Three Futures Enslaved | Dream Team

Chapter Forty-Seven

George kicked his legs, making the water at his feet ripple, ruining the perfect surface. Tiny fish swam just beneath the surface, circling around his legs in colorful streaks of red, white, orange. 

He looked over at the lady next to him, who gave him a gentle smile. "You're scaring them, Georgie," she chided, though she didn't look angry.

"I'm not," George protested. "They like it! See, they're call coming to me!"

"They don't know better," his mother said with a laugh. "Come now, Georgie, settle down."

George pouted but did as he was told, letting his legs swing to a stop until they were dangling again, very uninterestingly. The fish, curious at the sudden lack of movement, swam closer, one after another. 

A delighted laugh escaped him. "Mum, they're nibbling at me!"

His mother peered over at the water. A bright smile spread over her face. "You've become fish kibble," she scolded playfully. "You see? That's why you should have left them alone."

George kicked his legs again, and the fish scattered instantly. "Come back!" he called after them, stilling immediately. "I didn't mean to!"

He and his mother watched as, slowly, the fish gradually came back. George giggled at the feeling of them nibbling at his feet. It tickled. He imagined what it would feel like if he was lying in the pond, floating on his back, thousands of fish surrounding him and all taking minuscule bites. He didn't want to be eaten, though. 

He looked up at his mother and voiced his newfound concerns. "I don't want to be eaten," he said plaintively. 

His mother smiled and reached out, pulling him into a hug. "There are worse ways to die, my dear," she said softly. "Such a pleasant death is rare. I would like it very much."

George buried his face in his mother's chest and melted into her embrace. It was just a memory, one from his childhood, many years ago. He knew exactly how it would play out: a minute of two later, his mother would start coughing violently. He'd leap to his feet, terrified, and scream for his father at the sight of blood from his mother's mouth. The knights patrolling would help her to her room. From that day forward, she spent most of her days there, unable to come see him. When she died, they turned that entire wing into a memorial of sorts. 

He hated going there. He still did.

As the first coughs began to sound, her body shaking against his, he allowed himself to drift out of the memory once more.

***

A voice was speaking. It sounded like Sapnap, but he knew that that wasn't possible. 

He didn't want to open his eyes. They'd been attacked, probably by knights. Filens had been hit by something, probably a dart of some sort. He could only hope that it hadn't been poisoned.

The voice was still talking. George groaned and opened his eyes. 

The room he was in was dark, though there was light streaming in from somewhere high above. His eyes focused on the open rafters above his head. His fingers reached out beside him, feeling the hard, polished floor. It was smooth, though there were slight bumps here and there. Wood, probably. Stone would be perfectly smooth.

"Please let them go."

"That's a hard request, Dream."

A shudder ran through George. His brow furrowed as he stared up at the somewhat familiar-looking roof. Dream? he thought groggily. Is... is it really...?