so they simply did not. The floor, upon a cursory test, seemed solid.

Reala opened their mouth just enough to scent the air. Fresh scents, though not immediately nearby. The bird, the unmistakable tinge in the back of their mouth of Guide magic, and something so strongly, pungently herbal that it was impossible to tell how fresh it was. They’d be cautious.

Carefully, they crossed the floor to the stairs. Nothing. They took the stairs one at a time, slowly and mindful of every little creak. They made as little sound as they could, but they were not completely silent. Every little sound of their boots hitting the floor felt impossibly loud.

Eventually, they reached the last stair, then the hall. They scented the air again. Guide, again, though somewhat stale. The herbal scent was somewhat weaker here. There was another scent too. Sweet.

They followed the sweet scent down the hall, into what was clearly a room that a human could call a ‘kitchen.’ There was an icebox, a stove, counters with things on them, drawers to put knives in and such, cabinets both high and low. There was a door to the right, a doorway to the left, and a low, small door at the back of the kitchen in a gap between the icebox and some cabinets. There was a wooden table and a few chairs. The walls were wood halfway up and deep green with patterns of vines and flowers the rest of the way.

The Guide’s sensibilities were gratingly human.

There was one advantage to that, at least. Reala had warped enough dreams into nightmares to know where humans kept their food.

They opened the icebox, taking care to be quiet. Inside were bowls of this and plates of that, unrecognizable human foodstuffs, but no Nightopian, nothing that smelled edible. There were things that were definitely fruits, one that was easily as large as Reala's face, but there was no telling what anything tasted like given that humans did not always remember to dream things that tasted like they were supposed to. NiGHTS probably would have eaten most of whatever any of whatever these things were, the traitor had been eating human food for years, but Reala had standards.

...Standards didn’t fill an empty ‘stomach’, though. Hn.

Reala rooted around in the containers on the counter next - ceramic things decorated with images of leaves and trees and such. Nothing in one, the other seemed to be filled with something that Reala could vaguely identify as something humans used to bake bread (flour, they were fairly sure it was called), another empty container after that.

On the fourth container, a cautious lift of the lid came with a sweet scent.

Cookies .

Baked goods were the closest thing humanity had ever managed to make that was halfway close to the taste of a Nightopian. The cookies weren’t gingerbrede, they could tell that with a single inhale, but they were still sweet. Until they could get out and hunt, this would... have to do. Horrible as it was.

The first crunch was satisfying, but too loud, so they shoved the rest into their mouth. Crunchy. Crumbly, a largely unfamiliar texture. A flavor they couldn’t quite put a finger on the name of, adjacent to milk or cream. And floral . Sweet, but it was like drinking a glug of perfume with every bite. Disgusting.

They settled for a second one of the horrid squares, then a third. Hardly filling and utterly disgusting. Maybe they should risk something out of the icebox instead.

Reala paused. There was sound now, down the hall. Talons on tile.

The bird.

They had to leave. Out the window? No, they didn’t have the energy to fly, and running in their current state wasn’t an option either. Into one of the cabinets? No, no time to figure out which ones were empty enough to squeeze into.

Only one option left.

With what energy Reala had, they sped toward the icebox, vaulting on top of it and scrunching themself up against the wall, as flat as they could force themself to be. Dreamers seldom remembered to look up. Guides had to be just as stupid.

The bird entered. It did not immediately notice them. Good sign.

Reala watched as the bird busied itself around the kitchen. It had a little wooden two-step stool. No. Several stools. The two-step one was almost a bench and went in front of the stove. The one with more steps went in front of one of the cabinets.

The bird pulled a large black metal pot out from one of the lower cabinets and placed it on the stove. There were various things placed on the counter beside the stove after that. A ceramic jar with trees painted on it. Several small glass jars each containing a different substance. A strange bottle of some sort that looked like it was ceramic, but it had a weird handle that was probably only big enough for two of Reala’s claws to fit through on the neck with a cork at the top and a big orange leaf painted on the bottle’s side. A flat piece of wood. A knife (the only thing Reala properly recognized). Four different small ceramic jars, each with a wooden spoon looped through one of the two handles. 

The more Reala watched, they less they understood. More ceramic jars, smaller with little wooden spoons then placed on top of them. A glass cup of some kind with a handle and lines on one side. A big metal scoop.

