Echo | Dream Team

Seven - Of caution and watchful eyes

It was strange.

Every person was a stained glass panel in the large chapel of life, full of colors and history and a story waiting to be told. Every tale was a scroll of parchment laid bare for him to see, a book discarded on the ground for him to pick up and open. He seemed to be able to read people in the way merchants read objects for sale, determining their value and their skills and just what it was that drove them forward in their short lives. Nothing was ever hidden from him for long. Each movement, every word and the pauses between them, told him all he needed to know.

But the boy was a mystery to him.

He could sense it in the way he regarded those around him, his eyes wide, always watching. It wasn't in the same way that Dream watched the people around him, but more with a sense of relief and joy. He seemed to find happiness in just waking up in the morning, faced with the daunting task of another long day.

"An enigma", he'd called him. A question that bombarded his mind every day as he went through the monotonous actions of training and fight, sweeping through opponents that could've been knocked over by strong enough of a gust of wind. It didn't really matter. Though he preferred to be able to fight those who were stronger than him, he'd take any challenger that was offered and learn to improve in all the same.

That was his life. Improve, learn, try to change, and be turned down by the Lady at the end.

Sometimes he wondered if he was delusional.

Dream dodged under the arm of the heavy soldier as she swung her sword, its sweeping bite aimed towards his left. His fingertips brushed the ground as he dropped down into a crouch, his other hand holding his waiting blade. The sword whooshed overtop of him, a gust that ruffled his hair but did little else to harm him. He straightened up, the tip of his sword still lowered, and closed his eyes, letting his body guide his movements instead of his mind.

Left, another left, then a feint, then a right. She fought like a machine, trained to take out any adversaries in her radius. Her movements were stiff, and she was painfully slower than Sapnap, who served as his usual sparring partner. It almost didn't feel like a victory when he brought his arm up, catching the soldier's protective headpiece in the side and sending sparks flying, throwing her to the hard ground. A puff of dust rose up at her impact, billowing around them. Dream sheathed his sword and waved a hand, clearing the air in front of him as he opened his eyes.

"Good job," the general said, grinning over at Dream from where he leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, shaded by its leafy branches. "Not too bad. Pace yourself better next time. You could've matched her speed."

"She was slow. There was no point in matching her speed," Dream protested.

"That's not the point. The exercise was to set a rhythm and stick to it."

Dream didn't even look at him as he waited for the next person to step up, a small frown tugging at the corners of his lips. Really, it was more of a challenge for the rest of the soldiers as they tried to match him. He could slow down. He'd done just that while he and Sapnap worked to train George, preparing the clairvoyant for the battle that might one day catch up to him. It was only fair; the entire war was being fought for him, and after seeing the boy brush off sleep with anger and determination in his heterochromatic gaze and ask to be trained, Dream had decided that he would honor his wishes as best as he could.

In a way, he was beginning to respect the boy. He'd never met a person who was so hard to read, and the fact left him amazed. The simple things were there, easy to see: a dedicated boy, tired of all that he'd been through, worn out by ordeals that had probably seen the people around him turning against him when his powers first came to light. Dream could figure that out much. It was a typical story, one that he'd seen before. What he couldn't deduce was where his mirth came from.