Welcome to Tropetember!

“Who are you?” Hob glances up at the trees for any hidden speakers or cameras, even magical runes like what he saw in the war, but he finds no sign of them. 

“I am someone who wants to save your world. And I need your help in accomplishing it.” 

Hob realises where the voice might be coming from, and panic begins to rise in his throat. “Are you inside my head?” Even the Magus didn’t have that kind of power. 

“Yes. It is the only way I can communicate with you. Now listen to me.” 

“Where the hell am I?” 

“You’re on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Prince. You’re here to slay him. If you don’t, it will be the end of the world.” 

Hob looks down the path away from the woods, and in the distance there does seem to be a cabin. The sight of it tugs at something in his memory, and he furrows his eyebrows to try to recall it, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe it just looks like a cabin he had seen before; most cabins look similar to each other. 

“No,” Hob says and turns away from the cabin. “I’m not gonna ‘slay’ anyone just because a voice in my head tells me to.” 

“You do not understand. You have to do it.” 

“I don’t have to do anything you say, mate,” Hob says distractedly, looking around the woods. He has this nagging feeling that he’s searching for something, something important. But he can’t quite remember what it’s supposed to be. 

He starts walking deeper into the woods; following the path is as good a start as any. 

“Robert Gadling. Must you turn around and leave? Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Somewhere else now.” Leaves crunch under his shoes, and stars twinkle in the night sky. Those look familiar too, the stars. But of course they would, Hob had seen stars many times before. 

“Fine. Suit yourself.”

“I suppose it would be wrong to just start killing random people in cabins.” 

Hob stops in his tracks. “Now who’s that?” 

“It seems that your mind has not yet fully recovered from travelling across the realms. A part of your mind is still split from the rest.” 

Hob knows that he should probably be more horrified at that, but somehow he digests that information with nothing more than the initial shock of it. Fighting in a magic war does that to a man. 

“Great, maybe you can both talk to each other and leave me alone.” 

“Where are we going? Did we get any orders?"

“You did. You’re just not following it.” 

Hob sees a clearing and walks towards it, carefully stepping over rocks and pushing branches out of the way. 

The clearing slopes upwards on a hill, and on top of that hill is…

“Strange. It looks like this path also leads to the cabin. Good to see that everything is back on track again. Perhaps the world can still be saved after all.” 

Hob frowns. Did he get turned around somehow? But the path didn’t seem to curve or circle back anywhere. He turns around and walks back the way he came from, this time going off the path.

“You seem keen on wasting everyone’s time. It’s remarkably selfish. I have already told you that if you don’t fulfill your task, everyone in the world dies.” 

Hob doesn’t bother replying. If the world really is at stake, no one would go to him to save it. He’s not even a magic user like the Constantines. And anyway, he’s supposed to be looking for something, not killing anyone. Now if he could only remember what he should be looking for. 

He continues walking, keeping the path at his back so as to be sure not to accidentally return to it. There doesn’t seem to be much variation in the foliage, so it’s a bit tricky to find landmarks especially with the sun almost completely set by this time. Still, Hob keeps walking in the direction he chose. Surely he has to reach a different place some time. 

The trees seem to be thinning ahead and Hob speeds up, stepping over roots and pushing branches out of the way. He steps into the clearing. 

Bloody hell. 

“Ah, you see? The universe itself is doing its best to bring you to your fated confrontation with the Prince.”

“Screw the universe. I’ll have to end up somewhere else at some point.” Hob turns around and walks off into a random direction. 

“There is always a choice, but I will tell you now that you are making the wrong one for everyone who has ever lived, and everyone who ever will.”

Hob doesn’t answer. He can’t quite explain why, but he doesn’t trust that voice in his head. The fact that he can’t remember what he’s supposed to be looking for already means that he’s got some lost memories. He could have been enchanted by some sorcerer, maybe the same one who put this voice in his head. Is he looking for his comrades?

Little flickers in his periphery distract him from his thoughts. He looks around and glimpses familiar wooden structures through the leaves, and as he focuses on his surroundings he sees that they aren’t just a trick of starlight. 

In every direction he can see, there is a path and a cabin. Not just any cabin. The cabin. An infinite number of paths and cabins stretched out no matter where he decides to go. 

“W-What's going on?" Hob had almost forgotten about this other voice. 

Hob huffs out an exasperated breath. There were sorcerers in the war who could do illusion magic, but he was never deployed with those who fought them. General Constantine’s platoon dealt with the most powerful sorcerers, so why weren’t any of them chosen to fulfill whatever madness this is? 

“Even in the face of this you are going to be too stubborn, aren’t you? No matter how many paths or cabins appear around you, you’re just going to do whatever you can to shirk your responsibility. You care more about defying me than saving the world. You have doomed us all.”

“Obeying you would save the world? Don’t flatter yourself, mate.” 

Hob weaves through the endless cabins appearing in his path, making sure to stay outdoors even when there seems to be more cabins than trees at this point. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he’s already been in the cabin before, and while his mind can’t remember what happened then, his body tenses at the shadow of the memory. He experienced pain in that cabin. And if he had already been there before and he’s still searching, then whatever he’s searching for must not have been in there. 

Time stops making sense. Hob thinks his legs should probably be aching now that he’s been walking for quite a while, but his senses seem dulled. Pain as a measurement of time isn’t even an option in this situation. He isn’t out of breath either. The voices in his head haven’t said anything more, and the woods are growing quieter as well. The leaves stop making sounds beneath his boots. No birds nor bugs are chirping. The cabins are everywhere now but it doesn’t feel claustrophobic. It doesn’t really feel like anything. Is he even still walking?

It becomes harder to tell where the night sky ends and the woods begin. There aren’t any stars anymore. Everything seems to merge into everything else. Just one dark mass of weightlessness. 

Is that a woman? The silver pendant around her neck glints, but what light is it reflecting? Her smile is kind and warm, but when Hob tries to reach for her, she takes a step back and puts her hands behind her back with a chuckle. Says Hob isn’t supposed to take her hand. 

Darkness. 

Hob wakes with a gasp, looking up at a starry night sky while lying on his back. He lifts his head and looks around, blinking at the trees that surround him. 

“Greetings, Robert Gadling. Allow me to first congratulate you for emerging victorious in the war.” 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Hob mutters and his head falls back onto the earth with a soft thud. 

“Your world is now free from the power of The Order of Ancient Mysteries.”

“Back here again, aren’t we?” As soon as Hob says the words, he feels more certain that this isn’t the only reset he’s been in. He doesn’t remember anything further from the previous one when he felt like he should be searching for something, but this all feels too familiar to only be the second time around. 

The voice continues speaking, but Hob tunes it out and just stares at the stars. He’s never been a sailor, so he never learned the constellations. And where he lived in the city, there was so much light pollution that he was lucky to see a few specks of stars on a clear night. He now wishes he learned a bit more of it, just so he could have a vague idea of where he could be in the world right now. Just knowing whether he was near the North or South Pole might make him feel better. 

”... you understand?”

Hob sighs, still staring at the sky. “Let me guess, find the cabin and the Prince?”

”Precisely. And slay him.”

“How many times have I been here?” Hob tries.

“This is your first time in these woods.”

“If he doesn't remember what happened, then maybe it's best to keep it that way."

“I don’t know. I think it’s more fun if he knows what we’re thinking. He’s like a captive audience.”

Hob frowns. That voice is new. Does he get a new one for every reset?

“The entire world ending wasn’t enough to get rid of us. I don’t think there’s much he can do other than object. I wonder what else we can do to ruin his day.”

“You will not be just ‘ruining my day’, you will ruin everyone’s lives when the world ends if you don’t slay the Prince.” 

“So the world really did end last time, didn’t it? We should be careful. For all we know we just got lucky.”

“The world has not ended yet. Push those insolent voices to the back of your mind, Robert Gadling, and stay focused on the task ahead.”

Hob gets to his feet and brushes off his clothes. So avoiding the cabin didn’t exactly work. Looks like the only way out of this is through. Hopefully he would at least get a clue of what he’s searching for when he gets to the cabin. 

He glances up and notices the walls for the first time. Solid concrete, taller than the trees, and blocking the way deeper into the woods.

“Oh you’ve put up walls this time. Really forcing me to go to the cabin, eh?” 

“Those walls have always been there, it just makes sense for them to be so. If not for the walls, someone might have gotten lost. Or even worse, someone other than you might have stumbled onto the Prince.” 

“So there are other people around here, then?” Hob asks as he makes his way down the path.

“I certainly hope not.” 

Hob wonders what the voice in his head really is, the one giving him orders. If Hob and the pieces of his mind can remember the resets, why can’t the voice? Anyway, it’s a good thing that the voice can’t really read his mind, as long as it’s just him thinking and not one of the broken off pieces of himself. Christ, it’s giving him a headache just thinking about it. 

He can see the cabin in the distance, at the top of a small hill surrounded by the high concrete walls. There seems to be light coming from inside. 

He stops at the bottom of the hill and stares at the cabin, dread forming in his stomach. He has no idea what to expect nor what to hope for. 

“A warning, before you go any further. He will lie, he will cheat, and he will do everything in his power to stop you from slaying her. Don’t believe a word he says.” 

“If we’re stuck going in there, maybe we should believe him. Maybe he isn’t a liar.” 

“Ignore him.”

“I don’t know, doesn’t feel right to break into someone’s house and kill them. We don’t even know anything about the Prince.” 

“I have told you all you need to know.” 

Hob climbs the hill and walks up to the door. It opens and the creaking sounds off, like someone was trying to imitate the sound and doing it badly. He steps inside and immediately feels disoriented. 

The cabin interior just feels wrong. It’s a confusing patchwork of many cabin interiors all projected across what’s almost the same space. But it’s all shifted—an inch there, a foot there, enough that the seams are never quite visible enough for the place to make any sense. 

The window on the left is square and has a hole in the glass, like someone had thrown a rock through it, and the walls around it are made of stone and flat pieces of wood. The window on the right is arched and the glass is spotless, the pattern reminding Hob of a church window. The walls are both bricks and smooth concrete. The door in front of Hob—which he can somehow tell leads down into the basement—is made of an entirely different piece of wood, and doesn’t seem to fit properly on the walls of cobblestone and logs behind it. The floor is made of the same varying patchwork that it nearly gave him vertigo just looking at it. 

To the right is a small wooden table that’s lopsided because its legs are of different lengths. Perched on it is a pristine blade, oddly vivid in its appearance and seems to be the only thing in the room that’s certain of what it should be. 

“The blade is your implement. You’ll need it if you want to do this right.” 

“If he wants us to take it, maybe we should just leave it to collect dust. Or better yet, grab it and throw it out the window! What good is a knife against a world-ending monstrosity anyway?”

“No, we’re taking the knife. Do you see this place? We have literally no idea what to expect, and no idea what we’re dealing with.” 

“I have already told you what you are dealing with. You are dealing with a Prince. It is a simple and straightforward premise.”

“Simple and straightforward? Nothing in here feels that way at all.”

