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The First Nightmare: Red and Gold

Sneeg walks out of his forge/ bedroom, tired and hungry. He’s been stuck grinding out levels for smithing and enchanting, making weapon after weapon, armor after armor, enchanting and grindstoning item after item. All this just to make sure that everyone, Ros and Foolish especially, would have better armor and weapons to protect themselves from the red faction. 

Especially from Pili. 

The bloodthirsty cat’s attempts to get Clown’s attention have been escalating, getting more drastic and more desperate each time. The archmage does his best to ignore it, not willing to give him the satisfaction, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying. 

He had already killed Ros once, causing Clown to send a threat to the entire realm, but that didn’t stop Pili from trying to kill her again—or anyone else in the kingdom, considering he and Bad killed Foolish. The blacksmith mentally beats himself up for not being there, for not being able to protect his kingdom and his friends. He’s sure that Clown feels the same. 

Now, walking to the entrance of the castle, golden carrots from the kitchen in hand, to see if Ros has made any progress on the outside of the castle. There’s also the plan to convince her to take a break, well aware of how easily she can become absorbed in her work. 

Making his way down the steps of the castle and onto the path, the gravel softly crunches under his feet as he turns and looks at the exterior of the castle. From what he can tell, Ros has made some significant progress on it, putting in the windows and detailing the emptier sections. 

The shifting of pebbles under his feet stops when he sees it. There’s blood, clear as day, splattered across one of the shorter towers. Sneeg is on high alert now, frantically running around the courtyard for any sign of the architect. 

He finds… something, but that something isn’t Ros. It took him far too long to notice after leaving the castle, but on the path leading out to spawn, there’s a bright scarlet trail. Following it tentatively, making sure to take note of how the blood is still fresh, he walks alongside the tainted gravel, hoping it wouldn’t lead to the missing architect. Fortunately, and unfortunately, he doesn’t have to follow it for long. 

In the path leading up to the castle lie the bodies of Ros and Foolish. Mutilated and bloodied. The trail leads to Ros, having been dragged by whoever killed her, that whoever probably being Pili. Foolish, on the other hand, must have been killed here, a large pool of golden blood having formed under him. 

Ros is covered in her own blood, wounds leaking from her chest, arms, and legs. Her clothes are soaked in crimson, armor similarly stained. The architect’s once vibrant purple and well-kept hair is now tangled and sticky from blood pooling under her head. A spear lies limp in her hand, covered in drying blood from trying to fight back. 

Foolish’s body isn’t any better. His blood is splattered all across the path, turning the gray rocks beneath him into golden nuggets. Foolish’s head is barely attached to the rest of his body, dark golden blood pouring from his neck. There’s another wound on his chest, a large gaping hole going straight through his beating heart. He’s not wearing armor, and he doesn’t have a weapon either. 

Sneeg’s not even near the bodies, but the familiar scent of metal reaches him nonetheless. The blacksmith is used to the smell of metal when working on armor and tools, but the metallic scent of blood is different. It’s appalling how quickly he gets used to it, despite the difference. 

Trying to run to them even though, yes, they may be dead, and yes, there’s nothing he can do to reverse it, he can’t just leave their bodies here. His limbs feel heavy, like they’re weighed down with lead or iron. Or maybe guilt. Moving them feels impossible, but he tries to move them, tries to go as fast as possible.

But the more he runs, the further they get from him. There’s no castle, no spawn, no trees or buildings or anything. Just a straight path leading to the lifeless bodies of his friends. The friends he failed to protect.  

His feet slip on the gravel, the blood, falling face-first to the ground. Attempting to get up doesn’t work; heavy pressure pushes him into pebbles and stones, digging and pressing against his skin. It doesn’t stop the blacksmith from trying to move, gripping the dirt under the path and pushing against it with his feet to crawl towards the bodies. 

Blood clings to his gloves and stains his clothes. The smell fills Sneeg’s lungs, almost suffocating him as he continues to struggle towards the deceased architech and king. They’re no longer moving further away from at least having noticed that he was finally making progress on reaching them again. 

It’s a painfully slow process of dragging himself towards the corpses, the pressure above him getting heavier and heavier, making it harder for him to move. Sneeg persists regardless, determined to at least try to help them in some way. He’s had to stop a few times, catching his breath, trying to avoid the smell of death. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes him, but finally, finally, he’s almost there to reach them. With a sudden burst of energy, the blacksmith manages to push himself up a bit and stumble towards Ros and Foolish. He collapses back to the ground moments later, but it was enough to get him in reach of Ros’s body. 

Sneeg reaches a hand out to her, but the moment his glove touches her skin, she vanishes. He freezes for a moment, two, then immediately scrambles to Foolish. Holding his breath, a tentative hand reaches for the totem, and his body vanishes the instant his gloved hand touches golden skin. 

Ros and Foolish are… gone. 

Their bodies have disappeared, but the blood remains on the ground, on him. He doesn’t bother to move from the puddle of red and gold, the colors staining him. Sneeg stays there, curled up in the warm liquid with a hand still outstretched to where the king’s body once was. The taste of iron fills his mouth, whether it’s from his own body or not is something he doesn’t want to think about. 

And then, he wakes up.

The Second Nightmare: The Architect 

He wishes he could find Ros. Ever since he looked at the player list, he’s been searching everywhere for her. What’s worse is that she won’t respond to any of his messages. He just wants to know why her name was purple again, why she had left their faction, their kingdom. 

Had they done something wrong? Did Owen worm his way into her head again? They kicked him out of the kingdom, out of the faction, so there shouldn’t be any problems. The former jester being in a different faction didn’t mean he couldn’t continue to mess with them, though. 

Clown, Foolish, and Sneeg had expressed how much they loved and cared for her, how she had done so much for them. She built the castle, built their home, built a place that so many people, yellow or not, would gather and hang out at. Ros was the heart of the kingdom, the heart of their home.

So why was her name purple again? Why did she leave again? What did they do wrong? 

Messaging others hasn’t worked; none of them have responded to him. Did he do something to upset Ros? He doesn’t remember doing or saying anything to upset her, nothing that Ros had told him about, and she would have told him if there was. 

Running around the realm for her, for anything, other people, answers, hasn’t resulted in… much, honestly. He’s on his way to the castle, despite looking there earlier, but it wouldn’t hurt to check again. Maybe she was hiding from Sneeg? Why she would is another question.

Running past the walls and into the entrance hall of the castle, he finds her in the throne room, facing the throne. Her hair obscures her face, making it difficult for Sneeg to see what kind of expression she has. There’s no way for him to tell what she could be feeling, it was a skill the moth hybrid wasn’t experienced in.

Trying to call her name, to ask what’s going on, doesn’t work. His throat constricts, and his vocal cords fail to produce any kind of noise. With very few options, Sneeg elects to just go over to her, jumping from the banister and landing between the rows of chairs. 

Ros doesn’t react to his movement or to any of the sounds he makes while he walks over to her. It concerns him, considering how jumpy she could be sometimes. Standing behind her now, towering over her slightly, he slowly reaches a hand out to her. 

And then, he wakes up.

