Chapter Text
There was something to be said about big crowds.
Days like these, when the weather was pleasant and the sun was shining down on the kingdom of Bluecrest, Grian found himself both thankful and irritated by the amount of people out on the streets. On one hand, it made the normally grim and cold streets feel just a little more alive — but on the other hand, it made it hard to get around.
Especially today, when the amount of people made it difficult to even locate the market stands he needed to visit.
Really, he shouldn’t complain too much, as there were additional benefits to days like these. Larger crowds meant less people paying attention to their belongings, which meant their wallets were more likely to occasionally slip into his satchel in a rather unfortunate series of events — of which he had no control over, of course.
Inexplicably, it kept happening. And so, Grian really had no choice but to relieve them of their gold.
Truly, he hadn’t half a mind to feel bad for these people. Most on this side of the kingdom were lower rank nobles, or had some pile of gold to their name. Here, the people lived comfortably. They hadn’t slept on the streets even once in their lives.
Grian adjusted his hood, pushing through the crowd as he spotted the first stand on his list. Pearl had requested he get vegetables, bread and meat for the soup she’d been planning to make for dinner. It was a little over their usual budget, but all three of them — he, Pearl, and Jimmy — would be busy tonight, so they’d need the extra calories.
As he eyed the vegetables on display, he checked his bag to count his earnings. Twelve gold, he concluded, making sure every wallet was thoroughly emptied and accounted for. That would hopefully be enough.
See, Grian wasn’t stupid. Skilled thief or not, greed was the sort of thing that got you caught. Pearl would not be happy with him if that happened. She’d been looking forward to this soup, and he wouldn’t be a very good older brother if he took that from her.
Handing the merchant the gold and stuffing the single carrot he’d bought (Four gold for one carrot? Seriously?) he couldn’t help but smile as his gaze caught on the closed off area right by the stand. The patches of pale violet spread like vines over the ground, creeping up the brick wall it was nestled against. The faint glow from the thread-like material revealed a soft, fuzzy layer of spores dusting the air around it. A clear mark of Mother Spore.
He cleared his throat, catching the merchant’s attention once again. “Pardon me, but aren’t you worried about having your wares in such close proximity to the… fungi?”
The merchant grunted, stopping briefly in his meticulous counting of coins to fix him with a glare. “Your carrot will be fine.”
Grian chuckled, fiddling with his gloves. “I’m sure it will. I’m simply asking for your sake.”
“It hasn’t killed me yet,” the man countered, returning to his task, seemingly deeming the conversation to be over.
Grian could hardly stifle the urge to roll his eyes. He was well aware of his appearance and the level of wealth his attire suggested — but in his opinion, this animosity was poorly directed. People like this man found far too much pleasure in mocking those economically below him. Needlessly so, because if all this energy could be directed upward, it’d be a much more productive use of their time. This man may live a much more comfortable life than most, but they’re all still getting completely screwed over.
The king of Bluecrest was a mystery, to say the least. Hardly anything was known about the guy, other than the way he ruled the kingdom — which showed in how the funds were being mismanaged and patrolling guards were free to abuse their power with little to no repercussions.
Luckily, this merchant’s views weren’t shared by most in Bluecrest. Grian closed his bag, turned, and slipped back into the crowd — three carrots and fifteen gold heavier.
Walking down the narrow cobblestone street, he eyed the stalls lining the road in search of the next item on his list. Idly, he admired the brightly colored and patterned textiles strung on lines above him, swaying gently in the wind. Their presence was a new addition to the normally dull streets, giving them a much more vibrant and festive atmosphere. He pondered over what the new decorations could be for.
Spotting a familiar face, Grian made his way over.
Jevin was standing in the back of his stall, turned away from the street and bent over a wooden box filled with turnips and parsnips. Grian watched in silence as he transferred the turnips from the box to the stalls, somehow not noticing him throughout the process. Grian eyed his surroundings in search of any guards, before letting his hood fall away from his face and clearing his throat.
Jevin piped up, turning over, face brightening once he recognized his friend. “Ah, Grian! Lovely day, isn’t it? How can I help you?”
Grian smiled, adjusting the collar of his cloak. “Hey, Jevin. I’m just here for some shopping, if it’s not too much trouble. Pearl’s treating us to rabbit soup tonight.”
Jevin nodded, walking over to the front of the stand to properly assist his customer. “Well, what are you in need of?”
Grian fished out the list Pearl had provided him with from the pocket of his trousers. It was a frail thing, made from cheap paper Jimmy had received as payment for running errands for a priest once. The text had been written using coal leftovers from the campfire, making Pearl’s normally messy handwriting that much harder to decipher.
He squinted, reading the list off to Jevin. “Potatoes and onions, it seems. You got any left for me?”
Jevin clasped his hands together. “You bet I do, G. How many of each do you need?”
“How much is it?”
“Three gold per onion, 1 gold per potato.”
Grian let out a breath. “One onion and two potatoes then.”