“Listen to me. My job is to guide you, and your job is to slay the Prince. And through that action, you shall save the entire world. You cannot let fear creep into your heart. You cannot lose yourself before you even get to him.” 

“Oh now that’s interesting! What’s going to happen if we ‘lose ourself’?”

“Nothing, because that will not happen. Just ignore the odd appearance of the place and stay calm.”

“How can we ignore it? It’s not like we can close our eyes and walk around blindly in here.”

“You will just have to learn. You have a job to finish, and quickly.”

“Yes, take a deep breath. I’m all for getting under his skin, but we’ll miss out on loads of fun if we shrivel up into a ball and go insane the first time we see something weird. What you’re seeing here is obviously real. Don’t stay frozen thinking about it.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m fine.”

“Now, we’re all waiting for you to complete a very important task.”

Hob walks over to the table and takes the weapon. The weight in his hand feels familiar, and he dreads to think of what he could have done with the blade in a previous reset. 

“Good. It would be difficult to slay the Prince and save the world without a weapon.”

“Okay, fine. You took the knife. But you really shouldn’t hold it like that.” 

“Then how are we supposed to hold it?”

“The other way. Thumb at the bottom. We’ll look much more serious.” 

“It does not matter how you hold the blade. As long as you use it to slay the Prince.”

Hob walks over to the window with a hole in it, and throws out the knife as far as he can, sending it flying into the night and down the hill. 

“Haha! Yes!” 

“Really now? Then I suppose you will just have to deal with the Prince without it.” 

“We’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen? The world ends? We’ve just been through that.” 

“I’m not so sure. This place is already messing with our head. It would be much better if we had a weapon.” 

“What’s done is done. Good luck.”

Hob touches the door handle to the basement and takes a deep breath. He knows he had used the blade before, and he’s still here. It’s entirely possible that slaying the Prince did not help one bit. The voice in his head somehow just doesn’t remember that. He wants to try something else this time, though he hasn’t the faintest idea of what that could be. 

The door opens with a similar discordant creak as the front door, and Hob nearly falls over upon seeing what’s on the other side. 

A web of branching staircases spiral in curves and loops that all lead somewhere into a black abyss. Each staircase is built from some unidentifiable material; every time Hob tries to think of what it could be, it feels like his mind turns away and refuses to acknowledge it. 

Nothing here seems to belong, and the closer Hob examines his surroundings, the more confused he gets, his head throbbing with the effort of making sense of this place. The stairs overlap so much that Hob isn’t even sure whether they lead anywhere, much less downwards. The air has a sickening, almost sludge-like miasma to it, the kind of indiscernible quality that comes from the blending together of every scent there is at once. An odor that’s simultaneously everything and yet coalescing into a thick, nauseating nothing. 

“Do you understand now how terrible this place is? If the Prince lives here, slaying him would be doing him a favor.” 

A voice comes up from below, a disquieting collage of tone and personality scraping and echoing along unseen walls with each word bouncing off each other. 

“Hello? HI. What are you doing hErE? Are yOu heRe to—KILL.” 

“Hmm. No. No thank you.”

“Oh don’t be such a child!”

“I don’t want to do this. Let’s just turn around and leave. This feels wrong, this feels like a trap, like whatever we do we’re gonna die. We don’t even have a weapon.”

“But we already tried turning around and leaving, didn’t we? And he threw up a wall. No way to go but forward, and whatever choice we make, whatever he is, we know one thing for sure.”

“And what’s that?”

“The fate of the world hinges on your success?”

“There’ll still be plenty of ways to ruin his day.”

Hob tries to tune out the voices as he decides on how to proceed. There are three staircases branching out from where he’s standing. The one on the left looks solid with sharp angles and edges, the center one looks the most plain, and the one on the right looks to be the softest.

Hob decides to take the right one. At least even if he gets dizzy and slips, he won’t cut his head open on a sharp edge. 

The path feels soft and reassuring against his feet. The stairs almost seem to cradle him as he makes his way down, like they’re guiding his heels from one stop directly to the next. He barely has to extend any effort to descend, the stairway doing most of the work for him, and he doesn’t feel like there’s any concern that he might slip or tumble or lose his way. 

The further he goes, the deeper he sinks in. First it’s like a lovely plush carpet, his shoes digging down and barely hitting any resistance at all. But soon enough he’s fighting just to keep his knees from sinking out of sight. The softness threatens to swallow him whole, to wrest control of his body and surround him in a false ethereal bliss, pretending to save him from the cruelties of choice and consequence. 

Soft fluffy walls rise up on either side of him, closing in until they almost form a ceiling. Hob is grunting at every laborious step, fighting sleepiness and the temptation to just curl up and rest and be away from all of this. It’s slow-going, but he manages to fight against the overwhelming urge to fall back into the comfort and nothingness, the very struggle to continue forward consuming his every thought. 

The walls of the staircase fade away, and instead he’s at the bottom of the hill. Looking up at the cabin. What?

Now he’s inside the cabin, the walls made of logs. A blade on a table. 

Down a wooden staircase. 

In the middle of the woods. But the shape of the trees seem blurry. 

Back at the bottom of the hill. In the log cabin. Wooden stairs. 

Time disappears. Hob feels himself begin to untether. In the middle of the woods that might as well be a sketch drawing for how undefined the shapes are. At the bottom of the hill. The surroundings are even less detailed. Inside a vaguely drawn log cabin. Blurry wooden staircase. Trees.

Physical sensations dull and then vanish. A child’s drawing of what could be a forest. The only things experienced are the endlessly repeating patterns and emotions of the journey. Hill. Log cabin. Outline of a staircase. A continuous march forward to a destination long forgotten. Trees. Hill. Cabin. Stairs. Trees. Hill. Cabin. Stairs. Trees. Hill. Cabin. Shadow of a staircase. 

Nothingness. 

A staircase made of thorns and muscle and sinew. Another one overlapping it, made of locks of hair and linked chains. Another one of nails and splintered wood. Another one of stones and water. Pine needles and strands of DNA. 

Consumption and betrayal. Skepticism and blind devotion. Rivalry and submission. Terror and longing. Pain and unfamiliarity. And at the heart of it all, an emotion that can only be described as— 

“Are you okay?” A fragile voice. 

Hob gasps and stumbles and blinks. He’s standing inside a small and dark prison cell. 

As his eyes adjust, he sees the figure sitting on the floor across from him. The man’s robe hangs loosely around his slender frame, pooling on the cold stone floor. Piercing blue eyes look at Hob through the darkness. 

“What— What the hell was that?! What happened to us?”

“I feel so… strange. Like I’m fundamentally different, but also… still the same person I was at the top of the stairs. Oh well! That was a trip but now it’s over. Time to get back to our old devilish ways.”

Is this man the Prince? His eyes are bright but otherwise shrouded in darkness, watching Hob impatiently from where he sits. 

“Don’t forget why you’re here.” 

“And why are we here again? In case you weren’t listening, I’m afraid I lost myself on the way down.”

A sigh. “You’re here to—”

“He’s just being an ass. We remember. Though I’m still not sure if we should trust you. Let’s talk to him for a bit. Try and get our bearings. He seems… normal.”

“I’m sorry,” Hob finally gets out. The throbbing in his head dissipating to a dull ache. “I didn’t realise I was already here.” It feels like an understated explanation to what he just went through. 

“That’s okay. Sometimes I forget where I am, too.” The Prince’s voice is just on this side of uncertain. He sounds as if his eyes would be darting around to every corner of the room and his hands would fidget at everything he could touch. But he remains still and just staring at Hob. 

The shadows recede, revealing the Prince’s face. Gentle and angular, softened by the dark raven hair bathed in moonlight.

“He’s so warm. And friendly…”

“It is deception. Do not buy into it.”

For a moment there’s a sound like sand speeding through an hourglass. And in a blink the Prince’s appearance had shifted. The edges of his form seem to bleed into the shadows, smoky tendrils of darkness seeping out of him and reaching outwards. When he speaks again, his voice is sharper. 

“How strange. So. Why are you here?”

“We can do that?! Did we do that? Change his form?”

“I don’t like this. It’s those cabins all over again. Can… Can we put him back?”

“You said you had been here before. What exactly happened then?” For the first time, the voice sounds unsure. 

“Does it matter?”

“It does. But if you are to be stubborn about the details then I shall not waste any more time prying them out of you. It seems to me like you saw something you weren’t supposed to have seen. Whatever it was, unsee it. Whatever thoughts weaseled their way into your head, unthink them, if it is not already too late. You have a job to do here and you need to do it now.” 

“New plan! Let’s see if we can change his form even more.”

“Who are you?” Hob asks. 

“You can call me Prince, if you’d like,” he says in a friendly tone. “Prince,” he says again in his sharper voice, calculating. 

“Right. Are you alright? Your form… It’s changing.” 

“Do you need help? Not that there’s much I can do chained up like this, but I’m the only one down here. So if you need anything, I’ll do my best.” The Prince sounds sincerely concerned, though Hob doesn’t understand why he thinks Hob needs help. 

Before Hob can reply, there’s the same sound of sand through an hourglass, and the Prince’s form blurs even more. He’s less humanoid now and more of a dark cloud. His blue eyes shifting from friendly to hostile and back again over and over, more tendrils of black smoke emanating from him and reaching the ceiling. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” The Prince’s voice is sharp and accusatory. “Are you trying to get under my skin?”

Hob frowns in confusion, he hasn't even said anything.

“I don’t like where this is going.” 

“Neither do I. Which is why you need to slay him now before things get more complicated than they already are.”

“How would we even do that? Where would we start?”

“You could always start by retrieving the blade.”

“The one that he made us throw out the window?”

“I wasn’t the one who threw it.”

“Oh come on, you told us to! Don’t try to pass the blame now that it’s come back to bite us.”

“Well, if I’d known we’d be dealing with this, maybe I wouldn’t have been so hasty with my suggestions.”

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to put him back.”

“It kind of hurts to think about it all, doesn’t it? It’s like everything we say just makes him bigger.”

“It certainly looks that way. So please, stop asking him questions and stop stalling. You’re obviously just making things worse.”

Hob isn’t about to go back up those horrible stairs just to find a small blade that he didn’t want to use anyway.

“Getting down here was… unsettling,” Hob tells the Prince. “Like I was pulled apart and back together again. Do you know what happened to me?” If this Prince is some sort of deity, he might know what’s going on. 

“I don’t know what happened to you, but you look like you’re in one piece now,” the Prince says reassuringly. “But I understand. Sometimes I feel like I’m being pulled apart, too. It’s so… terrifying down here. But at least now you’re not alone. And I’m not alone either.”

This time the sound is like an hourglass cracking and sand spilling out. The cloud of darkness surrounding the Prince grows even bigger, and what vague shape of the Prince remains in the center grows taller, looming over Hob. 

“We’re probably stuck down here forever, aren’t we?” The fear and melancholy in the Prince’s voice catches Hob off-guard, such a stark contrast to his hulking appearance. “There’s no way out, and barely a way in…” A sharp edge creeps into his voice again. “I don’t remember what it was like before I was in this place. Why would I know what happened to you? You’re not really cut out for this, are you? Why are you even here?”

