songerein | open 🔸 missing

Who: Ferran & dreamwalkers
Which: Interactive dream
What: A space that could not feel emptier. A family lived here once.
Warnings: discussion of injury and death?? idk

[The smell of ash, scorched metal and melted plastic lingers in the cool air, even though the fire that decimated the once two-story home has long since ceased. The light that filters past the overcast sky sets the blackened wreck in a dreary but clear light, making obvious the fact that the rest of the well-to-do neighborhood was left untouched.

A 17 year old with short brown hair stands at the end of the driveway, his right arm in a sling and his face the picture of grief. Behind him, leaning against the sedan that brought them both there, stands a tall, older man with striking eyes, his arms folded and expression tinted with mild concern.]

You're certain you want to be here?

[The teen pulls his eyes away from the house, finding a familiar crack to stare at on the sidewalk as he sniffs, then wipes his nose with the back of his uninjured hand and tries to steady his voice.]

I had to see it. If there's anything... [His gaze returns to the building.]

Don't strain yourself.

[With a faint nod, Ferran steps towards the ruins of his home, a determination in his posture despite his clear lack of energy. The man by the car doesn't seem intent on helping or approaching, but maybe another soul who might have found themselves in the dream would find it odd that an injured boy is digging in the collapsed mess of material left from an apparent arson.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[And they're back to the basic problem to begin with. Frustrated with the situation, his brow furrows.]

I wish I knew to tell you. [He really doesn't have the knowledge set for this. If he'd thought things through a little more, maybe he could have done some research. As it stands, he just has to brainstorm.]

Anything unusual... broken branches, something artificial that might have gotten caught, like a piece of clothing... [He lets out a brief sigh.] I know it's not a lot to go on.

Not a lot to go on is putting it lightly.

[since "anything unusual" could come from something as innocuous as an animal traveling somewhere it wouldn't normally go, or it could be linked to the incident that happened here. But that's fine; if there is something he can notice from up high, Revali is confident he'll be able to notice it.]

You start walking that way, I'll take the upper path. Just shout if you need something.

It means a lot to me that you'd offer.

[But not to get too sappy—he turns that way as instructed and carefully steps over the remnants of the wall to make his way through the rest of the debris and into the grass and shrubs.

There's nothing immediately obvious from directly above or below, but Ferran searches as best as he's able. There's a bit of ash over here thanks to the wind, but from his angle that seems to be the only notable thing about the wooded area. He glances back down without much hope he'll actually see anything, but the shadow of a feather he hadn't even noted the first time he'd glanced upwards catches his attention, and he looks up to see how it's lodged amongst the leaves.]

What kind of bird could that have come from...? [It's mostly idle musing rather than something he actually thinks is relevant. Should Revali investigate at all, though, he'll see the feather is more Rito-sized than anything a typical songbird that could be found in these trees would drop. Even stranger, it's not a real feather at all, but a large piece of black crystal that seems to have been carved into the shape of a pinion...]

[Revali does indeed choose to investigate. He might not know how this particular world works, but he does know that this is enough to be considered "anything unusual." Nothing he's seen in his short trip here has indicated anything Rito-sized should exist here.

People with more sense might avoid reaching for the suspicious stone feather, but that's not Revali's style. Instead, grabbing a branch, Revali works to pry the stone pinion from the tree, letting it fall to the ground below.]

Does this mean anything to you?

[With his attention already on it, Ferran watches the thing fall with the expected weight of a crystal, immediately frowning at the oddity. He steps forward and kneels down to pick it up, turning the thing over in his hand and trying to figure out... what's the point of it? And why is it here?]

I've never seen anything like it. [So it's not from a bird at all, obviously. After all, it's not like animals can be made of rock—

The screech of a hawk echoes distantly through the stifling silence of the dream, and in a blink everything shifts. The shape of it is largely the same; Ferran and Revali remain where they were, standing in the grass amongst the trees, but it's night now. More significantly: the house behind them is not yet in ruins, standing at its previous two stories with fine brickwork framing the plaster walls. The lights are on.

In front of them, there's a black-haired man in a cape, standing in the darkness between the trees. Ferran's wide eyes are locked onto him as he raises a hand, something clasped in his metal gauntlet.]

[The hawk's screech distracts Revali enough that the sudden shift is that much more disorienting. He blinks, his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, unable to see much of anything except for the lights in the distance for a while.

Once his eyes adjust, though, he doesn't need to be at all familiar with the way human worlds work to know a suspicious figure when he sees one. He can't quite figure out what's happening with the man's hand from this distance, however. The only thing that he can assume is that it isn't anything good.]

Don't just freeze. Now's your chance for answers.

[Ferran's eyes don't move from the figure, but he steps forward at Revali's urging, a grim expression hardening his features.

The caped man—easily recognizable as the same who'd been waiting for Ferran's searching to be over—doesn't react. Looking past the two of them towards the house, he opens his fist, where a handful of differently-colored shards of gemstone lay. A dark energy jumping like static between his fingers envelops them, and the cluster crackles and grows as it floats upwards, morphing gradually into the shape of a peacock-like bird, now black in color. The man gives it a single, simple order:]

End it.

[The energy disappears, and the crystalline monster flaps its wings, leaving behind red sparks and embers as it flies forward. Ferran knows what happens next: the crashing of glass and a scream would echo out of the window, but in this dream—it doesn't come.

But there's something more solid to the dream, now, and the creature circles above his home. He's no longer simply caught in his memories; his voice no longer holds that desperate determination from earlier, nor any signs of physical exhaustion.]

He showed me how he made them, once.

[Also addressing Revali, the man turns his glowing yellow eyes his way.]

Did you enjoy the show?

[Revali's gaze is locked on the gemstone cluster as it floats, tracking it and its trajectory as it floats. It's essentially second nature, really, for him to keep track of what's clearly an airborne enemy. Whether it's a danger to him or to Ferran, even he's not entirely sure. In a dream, who can really know?

But that's not the turn he was expecting. Not from the scene that he first entered into. His attention remains split, between tracking the stone peacock in the air and the two humans closer to him.]

"Enjoy" is a strange choice for the aftermath of a disaster. I think you'll find most beings aren't like you.

[Does he know anything at all about this other human? Not at all. But that doesn't mean he won't be a dick to him at the very least.]

[The man laughs in reply; in his caped Onyx persona, Ferran has found his guardian to be more openly smug, even theatrical. Insults haven't seemed to rattle him in the slightest, whether they're direct or subtle.]

I think you'd be right.

[There's a mild crease in Ferran's brow as he turns his gaze from the man to the Rito, though he keeps the former in his peripheral. Still, there's much more clarity there, and much less grief.]

I'm sorry about this. Just when I think I'm moving past something, it always seems to come back...

[But it's not like his situation is resolved in any way. His mind won't let him forget that, apparently—particularly the figment Ferran turns his attention back to.]

You know you won't escape it, my dear.

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