Lavender Snow

Dream

The hallway was long and dark.

Red flashed in the mirrors on either side as Tommy walked past them, shaking. He half-expected his reflection to abruptly change to a lime green as he walked. It seemed like Dream was hiding behind one of the pillars, waiting for him to come into view so he could spring upon him and tear him to shreds. The mirrors stayed the same, however, but Tommy still couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

"Here we go!" Pyro said cheerfully when they reached the end of the hall. "Jesus, man, you're really tense."

Tommy hunched his shoulders. "Yeah, no shit. There's not— there's nothing here, what do you mean 'here we go'?"

Pyro grinned and pressed on a tile against the wall of the hallway. A green light blinked on, scanning their faces. "Dragon identified. Enderian 1732. Dragon not found. Welcome, General Pyro."

The mirrors on either side slid open to dark rooms. Pyro took Tommy's arm and pulled him to the room on the left. The mirror slid closed behind them, and a light flickered on, washing them in yellow light.

Tommy yelped as the room lurched beneath them and began to move. Pyro laughed. "Never ridden an elevator?"

"Not one that goes sideways," Tommy said. "From my experience, they're meant to go vertically."

Pyro leaned against the wall. "Eh, ours do both. We copied the design from elevators in an Enderian city."

Tommy pursed his lips and stared at the floor.

Pyro stared at him, then punched him in the arm. "Hey, chill. You're gonna be fine."

"I'm going to the emperor, no part of this is fine," Tommy snapped.

The elevator slowed and stopped, and the wall slid open to a wooden door.

"We're here." Pyro opened the door and pushed Tommy inside. "Have fun exploring. I'm going to go get Dream."

Tommy turned around, panicked. "Wait, no, don't leave me—!"

Pyro closed the door. On the other side, Tommy could hear the squeak of metal, and then a mechanic chugging noise as the elevator moved away.

Tommy opened the door again, but where the elevator had been was a wall of lava; the elevator must have had enchantments on it to keep it cool inside while it moved through the molten rock.

Tommy shut the door again and looked around his prison. The bed was in the style of the apartment beds, but instead of an ankle monitor, a sketchbook sat on the blanket. The desk had lines of pencils and charcoal on it— real charcoal, not just sticks with ash on them, and there was even a small bowl of fruit beside the art supplies.

"Sus," Tommy muttered, and picked up a chorus fruit, inspecting it. It looked normal, at least. Tommy tugged on the chorus fluff until the juicy seeds were released, spilling out into the bowl. He popped a few in his mouth, and holy shit he had missed that taste.

He took the bowl with him to the bed, and flipped open the sketchbook. It was blank. He wasn't sure what he expected. They had probably burned his old sketchbooks when he was presumed dead.

Tommy shook his head, closing the book. Something was off about this. He had expected metal bars and dark rooms, not. . . whatever this was. Maybe they were trying to get him to let down his guard.

Tommy squinted, examining the room more closely. He expected there to be traps or something, but if there were any, they were well hidden. The walls were smooth obsidian, and the only break in the flat surface was a vent set high above his bed, out of reach.