“Why are you here?” Hob asks the question back. 

“You are wasting time—”

“Do you know why you’re down here?” Hob talks over the voice. He wants to know if the Prince is just as trapped as he is. 

“I don’t know why I’m here, but there has to be a reason, right?” The Prince sounds fragile as fine china. “You don’t just lock a prince away in a place like this without a reason. I wish I knew what it was. But you know, right?” The Prince’s voice begins to lilt and shift in odd places, like a song that’s always one note wrong in each measure. “You’re the only other person I’ve ever seen, or at least the only one I can remember.” His eyes flash something dangerous, and Hob thinks he can glimpse sharp teeth and fangs flickering in places inside the cloud. “Don’t give me false hope. Please just end this already. One way or another, just do it.” He sounds equal parts pleading and taunting. 

The unseen hourglass shatters and a gust of wind nearly throws Hob off his feet. 

“Don’t be coy.”

There’s a sneer in the Prince’s voice even when there are no more facial features to be discerned. The dark cloud has filled more than half of the room, and there are brilliant blue eyes and sets of jagged teeth everywhere and nowhere at once. They glint in the corners of Hob’s vision, and disappear whenever he tries to look at them directly. 

“We both know why I’m locked away here,” the Prince’s voice echoes off the stone walls, goading and mocking. “I’m a monster, and the second I get out of this place, I’M gOinG To eNd ThE enTIRE wOrLd.”  

“This is reaching its breaking point,” the voice says urgently. “If you don’t act now, there will be nothing in here but him. Focus. You can do this.”

“But how do we decide what to do? Can there even be a right choice in a situation like this?”

“Stop overthinking it. Your drifting thoughts have clearly been part of the reason this situation has gotten out of hand. If you’re trying to do the right thing, there’s only ever been the one option, and that is to slay him.”

“Just do something! Do anything! Do all of it if that’s what you want. This place is hell and it’s only getting worse.”

Hob can’t argue with that. The smoky tendrils are reaching him and he can feel himself being pulled in all directions of possibilities. He wants to free the Prince. He wants to leave him in this basement. He wants to find the knife. He’s glad to be rid of it. 

“Do something.” 

Hob is trying, he really is, even though he can’t wrap his mind around a single decision. He takes a step forward, but his foot lands… different. He feels a firm footfall, a gentle tread, a confident stride. Hob can feel himself rupture. The room spins, his vision multiplies in a sickening kaleidoscope as his very self is pulled in unfathomably many directions. 

The Prince is now a friendly human and a hostile creature and a deity beyond comprehension. The blade appears in Hob’s hands. All at once he uses it to strike the Prince and free him as Hob remains upstairs and slays the Prince and abandons him to languish in the basement. There are shards of glass and sand flying everywhere. 

“Is this what the end of the world looks like this time? What an unbearable mess.” 

Blue eyes and sharp fangs. The cloud of smoke suffocating and refreshing.

“But this— We can’t…”

Hob falls over, except he never does because he can’t tell up from down anymore.

“Do you not have anything to say? I could use a good bit of wit right now.”

Hob is caught in a tornado. He’s trapped in the center of it. There’s no difference anymore in being frozen and being ripped apart.

“No I don’t! Because this isn’t fun. How are we supposed to have fun if everything is happening at the same time? It’s the same as nothing happening, and nothing is excruciating!” 

Hob hears a loud thud. Is that his body hitting the floor? The Prince? He doesn’t know. The basement collapses, the hill crumbles above. Hob is stuck. He’s soaring from a slingshot flying at light speed—

Darkness. Freefall. Floating.

The Prince is floating in front of him, an amalgamation of different forms coalesced into one indecipherable mass of robes and raven hair and blue eyes and pristine blades. 

“We were never going to salvage this, were we?”

“WhAT hApPenEd To uS?” The Prince’s voice is disjointed and echoing, like there are many of him trying to speak all at once but can never agree on who will go first. He sounds scared and annoyed and scornful and fragile. “wHAt aRE We? tHeRe ARe pARts oF Us THat Are dEAd, ANd thE OthERs… ThEy JUst doN’t FiT.” The mass moves up and down and grows bigger and smaller, trying to make sense of itself. “wE CAn FeEL THem MOvInG aRouND iN sPAcEs ThEY doN’T bEloNG. iT’s aLL sO uNComFoRtAbLe.” 

A number of blue eyes turn to Hob with a squelch. “DiD yOU dO ThiS? diD We dO tHiS? cAN… CaN yOU puLL Us bAcK apaRT? cAn YoU fiX uS?”

“We should help him. I think… we did this.” 

“How surprisingly sincere.”

“I didn’t actually think our actions had consequences.”

“It’s a little late for regret, isn’t it?”

“pLeAsE?”

“It’s gonna be okay.” Hob is startled by how normal his voice sounds after everything. “Let me just think—” 

A swirl of sand surrounds the Prince, engulfing him until he disappears in its depths. 

Hob barely has time to be surprised before the sand takes him too. 

He is weightless, and all at once he drops heavily on the ground. 

He gasps for breath and blinks up at a grey sky. He hears the soft lapping of waves against a shore, and he sits up to look around. He’s on a beach, and with a grey sea and black sand stretching out for miles. 

He feels something watching him, and he looks to his right to see a black smoky mass floating a few feet in front of him. 

As he meets the twin lights in the middle of it, everything comes rushing back. 

Finding the cabin for the first time. The Prince stabbing him in the chest. The reset. The Prince towering over him like an ancient god and offering protection. Hob accepting the Prince’s hand— 

No, not the Prince. The vessel. 

“It’s you,” Hob says in awe, recognising the creature in front of him. The true form of the Prince. For now. “I’m sorry it took so long,” he says as he stands up. “I had no memories when I returned to that place. I didn’t even know what I was supposed to be looking for,” he shakes his head, hearing the frustration in his voice. 

“Time does not have a structure here. You need not worry about how long it takes you to get back.” The Prince’s voice is calm, and Hob nearly cries with the familiarity of it. The only genuinely friendly voice he’s heard ever since this madness started. 

Hob doubts that the Prince even means to sound friendly, which makes it all the better. The Prince doesn’t feel like he would have any motivations to deceive or manipulate. His voice is a little different from that of his vessels, more solid and reliable somehow. Like Hob can trust it. And after getting his mind and body ripped apart a million times in that previous reset, Hob is glad for a comforting presence. 

“Is that one of your vessels?” Hob stares at the mass of melded forms floating at the base of the Prince’s smoky shape. It’s not moving anymore, all the eyes are closed, and for the first time it looks peaceful. “I mean… is it a proper one?”

“Yes. It is fragile, but it is mine. A vessel is nerves and fibers to feel the worlds beyond this one. Perspectives to make my own. These ones are a contradiction. A winding kaleidoscope of paths unwalked. They are stretched into a shape not unlike me, but it is a shape they cannot hold. I am sorry that you met this vessel so early in your journey, but they will make for a rich and vibrant heart. Do not mourn them—for they will finally get to know themselves.”

“No, don’t apologise. I think… I think it’s my fault they became like that.” Hob watches as the vessel gets absorbed into the black smoke. The Prince’s eyes glow brighter for a moment, and his smoky form becomes darker and more tangible. “I avoided the cabin for as long as I could, I thought it was the right choice. Had to go through another reset after that one collapsed. And when I met your vessel it was like…” Hob furrows his eyebrows, searching for the right words. “Everything was happening all at once. When the world first ended it was just nothingness, and then the second time, it was everything. All decisions and possibilities. Does that make sense?” 

The Prince is silent for a few moments. “You think your initial refusal to go to that cabin created a world where all decisions were made for you upon meeting my vessel?”

Hob nods thoughtfully. “I guess so, yeah. That’s why it became a mixture of different personalities and appearances. Wait, does that mean… Does that mean that your vessel’s shape would depend on the choices I make?” He frowns. He doesn’t know how he feels about that much of a responsibility. 

“It would appear so. You expected my first vessel to be a powerful creature capable of protecting you even from magical elements, and so it manifested as such. You had not expected anything from this second vessel, and so it manifested into multiple possibilities you might expect.” 

Hob tries to process all that. He still doesn’t know how he ended up in those woods, and now he can apparently influence the vessels of whatever deity the Prince is. 

“If that vessel was made up of several possibilities, does that count as multiple vessels too? Are you more complete now than you would have been if I’d brought just a singular form?”

“No. This vessel is ultimately a mere possibility; none of the forms are fully realised. Yet I cherish it all the same.”

Hob feels himself practically deflate. “So that didn’t matter much, huh?” 

“Why do you think so? He is my potential. Not many can say that they have met everything someone could possibly be and declare that all of it is still someone worth saving. You have seen everything I could be, and yet you are neither angry nor afraid. I am aware that you are only collecting my vessels so I can help you get home. Still. I am not so incomplete as to ignore that you have not been repulsed by me after what you have seen.” 

Hob blinks at the Prince. It hadn’t even occurred to him to be afraid, much less repulsed. “Just because you could be something terrible doesn’t mean you will be. Humans are like that, too. And you haven’t done anything to make me fear you.” 

“My first vessel stabbed you in the heart before you conceived him as a god.” 

“Because apparently I expected him to be dangerous. And you said it yourself, that vessel is just one small part of you. How about we make you complete first and then I’ll decide whether I’m repulsed?” Hob said lightly. He’s done terrible things because of the war, and he can’t let any one of those define him. It won’t be fair not to extend the same grace to the Prince who doesn’t even have control over how his vessels treat Hob. 

The smoky mass that is the Prince doesn’t have a mouth, but something in the air shifts and Hob somehow senses that he’s smiling. 

“You, however, are complete. And I have decided that all of you is worth saving. It would be my honour to help get you back home as soon as it is within my power.”

Hob already knew that the Prince would be helping him, but hearing that still makes him unexpectedly warm inside. He chuckles and glances down at the sand. “I don’t know if you know all of me. I’m not even sure I know all of me.” He thinks about that new voice that he can’t seem to place. “There was a different voice in my head, in the last reset. It’s the only one that I’m not sure where it came from. I mean, I know it’s a part of my mind, because apparently my mind splits every reset? And it’s my voice. But I can’t place it like the others.” 

“Your mind splits when you are back in that world?” 

“Yeah. Something to do with travelling through realms or something.” If he thinks about it too much he gets a headache. “I was able to recognise the other voices. One was from when I was just starting out as a soldier, the other was from when I was homeless, but I’m not sure about the third one. He just kept contradicting that Destiny guy, the one giving me orders. Remember him? Your first vessel was able to detect him and drive him away somehow.”

“Yes. But I fear I do not know him beyond that.” 

Hob sighs and sits cross-legged on the sand, facing the Prince. Hopefully after he brings in more vessels, the Prince would regain enough memory to help him figure things out. 

“It troubles you that you do not know where that third voice is from.” 