Jevin gave him a thumbs up, leaning under the counter and returning with a produce scoop in his hands, before beginning to hand him his order.
“The economy has only been going down recently, hasn’t it?” Grian sighed.
Jevin shrugged, a bitter expression on his face as he placed the groceries in a paper bag and pushed it over the counter. “Yeah. We know who to thank that for, though.”
Grian nodded, opening his satchel to place the bag of vegetables inside, before fishing out the gold he owed — but as he moved to hand Jevin his payment, the merchant pushed his hand back.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s about the principle, remember?” he grinned, winking.
“No, Jevin,” Grian said, shaking his head. “Take the gold.” Then, under his breath, “It’s not mine anyway.”
Jevin chuckled, rolling his eyes fondly as he took the gold from Grian’s outstretched hand. “Alright you criminal, if you insist.”
Grian smirked, before looking around to check if anybody was listening. Satisfied, he leaned in, lowering his voice. “You’re coming tonight?”
Jevin nodded, following suit. “Yeah, are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it for the world.”
Squeezing his shoulder, Grian leaned back. “Amazing, I knew we could count on you.”
“Of course, of course! I’ll see you then?”
“See you then.”
⋆───⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆───⋆
Other than severely overpaying for the bread and nearly failing to afford the rabbit meat as a consequence, finishing Pearl’s list was fairly easy. The crowds had let up shortly after he’d left Jevin’s stall, which meant traversing became a lot easier.
As the cobbled streets gave way to cracked stone and mud, the market stalls faded behind him and were replaced by crumbling buildings, overflowing bins, and the bitter smell of rot. The bustle thinned and the overlapping voices grew quieter.
All of it was a sure sign he was almost home — and that, at least, was a relief. His feet ached, his satchel dragged heavy against his side, and while it wasn’t unbearable, he figured he’d earned the right to complain. The slums of Bluecrest weren’t much to miss, really — but they were still home.
He turned a corner and slowed, catching sight of a group of children huddled against a brick wall. There were three of them — two boys, one girl — all smeared in soot and old bruises, their faces far too hollow for their age.
Grian wordlessly reached into his satchel, broke the overpriced loaf of bread in thirds, and handed each child a piece whilst making sure his gloves stayed on. The girl looked up at him with cautious eyes, but took it anyway. The boys followed suit.
Pearl might be mad later, but she'd understand.
He lingered a moment longer, watching them eat.
A younger version of him might’ve been sitting right there, thin as a shadow, every rib showing, terrified and alone in a kingdom that didn’t care if he made it through the night. He’d been a scared, orphaned boy — skin pale, breath catching any time his hands came close to a living thing. Fresh off a nightmare no child should have ever lived through, carrying something inside him that didn’t belong.
The streets were no place for children. But they’d still been kinder than the place he’d come from.
He’d been thirteen when he met Pearl and Jimmy. Running through an alleyway to get away from the guards chasing him, clutching a stolen loaf of bread tightly, evidence of his first act of thievery. He’d been terrified back then. Skin and bones, so hungry it hurt.
He hadn’t seen Jimmy and Pearl in the dark until he’d bumped into them. Landed flat on his ass, stunned and ready to bolt the other way — until a hand reached down toward him.
That hand had been warm. And steady.
They’d stuck together ever since, scraping by, stealing food, and watching each other’s backs from guards and worse. They weren’t blood, but Grian had never believed blood made you family anyway.
If he could make sure no children would ever have to go through the same things they had, he would without hesitation. But unfortunately, the world wasn’t simple like that.
Turning another corner, he spotted the familiar outline of their little shack. It was small, made out of rotting wood and decaying metal. He could make out the bright glow of a campfire through one of their makeshift windows, and the shadow of a wolflike creature dancing along the walls.
The shack had been another stroke of luck. Jimmy found it while scavenging the alleys. A godsend, really. The shack had been built into an alleyway not too far from the city square and markets, but far enough for it to be left unnoticed by curious strangers and pestering guards. It had been abandoned long before Jimmy found it, and he hadn’t needed to ask Grian and Pearl twice before the three of them based there.
At the time, the place had been in an even worse state of disrepair — parts of the roof missing, and the building lacking a door entirely. Trash had littered the inside, and bugs had covered the walls. Clearing it out had taken effort, but for getting a roof to sleep under, it was effort worth putting in.
Soon enough, the shack had blossomed into something they could comfortably call home. The only furniture they really had were three hammocks, a cabinet and a dusty rug — but it worked. It was all they needed.
As Grian got closer, he could make out the voices of his younger siblings bickering, followed by the clattering sound of metal hitting the ground, and a long silence. He chuckled to himself, before pushing the thin, wooden door open.
Once the dust settled, the sight he was met with was one that had him snorting, and soon the other two joined in with the laughter.