And then the bird headed for the icebox.

Reala pressed themself as flat as they could against the top of the appliance and held perfectly still.

The bird didn’t notice them. Instead they just retrieved a large glass bottle full of milk, the giant fruit Reala had noticed earlier, and a few other fruits as well. The bird didn’t look up even once before trotting right back to the stove.

Reala waited. Watched. The big metal scoop was used to measure whatever was in the biggest jar (a cylinder, the lid kept in place with a small bit of metal) into the pot on the stove, then the glass with the lines on it was used to add water. The bird grabbed a big wooden spoon from the side of the stove.

The bird opened the front of the stove and tapped the tip of a wing to the gem on its collar.

A small fire ignited within the stove in an instant, the door to it quickly shut.

The fruits were chopped into pieces and set aside into various little bowls of various materials, all a mismatched assortment unlike the ceramic jars. More containers came out of the cabinets that matched the ceramic jars, more jars with more bits of metal keeping the lids closed, more small glass jars full of things.

The smell drifting up from whatever was in the pot wasn’t interesting. The bird was distracted. Maybe it was time to make a break for the window.

And then the bird opened one of the smaller containers.

The scent hit Reala immediately. Pure sweet. Their pupils dilated, their posture rising into a careful crouch, poised to strike. It didn’t smell like Nightopian, but it smelled like that underlying note of sweetness that every Nightopian tasted of.

Then a second jar was opened. A similar smell, but not quite the same. Then a third. Then a fourth. Reala had to keep their mouth clamped shut to stop themself from drooling.

To hell with the bird, they were hungry .

They tensed, preparing for a pounce and-

“Do you have a type of sugar you prefer, Reala?” the bird asked.

The Nightmaren froze. The- It.

The bird had known they were there ? How long? The entire time?

Reala hissed, backing up against the wall on top of the icebox. 

“Brown sugar?” the bird said.

Reala said nothing, only barred their teeth in a clear threat.

The bird merely hummed and returned to what it was doing.

No chance in running, then. What was the Guide’s plan, then? It wasn’t attacking. It had known they had been there the entire time and yet they seemed... unbothered.

It was... unsettling.

So Reala waited, considering their options. If the bird kept not doing anything, eventually Jackle would wake up. Jackle would have a much better idea of what to do. Jackle had fought Guides before, bested them in battle. Jackle would know what to do.

“How hungry are you feeling, hoo?” the bird asked, trotting up the two steps to the slab of wood.

Reala’s only reply was a hiss.

The bird busied itself with cutting up fruit. Apples, Reala recognized. A common human fruit. Some Nightopians tasted vaguely of them, but often they didn't taste right. Reala had bitten into one out of curiosity a long, long time ago and been met with the taste of meat, of all things. Disgusting.

Into the pot on the stove went chunks of apple, something out of one of the small jars with a spoon, something out of yet another jar, and a liberal sprinkle of something out of a tiny jar. In went a pinch of this and a pinch of that, the entire kitchen smelling sweet.

Then, seemingly content with whatever it was that it was making, the Guide ladled a large portion of whatever was in the pot into a bowl, added something from a jar and drizzled something else out of the container with the leaf on it before adding several glugs of milk and then setting the whole concoction down on the small table.

“This is yours, Reala,” the Guide said.

Reala’s eyes narrowed.

“You’ll have to do better than that to get rid of me, bird ,” they spat. “We can’t be poisoned.”

No stomachs, no systems that could be stalled or damaged. No nerves to shut down, no lungs to give out, no hearts to cease beating. Not like the Dreamers who feared things like that.

“Poisoned? Hooo-oo! Heavens , no. You are a guest, hoo. And as the host, it is simply my job to ensure that all guests get regular meals. Including breakfast.”

“I’m not eating whatever slurry you’ve concocted, bird.”

“It’s only oat porridge. With cinnamon.”

Cinnamon.

Reala hesitated, claws clacking rhythmically on the top of the icebox, a satisfyingly harsh noise. There were no Nightopians here. Cinnamon went into gingerbrede. And they were hungry, they needed the energy, but. Nn.

“Our kinds are enemies, bird.”

“No, your creator is the one at odds with us. Hoo. If all Nightmaren were our enemies, I wouldn’t have let NiGHTS stay here, let alone given them a room.”