“I’m that easy to read, eh?” Hob smiles. “I guess… I’m not comfortable with not knowing all parts of me. Because what if it’s something bad, you know? And I’ve already inflicted that personality on people and I don’t even remember.” He ducks and massages his forehead. “Don’t mind me, it was just a stressful reset.” Not that the previous ones weren’t stressful. But that latest one was arguably the worst. 

“Perhaps that voice is a potential.”

Hob furrows his eyebrows and looks at the Prince. “What do you mean?”

“Something you can be, if you wish it. If it is a part of your mind, it need not have come from one specific point in your life. It might have always been there.”

“Like a part of my personality?”

“Yes. You said it kept contradicting the voice that was giving you orders. Do you not have such tendencies back where you came from?”

Hob thinks about it. He didn't go against rules just for the sake of it, and that first split from his mind was already proof that when he was a new soldier he wanted having orders to follow, some structure to rely on. But he never liked being put inside a box, and even as a soldier he found ways of bending the rules whenever he thought an order wasn't very sound. Though that wasn't to say that he only had noble reasons for disliking rules or orders.

He suddenly remembers the night before they were to be deployed to London, and smiles at the memory. 

“There was this one time,” Hob begins. “We had just survived a battle, and we got word that the troops in London needed reinforcements. At the time the war could go either way, and we were nervous. If they needed reinforcements, it must be pretty bad out there. So we were drinking a bit after dinner. I said something about how people only die because that's what everyone else does. And I've decided that I never planned on dying, no matter the battle, and they were welcome to join me.”

“Contradicting the inevitability of death itself.” Does the Prince sound fond? “And you wonder where that voice came from.”

“It doesn't seem so inevitable now, does it? Seeing as I'm still here,” Hob grins. 

“Indeed. You have survived far beyond the battle that worried you.”

Hob falls silent for a moment. They did survive that battle, and it was harrowing and painful every step of the way. He looks at the water, small waves hitting the shore and receding. The black sand is soft under him. He idly takes a handful and lets the fine grains slide out of his palm.

“Can I stay here for a bit?” He looks at the Prince. “I’ll still find your vessels, of course. I just… want to rest for a while,” he sighs. He was pulled in all directions in the last reset, perhaps literally, and on several planes of existence. 

He remembers practically giving up when faced with the first vessel. Being thrown into some magical timeloop right after a war made him just submit to the deity. He doesn't want a repeat of that, especially since he would most likely have his memories erased again when he goes back to those woods. He needs a bloody break.

“Of course. Though there is not much for you to do here.”

“Exactly.” Hob turns to face the sea, feeling the breeze on his face and in his hair. 

He suddenly feels very tired. How long has it been since he's first been brought to those woods? He doesn't even know. He stifles a yawn with his hand. 

There's a soft rustling sound and he turns to see that there's a blanket spread out on the sand to his left, and on top of it is a pillow.

"It appears that enough of my powers have returned for me to create small objects."

Hob turns to the Prince in surprise. "You didn't have to do that." The thought that some unfathomable deity like the Prince considers even those things for Hob makes something ache in his chest.

"It is the least I can do for what you go through to help me. Now rest."

Some sand must be getting into his eyes because Hob feels a bit like tearing up. "Thank you."

He settles in on the blanket; the fabric is so much softer than he imagined and does feel more comfortable than the grainy sand. When he lies down on the pillow, a sigh escapes him from how much better he already feels. A good blanket and pillow. Definitely some of the things that people take for granted until they can't have them anymore.

Hob isn't looking forward to going back to those woods with no memories again, but for now, he's safe and resting on a beach with the closest thing he has to a friend.

He closes his eyes and exhales as he lets his body relax.

---

Notes

It was a fun challenge incorporating the videogame visuals and spooky vibes into this chapter~. And I always enjoy writing the canon-divergent scenes of Hob hanging out with True Dream at the beach, and it always turns out softer and sweeter than I planned, haha. I love them <3

Thank you for reading!

---

<- Chapter 2

(Chapter Index)

(Tropetember 2025 Masterlist)

3.

Tubbo knows the way to Tommy’s house like the back of his hand. Even before the prime path became a thing, he familiarized himself with the landmarks around the hill.

And for as much as Tommy has a terrible sense of direction, Tubbo doesn't think he’ll ever forget his way back home.

But in the chaos of everything that happened, Tubbo guesses…well, he doesn’t really know. It just seems like Tommy, unconsciously, doesn’t want to go home. He keeps taking the wrong turns, keeps spinning like he has a concussion and doesn't know his way from up and down.

And like second nature, Tubbo takes Tommy’s hand and guides him. He ignores the distant gaze and quiet demeanor, and leads him to Tubbo’s wooden mansion. 

“You can stay over if you want,” he says into the air. Tommy never responds. He only squeezes back.

+1

It’s been a year since they left the server, and Tubbo waits outside to see a familiar red shirt and blond hair. 

It's been almost a week since Tommy left for a nearby village, a grocery list in hand and a backpack in the other. Tubbo wanted to bake a treat over the weekend for Michael as a reward for his good behavior. But Tommy is taking longer than usual, and it’s starting to worry Tubbo. 

There’s no way he got lost, right? This is their new home, and he was sure to grill Tommy about the landmarks and using them as references between the village and their home.

He rocks on the swing, Michael resting his head on his lap as he plays with a tactile puzzle, and the sound of crickets surrounds them. Tubbo worries his lips and debates on what to do.

There’s the sound of bells clanking, familiar only in his memory, and he has to blink as Tommy leads a new cow further to their yard. Brown spots and a blue tag on its ear, it follows after the hay Tommy waves in front of his face, and Tubbo can already hear the imp’s coos and words of admiration from this distance.

He sighs. Tommy most likely forgot about the grocery list.

"I'm not an expert on blades," the guy stopped walking and smiled. "I'm sure you know more than I do."

The blond man shrugged. "Maybe." He punched the display case and shattered the glass.

Hob flinched at the sound along with the other visitors around him; they were only a few feet away and the sound was piercing in the quiet museum.

"What the hell are you doing?!" the guy asked as he stumbled backwards.

"I like knives," the blond man smiled and casually took the sword from its stand.

Two guards came running towards them.

"Sir, you're gonna have to come with us," one of them said.

"I don't think so," the blond man chuckled and grabbed the guy he'd been talking to, spinning him around and holding the sword to his neck. "You're gonna have to listen to me."

A guard pulled out a gun and aimed—

The blond man threw the sword at the guard and he dropped the gun with a pained yell, clutching his bleeding arm.

The blond man clicked his tongue disapprovingly, and Hob watched wide-eyed as the blond's hand morphed into a blade; far sharper-looking than the ancient sword. He pointed it at his hostage's neck. "That's not very nice. I wasn't done talking."

The other visitors screamed and started running for the exits, pushing past Hob and the display cases. Supervillains were not unheard of, but they were unpredictable. Most acted like the usual criminals and only used their powers for things like robberies and turf wars between gangs, but every once in a while there would be an attempt to take over an entire city without any care for casualties. And the masses never knew which villain was which until it was too late.

Superheroes had been there to stop them every time, but since both villains and heroes had their identities kept secret, there was no way to contact any hero whenever something like this happened. There was no telling how much damage would be done before superheroes even knew of it.

A fleeing group of visitors shoved past Hob and he stumbled onto a broken display case, getting a shard of glass deep into his palm. He got up and ran to a side corridor, leaning against the wall to get his bearings while the crowd kept shouting and sprinting for he nearest exits. He examined his hand and carefully pulled out the glass shard with a wince.

There was a fire exit down the corridor, and several people were running for it already. Hob could join them. No one would even know he'd been here when the attack happened; even the staff at the office would think that he left immediately after booking the reservation.

He glanced down at his hand, watching the wound close gradually until all that was left was a scar that could have been days old; there was still blood on his palm but no visible source.

Hob sighed. Grudgingly receiving lab-grown powers a month ago didn't make him a hero, and he certainly didn't feel super in any way. What chance did he have against a guy who could turn his limbs into blades at will?

Above the sound of the alarms blaring and more glasses breaking, Hob could hear the villaindemanding that the staff put as many objects as they could into their delivery truck parked outside.

Hob peeked around the corner, and he could see that around 50 people were crouched around the blond man—uniformed staff and visitors alike—covering their heads protectively. Several metal blades were embedded everywhere; it looked like the man wasn't letting anyone else leave until his demands were met.

Hob hid back behind the wall, taking steadying breaths. It was a weekend, and a lot of the hostages were kids. Some of those blades were taller than a grown man; what would happen if the villain aimed one at a child?

He could hear objects being carried outside, and the villain shouting that if those staff members didn't return within five minutes, he would start killing hostages. There were scattered whimpers and pleas, someone had started sobbing.

Hob couldn't risk being found out to have powers; it would put the people he cared about in danger of being kidnapped or otherwise leveraged against him by those who would extort him for his powers. It had happened to other supers before.

He glanced down the corridor. It was connected to the Medieval section and had paintings and swords hanging on the walls. A knight's suit of armour had toppled over during the onslaught of escaping visitors; its helmet had rolled off a few feet away from the body, next to a display case of medieval clothing.

It took about two minutes for Hob to get everything ready, and then he was walking towards the villain, feeling only a little bit ridiculous.

"Let them go," Hob's voice was muffled by the knight's helmet.

The villain raised an eyebrow, still holding a blade to his first hostage's neck. He didn't seem particularly intimidated, and Hob couldn't blame him.

Hob had worn the helmet to protect his identity, and he took one of the medieval vests from the display case and wore it over his white shirt to cover the school's logo. He was surprised that the vest didn't rip from how old it was, and the dust from the helmet had already made him sneeze twice before he could even wear it. With his improvised disguise combined with his jeans and sneakers, he looked nothing at all like those superheroes with fancy costumes in the news.

"Or what?" the villain asked with a smirk.

Hob took a step closer. "They've loaded up the truck with a lot of things already, right? You can just take those and drive away." He probably shouldn't be encouraging theft, but at the moment it was the best idea he had.

The villain tossed his hostage to the floor without taking his eyes off Hob. As he walked forward, his entire body began to change; his arms and legs turned into sharp steel, his clothes and hair melted into his body that had turned silver, and even his face had morphed into metal with jagged edges. By the time he stopped in front of Hob, he looked more like a stack of knives than anything human.

When he spoke, it was like metal scraping on concrete. "Or… what?" The closest hostages grimaced and covered their ears.

Hob pulled his arm back and punched the villain in the face. "Run!" he yelled at the hostages before landing another punch, the invisible forcefields he had formed around his fists protecting him from the blades.

The screaming and running started again, and Hob did his best to keep the villain distracted and prevent him from targeting civillians.

The villain recovered from the initial shock and began to dodge his punches, slashing with his sword-arms and sending knives flying Hob's way. Hob prioritised protecting his face and chest with the forcefields, so the blades got his arms and legs and ripped open part of the vest, cutting the skin on his stomach too.

Some of the shallower cuts would be healing already, but it barely made a difference because of all the new ones he was getting. And he was getting tired; it was only a matter of time before a blade would hit something vital.

He dodged his way towards the replica of the ship. A blade cut through the red rope prohibiting visitors from climbing aboard, and Hob ran inside, deflecting blades as he moved closer to the mast.