Their one pot — another treasure found discarded in the alleyways — laid on its side, water pouring slowly out of it into the carpet. Jimmy was sitting next to it on the floor, looking slightly bewildered. Pearl was standing by the campfire in the center of the room, and Pearl’s dog, Tilly, was giddily trying to drink up the last bits of water that remained.
Grian took a deep breath, pushing the hood from his face and steeling his laughter before speaking. “What’s happened here, then?”
Pearl crossed her arms, glaring in Jimmy’s direction. “I wanted to make sure the water was ready before you got home so I could get started right away, but apparently, this guy thought he could do a much better job!”
Jimmy scrambled to stand up, brushing dust from his now damp trousers. “Look, it was an accident! How was I supposed to know the carpet would betray me?”
“Well, if you weren’t so clumsy all of the time, the carpet wouldn’t have been an issue!” Pearl retorted, blowing a strand of brown hair from her face in annoyance.
Grian shook his head fondly. “Well, it’s going to be even more of an issue if we don’t get it out of here to dry off. I refuse to deal with the smell.”
He moved forward after hanging his cloak and satchel on a hook by the door. Crouching, he began cleaning up, struggling a bit with moving Tilly away from the pot. Pearl quickly aided him, grabbing her by the collar and easing her backward.
Hands on his hips and decidedly not helping, Jimmy continued. “Ha! See? Grian agrees it wasn’t my fault!”
“Nowhere were those words ever uttered, Tim,” Grian teased, picking up the pot and placing it to the side of the rug.
Then, he and Pearl grabbed the carpet from opposite ends and lifted it up, folding it over and carrying it outside to hang on one of the lines just outside the shack.
Jimmy picked up the pot and followed outside, moving past them and yelling over his shoulder. “I’ll head to the well and get some new water, alright? Be right ba—”
“No, Jimmy, take the bucket instead. We’ll need more water later,” Pearl called after him, placing clips to the line to make sure the carpet stayed in place.
Jimmy deflated and turned around, walking back toward the shack and emerging a minute or so later with a much larger wooden bucket.
Grian placed the last clip and watched him as he left. The well wasn’t far from here, but carrying a bucket of that size filled with water wasn’t easy, so he knew Jimmy would be a while. Grian heard footsteps, giving away that Pearl had already walked back inside, so he turned and followed suit.
Once inside, he found her crouched over, surveying the floor one last time to make sure no water had seeped into the floorboards. Satisfied, she straightened and turned back around to face him.
“Did you get all the things on my list?” she asked, tilting her head and crossing her arms.
Grian nodded, grabbing his satchel off of the wall. He moved across the shack and sat down in his hammock. She sat down in the hammock opposite his, resting her head on her fist. Then, Grian threw the satchel over to her, and she scrambled to catch it.
Grian snickered as she let out an exasperated sigh, before looking into the bag’s contents. She seemed satisfied as she looked through the ingredients, before stopping and looking up at him.
“The bread?”
Grian winced as the scar crossing over her face caught the light streaming in from the window, becoming more apparent from this angle. He knew it had been years since she’d gotten it, but that didn’t stop him from being overwhelmed by guilt anytime he saw it — and that was, of course, often.
Back when he’d only just met them, he’d frequently have nightmares. Mostly about his childhood, growing up in that… place. Vivid, graphic and unnecessarily horrid things, in his opinion. Waking up in the middle of the night screaming was something that wasn’t particularly desirable when you slept on the streets, but it was also something he’d grown used to.
Pearl and Jimmy had not.
It had been an accident. Pearl always would remind him of that. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. She assured him it wasn’t his fault. That it was okay. She could live with it and I can still see from one eye, so it really isn’t that bad, I promise!
He’d woken up disoriented, and Pearl — sweet, kind, and thoughtful as she was — had tried to calm him down. He hadn’t had that level of violent nightmares around her and Jimmy before, so it was their first exposure to it. Naturally, they hadn’t known what to do.
The darkness of the alleyway had made it hard to see who was approaching, and no matter what she’d said, he wouldn’t believe it wasn’t them coming back to get him.
He’d been foolish and idiotic back then, which meant he hadn’t gotten himself a pair of gloves — and so, when he’d thrown his hand out, panicked and trying to push her away — his fingers had faintly brushed her face. Her eyelid, to be exact.
She’d screamed.
He’d worn gloves at all times since then.
Grian looked out of the window. “I gave it away.”
Pearl sighed. It was a fond sigh, he knew. Maybe slightly irritated — and exasperated, probably — but fond all the same. However, something about it still stung. He watched from the corner of his eye as she put the satchel down and fell back onto the hammock. The sun was setting outside the window, its light shining down between the buildings and landing on her face, painting the scar golden.
He remembered how it’d looked that night — ghostly violet blending with crimson red , breaking skin and flesh as it grew. Rapid and relentless, mushrooms and fungi in her eye socket, spreading and spreading and spreading.
Another stroke of luck. That it had ended there — only barely missing her brain.
He shuddered.
“What time is it?” he asked instead.