The scent of food that was filling the kitchen was starting to get to them.

...

“No tricks, bird, or I’ll pluck you bald.”

“No tricks, Reala. I promise.”

With that, Reala descended from their hiding place. They trudged to the table, eyes on the Guide at all times. The bird didn’t make any sudden movements, not even when Reala sat down in the wooden chair. 

Steam was rising from the bowl. Reala cautiously opened their mouth just enough to breathe the scent in, leaning over the bowl just slightly. 

Sweet. So sweet. Cinnamon and a rich, deep sweetness dripping with a scent that would have been more fitting on a Nightopian than in a bowl.

They weighed their options. Hungers gnawed at their insides, instincts barely held at bay, the sweet scent too intense to ignore.

They snatched up the largest spoon that had been placed beside the bowl - there had been three of varying sizes - and scooped up a portion of the concoction.

And, slowly, took a bite.

The flavors exploded in their mouth. Sweet syrup and rich spices, the crunch of apples but with the flavor of ones stewed in cinnamon into a glaze of a sauce but the satisfying crunch of fresh. A further crunch from some kind of nut of some sort, a rich flavor with a texture not akin to biting into a Nightopian. 

The bowl was empty before Reala even registered that they had taken a second bite.

“Would you like seconds?” the bird asked.

“More,” Reala demanded with a growl, teeth barred in threat should the bird refuse.

They went through six bowls before their hunger was completely satiated, replaced with a cozy drowsiness. They hadn’t eaten so well in years . Not since NiGHTS’ rebellion had they had the time to hunt enough to eat so well.

No wonder their twin hadn’t wanted to leave this place to come back to Nightmare. They had always been so weak about human food.

“There is a nice spot in the sitting room where the sun comes in this time of morning,” Owl commented, portioning more ingredients into the pot on the stove. “I’ll be busy in here for a while.”

A doze in the sun... how indulgent. But if the bird was going to be out of their horns, they could maybe indulge. Just for a short while, since the Guide seemed to lack the sense to attempt to destroy an enemy of its kind when they were at their most vulnerable.

They stood up, toes skimming the ground as they made it to the front of the Guide’s dwelling. True to the bird’s words there was a spot right in the sun, a windowsill covered in a deep green plush cushion that covered the entire space, accented with little golden buttons.

Reala flopped onto it ungracefully. Soft. The sun was warm and the fabric smelled faintly of their twin, a space marked as theirs, a space designated as safe.

Drowsy and fuzzy-minded, Reala propped their head up on their arms and closed their eyes. A brief doze, that was all. An indulgent post-meal nap. Then they’d find a way to leave this place.

But first, a doze. Just a brief one. Just... a brief... Zzz...

Chapter Text

Jackle awoke to the sound of one of their younger sibling's sleepy breathing for the first time in years.

They cracked open one eye, not wanting to cause any disturbances. NiGHTS was bundled in their mantle, sound asleep. Reala was nowhere to be seen, but their lingering scent proved that their departure was only recent. And likely food driven, Reala usually awoke to go hunting first thing at night. That, or digging into Jackle’s private stores of wings and halos - which, unlike the rest of the Nightopian, lasted for some time.

Jackle carefully eased their way out of the bed, taking care not to wake their slumbering sibling. Their own form was still faintly visible, proof of the effects their creator’s demise had had on them. 

Weakened, but not destroyed.

They took the discarded plush blanket - the one that glittered like stardust when it caught the light - from the floor where it had been tossed off of the bed in the night and threw it over their shoulders, hiding their form. NiGHTS did not stir.

They were not like the others. Not themself, not the twins, they were nothing like the Seconds and the Thirds. Unique, Firsts and a failed First. The twins were the creator’s magnum opus and Jackle was the failed rough draft.

Foolish of their Master to create them, really, but what was done was done.

Jackle slowly padded out of the room, following Reala’s scent, one hand keeping the blanket secure around their shoulders. The ever-loyal Knight of Swords may need a better card, some day. Magician, perhaps. Perhaps they were more akin to the Hanged Man now? They would have to consult the cards later, but the Sun had not fit them for some time.