He reached its side and held his ground, managing to land a few punches and kicks as the villain moved in to corner him. He forced himself to keep dodging instead of deflecting, and when he heard a heavy creak, he darted behind the mast and threw his shoulder against it, using a forcefield to direct its momentum towards the villain.

The mast—broken and splintered in places from all the blades that had sliced it—fell heavily onto the ship. There was a loud screech of metal, and when the dust settled, the villain was pinned under the large hunk of wood, even his arms, and he struggled and flailed and tried to grow out more blades from his body, but he just ended up attaching himself to the mast even more.

Hob looked around, catching his breath and bleeding from multiple places, to see if any civillians still remained in the vicinity. Fortunately, all of them had the sense to escape through all that commotion.

He looked down at the villain, wondering if he should wait until the police or some supers showed up. He did participate in the destruction of multiple museum properties, so he wasn't eager to meet any police officers, and he didn't know when any supers would arrive. What was even the protocol for this kind of thing?

Suddenly the room turned darker, the shadows lengthening and pooling into the middle of the floor. There was a swirl of darkness, and when it dissipated, a figure was standing at the base of the ship.

Its head was a round metal thing with large red eyes, and what seemed to be a beak made out of bones protruded from the face. It was wearing a cloak as dark as the shadows that seemed to cling to it, and just looking at the figure made cold dread creep into Hob's chest, and he had the sense that whoever this was, they were more dangerous than what Hob had just faced.

The figure seemed to glide on shadows, its hands on its back as it moved closer to Hob.

Those red eyes seemed to bore into him, and Hob felt frozen in place as his deepest fears were scraped from inside him and thrown raw and gaping into the forefront of his mind.

Breaking his leg at the playground and fearing he would never walk again.

Drowning at the beach. His throat filling up with salty water and not knowing which way to the surface.

His family taken to blackmail him for his powers. His parents. His sisters. Gone and ripped from their own lives. Because of him.

Memories and fears of things that hadn't happened were mixing in his mind, stealing the breath from his lungs and making his eyes water. But he couldn't look away.

The figure reached Hob and his knees buckled, landing on the splintered deck of the ship. He wanted to hide. To run and never look back.

He looked up at the figure as it stopped in front of him.

Lord Shaper, he remembered.

Hob had only seen him in the news before, the elusive supervillain who never worked alone but sometimes showed up when other villains were causing chaos. No super had ever defeated him.

Hob glared at him through the knight's helmet, refusing to back down even as Lord Shaper's powers nearly choked him with his own fears.

Lord Shaper extended a hand, and Hob prepared himself for death.

But Lord Shaper was reaching out towards the villain under the mast; the shadows around them came alive, forming a cocoon that swirled and surrounded them both. When the shadows melted back into the ground, Hob was alone.

Hob could feel himself shaking even as the abnormal fear began to leave his mind. Tears were streaming down his face and his instincts were telling him to curl up into a ball right there on the ship, but he knew that he couldn't be caught in the middle of a destroyed exhibit that was also the room of a hostage-taking.

He forced himself up on unsteady legs, and stumbled off the ship and towards the fire exit.

---

Notes

I was low-key speedrunning this to post in time for the event, but I still like how it turned out and I had a lot of fun writing it <3 Especially The Corinthian's transformation, Hob's fighting style, and Dream's arrival~

Thank you for reading! <3

---

(Sadman Week 2025 Masterlist)

(Tropetember 2025 Masterlist)

“Allow me to first congratulate you for emerging victorious in the war.” 

The voice has a commanding presence that reminds Hob of his superiors; cold, measured, and confident that they would always be obeyed. 

“Your world is now free from the power of The Order of Ancient Mysteries.”

Hang on, victorious? What—

A wave of dizziness washes over Hob and he barely manages to stumble over to a nearby tree and catch himself before he falls over. Memories flash across his mind in rapid succession, like puzzle pieces arranging themselves in a picture that Hob feels he should recognise but can’t quite grasp. 

Cries of the wounded barely heard over gunshots and chantings. The sky filled with smoke. People wearing robes chased and captured. A manor in flames. 

Hob gasps and blinks rapidly, leaning against the tree. Of course. Defeating Roderick Burgess. How could he forget?

“Your mind may still be recovering from your travel across the realms.” 

“Across the realms?” Hob frowns. “Wait, can you read my mind?” He looks around again but sees no sign of anyone. 

“I am inside your mind.” 

“What?” Hob stands up straight and resists the urge to clutch at his head. “Why? Who are you?” 

“I brought you here because your mission is not yet finished, Robert Gadling. There is one more task left to do to ensure the safety of everyone.”

“Let's get on with it, then.”

Hob startles at the sound of a different voice and instinctively looks around again.

“Now who's that one?” Hob says aloud with more than a bit of irritation. “Just how many of you are there in my head?”

“Ah. It would appear that your mind has not entirely put itself back together.”

“What—” Hob stammers in bafflement. What a bloody concerning statement that was. “What the hell does that mean?”

“He is you. A part of yourself that has split from the rest.” 

Hob fights back a wave of nausea climbing up his throat. His mind split? Would he forever have that separate voice of himself in his head now?

“It is possible that your mind will fully heal after this mission has ended and all is right in the world.”

“Sounds important. What do we have to do?” 

Now Hob recognizes the second voice; it’s his voice when he first started out as a soldier, younger and far too enthusiastic to fulfill his duties. 

“Okay, okay.” Hob takes a deep breath to calm himself. “After I do whatever it is you want, everything will go back to normal?”

“Everything will be as it should be.” 

That doesn’t exactly reassure Hob, but in any case, he should find out more about the situation. 

“Where am I? And what’s the mission?” 

“You’re on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Prince. You’re here to slay him. If you don’t, it will be the end of the world.” 

Hob waits for the voice to continue but there’s nothing else. “That’s it? I’m supposed to kill a Prince trapped in a basement? Why?” 

“The world will end otherwise.”

“Yeah you already said that. But why? Does the Prince have magic like Roderick Burgess? Can’t imagine how he can end an entire world by himself, though.” 

“If someone went through all the trouble of imprisoning him all the way out here, then he must be capable of doing that much damage.”

“How do you know that?” Hob responds to his younger voice despite the absurdity of it all. “Innocent people get imprisoned too.” He still remembers the camps they discovered during the war. He fought tooth and nail along with his men to free those prisoners, and he isn’t about to turn around now and just kill one of them. 

“The less you know about the Prince, the better. You just have to trust me on this.”

“Trust you, eh? And why would I do that?”

“He did bring us here, and it sounds like he knows the people who imprisoned the Prince. He probably knows what he’s doing.”

“I’m not killing someone because of probable reasons.” Hob can’t believe he’s arguing with a part of himself, but maybe he deserves it. A lot of people dealt with him when he was like that only a few years ago. “Who even are you?” he asks the voice. 

“I am someone who wants to save the world. And I need your help to accomplish it.” 

“Hm. No.” Hob sits down on the ground and leans against the tree, crossing his arms. “If I’m to follow your orders, you’re going to have to let me know who I’m working for.” 

There’s silence for a few moments, and Hob can imagine the owner of the voice sighing in exasperation. His superiors did it often enough.

“I, along with my siblings, have watched over your world for eons. I am older than the first atoms of your universe, and I know every single soldier who fought on your side in the war. And that is how I know you are the best one for this job. As for names, you may call me Destiny.” 

Hob feels the air ripple at the mention of the name, and he feels in his bones that the voice isn’t lying about who he is. Whatever this is, it’s much bigger than anything The Order of Ancient Mysteries could have hoped to accomplish. He had never heard of a deity called Destiny before, let alone his siblings, but after seeing all sorts of magic in the war, he would be a fool to just dismiss the voice. For all he knows, Destiny could vaporise him where he sits if he becomes too inconvenient.

"Best one for the job. Is that your way of saying you'll smite me to pieces if I don't do that job?"

“I do not have the power to take your life. But I assure you that the Prince does, along with the lives of everyone in your world if you do not slay him.”

Hob exhales in resignation and stands up. He knows when he’s out of his depth; how could he claim to know more about the world than an actual deity? Still, he had vowed to himself that he would never again follow blindly. 

“You’re Destiny? Can you tell the future, then? Do you know whether I’ll end up  agreeing to your mission or not?”

“The future is not set in stone. Even a river’s path can be diverted.” 

It’s a relief to get confirmation, at the very least. His choices are still his own. But what choice to make in a situation like this?

Hob looks ahead on the path he’s supposed to take. He can see the cabin in the distance, it should only be a short walk from here. If there is really a prisoner inside, it feels wrong to just leave them there. Hob walks down the path and heads to the cabin. 

The exterior of the cabin is unassuming; just stacks of logs with square holes along the sides for windows.

“A warning, before you go any further. The Prince will lie, he will cheat. He will do everything in his power to stop you from slaying him. Don’t believe a word he says.”

“Wonderful,” Hob says sarcastically as he looks at the plain wooden door of the cabin. “Why did you choose me again for this?” He's not looking forward to facing some magic Prince who will do everything in his power to fight him.

“You are special. There is no one else better suited for the job.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” Hob raises an eyebrow. “If I have any special powers I'd like to know.”

“Yeah. Do we even have any weapons?”

“You are wasting time. I will tell you all you need to do. Now, you need to get inside.”

Hob sighs and pushes the door open, stepping into the cabin. 

The interior is almost entirely bare. The air is stale and musty, and the floor and walls are painted in a fine layer of dust. The only furniture is a plain wooden table in the corner, beside a door that Hob assumes leads down into the basement. Perched on the table is a pristine blade, shiny and spotless that it almost looks out of place in the bleak cabin. 

“The blade is your implement. You will need it if you want to do this right.” 

Hob cautiously walks towards the table and takes the blade. No matter what awaits him, it’s always good to be armed. 

“Excellent.”

“A bit smaller than what I’d expect a world-saving weapon to be. Let’s just hope it works.” 

Hob takes a breath and pulls open the door to the basement. 

It creaks open, revealing a staircase faintly illuminated by an unseen light in the room below. The place immediately feels oppressive; the air is heavy and damp, a hint of rot filtering from the ancient wood. 

“Do you see? You would be doing the Prince a favor by slaying him. It would be more merciful than being forced to live in such conditions.”

“Who’s there?” an imperious voice carries up from below. 

"He sounds… dangerous. It's almost as if he's the one in charge down here."

“Don’t let it fool you. It’s all part of the manipulation.” 

Hob tightens his grip on the hilt of the blade and proceeds downstairs. He reaches the final step and his eyes immediately land on the prisoner. 

The Prince is wearing a black robe that might once have looked at home in a palace setting, but now the color of the embroidered patterns has faded and the fabric looks worn by time. His eyes are a brilliant blue, and his posture holds a regality to it that isn’t diminished at all by the heavy chain around his wrist that binds him to the far wall of the basement. 

“He’s so coldly beautiful…” Hob can’t help but think. 

“Focus on the task at hand.”