The Third Nightmare: The First Ball

The ball was finally coming to a close. All of Ros’s hard work had paid off in Sneeg’s opinion, and it seemed everyone else agreed. The blacksmith enjoyed it, despite not being used to being around so many people; he had a good time. The games were fun, and being able to hang out with people he hadn’t interacted with much before was not that bad. 

It’s when the Keepers interfere that everything goes wrong. 

They call for the people who did the most for their faction to step up to the podium. Of course, the Kingdom of Fools nominates Ros, the literal heart of the kingdom. The Honey Badgers nominate Pangi, and the Teal Titans nominate their leader, Aimsey. 

Sneeg isn’t really paying attention until the three nominees suddenly vanish, and then he remembers. This has happened before. This is just a dream, and, because it’s a dream, he can change the outcome. 

Or at least he thinks he can. 

He tries to bring them back, Ros, Aimsey, and even Pangi. But they don’t. Instead, everyone else disappears, even the Keepers. 

Trying to move, to look around for someone, anyone, leads to the discovery that he can’t move. Looking down, he sees sculk spread across the floor and clinging to his legs, making him immobile. Trying his best to free his legs from it—ripping, cutting, and tearing—nothing works, and instead, just ends up leaving deep gashes in his legs.

But where did the sculk even come from? From the alarm system? Maybe, but he had manually collected those, and there were no catalysts in there. There shouldn’t be any sculk spreading from that. 

His blood is absorbed into the sculk, causing it to spread further up his legs and into the wounds, stitching them back together. Sneeg tries to jerk away from it again, but it’s to no avail. The action just causes the sculk to strengthen its hold on him. 

The blacksmith looks around for anything he can use to free himself, but finds himself face-to-face with Ros. Her gray eyes bore into his, her face as blank and gray as a cloudy sky. Everything about her is gray, actually. Her clothes, skin, hair, eyes, all of it gray, drained of all life. Like a statue. He knows that’s not how she looked when she returned, knows there was some color, some life still left in her. 

Trying to look away leads him to come face-to-face with Aimsey, the Teal Titan leader, covered in sculk, more than they had been before. Their ribcage was fully exposed now, a warden heart beating amongst the swirling souls and sculk-covered organs. Large horns grew from their head, and there was very little of them that wasn’t covered in sculk. Were they turning into a warden? 

Sneeg turns again and is now facing Pangi, his entire body being covered in the purple corruption that had been plaguing the realm and the End dimension. He vaguely remembers hearing that Pangi had come back with some corruption clinging to his arm. While Sneeg didn’t really care for the pangolin, seeing him just staring at Sneeg with bright purple eyes unsettled him. 

Sneeg turns one more time to find… nothing. There’s nothing but darkness that greets him. Even the sculk that once bound his feet and legs is gone, leaving him to stand in an abyss.

And when he registers that, he falls. Ros, Aimsey, and Pangi float above him, their eyes watching him fall. He flails in the air, trying to do something, anything to stop his falling, to get back to them. 

He has to get back to those above them, but they’re getting so far away now, so very far away. 

And he just keeps falling. 

and falling

and falling

and falling

and falling

and falling

and falling

and falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
and falling

and falling

And then, he wakes up.

The Fourth Nightmare: Soul of a Warden

When he got separated from Aimsey is a mystery. One moment, the faction leader was there, happily chatting with their friend, and the next, he was gone, leaving Sneeg alone in complete silence. Trying to call out to them only gets the clicks of sculk sensors responding. 

They were supposed to be gathering these warden souls together. The blacksmith doesn’t think Aimsey would just up and leave him, so something must have happened to them. It could be a Keeper, it could be the sculk, who knows. What Sneeg is certain about, though, is that he has a friend to find.

All he has to do is find Aimsey, collect these souls, and then do whatever the Keepers want them to do after. Much easier said than done, unfortunately. It doesn’t help that ancient cities are so big and that there’s a pulsing darkness making it harder for him to navigate said city. He presses on despite it all, calling out for Aimsey every now and again. 

No heartbeat sounds in his mind as he walks, meaning there are no souls nearby for him to collect. Maybe Aimsey already explored this way and collected them all. It would make Sneeg’s life easier, and it would mean they could finish this faster. 

He wanders for a while, losing his sense of direction a few times and going around in circles more times than he would like to admit. He hears whispering in the distance, usually a sign of a Keeper’s presence. Maybe one of them had pulled Aimsey aside and was just now leaving? 

He follows it, and it does lead him to Aimsey. Just… not an alive Aimsey. 

Harshly swallowing, his blood runs cold, staring at their limp body on the ground. The urge to rush over to try and help them in any way possible is stopped by the fact that he can’t move, his feet firmly stuck to the ground. It’s not the shock of Aimsey being dead that stops him from approaching. It’s what their corpse looks like that stops him. 

Dark blue, almost black blood oozes out of their mouth and from their chest cavity, spilling and pooling on the ground. The faction leader’s eyes are wide open, staring lifelessly at the sculk above them. Their ribcage stretches out from their chest, sharp bones curved outwards towards the cave ceiling, like a flower’s petals fanning out when in bloom. The bones are painted in that same blue blood; strings of the liquid stretch from one rib to another, almost resembling a net or spider web.  

Then there’s the souls. The souls once trapped around Aimsey’s formerly beating heart now rise from the cavity, bypassing the webbing of blood and protruding bones. They gather above Aimsey’s body, converging into a singular mass, swirling and tangling together. 

Suddenly, the frantic heartbeats begin again, startling Sneeg. They’re fast and loud, and he doesn’t understand. The heartbeat only happened when he was near a… oh. Oh. 

That’s what the souls spewing from Aimsey are doing. They’re merging to become a warden soul. 

He’s not sure what to do, what he can do, to stop it, if he can stop it that is. In the back of his mind, something tells him not to interfere, to let it happen. The more rational part of his brain quickly overrides it and tries to push it down. 

“Uh, hey, Keepers? Hey, are you—can you guys stop this? Please?” Sneeg pleads, his voice echoing across the cavern.

There’s no response. He’s left with only the sound of the heartbeat pounding in his ears. Hesitantly taking a step towards Aimsey’s body and the cluster of souls, the heartbeat slightly grows louder as he does. He does his best to push through it, determined there’s a way to stop the souls and save Aimsey.

Sneeg inches closer and closer, slowly but surely making his way to them. The heartbeat is relentless, growing louder and faster, rattling around in his brain as he moves. It’s not the only thing he can hear, though. Despite how loud the heartbeats are, they can’t seem to drown out the whispers. 

They tug at the back of his mind, telling him to “Let the soul form,” and to “Let nature take its course.” It makes his head hurt, how the whispers echo and worm their way through his mind. It’s becoming harder for him to ignore them, to shove them in a ditch and bury them. The heartbeat doesn’t help. 

He stands in front of Aimsey now, but not daring to look down at the bloody mess of their corpse, already nauseous from looking at it from afar, he doesn’t want to risk actually puking if he looks again. Instead, he stares at the amalgamation of souls, still swirling and merging, and thinks, much to his despair, that they’re almost done, almost a warden soul. 