She propped herself up on her elbow, eyeing the clock on the wall. Originally, it had seemed broken beyond repair as it laid there among trash and debris. Pearl had insisted on taking it anyway, and after a couple hours of tinkering, she’d somehow gotten the cogs turning again.
“Half past six, it looks like.”
Grian nodded. Five and a half hours left, then.
He sighed, turning back to the window.
⋆───⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆───⋆
Jimmy returned not long after, now carrying a full bucket of water — and nearly dropping it as he fumbled with the door. After that, Pearl finally got started on dinner. Grian and Jimmy helped where they could, but both of them were walking disasters in the kitchen, so Pearl didn’t trust them near anything too important.
The soup was delicious, and the boys made sure she knew it. Pearl brushed off their compliments, but Grian didn’t miss the faint smile tugging at her lips.
They passed the rest of the time playing games and talking, as they usually did on nights like these. A couple of weeks back, Grian had managed to steal a 52-card deck right from under a shopkeeper’s nose. It hadn’t been essential for their survival — which was usually his excuse for stealing — but they’d still gotten plenty of use out of it, so it had to count for something. The good thing about cards was how many different games you could play, as long as you knew the rules. Poker, Blackjack, Solitaire, Crazy Eights — and his personal favourite: Go Fish.
Before they knew it, the clock was nearing midnight, and it was finally time to get ready.
Grian changed out of his usual clothes into an all-black outfit. He threw his cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood up over his head. Then he grabbed his mask — a homemade thing, painted black with purple accents — and tucked a knife into his pocket. Just a precaution, really. His gloves stayed on, though they’d be coming off soon.
Pearl and Jimmy were dressed similarly, all in black with their own masks — though theirs lacked the purple detailing. If he didn’t know them, he might’ve found them intimidating. Especially with the knowledge they, too, were armed beneath their cloaks.
They left the shack in silence, making sure the fire was fully extinguished before slipping into the streets. They moved quietly through the city, diverting only when a patrolling guard came into view.
Most of the city had already gone to sleep. The streets were still, and the moon lit their path.
Eventually, the three of them reached the meeting spot — a narrow alley deeper in the city, away from the usual patrol routes. One by one, more figures in black trickled in. Nobody spoke. Once eight heads were counted, Grian crouched down and opened a hatch in the cobblestones, revealing a ladder descending into darkness.
He sat down and lowered himself in. Once his boots hit the ground, he fished out a match and lit his torch. The warm glow revealed a stone tunnel — one of many stretching beneath the city. As the others followed him down, the hatch above was sealed. They stood in a circle in the small space and then, their masks came off, one by one, unveiling each of their identities.
To his left stood Pearl and Jimmy, of course — both with that familiar fire in their eyes, the kind that promised vengeance to anyone foolish enough to cross them.
Beside them was Impulse, hood drawn low over his short brown hair. In the flickering light, he looked almost menacing — though Grian knew better. Underneath the sharp mind and diversionary brilliance, Impulse was practically a teddy bear.
Then there was Ren. Steady, loyal, and clever, with a beard Grian had always quietly admired. He had never been able to grow one himself, which made Ren’s tasteful facial hair all the more impressive.
Next came Xb — a valued member. Kind, intelligent, and their most persuasive recruiter. His words could open doors Grian hadn’t even known existed.
Jevin stood beside him, just as he’d promised hours earlier. Grian had once doubted a merchant would ever risk joining their cause, but Jevin had proved him wrong in every way. Skilled, sharp, and fiercely loyal, he was as much a friend as an asset.
Then there was Etho: quiet, masked, with stark white hair and one glowing red eye. He always looked like the most dangerous man in the room — and maybe he was. But Grian knew better than to judge him by that alone. Inside that mind spun a whirlwind of ideas, ranging from the absurd to the brilliant to batshit insane — and often all three at once.
And finally, Doc. A genius of a different kind — the kind who might very well be a mad scientist in another life. Grian didn’t know how he’d lost his right arm and eye, but he did know this: Doc believed in the cause with everything he had. That was enough.
Grian exhaled slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hey everyone. Thanks for coming.”
A chorus of quiet greetings met him, voices echoing off damp stone. He raised a finger to his lips — a silent reminder. The tunnels had been abandoned for years, but you could never be too careful.
He cleared his throat. “I know you’re all familiar with the plan, but I want to go over it one last time. Tonight, we bring our message straight to the king’s doorstep.”
Jimmy pumped his fist, as he always did when he was excited. “Exactly! He won’t be able to ignore us!”
A ripple of murmurs followed, then faded. All that remained then was the steady drip, drip, drip of water trickling down stone.
“These tunnels should lead directly to the castle,” Grian continued. “From there, we’ll find a way to the royal gardens. There’s a lot of us — so stealth is everything. If we’re caught…” He hesitated. “I probably won’t be able to do much. Everyone got that?”
He met each of their gazes in turn. They nodded, solemn and sure.
