Lionhearts ||Skephalo||

43

The air around him seems to snap, and Skeppy suddenly feels like everything around him is fading to nothingness, the environment turning to monochrome.

It feels ashen, and he feels sick, incomplete and horribly alone.

But it passes soon, and he stretches out alongside Sapnap, wondering,

"Is it actually safe to sleep here? I mean, the doors lock, but it's not been inhabited for a good decade right? So who knows what moved in."

Sapnap nudges him with his elbow playfully.

"You know we cleared the whole place out, Skep. Let's go to sleep, Eret's men will be here soon."

The boys are already curled up with Fundy's little ball of orange fur sandwiched between them as they doze, hands interlinked as though to reassure the other that there's someone right there for them.

Skeppy can't shake this uneasy sensation that something has gone wrong, though. There's a new tension in the air that he can't explain, not one between him and his friends; rather the air itself seems to have been drawn taut.
But he concedes at Sapnap's response, and nestles nearer, resting his head against Sapnap's chest as his friend wraps his arms around him.

The two came to an odd, silent, agreement that it was best for them to sleep like this, close together; it seems like ages ago that Skeppy first woke up with Sapnap's body pressed to his in search of warmth.
It's become a regular occurrence. Despite his nap earlier, Skeppy still feels drained and out of it, and so he easily slips into the world of dreams.

* * *

He sees the familiar white mask, and realizes he didn't go to Bad this time, instead to...

This isn't the End. George is holding Dream's hand and they're walking in the Overworld, along a path that he recognizes as being just outside of Gotopia. They must have come looking for the group.
Skeppy realizes with a shock that George has a large purple starburst under his eye, covering his cheek in a bruise-like marking. He looks battered.

But in a way so does Dream, as the prince squeezes George's hand tightly, looking around nervously. They both wear long grey cloaks and George has his bow.

"He's here," Dream suddenly informs George, and the brunet cocks his head, "I can feel him nearby."

Skeppy touches down next to them, confused. 'Him'? He leans nearer to George, inspecting the marking with curious eyes.

"You mean he's projecting right now?" George asks innocently, "How can you tell?"

"I'm on edge," Dream admits softly, and points directly at Skeppy. "He's right there."

George turns a discerning gaze to the spot Skeppy stands, unbeknownst to him staring right through the hunter.

"Skeppy?" He asks, "Are you seriously stalking me right now?"

It's playful, but Skeppy can't help reaching to try prodding his friend's shoulder, getting a reaction; and he does. The tension in the air, that hadn't faded with his dream, buckles, and George flinches.

"He touched you?" Dream asks, and narrows his eyes at Skeppy, trying to see him. "Skeppy, go back to your body. Things can hurt you out here."

Skeppy rolls his eyes, beginning to say,

"I can stand up for myself." He only gets out the first three words though, and then he feels himself being yanked back through space to his body, or roughly his body.

He reaches for Bad, trying to find him, but all he can find is something that slips through his fingers all too quickly, something that feels like silk and water and—

It burns. He drops what little he had, and recoils into somewhere else.

He steps onto cream stone, a hollow thud under his feet as he lands, looking down on a cot in a tent of sorts.

Sapnap is younger, but it's still definitely him on the cot, gasping and moaning in pain, his arm bleeding and impaled by some sort of spine, around a foot in length.

The skin surrounding the injury is purple and swollen, and Skeppy winces sympathetically, for the moment forgetting to retreat from what had to be his friend's dream.
A figure's shadow falls upon them, and a young man with wayward brown hair and soft lavender eyes steps in, kneeling down to grasp the spine.

"Hang on Nick," he murmurs softly, tugging on the spine as Sapnap cries out. "It'll be okay soon, you'll be fine. Deep breaths."

He seems soft and affectionate, clearly having a deep tie to Sapnap.
And familiar, he seems familiar.
Skeppy scrutinizes the young man's face, and as the environment fades around him, it clicks.

It clicks as he plummets into snow, struggling out of it as he can see Sapnap doing the same thing, his friend's frustrated cry ringing through his mind as they both go under and the world dims to black.

* * *

Skeppy's lids feel leaden, but he still forces them open, hearing Sapnap whimper next to him, still trapped within his distressing dreams.

A combat trained medic.

Skeppy shifts, swallowing. He's not sure the knowledge he's just come into is...good to share.
Surely his friend will want to turn back?...

He closes his eyes again, and paints the memory of the medic from Sapnap's dream.

The same young man from Gotopia, the medic they had encountered. The one whose eyes changed color, the one who knew how to heal those injuries from the creatures.
Skeppy bites his lip, looking up at Sapnap.

He knows who his friend's soulmate must be— and they had come so close to meeting again.
Your soulmate is KJ, isn't it?

* * *

Philza stalks up the path almost angrily, his skin prickling with an odd sort of tension, like the feeling before a storm— but there's not a cloud in sight in the indigo sky.

Wilbur floats after him, urgently asking,

"Dad— do you feel it?" Phil nods grimly.

"She was right," he sighs. "The piglin girl. She was begging me to come help her free a mage that got captured. She says he is powerful, and if this is the result of him breaking, I think I can tell what she was feeling."

Wilbur looks nervous, raising his gaze to rest on the walls of the city ahead.
He can see lights of others traveling, campfires and torches and werelights alike.

But in his vision they're all terribly dim, cast in a blue coloration. He laces his fingers, and dares to ask.

"What is he?" Phil flinches slightly, and mutters,

"Powerful, clearly. I'll contact her for more information when we reach the walls. I can feel Tubbo still, he definitely came this way."

Wilbur leans around a tree, staring harder at the walls.

"What are all these holes?" He wonders faintly, and Phil stops, glancing at the ghost in concern.

"Holes?"

"There's these little white rips in the sky," he explains, "They're not that noticeable, I don't think, but I feel..." He trails off, and shakes his head. "I'm not sure. I'm probably just getting used to being in the spirit realm. They might be mana currents."

Phil accepts this explanation for now, uneasily. Somehow, he knows that the feeling of pervasive wrongness that he and Wilbur both are experiencing is not just a coincidence, but he's a bit afraid to consider the alternatives.

After all the prophecies and foreboding warnings spirits have given him, he's right to feel fear.