Sneeg lifts a hand, reaching for the cluster, hoping that he can still stop it. Something—someone, a Keeper, stops him, tightly gripping Sneeg’s wrist. He tries to wrench it away, but the Keeper’s grip is firm and, with a strength that’s startlingly greater than his, pulls Sneeg back to their side. 

“Let—let me go! What the hell are you doing? Help Aimsey!” Sneeg cries in desperation, still trying to get his wrist out of the Keeper’s grasp. His struggle is futile; the Keeper doesn’t let go and keeps Sneeg firm at their side. 

“We wish to see what will happen.” A voice, the Keeper’s voice, says in his mind. “So you will let this happen.” 

The new addition to the cacophony in his head has him pressing his free hand to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut, and clenching his teeth. He can’t think, can’t hear his own thoughts anymore. 

It hurts, it feels like something is trying to crack his skull open, but from the inside. The pain causes him to kneel partially, resting his free arm on his thigh as he presses his face into his hand. The Keeper doesn’t let go of his wrist, but they do lessen their grip. They know he can’t do anything in this state, can’t fight back, can’t stop what’s happening. 

He’s in absolute agony. There’s the relentless beat of a heart ringing in his ears. Whispers of what he can only assume is the sculk infection overriding most of his rationality. A Keeper is talking to him in his mind and keeping him away from helping one of his friends. It’s too much, and he can’t take it anymore. 

Sneeg just wants this to be over already. 

He wants Aimsey back. 

He wants to go home. 

He just wants it to be—  

Quiet. 

It’s quiet. 

No more heartbeat, no more whispers, nothing but the silence of the ancient city. Sneeg slowly opens his eyes and lifts his head to look around. His head still hurts a bit, but the pain has significantly lessened since it became silent. The Keeper is still there, still holding onto him, but it’s not looking at him. He follows their gaze and sees it. 

A warden soul above Aimsey. 

It hovers above Aimsey’s body, emanating a soft glow like the other warden souls he found. The urge to go to it, collect it, takes over him as he stares at it. The sculk whispers to him again, telling him to “Take it,” over and over like a chant. He wants to fight against it, to finally leave this place, but then another voice joins the whispers in his head.

“Go, collect it. We wish to study it,” The Keeper says, letting go of his wrist. 

Sneeg opens his mouth to protest, but any objections he had are overtaken and warped by the sculk. Their chant to collect continues, and the infected man reluctantly listens to them. 

He stands and starts to move towards the soul, the sculk cheering in glee as he approaches it. Slowly, he reaches out to it, careful not to disturb it and have it potentially escape. 

As he does, though, something forces his eyes away and makes him look down. Maybe there was sound, maybe something out of the corner of his eye, maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was nothing. He will never know. 

What he does know is that when he looks down, he sees Aimsey’s face. He sees Aimsey staring right at him, and Sneeg stares right back. It causes him to hesitate for a moment, pulling his hand away a bit. The sculk roars in anger, and all hesitation Sneeg might have had is gone, and he’s reaching back out to the soul again.   

Then, just as he’s wrapping his fingers around the warden soul, the blood in Aimsey’s mouth starts to gurgle. Dark blue blood starts to spew from their mouth, flowing out of the corners of their lips and down their cheeks. 

“Sneeg?” 

And then, he wakes up.

The Fifth Nightmare: The Crow

Sneeg arrives on the mushroom island in the middle of the day. The sun is high in the sky, and fluffy white clouds slowly drift amongst the vibrant blue. It was a nice day to pester his friend. Phil still owed him crystal apples, and the blacksmith was thinking of ways to get more than what was owed, never passing up the opportunity to banter with the old crow. 

“Oh, Philip! Philip Minecraft!” Sneeg calls out, pitching his voice to be higher than it normally is, as he walks over to the tree farms. 

“Hellooo! Over here Sneeg!” Phil responds from beyond the trees. 

“Phil, you still owe me some granny smiths man, I’m running low again,” Sneeg says, walking over to where the voice came from.

There’s no one there when he reaches where the avian should be. Just a lonely clearing, saplings from cut-down trees lie on the ground. His friend must have been here recently, right?  

“Phil?” 

“Over here, mate! I said that already!” 

The blacksmith turns his head, Phil’s voice coming from a different direction than before. 

“Oh, so we’re playing this game, are we now?” 

He continues calling out and following where the crow hybrid’s voice comes from. It’s fun at first, a little game of keep away, but after a while, it gets annoying.  

“Phil, come on, enough, dude. Just give me the apples already,” Sneeg calls out after the—what, seventh time now? 

The sound of rustling feathers from behind causes him to whip around, expecting to find a certain lumberjack with a shit eating grin.

Instead, there are black feathers scattered on the ground of the dense forest and—wait… when did he end up in a forest? Quickly looking around for confirmation, and yeah, he’s in a forest, but there are still parts of the mushroom island visible in the distance. 

The warden brushes it off as a project Phil was working on and turns his attention back to the feathers. Looking closer, he notices that they aren’t scattered randomly, but instead form a path leading deeper into the forest. Having given up on calling out to the avian, he walks along the trail of feathers.  

The amount of feathers increases the further he walks, concerningly so. Phil was always so meticulous about his wings and preened them regularly, so the increasing number causes the anxiety building in Sneeg’s chest to rise. 

What’s more worrisome is the blood that now accompanies the feathers. The bright red stood out against the black feathers and dark forest floor. Sneeg quickens his pace, the sound of crows cawing in the distance coming into earshot. 

The smell of iron hits the blacksmith when he reaches it. Reaches him. 

Phil’s body. His unmoving body. Blood, viscera, and feathers are strewn across the mycelium and trees. Red mixes with pink, black, and purple, the colors blurring into an ugly mess and making Sneeg nauseous. 

It’s horrible, blood turning the greens on his clothes to black and white to red. The crow’s wings are torn, feathers missing, leaving bald and bloody splotches. There are bones in places bones should not be, and organs that should be inside and not out. 

Rushing over to the body, Sneeg kneels, blood soaking into his pants. His hands shake as they hover above the corpse, eyes looking at everything and nothing at the same time. 

His friend’s mouth hangs open, blood pooling and dripping from the corner of chapped lips. There are bruises and cuts all over, purple and red, contrasting with the pale and cold skin. Phil’s eyes are wide open, and the once vibrant sky blue is replaced with a dull and hollow blue. 

Sneeg doesn’t know what or who could have done this, doesn’t think anyone from any faction could be cruel or stupid enough to kill Phil. Maybe the Keepers? Maybe something else? He doesn’t know.

Slowly and ever so carefully, lifting his best friend's head, he can feel the sticky warmth of blood tangled in the once well-kept blonde hair. It hits Sneeg then and there that Phil shouldn’t actually be dead, that his body shouldn’t be here, and should be respawning. The lumberjack still had two more lives, so why was his corpse sitting here, rotting away? 

“Phil?” The distressed man quietly asks, hopeful that the avian can somehow hear him. “Phil, c’mon respawn, you still have lives.” He gently shakes the body, patting the dead man’s cheek a couple of times. 

“Phil, please. Please wake up, please respawn,” Sneeg pleads to no one but himself. The crows, he realizes, have gone silent.

He’s alone. 