Grian drew in a deep breath. “I know we’re all nervous. This is the riskiest mission we’ve ever attempted. But I believe in us. It’s about the principle.”
“And we believe in you, Mother Spore,” Ren assured, raising his hand into the center of the circle. “For the resistance!”
One by one, the others joined him, hands stacking over his.
“For the resistance!” they echoed as their hands lifted into the air, in voices hushed but burning.
Then, they all followed Grian in a long line through the narrow tunnels. Ren walked beside him, reading directions from the map clutched in his hands. Ren had played a major part in this plan, as he’d spent tons of hours helping Grian researching and planning it out. He’d bought any maps he could get his hands on, eventually owning up-to-date layouts over all the places they needed to traverse to make this plan a success.
The tunnel was quiet, save for their footsteps. The air was damp, and the faint smell of rot and dirt filled their nostrils. Not many people knew of this tunnel system’s existence. Likely, it had been used in the past for utility, or perhaps some sort of escape route for the royal family, seeing as quite a lot of them led straight to the castle. Grian himself had found it a few years ago, after hearing about it in a bar. Curious, he’d asked about the whereabouts of the entrance, and the stranger had kindly given it to him, no questions asked. Some people in Bluecrest were strange like that. Grian certainly hadn’t minded.
After a while of walking, the tunnel grew smaller and smaller. At first, Grian hadn’t noticed it, but then he’d looked over his shoulder and seen how hunched over Jimmy was walking behind him, the ceiling having grown noticeably shorter. It wasn’t long before all of them were almost crouching through the tunnels, and he felt the claustrophobia closing in — but still, he continued onward. The mycelium resistance would not be stopped by something so trivial.
That turned out to have been the right choice, as the tunnel soon let up, the ceiling slowly growing taller and taller again. They all let out a sigh of relief despite themselves. Grian couldn’t help but feel slightly concerned over what they’d do if they had to run through there later. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be something they had to worry about.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, Ren told them to stop. The glow of the torch in his hand illuminated a long ladder, seemingly going up and up to infinity. Grian handed the torch to Impulse, before climbing ahead.
Reaching the top, he pushed the hatch to the side. Slowly, carefully, he stuck his head out of the ground. Looking around, he searched for any sign of movement. Satisfied, he climbed up the final distance and gave a thumbs up to the waiting resistance members at the bottom.
As he waited for everyone to climb up, he took in his surroundings. The tunnels had led them inside the castle walls themselves, placing them right by one of the tall cobblestone barriers surrounding the building where the king resided. Looking a bit further, he noted that the royal garden was only a hundred meters or so away. He made sure no guards were around as well. Really, he knew there shouldn’t be. Based on their sources, there were no guards patrolling the area at this hour — but he’d be foolish not to check anyway.
Etho was the last person out of the tunnel, so he was also the one to close the hatch after them. Once it was firmly sealed, the nine of them stalked toward the royal gardens, silent as a mouse.
They’d discussed the plan many, many times. According to Ren’s maps, there was a large field of red roses in the royal garden. That was their goal. That was where they’d leave their message.
Hanging on one side of the castle was the banner of Bluecrest. It depicted the kingdom’s sigil — the wing of a vex. Mythical creatures said to rope their victims into faulty deals, sink their teeth into their skin and bite. Grian thought the kingdom couldn’t have a more fitting symbol.
The group got to work immediately. Xb, Jevin and Impulse were sent to stand guard, positioning themselves so that the resistance had eyes in every direction toward the castle. Jimmy was the tallest among them, so he was tasked with getting the banner down from its perch while making the least amount of noise possible. In the meantime, Doc walked into the field of roses, carrying a wooden pole and a hammer. He dug the pole into the dirt, using the hammer to push it further down. Then, Jimmy and Etho came, both carrying the banner over the roses as it had been too large for Jimmy to carry alone. Together, the three of them worked on getting the banner onto the pole. Grian and Pearl stood nearby, watching.
Then, Pearl pulled him aside. “You sure about this?”
Grian chuckled, but there was no humor to it. “We’re not known as the mycelium resistance for nothing.”
Pearl nodded, but it was clear she still had more to say. He gave her a look, and she sighed. “You are not what they made you. Please remember that.”
Grian smiled softly at that. He loved her, truly. He couldn’t have asked for a better sister than her, who was someone that always knew what to say when words became too hard for everyone else. His hand found hers, and he squeezed it, giving her a reassuring glance before stepping away toward the flowers.
Jimmy, Doc and Etho had finished with the banner, and quickly left the field once they spotted him getting closer. Grian crouched down next to it, making sure they were in safety before gingerly taking his gloves off and placing them in his pocket.
He inhaled sharply, steeling himself — before reaching forward and letting his fingers touch the scarlet petals.
Instantly, scarlet roses paled to lavender; rubies faded into amethyst, poppies into lilacs. Spores floated around it, illuminated by the moonlight as the fungi spread throughout the little flower. It was a shame, seeing something so beautiful swallowed by rot — but hopefully, it wouldn’t be dying for nothing.