Hob looks around and notices that above the Prince is a small window with vertical metal gratings, showing the sky dotted with stars. An identical manacle is embedded on the wall, but the other end hangs loose and vacant. Hob wonders if someone else used to be there, or if the prison was designed to hold two. 

“Have you come to kill me?” the Prince asks in a carefully measured voice. 

Hob doesn't know. He had wanted to see the Prince for himself before making any decisions, but even now he feels conflicted. The Prince doesn't look dangerous or even angry; he's guarded, but Hob would be too if someone walked into his house with a knife.

“Is he really a threat to the world?” Hob thinks at Destiny. 

“He does look far too confident for a prisoner. And I don’t see any plates or cups. He hasn’t eaten anything in who knows how long but he doesn’t look weak at all.” 

“But if he’s that powerful, how am I supposed to kill him?”

“Stab him with the blade. This dallying puts you in more danger than you know.”

“Will you just stand there? Knife in hand?” the Prince tilts his head curiously. 

“I’m supposed to kill you.” 

“Don’t tell him that!” Destiny sounds exasperated. 

“I see.” The Prince doesn’t look surprised at all. “For what reason?”

“I was told you would end the world if you get free.” Hob wants to know how the Prince will react to this information.

“Why are we explaining?”

“You shouldn’t be. I’m telling you, what you’re doing is dangerous.” 

The Prince seems intrigued, and a small amused smile curves his lips as his gait somehow becomes more imposing. “Is that so?”

“Are you going to?” Hob wills himself to meet the Prince’s eyes. “Are you going to harm anyone as soon as you’re free?”

“What does it matter what I say? You have already decided to kill me.” There’s something about the hard lines of the Prince’s features that makes the hair on the back of Hob's neck stand on end.

Hob walks forward, and the Prince keeps his eyes on him with every step, watching the smallest detail of his movements.

Hob stops right in front of the Prince. “That’s it? You’re not going to say anything to save your life?” He can kill one person to save the world, but doing it in cold blood doesn’t sit well with him. 

“The sharp weapon you’re holding does not encourage fruitful conversation.” 

“Strike now.” 

“Let’s get this over with.” 

Destiny might be right. If the Prince is truly powerful enough to end the world, Hob might be endangering himself by prolonging being in the room alone with him. With the blade trembling in his hand, he lunges.

The Prince grabs his wrist and dodges sideways faster than Hob could have expected. 

Hob’s legs are swept from under him; the breath gets knocked out of his lungs as his back hits the cold ground. Sharp kicks land on his torso, and all he can do is grunt and yell in pain as he hears his ribs crack. The blade has long since left his hand.

“Fuck. We shouldn’t have hesitated.”

The Prince puts a knee on Hob’s chest with the kind of weight he didn’t think his slight frame could possibly possess. As Hob gasps for air, the Prince eyes him with an intense curiosity.

“You shouldn’t have let that fear creep into your heart. You had the upper hand, and now look at you.”

Through his swimming vision, Hob sees the Prince looming over him. 

“Is this really the best you could do?” The Prince sneers. “Look at you, completely broken. I must say I’m rather disappointed.” He applies more pressure, squeezing what little air is left out of Hob’s lungs. 

“This is the end, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

The cold blade sinks into Hob’s chest. Blood rises up in his throat and he spasms as he gurgles. 

Everything goes dark. 

---

Chapter 2 ->

(Chapter Index)

(Sadman Week 2025 Masterlist)

(Tropetember 2025 Masterlist)

This gives Dream pause. He had not considered this aspect. People do not do things for him unless he asks them to, and sometimes not even then.

"Don't worry, I'm a professional bartender," Hob winks. "I can make our drinks myself. Come on," he nods towards the bar and leads the way.

Dream follows and sits on his usual barstool, the motions now familiar to him. Sometimes Hob liked to take shifts working at the pub, particularly during the summer, and Dream liked to visit him to see him in his element. It feels quite different now, sitting here with the place quiet instead of bustling with activity. But he admits that he does not mind being the sole object of Hob's attention.

"What will it be?" Hob smiles at him from behind the bar.

Dream hums thoughtfully. "Surprise me."

Hob gives a playful bow. "As my lord wishes."

He begins to make the drinks and Dream watches his every movement, tucking them away in his memory to inspire future dreams of comfort and devotion. Hob takes out two tall glasses with short stems and begins mixing liquids of gold and bronze before pouring them into the glasses. He skillfully peels off lemon rinds in continuous strokes until he has produced long curly strands of them which he uses to garnish the drinks. Fizz bubbles up gently to the surface, and while back then Dream would hesitate to try such flavours, he has since grown fond of the different tastes and textures that humans have invented for their dining pleasure.

"French 75," Hob announces, carefully sliding one of the glasses to Dream. "Popular celebratory cocktail." He raises his own glass. "To friendships that transcend even the bureaucratic closure of pubs."

Dream huffs out a chuckle and gently clinks his glass against Hob's. "I must say, I do not remember the time I had last celebrated something." He takes a sip of the drink. The fizz is still a bit of a surprise despite him being aware of it, but it is a pleasant experience.

"I'm guessing Endless have no birthdays?" Hob asks as he pulls out a chair and takes a seat.

"None that can be measured by any human calendar."

"Of course," Hob chuckles.

They easily fall into conversation, initiated as usual by Hob talking about how his past week had gone. Dream still remembers how Hob had hesitantly admitted his worries about their meetings being a weekly event; he did not think his stories would be as interesting if they only had days instead of decades in between. Dream is glad that he has since been able to reassure Hob that he goes to their meetings for Hob's company more than his stories. Dream had never thought of going to a movie theatre before, but his first time being with Hob was quite enjoyable, especially afterwards when they were having dinner and Hob talked animatedly about his favorite parts of the film.

Hob kept making them drinks of various colours and flavours, enthusiastic in telling Dream how he had been inventing new menu items and wanting Dream to taste every single one of them. Dream allowed his physical form to experience a bit of the side effects of alcohol, wanting to understand better how humans would experience it, though he took care not to get entirely inebriated as he still had a realm to run.

Hob, however, had no such concerns. He became increasingly drunker after every cocktail, and was leaning forward against the bar for support as he told Dream about how he had attended more gay weddings this year than heteronormative ones, and how they "knew how to party".

"You should celebrate more," Hob blinks blearily at Dream, having just finished his latest concoction. "Celebrations are great. I'm happy to throw one for you whenever. Hell, we'd celebrate you trying a new food item or something." He manages to pour himself a glass of water. "But y'know, you should celebrate in the Dreaming too." He gulps down the water and refills his glass.

"It is not something that my subjects or I have considered. Although I suppose we can celebrate the days I created my dreams and nightmares. In a similar fashion as human birthdays." Dream hopes that they would like such a concept, and he knows that Merv will pretend to complain about all the cleanup necessary afterwards.

Hob nods encouragingly. "Yeah, yeah, do that. I bet Lucienne and Matthew would be over the moon with that idea. They care a lot about you, y'know. They'd wanna see you happy." He pours a glass of water for Dream too, and slides it over.

"Did they tell you this?" Dream asks curiously, accepting the glass. Hob has gotten exceptionally talented at lucid dreaming, and Dream knows that Hob has been spending time with his subjects even when he isn't around.

"Yeah. And s'not a surprise," Hob shrugs and props an elbow on the bar, leaning his cheek against his fist. "You're easy to care about."

Dream's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I have a long list of people who would say otherwise." His parents, for starters.

Hob scoffs. "Fuck 'em. They don't know you anymore. The Dream I know is easy to love. I've been doing it for centuries and I'm not stopping anytime soon."

The glass of water slips from Dream's fingers and shatters onto the floor. He stares at Hob to see any signs of jest. Sometimes humans had a sense of humour that Dream couldn't quite grasp.

Hob is squinting at the shards on the floor. "S'fine, I'll get you another one." He aims the spout of the pitcher above a fresh glass and blinks a few times before pouring it without spilling a drop. He looks so proud of this feat that he beams at Dream before handing him the glass.

"You… For centuries…" It was exceptionally rare for Dream to be at a loss for words, but it seems like Hob Gadling will never cease to surprise him.

Hob nods and makes an affirmative noise. "I'd have gotten you from Burgess if I'd known you were there. And I'd have kissed you when you first came back if I wasn't afraid you'd storm off on me again," he laughs, like he isn't astonishing Dream with every word.

"Are you… joking?" Dream frowns in confusion. Hob is laughing, but his brown eyes remain warm and earnest.

"Hm? No. I'm not very good with jokes," Hob crinkles his nose. "D'you wanna move to a table? So there's cushioned seats and you can lean back. You look all tense again." He goes around the bar and approaches Dream. "I can reheat some food if you like and—" he trips over his own feet and Dream is there in a heartbeat to catch him.

"Whoops," Hob laughs, leaning against Dream's chest. "You're much stronger'n you look." He lays his palm against Dream's torso. "It's 'cause you're actually eating now. 'M glad you are."

"Perhaps we should continue this another time," Dream says, his arms around Hob's waist to support him. "You need sleep, my friend."

Hob just hums and rests his cheek against Dream's chest, beneath which a heart had formed without Dream's knowledge until he felt it beating.

Dream takes a steadying breath and summons his sand, bringing Hob to his bedroom.

He places Hob carefully on the bed, whisking off his shoes and jacket and sending them neatly in the corner of the room. He pulls the blanket up to Hob's chest.

"Can I make drinks in the Dreaming?" Hob mumbles. "Merv asked for free samples last time."

Dream chuckles. He's always happy to hear that Hob gets along with his realm's denizens. "If you can dream it, it will be possible."

Hob manages a nod. "'M good at dreaming. Will I see you next week?" he blinks up at Dream, his eyelids heavy.

"Of course," Dream feels himself smile, still not used to the fact that Hob wishes to see him so often and actively expresses it.

Hob hums contentedly and closes his eyes, his breaths evening out as he slips into slumber.

Dream allows himself a moment to take one more look at his friend's peaceful form before summoning his sand and returning to his realm.

As soon as he appears in the palace, he begins to head for the library.

He must speak with Lucienne about an important matter.

---

Notes

This is inspired by that Tumblr short fic I read forever ago and can't remember how to find slkjfslkjflkdsf. It was Hob getting drunk and talking about what a shame it is when tits are covered, and that Eleanor had great tits, and he bets Dream has "banger" tits. And then the fic ends with them kissing the next day and stuff. If you can find it let me know so I can link it~!

EDIT: Thanks to skinofthesoul for sending me the link to cuubism's fic! <3

Anyway thank you for reading! <3

---

Chapter 2 ->

(Sadman Week 2025 Masterlist)

(Tropetember 2025 Masterlist)

"You should say hi," Wanda said.

Hob turned to see her grinning knowingly at him. He hadn't even realised she wasn't talking to the bartender anymore.

"We went out here to celebrate, remember?" Wanda reminded him. "So go and celebrate," she nodded pointedly at the gorgeous man.

"He's with his friends, though," Hob said as he turned to look at their group. "It would be rude to just go up there, right?" The man leaned back in his seat and propped his elbow up on the backrest, laughing at something that his friend said.