Maybe they were never there, the crows. Maybe his crow friend went with them, or maybe the crows took him away. All Sneeg can think about now is how Phil is another person added to the list of people he failed to protect. 

Taking in a shaky breath, he carefully closes Phil’s eyes, cradling the limp head in his lap. Looking into their lifeless stare one more time would’ve made him throw up.

“I’m sorry, Phil… I’m so, so sorry…” Tears drip and roll off the corpse’s face, the warden silently mourning. 

Closing his eyes and sucking in a breath, he has to pull himself together and find out who did this and why. There’s also a grave to make and maybe a funeral to hold, and shit, he has to tell everyone else first. 

A new smell hits the blacksmith. One he should be used to by now, with how long the dead body has been near him. Blood. 

Daring to open his eyes again, to see reality, Phil’s face looks… different. It looks warped, the proportions are wrong, and the skin looks redder than before. Actually, all of him is redder, even the clothes. 

It takes Sneeg a while to figure it out, but once it clicks, it’s too late. Phil’s clothes, feathers, all of it, in the blink of an eye, are gone and have joined the pool of crimson that once resided under the avian’s body. 

The warden’s hands, arms, and mouth are stained red now. All he can see, smell, feel, and taste is blood. None of it is his. 

And then, he wakes up.

The Sixth Nightmare: The Second Ball

As the second ball comes to a close, Sneeg can’t help but think that everything went well. No deaths, no fights, everyone had a good time, and a couple of new people, Zam and Kyle, joined the server for it. However, a sneaking feeling that something bad is going to happen worms its way into his mind. 

Unfortunately, he’s proven right, because in the next second, Pangi kills Pili, resetting him. The warden flies above the crowd in search of the pangolin, ready to lunge the moment he’s spotted. 

The cat’s blood pools on the floor, and Zam cradles his body, scarlet soaking into the fabric of the purple dress and staining his yellow skin. Sneeg knows there wasn’t much the newcomer could have done to save him, knows the guilt will eat her alive. It will do the same to the blacksmith. 

Bringing his mind back to the present, the warden continues his pursuit of the Honey Badger. They dance around the ballroom, trading and blocking blow after blow, knocking over chairs, breaking tables, ripping up the carpets. Sneeg is so tunnel-visioned on killing Pangi that it’s too late for him to realize that the pangolin is not in front of his spear anymore.

And suddenly it hits him that this has happened before. 

He killed Ros here. 

Sneeg tries to stop it, to stop moving and running the architect through with a spear, but can’t. His spear pierces her body in an instant, blood splattering everywhere. 

But her body doesn’t vanish. 

It just stays there, skewered on the spear, the weapon the warden promised to use to protect. Ros’s blood coats his clothes, soaking into the pores of his skin, the smell filling his lungs, and the taste coating his tongue and throat. 

Frantically looking around, the blacksmith finds that everything, everyone, is blurry. They’ve become shapes and colors, and any detail they might have had blurs together into a muddy mess. What used to be Pili and Zam have blended, the yellow, white, and purple, becoming a muddled disarray of colors. 

When Sneeg looks back at Ros, standing upright, the spear still in her chest, and staring at him while blood drips from the wound and her mouth. It makes the warden want to retreat, only to find he can’t move. His feet stay firmly planted on the ground, and his hands can’t let go or pull the spear. 

She just stares; the usual warmth and whimsy they once held are replaced with an emptiness unfit for the royal architect. He wants to look away—tries to look away, but can’t. No matter where his eyes move to, Ros is always there, front and center in his vision. 

Everything slowly begins to blur together out of the corner of his eye. Everyone merges into the ballroom, then the ballroom merges into the ground, and then… the entire world smears into nothingness. The people, the ballroom, and the whole world are just gone. The two of them—because her body is still there, eyes boring into him—just float within the void. 

The warden opens his mouth to say something, anything, but something other than words comes out. He didn’t notice it at first, but something had been crawling up from his stomach, through his throat, and now threatened to leave his mouth. 

Sneeg falls to his knees and leans over, choking and retching as something comes out of his mouth. After a few agonizing minutes, something finally comes out, followed by another.

and another 

and another

and another 

and another 

and another 

and another 

and another 

and another 

and another
and another
and another
and another
and another
and another
and an other
and anot he r
an  d another
an d an other
an d a no   ther
a nd ano ther
 an d a no t her
a n   d  ano th er
 and  an  o th er
an  d  an  o t he    r
a nd     a n    ot her
   a nd a  no th  e r
a  nd   an o t h er
a n  d     a no   th  er 

And, finally, another. 

After what felt like hours, it’s over, and when looking, he’s horrified to see a pile of bloodied butterflies mixed with bile.

Purple butterflies. 

He forces himself to look away, finding that Ros and his spear are gone. He frantically looks around, looking for something, anything. 

He finds nothing. 

No one. 

He’s all alone in the void. 

Sneeg looks back down at the butterflies and violently jumps back when Ros’s corpse is lying in front of him, rotting. The wound from his spear is now a gaping hole, exposing the bones and decaying organs. 

The purple butterflies he threw up partially fill the cavity. 

They are deteriorating too.

Blood, viscera, and bile mix on the wings of the butterflies, the vibrant purple being drowned out by an ugly mess of reds. The taste of iron and acid in his mouth is overwhelming, and the urge to throw up returns.

Sneeg tears his eyes away to look at something, anything, other than the body of a dead friend in front of him. All it does is make the blacksmith lock eyes with the decaying face of the cadaver. Pale, dead, blue eyes meet onyx black. 

And then, it speaks. 

“You promised to protect me, Sneeg. Why didn’t you protect me?” 

And then, he wakes up.

The Seventh Nightmare: The Architect’s Grave

It’s raining outside when Sneeg leaves the castle. A light rain, thankfully, but still enough to cause a slight haze and darken the sky some. It’s fitting, he thinks, walking down the front steps. 

There’s no sound besides the light pattering of the rain and the small splashes from the puddles he steps in. The blacksmith walks down the path of the castle, making his way to the bridge that connects them to spawn. 

He probably should have brought something to help shield from the rain, but he doesn’t feel like going back. His hood does enough to keep the rain out of his eyes, but it’s getting damp and sticking to his hair. 

The path becomes slightly muddy stepping off the bridge and onto the dirt and stone path. He falters slightly, getting close to it. He’s done this multiple times, but it never gets easier. The warden pushes on regardless. It would be rude of him not to visit. 

Sneeg stops in front of the large blackstone marker. He doesn’t remember who made it—or maybe he never knew—not sure that it really matters. Whoever made it did a good job, though, especially with the signs. 

Cornflowers bloom at the base of the gravestone. They’re being weighed down slightly by the rain, droplets collecting and running off the blue petals. Sneeg crouches to look at them better, gently cupping one with a gloved hand. 

He still can’t believe it, can’t believe Ros asked Bad to kill her. He can’t believe that she’s dead. Sneeg wishes he had been there more and was able to pick up on these kinds of things. If only he had been there, maybe she wouldn’t have been hurting so much, maybe she would have talked to him about it. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

“Man, what kind of warden are you? You can’t even protect your charges properly.” 

