Flame and Spade (A DreamNotFound Story)

Chapter 13*

This is set at the end of chapter 11. As in, Chapter 12 and 13 are happening simultaneously from different povs. ok read on

Chapter 13

With that, he turned to hurry away, dousing the lantern with a quick jerk and plunging the boys into inky black. He was sealed in darkness. Or wait, no he wasn't - a watery starlight began to cast itself over the walls. How could it be night already? Clay wondered, still shifting on the first step. Surely, they couldn't have been in the castle for that long. Immediately, Clay reached for George's hand - but was met with a smooth stone wall. Clay was perplexed; he looked around in the weak light that slipped through the slit windows and it was obvious that there was nowhere for George to go. Crouching, Clay decided to take a moment to consider his surroundings. He had grown up in the forests, where critical thinking could save your life, and though Wilbur had warned them to not stop walking, Clay paused.

The stairs were smooth and retained a dull shine, as if they had been regularly polished years ago and spiraled up into darkness. Though it had been late afternoon when the boys had entered the castle, a bleak icy light filtered through the stairwell like a permanent twilight hung over the hall. Getting his bearings and stealing a shallow breath, Clay began to lightly bound up the steps. He had no idea how long they would be, so he made sure not to use up too much energy. Though in excellent physical shape, climbing the stairs soon left a smarting burn at the back of Clay's thighs. But no matter, he decided, plunging forward and picking up his slowing pace. He was determined to get back to George, and soon.

It was rather pretty in the stairwell, moonlight bouncing off the mirrored sides. Though tarnished, Clay could still make out his watery reflection in them, grimacing back at him. The stairs were thick and even, and inclined on a soft slope, spiraling around. There was no rail to prevent Clay from falling down the middle - it was as though ink made from the very night itself had been painted at the bottom, for Clay could hardly see two steps behind him. "Strange," he breathed, the path ahead of him illuminated well. Clay continued to climb, alone but for his thoughts. Madly, they swirled around his mind until he began to worry at his lip. He had to find a way out of here. He couldn't fail George - it was his fault, his fucking temper's fault for getting them stuck in the Overworld in the first place. And with a bunch of nutcases, too! But how would he ever find a way back?

Clay didn't like the odds of finding a new portal and being able to complete it - ruined portals were rare and hard to find. Ruined portals were one of the few things that scared Clay. Terrified him, even - it was an old myth, but a terrifying one nonetheless. Clay remembered the Elders telling him and Bad the story one rainy day in school - about a mysterious man, who looked normal but for his eyes glowing like white hot lava. As the myth goes, he was evil and corrupted the land far and wide; wreaking havoc and terrifying all those he came near. Some people even say that if you looked straight at his eyes, you would be made into his disciple and carry out his diabolical word. None could stop him - or even came close. That is, until Saint Steven rode into battle with the most powerful witch in the whole Overworld - Alexandra the Great. Together, they ambushed him and struck him down. After Saint Steven fought him to a point of mutual weakness and tire, Alexandra the Great banished him from the Overworld. Still, even with all their power combined they could not prevent him from attempting to escape back, and ruin portals were rumored to be evidence of him - alive, angry, and seeking revenge for the way he was cast from the Overworld - trying to build a portal to come back. However, the magnitude of magic it takes to make a portal is no burden that one person can carry alone, so he was never able to and eventually gave up trying, slinking away to some corner of the Nether. Or so people say. Others whisper he's still out there, biding his time and trying to come back.

Clay shuddered, phantom chills licking up his spine. Herobrine. Absolutely terrifying. Not that Clay would ever admit it, of course. God, would these stairs ever stop? Wrapping his arms around himself, Clay blew numbly into his fingers to let his breath warm them. The temperature had stooped, then dropped; the air was as frigid as the dead of winter and Dream could see his breath suspend in the air. The glacial air pierced his skin like daggers of frost, brushing aside his thick coat with ease and turning his fingers blue. Still, he climbed, paying mind to Wilbur's advice. His thighs burned with a cold fire, every step agony. Still, he kept climbing. His throat ached, screaming for a drink - but still, he kept climbing. Then he heard it. And then he stopped. A weak, quiet,