Grian stood up, walking along the roses as his fingers brushed the petals, slowly painting the field a ghostly purple.
Once he finished, he stepped back, admiring his work.
The roses were no more. All that remained was the mycelium, the fungi, the rot. In its center laid the banner of Bluecrest, abandoned and surrounded by dying, corrupted beauty.
It would make a fine message.
Lingering would do them no good. Grian slipped his gloves back on and gestured silently toward the hatch. Pearl gave him a quick thumbs up, then turned to signal the three on guard. One by one, the resistance began retreating, quick and silent as shadows.
Grian stayed behind, counting each head as they disappeared underground. Seven. Eight. Nine.
Once the last of them was through, he swung a leg over the ledge, pausing for one final glance.
And then he saw them.
A figure stood at the edge of the garden, their face cloaked in shadow — but watching. He couldn’t see their expression, but he felt it: that heavy, burning stare. His whole body tensed, waiting for the shout, the alarm, the crash of boots and steel.
None came.
The stranger simply watched. Not with malice — not even with fear. Just... curiosity.
Then they turned and walked away.
Grian stood frozen for a breath longer, heart still pounding. Then he shook his head, dropping down into the hatch and sealed it shut above him.
⋆───⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆───⋆
Dreams were a strange thing.
See, for as long as he could remember, his dreams had followed a pattern. Not one he particularly liked, but a pattern nonetheless. Usually, he was falling through an endless void, followed by faceless screams of people he never knew. Sometimes, on worse nights, he was running down a hallway that never ended — knowing, somehow, he’d be caught no matter how fast he ran.
And then there were the other dreams. The ones that followed him into daylight, curling around his throat like smoke: metal tables, masked figures, gloved hands pinning him down. Needles piercing his skin. Something foreign running cold through his veins.
But what he liked even less than those dreams was when the pattern broke — and unfortunately, tonight was one of those nights.
The minute Grian had stepped into the shack, he’d hung his cloak on the wall and moved to get changed.
Well — changed was generous. Really, he’d just put his day clothes back on, minus his boots and belt. He only owned two sets of clothing, and in the unlikely event a guard burst in while they slept, he’d rather not be caught in the outfit he wore as Mother Spore.
Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen Pearl and Jimmy going through the same routine. A glance at the clock had let him know it was already three in the morning. They were all too exhausted to speak, and Grian was content with the silence, so they kept it.
He’d finished dressing down to his undershirt and trousers, and then practically threw himself into his hammock.
If he’d kept his eyes open, he would’ve seen his siblings settling into the hammocks on either side of him, slotting perfectly into place — right where they belonged. Safe, resting next to him.
But his eyes were already closed, sleep pulling him under.
That was all fine. Completely normal things.
What waited beneath his eyelids was decidedly not.
He’d opened his eyes to a coastline. An endless ocean lapping gently at the shore, seagulls shrieking overhead. Great, smooth rocks lay scattered across the beach, waves occasionally slamming against them.
The weather wasn’t pleasant — cloudy and a bit windy — but it wasn’t storming. That was the first strange thing.
The second was how lucid he felt. His senses were clear, his thoughts sharp. Dreams weren’t usually this present , were they?
Was this what lucid dreaming felt like?
He wasn’t sure. He’d never experienced anything quite like it before.
He approached one of the larger rocks and sat, watching the waves roll gently onto the shore. It was peaceful — eerily so.
His mind wandered back to the night’s mission, and pride swelled in his chest. It had gone better than he’d ever dared hoping. Of course, the resistance had never been caught thus far. They were a sneaky bunch — clever, careful, and deeply committed to the cause — but breaking into the castle grounds like that was a risky endeavour. Twice the amount of guards that usually patrolled the city streets guarded the castle. If they’d gotten caught, they would’ve all been lined up for execution, no doubt about it.
Let’s just say the mycelium resistance wasn’t well liked by the nobles and royals of Bluecrest, and he, as the founder and leader, would probably have to pay the highest price should they ever get caught.
That was fine. It was a risk he was willing to take. When he’d started the resistance, he’d known exactly what he was getting into — but he’d gone through with it anyway. He couldn’t stand seeing another child die alone on the streets. Another family thrown out of their homes due to unfair tax rates. Another stranger being harassed by bored, pitiful guards, and another baby being taken from its mother’s arms by them.
Pearl and Jimmy had helped him start it all. At first, his... abilities weren’t part of the plan, but after one unfortunate mishap, the papers had dubbed them the Mycelium Resistance — and with it came his title of Mother Spore.
He began to fiddle with the edges of his gloves — as was his habit — only to be met with the feeling of bare skin.
He froze.
Looking down, his worst fears were confirmed. He was still wearing everything he’d worn when he went to sleep — except for his gloves.