The warden’s head snaps up, almost giving him whiplash, looking to see Bad sitting atop Ros’s grave. Or, well, something wearing Bad’s skin and mimicking his voice. Parts of whatever it is are warped, making it look uncanny in some ways. 

Its smile is too wide, eyes so white that they don’t look white somehow. The patterns of its outfit change with every movement it makes, making Sneeg slightly nauseous whenever he notices it. It doesn’t breathe, its chest staying eerily still, and it doesn’t blink, its eyes tracking the blacksmith’s every move. 

“Whaaaaaatt? Cat got your tongue? A little surprising for someone like you!” It says, smile growing wider as it beams. 

Sneeg’s not sure what to do, not sure how to respond. He elects to ignore it for now in hopes that it will get bored and go away. Managing to tear his eyes away from it, he instead focused on the cornflowers below him again. 

It doesn’t take too kindly to that. 

“Ooooo, ignoring me now, are we? I shouldn’t be surprised, you like to ignore your problems after all. It won’t get worse if you don’t acknowledge it right?” It says flatly, voice warping between being an ear-piercing shrill and being a barely audible whisper. 

The warden closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. It’s just trying to get a reaction; all he has to do is ignore it, no matter how right it may be and how annoying its voice sounds. It’s tempting to get up and leave, but he doesn’t want to leave Ros just yet, doesn’t want to leave her alone with it. 

Sneeg decides to open his eyes, prepared to face off against it, and notices three things. 

The first is that their surroundings have darkened considerably, but not because of the rain clouds or the sun setting. No, it’s an unnatural kind of darkness approaching them, slowly consuming their surroundings. It reminds him of the darkness that a warden brings, hating the comfort it brings him. 

The second is that it has shifted to stand behind the gravestone, leaning against the blackstone as it stares at him, a large smile still plastered on. Raindrops roll off its clothes, but the fabric never absorbs them. Sneeg would be jealous, but all it does is make him more uneasy around the faux Bad. 

The last thing he notices is that its appearance has changed. There are patches of sculk covering the parts of it that the blacksmith can see. They continue to grow, slowly consuming whatever it is, but it doesn’t seem to mind it or even notice. It just keeps watching him. 

The warden decides that he’s been here long enough, slowly standing while trying to ignore the piercing gaze of it. Turning away from the grave, and from it, he has to get back to the castle, he has to—

“Oh, leaving Ros now, are you? Going back to isolating yourself, hmm?” 

Sneeg freezes. 

The sculk spreads. 

The darkness approaches. 

“Not a surprise, pretty typical of you if I’m being honest. You seclude yourself so far away from everyone, even from Phil.” 

Sneeg slowly turns to look at it. 

The sculk is taking over. 

The darkness advances. 

“Ironic that you’re turning into a warden when you fail to even be one. How can you protect your “city” when you’re never around?” 

Sneeg takes out his trident, gripping it tight, waiting for it to speak again. 

The sculk has nearly consumed it, but its smile never falters. 

The darkness draws close. 

“You never were able to protect her, even killing her—” It's silenced when his trident hits it square in the face. It laughs, something horrid and full of glee, as it crumbles into sculk. 

The darkness has completely consumed him now, leaving nothing but him, the grave, and a pile of sculk. Sneeg releases a breath, unaware he was even holding one, but the tension doesn’t leave his body. He’s still on edge, and looking around doesn’t reveal any answers either. 

He’s alone.

…

He was alone.

The blacksmith turns to look back at Ros’s grave and jumps when he comes face-to-face with a warden. It stands in the same place that the fake Bad stood, towering above the gravestone and surrounded by sculk. 

It leans over, looming over the blackstone grave, shielding it from Sneeg.

And then, he wakes up.

The Eighth Nightmare: Heartstrings

At first, Sneeg thought he was in an ancient city. It looks like the ruins of one, and it’s covered in sculk, so it’s not hard to see how one would think that. But after sitting here for so long, the warden has noticed some things that he’s never seen in an ancient city before. 

Yellow wool, stone bricks, diorite, and different types of mangrove, not things you would typically find in a city in the depths of the world. It kinda reminds him of… the castle. Sneeg’s eyes dart around the large ruins once more, taking note of crumbled spires and torn flags of the kingdom he calls home. 

The ruins don’t look like the Castle of Fools. 

These are the ruins of the Castle of Fools. 

He’s been sitting in the ruins of a place he had promised to protect, and now they lie in ruin and covered in sculk. Getting up and beginning to explore, a few sensors click at the blacksmith’s actions. Walking past crumbled statues, a dilapidated gazebo, and withered gardens, he makes his way into the ruins. 

Unsurprisingly, the entrance is in shambles. The pillars holding the stairways to the floor above are now strewn across the path to the throne room, which has caused the stairways to collapse and turn into piles of rubble. The floor above him seems to still be intact, but the wood is rotting and starting to fall apart. 

Sneeg moves on, climbing over the destroyed pillars and entering the throne room. It’s not as destroyed as the entrance hall, but it’s still fairly wrecked. He makes his way down to the seating area and the throne, careful not to trip. Some of the chairs are buried under parts of the roof that have collapsed, but the throne looks untouched. There’s a thick layer of dust, but there’s no sculk or debris touching it. 

He moves towards it, carefully stepping over small stones and making sure not to get his feet caught on the carpet. The warden stops when he’s right in front of it. Minus all the dust, it looks… fine. No cracks, no crumbling pieces, the quartz surrounding the bedrock looks untouched. 

Staring at it for a few more moments, he turns around to explore more of the castle. Darkness consumes Sneeg before he has the chance to take a step. Startled by the sudden change, he stumbles, falling onto the throne. Dust gets into his eyes and nose, causing his face to scrunch and a sneeze to make its way out.

The blacksmith never sat on the throne, or at least he doesn’t remember ever sitting on it. It’s strange to be the one sitting here and not standing next to it. It should be him standing to one side of it while Clown stands on the other, Foolish sitting comfortably on the throne between them. 

He’s about to get up, but stops when, from the darkness, a hand emerges. It’s cloaked in shadow, making it difficult for Sneeg to see who it belongs to. But as it gets closer, it becomes clearer. The warden knows that hand, reaching out for him as it had so many times before. 

It’s Ros.

Her gloved hand reaches for him, and he reaches back. Sneeg is startled when her hand goes through his and just keeps going, reaching not for him. 

But for his heart. 

The rest of her comes into view, and he can look at her properly now. Replacing Ros’s usual bright smile and warm eyes is a cold, blank stare and a neutral expression. It’s a look so foreign to the architect that Sneeg flinches and nearly hits his head against the quartz when he locks eyes with her. 

She leans over him and finally, finally, her hand reaches past his exposed bones and to the vulnerable heart. Ros wraps her fingers around it firmly, but not enough to hurt. The feeling still makes Sneeg tense up, has him trying to press himself further against the throne away from her, afraid of what she could do. 

Deep down, he knows that this isn't her, that this is all some kind of dream or nightmare, that he'll wake up at any moment. But there's also a terrifying thought, creeping its way to the front of his mind, that Ros could do this, could just rip his heart out at any given moment. The warden doesn’t think she would. The architect doesn’t have a reason to, but the fact that she still could, that anyone could, frightens him. 