"Ask him to dance," Wanda suggested.

Hob stared at the pale skin visible just beneath the man's mesh top, the lean torso rippling as he moved to take some nachos from their table.

Dancing next to a creature with that face and body might very well kill him. And what a way to go that would be.

Hob turned back to the bar and downed his shot of tequila.

"Yes! Go, Hobsie!" Wanda cheered him on.

He got up to go to the table, but the man was already standing up. Before Hob could do anything else, the man went to the dancefloor and disappeared among the crowd.

"Oh he's already there," Wanda said beside him. "Go!" she nudged him forward.

Hob walked over to the dancefloor, the music loud in his ears as he scanned the crowd for the man. He weaved through moving bodies and saw Jo and Rachel laughing and dancing, but he couldn't find the man. Could he have gone back to his table already?

"My friends informed me that you have been looking," a deep and playful voice said.

Hob turned and their gazes met.

The man's blue eyes was made even more striking by the winged eyeliner framing them, and Hob felt frozen in place for a few seconds. His raven hair seemed to stand up in all directions, like he rolled out of bed and didn't bother to comb because he looked perfect anyway. The sleeves of his shirt are black and reached down to his wrists, but the torso was entirely mesh apart from the black bar running running up the middle and ending in a v-neck that showed his delicate clavicles. His skin was almost glowing under the lights, and it felt almost like torture that Hob could see it but not touch.

"I hope that's not a problem?" Hob grinned.

"Not at all." The man's gaze went up and down Hob's entire body, and Hob couldn't help the goosebumps pleasantly forming on his skin. "Care to dance?" the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, and he looked at Hob through his eyelashes.

"That's why I'm here," Hob replied, just this side of breathless. As if he would ever say no to that question from this beautiful creature.

As if on cue, the next song started.

Sleek as a panther and likely as dangerous, the man moved as if the music was made especially for him. His limbs were a work of art, and the way his hips moved was downright sinful.

The crowd pressed them closer together, and the slender body moving against him was setting his nerves alight. The man began to circle him without missing a beat, still moving in perfect sync to the music as if the rest of them were just his backup dancers. Hob had to keep turning to keep him in sight, feeling like prey and perfectly willing to be devoured.

The man took hold of the front of Hob's jacket and pulled him closer, running his hands up Hob's torso and resting them on his shoulders. "Not bad," he smiled playfully.

Hob instinctively put his hands on the man's hips, most of his blood running south and making it difficult to think. "I don't even know your name," he could hear the awe in his voice.

The man's eyes glittered. "You may call me Dream. And to whom do I owe the pleasure of this dance?"

"Hob," he breathed. "At your service," he added with a smile.

The man—Dream—leaned forward, and Hob held his breath in anticipation.

Dream's lips just barely grazed Hob's cheekbone before stopping by his ear. "Will you buy me a drink, then?"

The feeling of Dream's warm breath made Hob exhale shakily. "Oh yes."

They made their way to the bar, and Wanda grinned at Hob from a few seats away when she saw who he was with.

"Dream," the bartender greeted him. "The usual?"

"No, Hal, this gentleman is ordering for me tonight." Dream looked at Hob, leaning back against the bartop and crossing his arms.

"Uh, one vermouth and one… aviation?" Hob looked at Dream, who smiled and nodded to the bartender.

"I don't think I've seen you here before," Dream said, looking curiously at Hob.

"Night out with friends, it's my first time here," Hob explained.

"Oh, and where are your friends?" Dream looked around.

"Somewhere here. Right now I want this night out to be with you," Hob winked.

Dream's lips curved in a smile and he took the drink that the bartender handed him. "And how long will you be staying tonight, Hob?" he took a sip.

Hob took his own glass and paid for the drinks. "Technically tomorrow's Monday and an early day at work for me, but that's tomorrow's problem."

Dream raised an eyebrow. "Problems at work, then?"

"I hope not," Hob chuckled. "We're supposed to be working with a different team tomorrow, and from what I hear their leader's sort of a grouch. So I don't really wanna think about that right now," he shrugged.

"Then don't. Come on," Dream grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to the dancefloor.

They danced even closer to each other now, barely parting even as they twisted and turned to the beats of the music. Hob's eyes kept getting drawn to Dream's slightly parted lips whenever he took a sip of his drink, the bob in his throat whenever he swallowed. He lost track of time at some point, barely remembering how they put their empty glasses down on a vacant table before Dream was pulling him back onto the dancefloor.

Dream's hands settled on Hob's hips, his mouth curving into a smirk that had Hob swallowing in pleasant nervousness. His hands settled on Dream's shoulders, his gaze dropping down to those pale collarbones that he badly wanted to get his mouth on.

Dream touched his nose to Hob's, and Hob couldn't resist tilting his head sideways and leaning forward—

A shout and the sound of breaking glass made Hob flinch. He and Dream looked around in confusion.

There was a noise that sounded like arguing, and suddenly the crowd was bumping into them from all directions, forcing them to let go of each other. Hob tripped over his own feet, and in the commotion he thought he heard Jo's voice.

He looked around and saw that she was in a shouting match with another woman and Rachel was holding her back. Hob couldn't hear what they were fighting about over the music, but there was broken glass by their feet and some lemon slices.

Wanda approached at some point, as well as what looked to be the other woman's friends, all looking around in concern and confusion. The fight grew disruptive enough that two bouncers approached to pull them apart. And then everything was a bit of a blur; the woman's group and their group were being politely kicked out of the club, Jo puked on the floor along the way, and the bouncers were much less polite after that.

Hob tried in vain to find Dream throughout all the uproar, but then they were on the sidewalk and the club's doors were shutting behind them.

Wanda—with a half-conscious Cain leaning against her for support—turned in bewilderment to Rachel. "What happened? Are you both okay?"

Rachel had an arm around Jo's waist, and with her other hand she was tapping on her phone. "Some woman spilled her drink on me when we bumped into each other. She's even drunker than Jo here"—she gestured to her girlfriend presently leaning on her shoulder—"and called me a bitch. She threw her empty glass at my feet and Jo slapped her so hard she stumbled backwards," she explained in resignation. "I've booked an Uber. I'm taking her home," she nodded to Jo. "Sorry for the trouble, guys."

"No it wasn't your fault," Wanda said reassuringly.

"Do you need help with Jo?" Hob asked.

"It's okay, I've got her," Rachel smiled. "You help Wanda with Cain," she nodded at them.

Their Uber arrived, and Rachel expertly poured Jo into the backseat and followed her in. Goodbyes were exchanged and they were off.

"Let's bring this one home too," Hob gestured to Cain.

Wanda laughed, helping Cain prop himself up against the wall as he blinked around blearily. "Yeah. Who knew he'd be a lightweight?"

They called a cab and brought Cain home to his brother, then went their separate ways.

Hob stared at his ceiling that night, still thinking about Dream. They'd only had a short time together, just the length of several songs, but Hob knew he wanted to see him again.

The Midnight Ruby was a bit far from his workplace, and with the upcoming magazine deadlines, they'd most likely be too busy to be venturing out for drinks anytime soon. But Dream seemed to be a regular at that club; the bartender and other regulars must know him and what days he usually went there.

Hob will find him again.

***

Hob stifled a yawn behind his hand as he tried to make sense of the words on his computer. Their merging with the narrative journalism team was today, and he was supposed to be organising pitch ideas to present in the meeting, but the consequences of his late night out was beginning to catch up to him.

Though he's admittedly glad he's not suffering as much consequence as Jo.

"Ugh," she groaned from her desk beside him, massaging her temple. "I can't make heads or tails of this. Why do they need last month's marketing report at the meeting later?"

"So we can know which of the pitches we suggest might work best?" Hob pointed out.

"Shushushshush," Jo raised a finger in his direction while wincing. "You're talking too loud."

"I'm really not," Hob said in amusement. "Why'd you get so knackered on a Sunday night, anyway?"

"When did you become a lecturer?" Jo narrowed her eyes. "You're just upset you didn't get to shag your goth twink. Rachel told me you were all over each other on the dance floor."

Hob sighed dramatically and stared at the ceiling. "Don't remind me. We didn't even get to exchange numbers. God knows when I'll see him again."

"'When'? Not 'if'? Confident lad," Jo quipped.

"I think he's a regular at that club, I just gotta get back there at some point and meet with him again," Hob reasoned.

"If he'll still remember you."

"What?" Hob frowned.

"Maybe he'd find some other burly bloke to snog tonight," Jo smirked.

Hob glared at her, knowing that she was just messing with him but also suddenly dreading the fact that she had a point.

"They're here," Wanda said, coming in from the corridor, her heels clacking against the tiles. "Mr. Green and the other team."

Hob and Jo stood up along with the others.

"Good morning, everyone," Mr. Green smiled at them, followed by a small group of people that Hob only vaguely recognised as the people who worked in the upper floors of the building. "As you all know, the narrative journalism team will be working with us for the upcoming special issue of the magazine. Morpheus Aperantos is their chief editor, and if you have any questions about how things work in their department you can ask him," he sidestepped and gestured to the man standing next to him.

Morpheus was standing stiff as a board and seemed to be looking straight ahead instead of making eye contact with anyone. Combined with his perfectly pressed black polo shirt and blue jeans, Hob was reminded of what his colleages said about how Morpheus Aperantos was so strict and uptight in his work. He sighed internally, hoping they wouldn't have to work closely together.

"Robert," Mr. Green turned to him. "Since you're the head of the lifestyle department, you'll be working with Morpheus today on narrowing down the pitches we'll be choosing in the meeting. Figure out what tasks need to be done so you can delegate it to the others."

Hob managed to keep a neutral expression while swearing in Medieval English in his head. He just had to jinx himself.

A look of alarm flashed quickly across Morpheus' face as he turned to Mr. Green. "I usually work alone, sir." His deep voice was calm and betrayed none of the emotion that Hob had just managed to notice.

"Yes, but your departments will be working together, after all," Mr. Green replied. "It's best that you figure out a working rhythm from the start, yes?"

Morpheus was silent for a fraction of a second, but he nodded stiffly. "Of course, sir." He looked straight ahead again and didn't so much as glance at Hob.

Great. Instead of looking for Dream, it looked like Hob would be spending tonight working overtime with a person who didn't even want to be in the same room with him.

***

Morpheus kept his eyes strictly on the monitor as Hob flipped through options of the venue for their event, taking care to maintain significant space between them even as they had to sit next to each other.

Since the magazine would be their Pride Month special feature, their teams had spent the meeting earlier noting down the queer-friendly places and companies in the nearby cities, figuring out which ones would be the most convenient to collaborate with in terms of resources and proximity.

Morpheus had initially been excited for the project, really, and had been looking forward to starting on it today. But that was before he walked into the office with Mr. Green and immediately saw Hob and his friend who had vomited in the club last night. Very few people knew about his stints as Dream, and he had always taken care to keep his work life separate from it.