Jackle followed the scent down the hall, down the stairs, and into a room with sage-pine walls. Reala was asleep in the windowsill on a long cushion, unconscious in a warm sunbeam. Jackle smiled and silently stalked away. Let their sibling sleep, night knew they had gotten precious little of it in the years their creator had dominated Reala’s mind and used their body as their marionette, pushing it to its very limits.

All for a goal that was never meant to be reached, a fate that should not, would not ever be.

Yes, let their little sibling sleep as much as they wanted. Sleep and heal, recover and rest. They knew that humans could be deprived of sleep to the point where their bodies demanded more of it, deprived of dreams so much that their sleep wasn’t restful because their bodies demanded they dreamed enough. If the former could be said the same of Nightmaren, their sibling had much sleep to catch up on indeed.

Their sibling’s safety assured, they followed the sweet scent on the air. It was not far, merely down the hall and into a kitchen. Rather rustic, at that. Archaic, but with a few more modern touches, a mark of someone with old, old sensibilities.

Guides might even be as old as some of them. 

The Guide was at the stove, perched on a wooden step-stool and diligently stirring something in a metal pot. Jackle opened their mouth to scent the air. Sweet sugar, so many kinds, trying to mimic the sweet odor of Nightopians.

“A gift for us downtrodden, O Feathered Guard of the Gates?” Jackle inquired.

To the Guide’s credit, he did not startle beyond some suddenly flaring feathers.

“Good morning, Jackle,” the bird said, swiveling his head rather than bothering to move his body. “I am making breakfast, yes, hoo.”

Ah, the bird was already divining their meanings. Splendid splendid, how perceptive!

“Any kind of preference for your porridge, hoo?”

“Corn or pease or oat or wheat?”

“Oat.”

Jackle hummed, thinking. It had been so long since they’d had proper porridge, usually pilfered in the midst of a nightmare or swiped out from underneath an unsuspecting Dreamer’s nose. Dreams of breakfast were quite common, after all, and none of Nightmare ever noticed when they indulged in their interests. 

To be mad was to be looked over, after all. Why eat what one didn’t enjoy?

“Lemon poppy seed and blueberry,” they decided. “Honey or honey sugar, candied lemons, cream, not milk.”

They had discerning tastes, after all.

“I’m afraid I don’t have candied peel on hand, hoo, but I do have lemon curd.”

“Fresh?”

“Made only yesterday.”

“Then yes.”

Jackle seated themself at the table and waited. Guides were curious creatures, they thought. Normally their kinds were at odds, but here they were, the foe of mankind waiting for breakfast from one of mankind’s allies! How queer, how delightful! They cackled at the very thought, to which the Guide did not react.

They watched the bird cook, idly running a claw over the fabric of the blanket and wishing they had their cards. The bird was skilled, that much was clear. A bit of this and a pinch of that, fresh blueberries and fresh lemon juice. Honey and honey sugar, all cooked with skill and care.

This was where NiGHTS had been after they’d bested Wizeman the first time, Jackle thought idly. The Fool had run away and found a new... lair? No, not a lair. A home. It could only be a home, not a dwelling. With a room of their own and a garden and a kitchen. It was all rather twee, really, unbecoming of any Nightmaren, let alone the former General.

But that was rather NiGHTS, wasn’t it? A jester, a fool, a harlequin, a trivelin! A capricious soul with a clever mind. Cruelty of dreams may have been their name, but they were still a jester, the archetypal fool that undercut their master through cunning and trickery!

Harlequin and Pierrot, the cheerful and the melancholy. Wizeman’s works were not as original as he thought. And, of course, the Clown, for what was the play without one?

(What came first, the jester or the nightmare? Who knew!)

Wizeman had proclaimed his own failure by creating them.

Nightmare could never truly overcome dreams.

And now that which was made to hate humanity was living with that which existed to protect it! Jackle cackled, mindful of their volume lest they wake their siblings. A true twist of fate! Perhaps more of their siblings would be amenable to dwelling here upon their return. The brighter and the wiser only, though, for hunger drove many that could not be overcome by porridge and pies.

...Now they rather wanted pie. Peach was rather nice. Perhaps later.

A bowl was set in front of them, along with a trio of differently sized spoons. Jackle picked a middling one - gold with diamonds, ha! The bird had too many spoons to have something that matched them with such ease - and observed their meal. Piping hot porridge, blueberries and lemon, the blueberries smelled stewed but looked fresh as could be. Cream, as asked, and a drizzle of honey.