Nothing happens for a second, two seconds, three seconds, just the two of them staring at the other. Then Ros’s expression shifts. Tilting her head as an empty smile spreads across her face, eyes crinkling, but never breaking contact with the terrified man below. 

Her grip tightens on his heart, and the warden wheezes in pain. Then her form shifts, and suddenly it’s Clown above him and gripping his heart. His head is tilted the same as Ros’s was, and Sneeg is sure that there’s a hollow smile and blank face under his grinning mask. 

Then his form shifts into Foolish, then to Zam, then to Pili, then to Fit, then to Phil, and then to Aimsey, and then it repeats. Cycling through everyone as the grip on his heart gets tighter and tighter, so tight that he’s afraid they’re going to crush his heart instead of ripping it out. 

And then he feels a literal tug on his heartstrings. Sneeg feels them slowly, painfully, start to pull his heart out. Still cycling between people. All of them with the same hollow expression.

Ros, Clown, Foolish, Zam, Pili, Fit, Phil, Aimsey.

Ros, Clown, Foolish, Zam, Pili, Fit, Phil, Aimsey. 

Ros, Clown, Foolish, Zam, Pili, Fit, Phil, Aimsey. 

They cycle faster and faster, faces merging together, as they pull and tug at his heart. It’s painful, so very agonizingly painful. The blacksmith can feel the tissue rip and the arteries disconnect, blood filling the cavity of his chest. 

He can see his heart now, being pulled away by the amalgam of people. Sneeg can’t help but think, as they tug one last time, that they never had to rip his heart out for them to have it, for the warden’s heart had always belonged to them. 

And then, he wakes up.

The Ninth Nightmare: Regicide  

FoolishG was slain by OwengeJuice using [Netherite Great-Axe]

Sneeg stares at the message, silent and unmoving. 

5 seconds.

He barely registers the other messages that follow it and whatever Phil is talking about.  

10 seconds.

The warden’s mind is consumed with the thoughts of failing to prevent another death of his king, his friend.

15 seconds. 

What’s worse is that when he checks, he finds that it’s a reset for Foolish, and it happened in the last few minutes of a peace treaty. 

Some peace it upheld. 

20 seconds.

Unsure when exactly he got to the portal, or if he even said anything to Phil before rushing off, all Sneeg knows is that he took too long to react, to move, to do something. It doesn’t matter anymore, he’s moving now and on his way back to the castle, the blacksmith has to make sure the rest of his kingdom is—will be safe. 

Scrambling out of the hole that led to the nether portal and sprinting out of the moss-ridden forage into the castle, he runs around, looking for anyone. Surely someone would be here after seeing the message; one of his faction members would come rushing here to do the same thing. 

He flies into the throne room, eyes frantically scanning the area, smelling it before he sees it. Sitting there, on the throne, is Foolish. He’s covered in shimmering golden liquid, which almost blends into the color of the totem’s skin. Sneeg belatedly realized that it’s blood, blood that is gushing from where the king’s head should be. 

Lowering himself to the ground before the limp and headless body, eyes never leaving it as he takes a hesitant step towards it, unsure of what he could even do in this kind of situation. There’s a large crack in the quartz that lines up with where a great-axe would be swung to behead someone sitting on it. Dark golden blood is splattered all over it, dirtying the pristine white of the throne. 

“Oh! Sneeg! Seems you’re a little… late to the event! Everyone else already left!” A voice echoes around the room. The sound of small giggles and jingling bells accompanies it. 

Owen. 

The warden pries his eyes away from Foolish’s body and looks around the room, trying to pinpoint where the voice had come from. He would happily risk getting reset if it meant he could tear the former jester apart, actually, Sneeg’s not sure if he even would, considering a certain someone already broke it. 

It doesn’t matter. He has to get revenge, not just for killing Foolish, but also for everything Owen had put Ros through. 

Bells jingle behind him, and whirling around, swinging his trident, Sneeg finds nothing. Giggles from the left, and once again, nothing. The warden’s not sure how he’s avoiding him, but it’s irritating nonetheless. 

“Wow, for being a warden, you sure are terrible at locating me.” The traitor’s voice rings again. “I thought wardens could, ya know, hear really well, and that’s why you had to be quiet in an ancient city. Didn’t realize The Kingdom of Fools had a defective one.” 

Sneeg grips his trident tightly, slowly scanning the room, looking for any hint of the orange jester. “Didn’t know you were such a coward, resorting to hiding in the shadows and using taunts instead.”

It’s silent for a bit before loud laughter echoes off the walls. Bells and small wheezes intermix with the laughter before abruptly falling into silence once again. 

“Oh man, maybe you should have been the jester, Sneeg. I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a while!” 

He can hear walking, but can’t tell where it’s coming from. There’s an unnatural echo that follows each word, each movement Owen makes. It makes it hard for the warden to track him, even with his heightened sense of hearing. 

“It’s fine, though, I think being a blacksmith works better for you anyway. After all, the irony of the blacksmith being the perfect example of when you’re hammer, every problem looks like a nail, is well—” The jester cuts himself off with a small laugh before continuing, “The jokes right themself!” 

Sneeg doesn’t move, doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to give Owen the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. Not that it does, the traitor’s words don’t mean much to the blacksmith. 

“Especially given that a hammer is only helpful when it actually hits things. And man, did you never hit anything!” 

A flash of orange appears in his peripheral, and before there’s time to fully process it, the warden finds his trident stabbed into a wall, grip deathly tight on the handle. Owen’s laugh sounds again, echoing around the room, in Sneeg’s head as he pulls his triden out with ease, turning to look out into the room again, ignoring the corpse slumped on the throne. 

“You just proved my point perfectly!” The jester says, his smile audible. “You can’t kill me, you couldn’t kill Pangi, you couldn’t kill Bad, you couldn’t do anything! It’s impressive, really, truly impressive that you managed to reach the power level you did.”

Sneeg grits his teeth and sharply inhales. Owen’s tone, laugh, and voice are getting on his nerves, though his words aren’t getting to him, not yet, but he knows where this is going, knows roughly what is going to be said. The blacksmith is prepared for it, or at least thinks he is.

“It’s even more impressive to be that power level and have no effect on anything around you in any meaningful way for months on end.” 

Slowly exhaling through his nose and closing his eyes, imagining the trident in his hands is the orange jester’s throat, the warden’s grip tightens. When he gets his hands on Owen, Sneeg is going to rip his head off, see how he likes being beheaded.

“Everyone you try to kill runs away, and everyone you try to protect dies. You’ve let Ros and Foolish die countless times, one time by your own hand, may I add. Some warden you are. You can’t protect the castle or its people, not even from yourself.” 

There’s another flash of orange, and he lunges towards it, trident slamming into the column of the balcony above. The wooden post splinters and cracks from the force, the prongs of the triden going straight through. He hears Owen laugh from behind him. 

He rips his trident out and whips around, ready to stab it right between the former jester’s eyes. Instead, his trident shakily hovers inches away from the decapitated head of Foolish. Sneeg’s hand trembles, staring at the bloodied head, the totem’s face looking almost… peaceful. The blacksmith is just glad that the king’s eyes are closed and not staring at him. 