He was terrified that Hob would call him 'Dream' and announce to the entire office where they had met, but it turned out that Hob didn't even recognise him. A part of him felt genuinely disappointed, but he knew that it was for the best. Mixing work and personal matters never ended well for him, and he loved his work too much to risk losing it.

He had initially decided that he would simply forget the short time he had spent with Hob, he had even almost believed he could. But the problem immediately presented itself: Hob was brilliant.

Hob offered insights at the meeting that no one even thought of, quickly shut down any obliviously homophobic queries while remaining upbeat and amiable, and exuded such an invigorating presence that the entire brainstorming felt inspired.

Morpheus usually kept a professional mindset at work, but he had felt a significant urge to pull Hob out into a stairwell and do things to him that would make those warm brown eyes roll back in his head.

"So what do you think?" Hob asked.

Morpheus blinked at the screen, trying to remember what they'd been talking about.

"It makes sense, right?"

Ah. Right. "Yes. The Sapphire Lotus would be the better choice. Carribean Blossom has a larger runway, but The Sapphire Lotus is indoors and we do not have to worry about the weather being a factor."

Hob nodded. "Yeah." He leaned back in his seat and stretched, and Dream is absolutely not staring at the ripple of muscles under his shirt. "I'm gonna get a coffee from the vending machine. D'you want anything?"

"No, thank you," Morpheus answered curtly, keeping his eyes on his notes.

"Alright," Hob sighed and stood up to leave.

Once Hob's footsteps had receded, Morpheus let out a breath and let his shoulders relax for the first time since they'd started working. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, propping his elbow on the desk.

Morpheus was aware of Hob's attempts to be friendly with him, and he did appreciate them, but he truly had no idea how to act around the man. Never before had he had to evaluate venues and catering services with a man he had practically been grinding against the night before. The worst part was how terrible he felt about being so aloof to Hob, who did nothing to deserve such cold treatment.

He leaned back in his chair and massaged a sore spot on the back of his neck. He cannot risk bringing Dream into his job, and unfortunately that meant he could never be with Hob again as Dream, even outside of work. He also did not wish to lie to Hob forever, and so the only path left for him is to merely be a decent colleague.

Forming even a close friendship with Hob while not telling him that they had met before—and in such an intimate context—would be a great disrespect, and not something he would do to anyone. After this issue of the magazine is done, Morpheus would make it a point to work alone again, back in his original office.

It would be better if Hob just eventually forgot both Dream and Morpheus.

---

Notes

This is inspired by the manga "The Guy She Was Interested in Wasn't a Guy at All"~

This was so fun to write <3

Thank you for reading! ^_^

---

(Sadman Week 2025 Masterlist)

(Tropetember 2025 Masterlist)

They made their way to the stables, passing a few other knights and palace staff along the way who bowed and greeted the prince.

"Prince Morpheus," Hilda said with mild surprise as they approached, brushing the mane of a lean white stallion. "Good afternoon. Sir Gadling," she nodded to him.

Hob nodded back and smiled. "Good afternoon, Hilda. Prince Morpheus and I wish to take two horses for some leisurely stroll to the forest."

Hilda looked at him and the prince, furrowing her eyebrows. "Sir Gadling, the King gave orders for Prince Morpheus to remain within the palace walls. He can't go to the forest."

Prince Morpheus didn't say anything but Hob could feel him tense up beside him, and he took a step forward to speak before the prince could.

"It'll just be for a few minutes," Hob said with an apologetic smile. "We'll be back before you know it, and we'll return the horses in perfectly good shape. You know that Prince Morpheus can ride well, and I've had experience myself as a guard in my village." That last bit was slightly modified; Hob had little experience with horses as a guard, he had ridden them more often when he was a bandit and stole them to escape. But that didn't feel relevant to mention.

Hilda just gave him an unimpressed stare. "I don't know why you think that would convince me to disobey the King, Sir Gadling. Prince Morpheus can take a stroll in the palace grounds."

Prince Morpheus scoffed in exasperation. "Come along, Sir Gadling, we are wasting our time here." He turned to leave.

"No, hold on," Hob held out a hand to stop the prince from leaving. He turned to Hilda. "Look. Prince Morpheus had already been locked in his own carriage by the King's orders, and he had just found out that he can't even choose his own bride. The King would do that for him too. Can't you give him one afternoon to run his own life for once?" he chuckled mirthlessly.

Hilda's eyebrows were raised in surprise; she evidently didn't know about the carriage, and of course the betrothal arrangements were a private matter. Hob could see that the prince had turned a shade of red, likely from embarrassment at having those details of his life revealed. Hob could only hope that they get a good enough result from what he did that the prince could forgive him for it.

Hilda frowned and gave them both searching looks. Hob held his breath.

Hilda sighed and made sure that the leash was secure on the horse she was brushing. "I'm going to go get some food from the kitchens. Then I'll be busy with errands and it's unlikely that I'll notice any horses missing until sundown, when I go to check on them again."

Hob straightened up and smiled.

"Also, Your Highness," Hilda looked at Prince Morpheus. "Your royal garments are very finely made. You certainly stand out in a crowd, just as a Crown Prince should. My compliments to your tailor." She brushed off her hands and nodded to them both. "Well. Have a good day."

She walked off in the direction of the palace without another glance at them.

Hob looked at Prince Morpheus with a proud grin. "I told you it would work."

The prince was evidently trying to hold back a smile and failing. "I commend your negotiating abilities, Sir Gadling." He looked down at himself and furrowed his eyebrows. "Although I do not think I own any clothes that are inconspicious. Even my riding garments are dyed in vivid colours."

Hob thought about it for a moment. "I have an idea."

***

Robyn was still at school, and the house was empty when they arrived.

Hob had changed out of his knight's attire and into simpler clothes from his time back at his old village. He was standing in his kitchen filling up waterskins when he heard the door to his bedroom open.

"I might need help with these," Prince Morpheus said as he walked into the kitchen.

The prince was dressed in Hob's plain brown clothes, and everything was just a little bit loose on him; the shirt was slipping past his shoulder, and he was presently trying to figure out how to tie the belt tightly enough around the trousers.

Hob suppressed a fond smile. He secured the waterskins closed and approached the prince.

"Let me, Your Highness." Hob stepped in front of the prince and fiddled with the drawstrings of the shirt on the chest area to tighten it.

His knuckles brushed the prince's bare skin and he felt warmth rush to his face. This all suddenly felt like a kind of intimacy that Hob didn't deserve from a royal. Prince Morpheus didn't even have a manservant to help him dress every day, and there was a part of Hob that couldn't help but feel like he's intruding.

He took the belt from the prince's hands and averted his eyes when their fingers grazed against each other. He walked around to the side and tightened it by the prince's waist.

Hob went through the motions of double-checking everything to make sure that the prince could ride comfortably without worrying about anything coming loose, then he took a step back and released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"Thank you," the prince gave him a small smile. "All my clothing had always been tailored to me. I am not used to making adjustments."

"That's what I'm here for, Your Highness," Hob returned the smile. "Now, let's get those horses."

Prince Morpheus was careful to keep his gaze down and his face always turned away whenever people passed them by on their way back to the stables. But with both of them dressed like common servants, no one even glanced their way, and getting two horses from the stables turned out to be much easier than Hob had expected.

"Should I be concerned that we bypassed the security of my home so easily?" Prince Morpheus said lightly as he led a black stallion through a side door of the stable.

"The guards are more concerned with who's coming into the palace, rather than who's going out," Hob replied, quietly walking with this brown mare.

Prince Morpheus guided them through a route that Hob hadn't even been aware of; a narrow path that sometimes went behind the buildings on the palace grounds and other times kept them blending in with the other servants using horses for errands.

They exited the palace gates with some supply wagons, and subtly separated from the group when they reached the main road, swinging onto their horses and trotting off towards the forest.

"You have the stealth of a seasoned knight, my lord," Hob couldn't help but say once they were under the cover of trees.

Prince Morpheus smiled with evident pride in his posture. "When you grow up surrounded by palace walls, you learn quite quickly how to navigate them. At the time when Thana was still the crown heir, I was not so strictly guarded. I could disappear for an hour or two and they would assume that I was merely in my room or the library. I have grown familiar with the paths to the forest and inside it."

Hob gaped at the prince. He had snuck out of the palace walls even when he was young? It seemed like he really had a far more independent spirit than the King realised.

"Then I shall learn these paths with you, my lord," Hob said. "So that I may guard you properly whenever you wish to return here. Not that you need much guarding, judging by how you are in the field whether it's in training or battle," he added lightly.

Prince Morpheus' eyebrows lifted. "You would do this again with me? Even knowing that it is against the King's wishes?"

"I'm your knight, Prince Morpheus," Hob answered simply. "Your wishes are what matter to me."

Prince Morpheus gave him a searching look, then a small smile curved his lips. "Then I wish that you also take this time to forget about the weight of your duties. You know that I can protect myself if need be, and I am familiar enough with this forest to know that there are no bandits." He faced forward and made his horse go a little faster, evidently not waiting for Hob to decline.

Hob could only stare after the prince, feeling himself smile. Dressed in a commoner's clothing with the wind ruffling his hair, Prince Morpheus looked freer than Hob had ever seen him.

Hob couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like if they had met as equals in a small village, if Prince Morpheus wasn't burdened with duty and Hob didn't need to always keep his station in mind. Would they go to taverns? Laugh over drinks at the end of a long day? Perhaps Prince Morpheus would confide in him, and Hob would be able to help with whatever troubled his friend. They could go wherever they wanted without worrying about rules and insubordination.

Hob shook his head to clear it, glad that Prince Morpheus was still looking at the path ahead. It was pointless to daydream about such flights of fancy, especially when they were outdoors and he had a responsibility to keep the prince safe. Prince Morpheus told him to forget about his duties while they were here, but Hob knew he couldn't do that, not entirely. With everything that Prince Morpheus was going through—and Hob was aware that he only knew a fraction of it—the prince deserved someone who would always be in his corner and keep him safe, whether from the blades of bandits or the dangers of loneliness.

"If we go left here, we would end up out of the forest and at the edge of the nearest village," Prince Morpheus' voice broke through Hob's thoughts. He slowed to a stop and waited for Hob to stop beside him before he continued. "Shall we race?" he turned at Hob with a glint in his eye.

Hob looked at him in surprise. "Your Highness. Are you certain? The forest's terrain might have grown uneven in places since you had last visited, and the trees press closer together along this path." He would not want to go back to the palace with the Crown Prince's face covered in scratches.

Prince Morpheus arched an elegant eyebrow. "Is my knight afraid of a challenge?" he said with a playful smile.

My knight.

Hob chuckled and glanced down momentarily to hide the warmth that rose to his cheeks. He tipped his head politely and looked at the prince again. "As my lord commands."

Prince Morpheus' face brightened and he spurned his horse onto a gallop. Hob immediately followed, with a familiar thrill in his veins that he had not felt in a long time.

Riding alongside the prince and feeling the wind on his face, Hob could let himself believe that it really was just the two of them.

Just Morpheus and Hob, two friends enjoying a nice afternoon in each other's company.

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Notes

I missed these two <3

Thank you for reading! ^_^

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