Holding On

17

Dream's POV:

Frustrated, I stomp through the woods to the bottom of this godforsaken Cliff, determined to find an old 'friend' of mine, who may be able to defeat the cloaked warrior defending Tommyinnit.

My tensed men scramble behind me, not accustomed to the silky glow of the moon, stumbling over branches and bashing their swords on objects only I can see in this seemingly eternal darkness.

Rolling my eyes, my ears register the crunch of snow, and I know we're in his territory.

The keen bite of the wind attacks my porcelain mask, its only reward being the taste of failure.

George and Sapnap have returned home for the time being, in order to heal their wounds and run the empire for me.

There's an audible sigh from the from two men as the dim glow of a lantern and a thin streak of chimney smoke comes into view.

A hoodie isn't much protection from the elements, and I doubt we'll have a welcome as warm as the frost on my boots.

I unsheathe my netherite sword, seemingly slicing the very fabric that weaves the air around me.

If I'm to survive the night, I will desperately need this sword.

The mushy footprints left behind in the snow irk me a little, knowing that we could be being watched by an unforseen enemy that lirks within the forest.

Even worse, we could be about to be ambushed by today's (well, yesterday's, because judging by the moon it's in the earliest hours of the next day) warrior, and I have no army to defend me this time.

My eyes constantly flit around the trees, hoping to gain even a moment's notice if we were to be ambushed by said warrior.

As we near the fuzzy glow of the lanterns, a sweet, comfy-looking cottage bounces into view.

What surprises me is the faint humming noise coming from the kitchen.

Not does one of my greatest, most fearsome rivals have a frilly white and pink apron on and is gleefully cooking himself dinner, he's singing a song while doing so.

Techno's POV:

I've never been one to love music, but this song always seemed to stick to me, clingin' on for dear life. I knew the lyrics by the third time I heard it, and haven't forgotten them since.

The sad thing is that it's slowly become more and more relevant to me as time has gone on.

It was my dad that showed me that song. Lonesome Town (Ricky Nelson), the perfect song for me. Of course, my dad's gone now, but I still listen to it every so often.

Sometimes if I'm alone -which is always- I'll even try singin'.

Dream's POV:

I slowly creep up towards the back window of the kitchen, determined to find out what Techno is singing.

I don't know why I need to know, I just feel like it's necessary.

The faint humming noise fades into distinct words, but I'm not familiar with the song, but it sounds like something that was made for Techno.

"In the town of broken dreams,
The streets are filled with regret.

Maybe down in Lonesome Town,
I can learn to forget.

Maybe down in Lonesome Town...

I can learn to forget. "

As Techno finishes the song, I feel suddenly moved by his gentle voice, lulled by his smooth words.

He splashes some halved potatoes into a pot to build, then crosses into the living room where a fire is crackling softly.

I follow him round, using the living room window to see into the cottage.

I'm behind him, peering over his shoulder at a photo I didn't notice him grab.

At first glance I'd thought it was Tommy, but when I blinked I realized that the man in the photo was much older than that familiar face.

I strain my ears to hear him mutter to the clearly aging photograph.

"I miss you, Dadza. "