He’s vaguely aware of the fact that Owen is holding Foolish’s head, having it covering the jester’s face. If Sneeg was strong enough, he would’ve shoved the trident through his friend’s head and straight through the traitor’s. He doesn’t think the totem shark would’ve cared, maybe he would complain a bit a first, but not seriously, probably would’ve thought it was cool or something. 

And while Sneeg may be physically strong and somewhat mentally strong, he’s most certainly not emotionally strong. The warden lowers his trident, nearly dropping it. The smell of blood fills his nose and coats his mouth, almost tasting it. His breaths come out quick, quiet, and uneven, his chest rising and falling in tandem, lungs aching as they can never quite get enough air with each inhale and exhale.

Owen peeks at him from behind the head with a grin stretching from ear to ear. Sneeg only spares him a glance before the eyes of Foolish’s head snap open, piercing green meeting frightened black. 

And then he wakes up. 

The Tenth Nightmare: Crumbling Castle

“So why are we here again?” Phil asks, instinctively looking through nearby chests and barrels.

“I just need to grab some stuff from my room and maybe from the enchanting room,” Sneeg replies, walking through the castle’s kitchen, adding on, “And to maybe see if Ros or Foolish were around.” 

He hears the crow hum in response, close on his heels as they enter his old room. It kinda pains him to call it his old room, no matter how true it may be. It’s still his room; the blacksmith just doesn’t use it or sleep in it as much anymore. The room is still the same, if not a bit more overgrown. The sculk hasn’t spread any further since he’s been staying at Phil’s island. It might as well be their island with how much time Sneeg has spent there. 

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“Ros and Foolish? Not too long ago, I think. Maybe a few days? I just wanna check in on them, fix or make anything they need.” 

The avian snorts. “So, make a new set of gear, tools, and weapons for Foolish, and maybe fix some of Ros’s gear?” 

Sneeg laughs, leaning against the chest he was searching through, burying his face in gloved hands. Phil laughs with him, sounding more like a bird than a person, which makes him laugh a little harder. 

“Dude, shut up,” The blacksmith wheezes. “It’s not his fault that Bad keeps killing him.” 

“It kinda is, though? Mans just lets him kill him?” 

“I mean, sure, yeah. That’s pretty true. Ok, I guess it’s partially his fault.” 

“Partially?!” His friend squawks. “He doesn’t do anything to stop it? I would argue that he enables it!”  

“Mmmmmm no. No, I don’t think so.” Sneeg turns to Phil with a grin, pleased with the groan the crow lets out after. 

“Sorry Phil, can’t have you disrespecting my king like that.” 

The lumberjack sighs and grumbles, “This is why I didn’t like the faction system! This is why I don’t like governments!” 

The warden snorts as he closes the last chest, “Says the guy who made an empire and took over the whole world.” 

“That was one time!” Phil retorts, playfully punching his arm.

“Ok, grandpa,” He says, walking out of the old forge and into the kitchen, making his way back to the entrance of the castle. 

“Anyway, we can probably just go back. I think if Ros or Foolish were here, they would’ve said something and joined us.” 

He waits for a reply from the avian, but nothing comes. Just… silence. Now that he thinks of it, he didn’t hear Phil’s footsteps behind him, and he doesn’t hear anything coming from the mossy forge or the kitchen either. Maybe he’s just trying to sneak up behind Sneeg and startle him?

“Phil?” He asks, turning around to the old crow, or where he thought he would be.

Moving from room to room in the castle, calling out his friend’s name, thinking that at first, the old man is just playing some prank on him, a game of hide and seek that he wasn’t told about. Sneeg plays along with it until a few hours pass, and there’s still no sign of his friend at all.

“Phil, come on, this isn’t funny anymore,” The warden calls, checking the upper levels of the castle again. 

He pulls out his communicator and starts typing out messages to Phil. If he doesn’t respond to this, then Sneeg doesn’t know what else to do. Maybe summon a Keeper and ask them for help? That would probably be his best bet. 

No player was found

“Huh?” He types and sends another message. 

No player was found 

Doing it again, typing and sending multiple messages over and over, Sneeg gets the same message.  

No player was found

No player was found

No player was found

No player was found

No player was found

No player was found

The blacksmith shakes his head and sighs. Maybe there was a glitch going on with the communicators or with the messaging system. It's unlike Phil to just leave him without warning. He doesn’t want to believe that his closest friend would leave so suddenly. Guess it’s time to summon a Keeper then. 

“Hey, Keepers!” Sneeg shouts, voice echoing in the empty room. “There's an old man on the loose, and I need help getting him back to bed before he hurts himself! Also, you’re messaging system is broken!” Once again, he’s met with silence. First Phil, then the Keepers. 

Taking a step towards the stairs, intending to leave and find someone who could help him, a loud thud sounds from behind, causing him to jump and pivot towards it. The warden had hoped it would somehow be the crow hybrid, but instead, was greeted with pieces of stone bricks scattered across the floor. When looking up, he has to jump out of the way of more stone bricks falling and nearly hitting him. Sneeg quickly goes back to the idea of leaving, making his way back to the stairs.

As he descends, the castle violently shakes, and he has little time to react or even process what’s happening when the castle starts collapsing. The warden still tries to escape, jumping over and dodging rubble, but doesn’t make it. The path is blocked, and the ground is caving in, likely because of the ballroom and the large area that was dug out under the castle. 

He tries to fly, feeling stupid for not remembering the gift of flight from reaching Nirvana, but instead, he just falls. Sneeg flails in the air, trying to think of something, anything, that can help him survive this. He tries to use his wings, tries to move them if not to fly, then to glide—

He’s small again, a moth again—has wings again. Sneeg’s not trying to escape a crumbling castle anymore. He’s trying to escape a crumbling world. One that had been destroyed and put back together too many times, trying to breathe life into something that had been long dead. Or maybe never had life to begin with. 

The moth is trying to escape so he can find his friend, who had left just as suddenly as Phil had. Maybe Phil was that friend? But… why would he leave Sneeg so abruptly again? Why leave when everything is dying and not bring him? 

He’s big again, a warden again—has no wings again. Phil is still gone, and Sneeg is still falling. He’s back in the crumbling castle that he swore to protect. His last thought, before colliding with the ground, is that he’s glad it was only him in the castle. 

And then he wakes up. 

The Eleventh Nightmare: The Warden

Sneeg opens his eyes and finds himself… somewhere, not quite sure where or how he got here, but knows he’s somewhere. The ground is cold, and the warden can’t really see anything. 

Sitting up and finding that, actually, he can’t see anything at all except for the surrounding darkness. Which is a problem, he needs to find Crinkle and protect the castle, not be lost in wherever the fuck he is.

Standing and choosing a random direction to walk, he hopes to find something or someone that can tell him what’s going on. The last thing the blacksmith remembers is being told where his missing snail was and going there. He can’t remember who told him, possibly a Keeper, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Sneeg was so close to finding his friend, to being able to fully protect his kingdom. He just had to randomly end up in some kind of void and get lost. 

Unsure of how long he’s been walking or has even moved to somewhere new, the warden could be walking in circles or simply walking in place after all. It’s so hard to tell what’s what when you’re surrounded by complete darkness, and sometimes Sneeg forgets his eyes are even open, having to check by either looking down at himself or raising his hands to eye level. 