They tried a bite.

The zip of lemon, delicious blueberry, the sweetness of honey and a dollop of curd. Delicious.

Their tongue snaked out, curled around a few blueberries off the top - revealing their ever-sharp teeth, their tongue of striped colors to match their horns, a twisted and nightmarish maw - and retracted. The Guide did not so much as bat an eye.

Impressive resolve!

So Jackle ate. It had been so long since they had proper porridge. Tastes and times had shifted, and porridge was no longer so common. Many humans dreamt of sweets, yes, but also fast food, expensive foods, meats and other things that could be good, but had no match for sugars and spice. A zip of sour that curled their tongue, a dollop of sweetness to dull their senses like any good meal should.

“How is it?” Owl asked.

“Delicious, yes!” Jackle declared with a cackle. “Exactly as it should be, but not! Berries dissolve and yet solid! An excellent trick.”

They grinned, sharp-toothed and looming even while seated.

The Guide was entirely unbothered.

“I’m glad you like it, hoo.”

Jackle’s smile withdrew, puzzlement in its place.

“You’re odd, bird,” they said, head tilting to one side. “Not a worry, not a care, a nightmare in your lair, and yet not a falter, not even a stare. You know what we are, you are aware, and yet, and yet! Not a care, not a care!”

“I have known NiGHTS for many years,” Owl replied simply. “Nightmaren are not all bad. Hoo. NiGHTS is very sensible. And kind as well, hoo-oo! I shall never forget the first time I saw them assist a Visitor.”

Jackle tilted their head the other way. “Did they not try to fight you? Even before they played the Fool?”

“They certainly did, but I knew they would not harm me.”

“An unwise thought. We are quite deadly!”

“NiGHTS is very kind, hoo-oo. They would never.”

“Perhaps.” Jackle tapped their fingers on the blanket around their shoulders. “Perhaps.”

“Are you going to want seconds, hoo?”

“And thirds! And thirds and fourths, of course, of course!”

And that was that, the Owl returned to the stove and Jackle returned to their meal.

An odd bird, yes. An odd Guide. Hierophant, of that they were certain. Hierophant inverted, appearing in the cards for so long now, so long...

Ah! That explained it! The Hierophant from that reading! Hierophant and Fool! It all made sense now. World and Hierophant and Fool.

Jackle cackled to themself and tucked into their meal, content and cozy in their momentary mantle of plush violet and stars.

Chapter Text

NiGHTS awoke slowly, cozily bundled into the familiar fabric of their elder sibling’s mantle, the warm scent of breakfast faint, drifting lazily on the air.

They hummed, content, a soft purr escaping from them. Nowhere to be and nothing to do, it was wonderful . Indulgent, heavenly so.

They gave themself a few more minutes of cozy dozing before finally rising, pushing themself upright, some stiffness in their movements still, some exhaustion still clinging to them. The scent of porridge was far too tempting to ignore forever, no matter how comfortable bed was.

Jackle and Reala were both gone, but NiGHTS wasn’t worried. Reala was always the first one up and Jackle was Jackle. And considering their missing comforter, Jackle was perfectly fine too, just using a substitute rather than steal their mantle back.

NiGHTS stretched, what passed for their joints popping back into place with satisfying clicks and crunches. They were still tired, still sore, their entire body still aching, but it was much better than it had been the day before.

It was worth it, though, a little ache was nothing. It had been worth it the first time too, when their return hadn’t been at all certain. If Wizeman was smart, he wouldn’t come back. Because NiGHTS would do all of it over and over and over again. For every time he would threaten the Waking, NiGHTS would stop him again.

They stood up, about as wobbly as humans claimed newborn horses could be, but they adjusted to standing easily enough. Being stuck on the ground was no fun, especially since their feet had not been made for walking, but it was what it was.

They trudged down the stairs, leaning on the railing to ensure their feet wouldn’t slip around, and made it to the ground level. They paused at the first doorway, the one opposite the stairs that led into the sitting room. They scented the air and poked their head through the doorway.

Reala was sprawled across the cushioned windowsill, sound asleep. Jackle was half flopped on top of them, NiGHTS’ favorite comforter spread out over the both of them. Jackle was just as asleep as NiGHTS’ twin, both clearly too exhausted to bother staying awake more than they had to.

