Mistral [Herobrine x Reader x Steve]

Chapter Four - Come Back

Unfamiliar languages and convoluted tones fill your skull, a dreamlike quality tainting the words. You come into awareness, vision blurred like a thin bandana is strung over your eyes. Immediately coming to the realization that this place is in fact a dream, the borderline psychedelic atmosphere clears and stretches invitingly past the crimson horizon ahead of you. The dry ground and high trees seem to be glitching, small pieces of them flickering, detaching and rolling through nonsensical hues that your brain can barely process. The voices increase in volume to your left. You follow the noise, whispers becoming yells until you find yourself entering a clearing wherein three people are interacting. The scene is strange, two people – a man and woman – are fighting, their words unintelligible, movements blurred and alternating in swift velocity. Another man is stood on the edge of the clearing much like you are, but his form isn't faded like the other two. He's watching the fight, at least he was, because now he stares back at you.

Vibrant white eyes, no notable difference between sclera and pupil. In this subconscious plane, his features hold a more defined appearance than in waking reality, possibly due to all your surroundings being distorted in someway while he is unchanged. Your brain denotes alarm, however you don't move from your spot. There would be no point in fleeing in a dream that you suspect he can manipulate. In all honesty it doesn't feel like you have total control over your own limbs, simply sat where you are and made to spectate. Red particles swirl around Herobrine's head before his figure flickers out of sight. He reappears beside you, once again watching the two people brawling.

"I thought it was interesting that I was seeing this once again." Herobrine utters, low timbre sounding over the muddied shouts between the other two. "It's strange that you're here too." You remain silent, letting him continue his tangent. "Morpheus must be trying to tell me something for him to drag me through this experience again." You blink, confused. "Morpheus?" You ask softly. He hums, nodding thoughtfully. "The God of Dreams. He's not much of a god, demigod maybe. I just don't understand the message he's trying to give; I've never had another person come into my own dream, usually it's the other way around." Herobrine shrugs, then raises his hand and causes the scene playing out to freeze. The two people are frozen in a calamitous moment, the man dressed in dark clothing and hood covering any details is holding a black sword, paused in the motion of swinging it down at the womans neck. Her face is blank, erased, and only her fiery orange hair is decipherable. You wonder who they are.

"Unimportant." Herobrine interrupts your line of thought. "Certain things are forgotten for a reason." As he speaks, the figures disappear in a whisp. It's strange, to be casually standing beside the same man who nearly murdered you. Maybe that's why you're here, so he can finish the job. You take a step back nervously. His bright eyes watch the tiny action and he harks a laugh. "Now why would I do that?" You cross your arms defensively, miffed. "Killing someone in a dream does nothing, besides-" He rolls his shoulders offhandedly. "You were brought here for a reason I suppose. Although I don't even know your name."

You debate even telling him, what good would it do to expose that to a psycho. He huffs at you. "First, now I know your name because you just thought it, second, understandable you think that but still – rude." His attempt at humor is surprising and you would laugh if you weren't massively intimidated by his presence. Behind him, the crimson sky is beginning to lighten, with a burgundy sun rising. Herobrine shakes his head. "Keep your end of the deal (y/n)." Eyes glowing like lit phosphorous while regarding you, he indifferently puts a hand on his neck and cracks it. "I may not be able to do anything in a dream, but the real world is a lot different.

And it's time to wake up."

~

Gasping, you wake up with a start. Sweat beads on your brow and hairs stick to your cheeks. The bed is cold, empty, and you shimmy out from under the covers. Pristine carpet embraces your feet as you stand, Steve is nowhere in sight. Dismissing that for now, you walk into your bathroom and stumble into a handwritten note on the countertop.