Trudging on regardless, in hopes that something will change, that he’ll see or hear something or someone. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long, because in the distance, Sneeg sees it, sees them. 

The castle, his friends, crinkle. All happy and healthy. 

No corruption. 

No sculk. 

The blacksmith runs—if you could even call it that, with how heavy his body feels—to them, to his family. They’re right there, standing outside the castle, happily talking under a bright blue sky. The closer he gets, the more Sneeg can see, and the more detailed they are. 

Ros is smiling, looking and acting like she did when they first met, full of life and whimsy again. 

Clown is relaxed and at ease with everyone, not having to worry about any threats that could harm his friends. 

Foolish is grinning from ear to ear, as he chatters away to his architect and archmage, not having to worry about anyone trying to kill him. 

Crinkle is happily jumping between people, spinning around. His shell is free of sculk and normal again. 

Zam is floating above the ground as she talks to him, happily talking his ear off and not isolating herself from those who unconditionally care about her.

Sneeg is—wait, that’s not right—he does a double take and… sees himself, a version of himself talking with Zam. A version that’s sculk-free, that looks happy. 

Getting closer and closer now, closer to his kingdom, the warden has to reach them, to reach himself. He has to get to the other him, has to know why and how he’s there, how Sneeg can be like him. 

He has to—THUNK.

Stumbling back in shock, did he just—what did he run into? Quickly regaining his balance and looking up, there’s only a mirror in place of… well, he’s not quite sure what to call it. A scene, maybe? A glimpse into another timeline? 

A dream?

It has to be. 

None of this is real, and barely any of it makes sense. He just saw a vision of a life he never lived, that none of them will ever live. The other him isn’t real, just another thing conjured from the regrets and memories of his mind, manifesting into a scene of something, of his home, that never happened. They can never be like that, never go back to when the kingdom was in its infancy, when they all got along and everyone was happy. 

So… yeah, he’s in a dream. 

Sneeg walks up to the mirror and, instead of a reflection of himself, sees the kingdom scene in it. Tentatively, reaching a hand out to his kingdom, to his family, the former blacksmith looks between them, continuing with their conversations, not even acknowledging him. 

All except… 

The mirror version of himself has stopped talking to Zam, the princess doesn’t seem to notice, and is starting right at Sneeg. It—because it’s not him, it’s just a part of the dream—doesn’t seem fazed by his presence, and instead just stares at him blankly. 

The copy walks up to Sneeg, breaking away from the scene, and raises its hand a bit, and it takes him a painfully long time to realize that it's mirroring the hand that he raised. The reflection doesn’t mimic anything else, though, just continues to stare at him blankly.  

Sneeg isn’t quite sure what to do next, whether he should walk away or try to touch the mirror. Looking behind the other him, the former blacksmith watches as his kingdom continues to converse, smiling and laughing. It’s painful to know that he couldn’t protect them like he wanted to, that they couldn’t be doing that right now instead of dealing with the corruption and whatever else was going on. 

It pains the warden that he wasn’t able to turn this outcome into reality. He wonders where he went wrong, what he could’ve done to go down that timeline instead of the one he’s on now.

The other him continues to stare, still mimicking his movements. Sneeg hesitantly starts to reach for the mirror, the thought that none of this is real popping to the front of his mind once more. 

Because this is just a dream, isn't it? One that he’ll wake up from soon enough, and when he does, he’ll go back to looking for Crinkle. And when that’s done, they can protect their kingdom together. 

Carefully planting his hand on the mirror, the coolness of the glass startles him out of his thoughts. The mirror Sneeg has done the same, its hand resting on the other side, and he can barely see it, with how the sculk has been changing his body to match that of a warden’s. 

Sneeg is about to pull his hand away and try to wake himself up when the other version of him starts to… change, rapidly. It happens so fast, it turns into sculk and latches onto his hand, and he tries to react, to pull away, but the sculk is faster and stronger and pulls him into the mirror instead. 

Water surrounds him, filling the blacksmith’s nose, mouth, and lungs, making his eyes sting. Bubbles flow from his mouth and nose, follow flailing limbs trying to propel the sinking man to the mirror or the surface or to wherever air is. 

Something pulls Sneeg deeper and deeper into the depths, darkness stretching past him and creeping into his vision. Black spots begin to dance in his eyes, contrasting with the fading light of the presumed surface of the body of water consuming him. The bigger the spots get, the less light he can see, the more the image in front of him reminds him of sculk. 

Fewer and fewer bubbles leave him now, water weighing heavily in his lungs and limbs going limp. Still, Sneeg is dragged deeper into the abyss, further and further away from any form of salvation. 

Is this how he dies? 

Blinding light and hard ground crash into him, the impact disorienting and overwhelming Sneeg’s senses. Wheezes and panicked coughs leave empty lungs as the blacksmith’s body tries to adjust to being on dry land and not drowning in water. 

Once somewhat recovered, Sneeg slowly sits up and looks around, realizing rather quickly that he’s on the other side of the mirror, in the scene he was just watching. His friends are still talking and laughing, like nothing just happened. 

Looking down at himself, dry clothes and sculkless skin greet him, resembling the version of the copy he was just staring at. He was…  back, back to who he was before the sculk infection. Back to when Sneeg was just the kingdom’s blacksmith and not the kingdom’s blacksmith and warden. 

Getting up and inspecting his surroundings further, the mirror is there like it has always been there. Sneeg startles when he sees a warden on the other side, expecting to see either nothing or his infected body. To his confusion, the warden mimics the movements. No matter what, it continues to move around, perfectly in sync with him. 

Just like the mirror version.

Just like the mirror version.

Mirrors reflect what’s in front of them, never anything else. 

Sneeg freezes at the realization. 

The warden is him. 

He can see it now, how the warden isn’t a normal one. Sneeg can see his face—what used to be his face—dark blue and eyes consumed by sculk. Dark hair falls over his face, long and unkempt. From it are four large horns, more than what wardens usually had. The ones on the left side, he notes, are slightly larger. All of his exposed bones, including his teeth, have turned black, and some of them are much sharper and spikier. 

Was this really a dream?

A nightmare? 

Or did he actually lose to the infection? 

Fear seizes him. What if this isn’t a dream like Sneeg thought it had been? What if he was just trapped in his mind, losing a battle he didn’t know he was fighting? What if he’s already lost?

Rushing over to the mirror, slamming into it in hopes of going back through, he doesn’t; instead, the glass cracks slightly at the impact. The blacksmith pulls back and looks at the warden—because that’s not him, it can’t be—and is terrified when he notices that it’s not mimicking his movements anymore. Instead, it just watches the helpless man, like how it watched when Sneeg was on that side.

The warden stands there for a little bit before turning around and walking away. He slams on the mirror, ignoring the glass cracking more and more beneath the pounding. Sneeg continues regardless, hysterically calling out to the warden to please come back, but no sound reaches him, and no amount of force will get him back through.

But he has to get out, he has to wake up. Because this is just a dream, it has to be a dream! None of this is real! All he has to do is wake up!

Wake up 

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

And then...

He doesn't wake up.