Had someone taken them off in the real world? Pearl and Jimmy would never do that, he knew that for certain — but then… had a stranger broken in? Were they in danger right now, and he hadn’t woken up? Ice cold fear filled his veins the more he thought about it.
But if someone had entered their home, he would’ve woken up. He was pretty sure about that. Growing up had made him a light sleeper. There was no reason that would’ve randomly changed.
Still, there was the issue with the gloves. He needed them on. It was one of the few things he was certain about regarding his abilities. If the thing he touched wasn’t alive, it couldn’t be infected. The fungi was a sort of parasite, to his understanding. It needed something to latch onto. Something to feed on. Pearl’s eye was one example, and he really didn’t want to think about that right now.
Regardless — fabrics didn’t provide that sort of thing, which was why it worked well in keeping the mycelium contained. If his gloves had gone missing—
“Why, hello there!”
A hand clasped his shoulder. Grian yelped, spun, and shoved the stranger away — then froze, hands trembling and breath hitching.
What had he just done?
Except, the man he was looking at seemed… fine.
Actually — more than fine. Grian blinked, briefly stunned. No mushrooms, no spores spreading from the point of contact. Instead, he was staring at a perfectly healthy — shockingly handsome — young man with bright green eyes and an amused grin barely hiding his surprise. His brown hair was a tousled mess, and he was wearing a nightgown.
Huh.
Grian frowned. None of this was right. The man had scars, yes, but they were old things. Not a result of anything he had caused.
The stranger put his hands on his hips. “You gonna say anything? I’m pretty sure staring is considered rude.”
Grian — unfortunately — kept staring.
Because… who was this guy? What the hell was going on?
This was definitely his strangest dream yet.
As if echoing that statement, the stranger squinted at him. “Weird. My dreams aren’t usually this odd.”
That snapped Grian out of it. His heart slowed just enough to let his mouth catch up. “Wait. Dream?”
The man nodded, casual. “Yeah. I’m lucid dreaming. You’re a figment of my subconscious, or something like that.”
Grian raised an eyebrow.
Yeah. Definitely his weirdest dream so far.
The man gave him a look. “What?”
Grian blinked, dragged his gaze away from the guy’s noticeably strong build. “No. I’m the one dreaming. You’re the figment.”
The stranger let out a bark of laughter. “Great. My dream’s arguing with me. That’s new.”
“I’m serious.” Grian stood, brushing sand from his pants. “I’m real.”
“And I’m not?” the man questioned, trailing after him as he walked toward the edge of the beach, where sand met grass. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere,” Grian said vaguely. He crouched and reached out to pluck a few strands of grass.
Still nothing. No spores. No disintegration. Just grass.
He glanced back. “You said you’re not just a dream character?”
“Nope. And you’re not one either?”
Grian looked over his shoulder. The man was still standing there, watching him with open curiosity and a little uncertainty.
Still pretty. Damn it.
“No,” Grian muttered. “That’s strange. Are we both dreaming? Is that a thing?”
The man shrugged. “Maybe. I think I read about something like that once. Shared dreams. Two people meeting in their sleep.”
Read. Huh. Books were not easy to come by these days.
“Shared dreams? You sure that wasn't a fantasy book?” he teased, despite the evidence apparently being right in front of him. “What else have you read?”
The stranger rubbed the back of his neck. “Not much. Just that it’s a thing people think can happen. You know — connected minds and all that.”
“I don’t,” Grian said, frowning at the grass again. “Look— I’ll give you this. It fits, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“What? Why?” The stranger sounded genuinely offended. “What did I do?”
Grian shrugged, twirling the grass strands between his fingers. “You could still be my own subconscious trying to trick me, or something.”
There was silence, but then: “...Is that a recurring issue?”
“No,” Grian admitted. He stepped closer, until he had to tilt his chin up to meet the stranger’s eyes. “But I don’t even know your name. Want to tell me, pretty boy?”
The man blinked, blushed, then laughed — caught completely off-guard. Grian smirked. There were few ways as effective at gaining the upper hand in a conversation than this particular strategy — and if he was just indulging in his own impulsiveness, who was to say?
After a moment, the stranger seemed to regain his composure, smoothing out his expression into something smug. “Scar. I’m Scar. And you?”
Grian crossed his arms. “Why should I tell you? For all I know, you’re a guard trying to gather dirt on me.”
"Why would I do that?" Scar frowned. “I just told you my name, didn’t I?"
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added: "Besides, it’d be a shame to see a face like yours locked behind bars.”
Oh?
Two can play at this game, it seemed.
Grian snorted. “Alright, smooth-talker.”
He twirled a piece of his own hair between his fingers, drawing out the pause. “You can call me Grian.”
Scar smiled. “Grian... That's a cool name. I don't think I've heard it before.”
“Why thank you,” Grian replied, carefully keeping his gaze on the other man’s face. “Scar isn't all that bad of a name either.”
Scar shrugged, almost bashful. “A bit on the nose.”
