Before It's Voiced

Legend

And there's nothing wrong with feeling so pleased with the sight of a blade.

A Sunset Blade, his mind supplies as he walks towards the piece of knife he dug from Patrick's body earlier. Made from the bone of our warriors and blessed by the moon. The only weapon strong enough to destroy a—

Pete lifts the Sunset Blade before his thoughts become too complicated, a thrill rushing through his veins at the contact. He didn't notice before but something cruel surges through the weapon in his hand. It's not complete, barely the tip of a knife, and Pete obsesses over how strong the full blade must be, how powerful he would feel if he held it.

This is a dream, yes? So why shouldn't he be able to become a hero with this, slaying dragons and villains like a knight? Why shouldn't he vanquish all foes, one by one, with just one blow from this Sunset Blade? He could be great with this, he should be great with—

The softest of splashes echoes in the bathroom. Before he understands the rush of purpose in his blood, Pete stands and makes his way towards it, the blade still held tightly in his hand. He knows what's in the bathroom, in the bathtub, but he still struggles to control his excitement. In a dream, any manner of being could be in there.

And it is a dream, right?

As Pete opens the door, a piece of his mind isn't so sure.

It's just a piece, though, a dented portion of a puzzle that's easy to ignore in the larger dream in Pete's mind.

Because it is a dream, right?

The door opens with a click.

Patrick's leaning over the side of the tub when Pete walks in, resting his head on his arms and flicking his tail in bored back-and-forth motions. Pete's teeth clench at the sound of the water he displaces with each movement. Shouldn't his kind be asleep by now?

No matter. Pete stalks forward, the blade held in a bloodless grip as he continues, waiting for Patrick to notice him. When the merman does look up, it's with a surprised grin, a childlike smile.

"I was hoping you would not ignore me," he says, looking up at Pete the way he always did when they are out on the rocks. "I know we fought but I appreciate that you did not forget I like speaking with you at night. That was nice of you, Pete."

His smile grows. He pushes himself up higher.

Then he sees the blade in Pete's hand and his smile falls.

"Pete?" He asks with worry and concern swimming in his eyes as gracefully as he does in the ocean. "Pete, what are you doing with that?"

Pete can't bring himself to answer, lowering to his knees at the bath's side. His mouth feels clamped shut like the door to a Trojan Horse, promising nothing but vileness and cruelty inside. No, he has to keep the curl of Patrick's smile— hidden and waiting— in the corner of his lips. He has to play along with the dreams for just a moment longer.

As he watches Patrick, time slows and Pete allows himself to notice things he's never cared to see before. This close, the gold in Patrick's eyes is just a ring around the middle, a band of something unreal. Scales, a lighter green than the rest, dot up the sides of his torso, unsure of whether or not to consume him entirely. And the rise and fall of his chest, the breath filling the air, the immobility of his gills... It's all too human for Pete's liking.

Patrick reaches for Pete, though, and then he looks like only a monster.

It takes a blink, a recoil, a blurred moment of confusion where Patrick's teeth extend into fangs and the pupil takes over his entire eye. Before Pete, Patrick's skin shifts to a deathly grey and his words— his choked off "Pete, please" — is nothing more than a screech.