Echo | Dream Team

Four - Of fall and past

It wasn't until he was standing in front of the general's tent that the reality of their situation set in.

Dream scuffed the toe of his shoe on the ground. There was no more grass growing in the camp, having been abraded by thousands of footsteps making their way across the terrain, each print wearing away at the fine green stems that had once decorated the land and its surrounding area.

In a way, the lack of grass made everything seem more real. Here, they seemed to say, nothing will grow. You will die here, just like we did. You will disappear from mind, just like we did. This will be your final resting place, amidst our yellowed stalks.

He closed his eyes briefly. No, I won't. It was a promise he vowed he would keep. Because surely not. He was a light soldier, a fighter trained to deal with the most unimaginable circumstances and make it through on top. He was the match that would set their armies and fields ablaze.

His nerves settled down at the base of his stomach as he used a hand to push aside the double flaps of the stout tent marked with the crown's gilded insignia, ducking down and stepping into the enclosed space. A rush of warm air hit his face. Dream brushed aside his initial discomfort and took in the man sitting cross-legged at a short table positioned in the center of a red carpet spread out across the grass-bare ground, serving as a makeshift floor against nature. He bowed low, one hand flat over his heart, his gaze fixated on the ground. "Sir."

"Soldier," the general welcomed. He waved a hand. "Sit with me. Is Sapnap here as well?"

Dream straightened and shook his head. "He's showing the clairvoyant around the camp at the moment."

For a moment, emotion flickered through the general's pale blue eyes. A frown played across his face as his brow furrowed, his hand idly tapping at the wooden table before him. "George? What is he doing here?"

"The king allowed him to come," Dream said. "He wants to be here. He's trained to fight."

A slight chuckle escaped the man. He tilted his head, his curtain of fair hair shifting around his cheekbones as he regarded Dream with a knowing smile. "Did you have a part in his decision to do that?"

"No," Dream said heatedly, feeling his cheeks light up. The general's smile widened and he sighed. "Fine, yes. The king was being unfair. I wanted him to have a chance."

The commander grinned as he rested his chin on his hand. "Ah. How caring of you to throw him into war like that, Dream."

"He's not going to die," Dream said firmly.

"Really?"

A wave of resentment washed over Dream — whether towards himself or towards the man, he didn't know — and he scowled, unable to help himself. He bit back some less-than-polite words and shook his head. "He won't," he said, imagining the offended look on George's face if the boy was there with him. Sapnap literally told me I was going to die, he'd complain. Twice. You never tried to contradict him, you hypocrite.

He'd shrug. See it as motivation.

I hate motivation.

The thought was enough to bring a smile onto his lips. The general didn't seem to notice as he pulled a rolled-up piece of paper out from under his table and placed it on the smooth surface, unfurling it. He glanced up at Dream and frowned, as if just realizing that he was still standing. "What are you doing? Sit."

Dream did, tucking the longer ends of his coat beneath him neatly as he sat down on the opposite side from the commanding officer, and peered down at the papyrus. Lines ran rugged across its surface, twisting and bending scratches of ink across the yellow-tinged white. Circles were drawn in multiple spots, as well as sharp lines from one point to another. His eyes followed the markings, but it was like trying to read the mind of someone who had been half asleep at the time.