Grian shook his head. “Oh, I wasn’t even thinking about that. I mean— they suit you. Looks good. Really good.”
Heat rushed to his cheeks in an instant. Way too honest. Any upper hand he might've had must've been lost right there. Surely.
But Scar chuckled, his own blush returning. “Ah, well— thanks. You can look if you want. I’m used to it.”
“Nah,” Grian said, recovering smoothly. “I’d rather look at your face.”
That earned him another laugh. It was a nice sound. Scar bumped their shoulders together lightly as they walked.
They found their way back to the rocks without saying much more. Grian sank down onto a flat patch, drawing his knees to his chest. Scar joined him a moment later, sitting close enough that their arms nearly brushed.
They sat in companionable silence, the crashing waves filling the space between them like an exhale.
Then—
“You sleep in your day clothes?”
Grian scowled, turning to face him again. Scar was looking at him, a furrow in his eyebrows. Grian cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
Scar shrugged, shooting him an unbothered grin. “I don’t know. I’m wearing the same clothes I wore when I went to sleep, so I assumed you were too.”
Grian raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
It seemed that Scar was waiting for an explanation, here. Grian didn’t really think one was needed, honestly. He knew very few people who could afford more than one set of clothes, much less two.
(The only reason he did was because he’d stolen them from a particularly irritating shopkeeper. But a nightgown wasn’t as much a necessity as a disguise was.)
But Scar was still waiting, so Grian sighed. “...You’d be correct.”
“Why?”
Grian frowned. “Don’t have many other options.”
Scar watched him for a second, scowling. “Oh.”
Another silence. Longer this time. The waves crashed, again and again. Grian picked at a loose thread on his cuff.
“So,” Scar said eventually, voice light. “If we’re both real, and this is actually happening — I feel like we should, I don’t know, do introductions properly?”
Grian blinked at him. “We already did.”
“Right,” Scar said. “But names aren’t everything . There’s more to a person than just their name. Like… Favorite food? Favorite color? Most irrational fear?”
“That’s a leap,” Grian muttered.
“I’m an efficient conversationalist,” Scar said proudly.
Grian smiled. “Alright then, ask me a question.”
Scar rubbed his chin, brow furrowed in exaggerated thought. Grian chuckled. Then Scar’s face lit up like the sun. “ Are you a cat or dog person?”
Grian blinked, huffing a laugh. Not what he expected, but he’d take it.
“Cats, definitely. You?”
Somehow, Scar's face lit up even more — green eyes sparkling like gemstones. “Me too! I have three cats. They’re called Jellie, Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan. They’re just the cutest little things, I wish you could meet them.”
Grian chuckled. “That’s nice. My sister has a dog but I don’t have any pets of my own. I wish I had cats, though.”
Scar hummed. “Dogs are sweet. What’s her dog called?”
“Tilly. She’s a Siberian husky, I believe. My sister found her injured on the streets, took her in and nursed her back to health a couple of years ago.”
Grian wasn’t sure why he was telling Scar any of this. He wasn’t usually this... loose-lipped. Maybe something about knowing this was all taking place in a dream was comforting to him.
Or he’s just gone mad. He couldn’t be sure.
“That’s sweet of her,” Scar said honestly. Then, he straightened, clasping his hands together. “Okay, your turn.”
Grian nodded.
What should he even ask? He had too many questions and not enough time. Who knew if this shared dream experience was a one time thing or something that would turn into routine?
In the end, he ended up asking probably the most boring question of all.
“Your favourite color?”
But Scar just tilted his head, thoughtful, and answered in that same easygoing tone. “Orange! You?”
“Ah, well,” Grian scratched the back of his neck. “Honestly, I don’t think I have one. I enjoy most colors.”
“What?!” Scar exclaimed. “Everyone has a favourite color! Surely there’s one you’d prefer?”
Grian scrunched his nose, grimacing. “I… really don’t think so.”
“Not even by a little bit?”
Grian thought about that. Colors weren’t something he’d given much thought over the years. His life had mostly been painted in shades of stony gray and murky brown. Of course there were colors that stood out more than others, but not enough to be considered a favourite. The only color that really stuck out to him was purple, and that definitely wasn’t it.
He thought once again about the events of tonight. A field of roses in the king’s garden, dying and rotting despite the fact that it could’ve all been prevented.
Grian shrugged. “Red, I guess . ”
“I’ll take it!” Scar beamed. “Red and orange, then. Reminds me of a sunset.”
“It does, yeah.”
They fell into another comfortable silence after that. It was a strange thing, being this comfortable around someone he’d only just met — but it didn’t feel wrong. Rather, the knowledge of having Scar next to him like this felt like a piece of a puzzle slotting into place. A black smudge wiped clean from a white surface. A crumpled fabric finally straightened out.
So when Grian felt the sun warming his eyelids, this dream world fading out in favor of his slow return to the waking world — he almost didn’t want to go.
⋆───⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆───⋆