The sight sparked a fuzzy feeling in NiGHTS’ chest. They hadn’t seen their siblings so relaxed since... since before NiGHTS had rebelled. Longer than that, in the days before NiGHTS had started to question Wizeman. So long ago now. Several human lifetimes worth.

This was better, though. They were safe here. No expectations, no quotas, and, most importantly, no Wizeman.

NiGHTS shook their head, chasing the thoughts away. No sense in dwelling on the past when the future was far better.

They draped Jackle’s mantle over the back of a nearby armchair and shuffled quietly into the kitchen.

“Good morning, NiGHTS.”

“Morning, Owl.”

Owl was already stirring at a pot of porridge. NiGHTS dropped into their usual seat at the dining table. Owl had already brewed a cup of tea in NiGHTS’ favorite teacup - deep dark blue-violet, decorated with shiny silver, white, and gold stars with a gold crescent moon for a handle - and set out their favorite spoon from Owl’s vast collection, the silver one with the crescent moon on the handle that had a little silvery star dangling from the end on a fine chain.

NiGHTS took a sip of the tea. The texture was that of a dense syrup, but with the smoothness of tea with bits of fruit floating in it.

“Raspberry!” NiGHTS exclaimed. “You made raspberry jam?”

“I did, hoo.”

“Did you get one of the big fruits?”

“Of course!”

NiGHTS trilled in delight. Raspberry syrup tea meant raspberry jam and raspberry oat porridge, sweet as could be with just the right bit of tartness to it. Owl knew where the Nightopias where fruits as big as the Guide - and sometimes even fruits as big or bigger than NiGHTS was - grew and he always made the most of his visits there.

Owl set a bowl of porridge on the table before NiGHTS finished their first cup of tea.

They wasted no time in setting their tea aside and digging in. Tart raspberry, sweet sugar, a very generous drizzle of honey, and plenty of cream, a texture that all but dissolved on their tongue. NiGHTS hummed in delight. No breakfast was better than Owl’s porridges. Even Nightopians (which were far too loud and scream-y for a first meal of the day when NiGHTS was still properly waking up, the crunch was a little bit too jarring sometimes) weren't as good.

“Did Ree an’ Jak’l eat ‘lready?” NiGHTS asked through a mouthful of porridge.

“Manners, hoo-oo.”

NiGHTS rolled their eyes, but swallowed their food before speaking again.

“Did Ree and Jackle eat already?”

“They did. They seemed to quite enjoy what I made as well.”

“Good! Ree’s the pickiest eater and Jackle eats the weirdest things sometimes. Did Ree do anything stupid?”

Their twin was... well, Reala was Reala. They had very strong opinions and they could be fantastically stubborn.

“They were a bit rude, but nothing too bad, hoo. Goodness knows I had some trouble with you at the beginning.”

“Good. ...Hey!”

Owl churred a laugh and returned his attention to the porridge still on the stove.

NiGHTS huffed and went back to eating. They wanted their siblings to get along with Owl. Owl was great! Even if he could be a total fuddy-duddy worry-wart sometimes. Their siblings deserved to get along with someone who was nice and could make them food.

They’d need a few more days of rest, NiGHTS thought. They were all exhausted, they likely wouldn’t do much more than eat and sleep for a little while. After that, though, NiGHTS would have to teach their siblings how to be nice to the Dreamers.

...Well, teach Reala , at any rate. Jackle had known Claris and she hadn’t been scared of them. Reala didn’t like visitors on a good day. They’d have to learn how to play nice and not scare every human they came across.

They’d go somewhere nice once they all felt better, NiGHTS decided. Maybe a beach Nightopia. They could probably use either Elliot’s or Helen’s Nightopia. Maybe Elliot’s, since he had been around Reala before and wouldn’t be scared if they accidentally stumbled across the Nightopia’s Dreamer. Yeah, a day at the beach would be fun. They could have a picnic! With little sandwiches and one of those checkerboard blankets, the little white and red ones. It would be better than the old days! Way better!

“Seconds, hoo?”

“Please!”

Yeah, way better. They were free now. All of them.

This was how things should have been, even if it meant having to teach their siblings what that meant. Goodness knows it had taken them long enough to get used to freedom themself.

One day at a time, though. And, for now, breakfast. And then a nice nap.

One thing at a time.