Three Futures Enslaved | Dream Team

Chapter Forty-Four

George wanted to cry or scream, or maybe both at the same time. He settled on a muted sob, closing his eyes as he ran his hands across the smooth glass surface.

His mother. The day she'd died, his father had vowed to find a way to bring her back to life. They'd turned to every medic they knew, pleaded to mages, sought advice from all the philosophers and wise men in the kingdom. All shook their head to the notion. "Death is final," they said, "and one must accept it, even a king."

But the king never gave up. Eventually, he found a mage willing to at least help him preserve the queen's body, keeping it from aging and rotting away. He'd had the best coffin made, perfectly fitted for her.

The thought of it made George sick. To know that people had come to the castle and measured his mother's dead body sent chills down his spine. It felt wrong, like she'd been violated. They had no right to ruin her final peace.

The king had brought him to the room a year after the mage had finished their work. George could barely stand being in the vicinity, and he'd left as soon as he could. Ever since, he'd vowed never to come to the area again.

Yet there he was, standing next to his mother's coffin once more.

He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," Filens said softly. "She's just asleep, you see?"

George nodded, playing along with it. He knew she was dead. He knew that nothing could change that.

And yet... hadn't Dream come back to life? He'd been dead too, for sure. George had been the one to deliver the blow, and he knew that his friend had died. But he also knew that he was searching for Dream right now, had seen the man sit up in his deathbed and stare at him. He'd been alive. 

Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to revive his mother too.

The thought lifted him up for a minute before his spirits plummeted down again. He couldn't. After all, actual revival didn't work. He'd seen that with Dream and his memory loss, like he'd become a totally new person. If George's own mother didn't recognize him, it would hurt a thousand times over, like he'd lost her all over again. 

"Let's go, George," Filens urged.

George ran his hand across his eyes and nodded again. He turned and followed the man around the coffin, down the hall, and towards the rest of the castle.

***

It felt like he'd been electrically shocked, walking through the castle again.

It had been... what? Seven months? More? He didn't even know anymore. All he was certain of was that he'd been far from his home for way too long, and now he was back.

Dimly lit hallways. Fire flickering in the lamps against the walls. All the paintings. The texture of the rug, the soft feel of it under his shoes. All of it was like a friendly little wave to him from an old friend that he hadn't seen in a long time. 

George felt almost annoyed when Filens pulled him from the center of the hallway, sticking to the sides. He had opened his mouth to protest against the indignity when his world came crashing down on him with the knowledge that it wasn't his home anymore. The castle was under Suspiro control, not Superiora. 

Not his control.

He swallowed and let the knight tug him away.

It wasn't right. He'd grown up in the structure, learning its pathways and its history. He'd spent countless days sitting in the middle of hallways, staring at the portraits hanging from the walls. Portraits of generations of ancestors, kings and queens and princes and princess from before him. He didn't know any of them, but as he had gazed up at them with rapture, he'd become acquainted with the slightest raised brows and tufts of hair.

Now, as portrait after portrait stared down at him, their silent question was as clear as if it had been spoken out loud to him: What had happened to our kingdom?

He couldn't say. He didn't know how he'd lost the kingdom to Suspiro, nor how he'd gotten into the entire predicament in the first place. It felt haunting, how quickly they'd lost. 

In a way, that was a good thing --- or at least, that was what he told himself. Less lives to be lost. 

But he knew that he was still to blame. When his kingdom had needed him the most, he hadn't been there for it.

Stop it, he told himself sternly. You're so close to Dream now. You'll be able to see him again and apologize for everything. It'll finally be over.

You've messed up everything else. You couldn't even help your own kingdom; why do you think you can help even one person?

George bit his lip to stop the sounds trying to tear out of his throat.

"There are two knights just at the end of this hallway," Filens whispered to him, stopping him from turning the corner. "I will sneak forward and disable them."

A flurry of panic rushed through George. "'Disable' as in... break their legs?"

"No," Filens assured him, a slight twinkle in his eyes. "'Disable' as in hit their nervous system and render them incapacitated." He paused, then admitted, "That would've been a better word to lead with."

George hesitated. "Are you sure you're sneaky enough, sir?" he asked cautiously.

Thankfully, the knight didn't take offense. "I shall sneak with the grace of a barn owl, embodying their silence in flight."

He didn't even have time to protest again. Filens was gone in an instant.

George closed his eyes and let out a quiet exhale. His nerves were on end. He wanted to take a break, to go to his room and collapse in bed for a couple hours. He didn't want to be sneaking around anymore, constantly wary. 

Just this once. One last time, and then everything will be fine again.

Now that he thought about it, he didn't actually have a plan for what to do when they found Dream. How would they deal with his memory loss? No doubt, the man wouldn't actually trust them. In truth, George probably wouldn't trust them either, what with one scraggly-looking man with an obsession with barnyard animals and another man with a desperate air around him. He'd trust them even less when the young man started talking about being sorry for killing him.

All in all, maybe it wasn't a plan that had a high success rate. But it was also the only plan he had.

George jumped at the sound of two dull thumps. A second later, Filens voice called, "Like a barn owl, George!"

He peeked around the corner. Filens grinned at him, two unconscious knights at his feet. He made a waving motion with his hand. Follow me.

George did as he was instructed. He straightened up and walked down the hall, making his way to Filens's side. The entrance to the stairwell that led to the dungeon would be a ways to their left, which meant that they still had a long way to go. It would take much more time if they had to stop at every corner and wait for Filens to knock out any patrolling knights.

"George!" Filens shouted suddenly. George's head snapped up, his eyes widening. "Duck!"

Instinctively, he did as he was told, dropping to a crouch so fast that his chin hit his knee. Pain erupted on the point, but that was the least of his concerns. A small object whizzed over his head, burying itself in the knight's chest. Filens wavered on the spot, then collapsed to the ground.

"No!" George cried, leaping to his feet. He made a move to rush forward to the man's aid, but sudden pressure at the side of his neck made his muscles go weak. The ground was rushing up at his face, and just like that, he was unconscious.