Chapter Text
A gloved hand is on his shoulder, and he raises his attention from the puddle on the ground to meet the concerned gaze of a human he’s never seen before.
They’ve knelt down to his eye level, purple eyes meeting his own as they look at him with concern.
They’re wearing some kind of uniform he’s never seen before— he can’t quite place where it may be from, either.
A small cylindrical cap perches atop their head, and their short, curly hair is pulled back in a tiny ponytail very similar to that of the knight that makes maps— Mika, he thinks is his name? There’s a Fontainian-style clockwork gear fixed to their lapel, and the sleek cut of their jacket is also akin to those of Fontaine, but the dark navy that colors it is unusual for a nation so fond of their soft, bright colors.
Each second he doesn’t respond results in their eyebrows drawing closer and closer together, eyes wide and their face pinched. Their white pupils are small, their breath coming in shorter bursts and– oh– they’re worried about him. He should probably say something.
“Um. He— hello there?”
Ough. Okay. He winces. That’s not a great start.
An emotion washes over their face— relief?— and they let out a long breath.
“Oh good, you’re okay! I was so worried when the dream bubble popped, those things really aren’t— well— wait. You are okay, right?”
Durin nods dumbly.
“Good, good… they say that interacting too directly with such dense memoria can do things to a person— that’s why only Dreamweavers are authorized to fiddle with the Dreamscape’s memoria. I don’t think any dreamers have ever been hurt by it, but you never know, haha…”
Durin’s not sure what any of that means, (dreams are more of Miss Nahida’s domain) so he instead elects to focus on figuring out just where he is.
“Uhh… sorry for the trouble. I— I’m afraid I’m a bit lost, I think. Where are we right now?”
The person bites their lip in concern. “I guess the memoria may have actually impacted you…” they shake their head, “you’re currently in the outer section of Penacony’s Dreamscape. It’s typically off limits to most guests, since it’s more of a memory realm than anything.”
What? Durin racks his memory for any recollection of “Penacony,” but he can’t place it at all.
“…Penacony? I don’t think I know where that is. Is it a place in Fontaine?”
“You… don’t know what Penacony is?”
He huffs nervously, not quite a laugh but it’s in the same spirit.
“No, I don’t.”
Any attempts they may have been making to contain their concern vanished into the air as they winced.
Hey, he’s still new to Teyvat, cut him some slack! Geography is hard, names are hard, and not everyone can be a genius like his brother!
…He still feels bad though.
“Sorry…”
“No, no, it’s alright! It’s not your fault. Uh—” they turn to their side a little, and whisper (softly enough that most people wouldn’t be able to make out the words, but loud enough for Durin’s sensitive dragon ears to pick up on) “—Clockie, what’re you supposed to do if someone has a head injury again?”
A little… clock-faced creature, around the height of the dogs that hang around Mondstadt City, pokes its head out from behind his companion, eyes trained on Durin.
“Their name,” it responds, “You want to ask them things they should easily know the answer to. Things like their name, birthday, and what day it is,”
He’s not concussed!
“I didn’t hit my head or anything! Um, my name is Durin, Durin Andersdotter. I just woke up here and didn’t recognize anything, I don’t know where I am, but I’m not hurt I don’t think. I appreciate you and your friend’s concern though!”
Now they just look confused. “You can see Clockie?” they ask with a tilt of their head.
Is he not supposed to?
“…yes?”
They shake their head. “Most people aren’t able to see him…”
“Only those that’re a child at heart can!” Clockie chimes in, tone as sure as if he were reciting facts of the universe— six times seven equals forty-two, matter cannot be created nor destroyed, and only childlike souls can see him.
Durin supposes that makes sense, as he's both a child by most standards as well as a character from a fairytale.
The human reaches into their coat and pulls out a small rectangular object. They tap it, and their pale face is lit up with a harsh blue light, which they stare into intensely while tapping the surface.
Honestly, Durin’s not quite sure what it is— almost all light sources are meant to illuminate the surrounding area, not one’s face. Maybe it has magical properties, or something? He can’t quite imagine what such a small, seemingly simple object could possibly be for.
Before he gets the chance to ask about it, though, they look up from their hands, meeting his eyes.“I just sent a message to Gallagher, and he said that the Astral Express crew should already be in the Golden Hour. Are you alright to follow me? They should be able to help you, I think.”
“Uh, sure.” More names of people and places he’s never heard of— he files them away for later, it’d be embarrassing to not know the names of anything. “Is that little box a sort of… communication device, then?”
Their eyes dart from him, to the box in their hands, and back to his face again.
“You mean my phone? You don’t know what that is either?”
They speak so earnestly, confusion carved into their words so blatantly, like this is something they’ve never considered someone not knowing. His face burns at the thought— he must look like such a fool now…
Before he can say anything else embarrassing, the person gently grabs his wrist and helps him up from the floor.
“Let’s just head straight to the main dreamscape. The sooner we talk to the Nameless, the better.”
And so Durin is led down the seemingly endless hallway by his wrist, matching his companion’s brisk walk while Clockie trails behind.
After an awkward few seconds of silent walking, a thought dawns upon him— he never got his guide’s name! Albedo has said that names are very, very important to the people of Teyvat, and that’s why everyone should always give their name when they first meet someone. He gave them his, but they never gave theirs…
As they turn right into another virtually identical hallway, Durin asks, “Um, if you don’t mind, what’s your name? I forgot to ask you earlier, sorry…”
They don’t slow down or stop walking, but they do turn back to look at Durin, cheeks a little pink.
“My name is Misha! It’s my job to provide guidance to guests like you. I apologize, I should’ve introduced myself earlier,”
Misha pulls him to through a fork in the hallway, and slows his walking as the duo come face to face with a grand blue double door. It’s made of frosted glass lined with solid copper, and feels cool to the touch when Durin places a hand on it.
The two of them both push open the doors, and are met with yet another hallway— but this time, where there should be wood-framed walls surrounding the walkway, the carpeted flooring instead is suspended in a vast, starry expanse. Shimmering bubbles surround the path, unnaturally inert just like the one Durin had popped before. Misha finally pauses walking to turn and face Durin, standing off to the left of the walkway.
“Welcome to the Gallery of Thoughts! You can think of this as the entrance to the Golden Hour. It’s actually just a temporary interchange, which is why it looks a little rundown… The Reverie in the dreamscape is currently undergoing a revamp.”
He resumes walking forward, looking back to make sure Durin is following.“At the top of these stairs, we’ll head through a door that leads to the Golden Hour. Once we get there, we should be able to find the Nameless and ask about your situation.”
“Um,” Durin asks, trailing behind Misha again, “what exactly is the “Golden Hour”?”
“Oh, right! Golden Hour is one of the twelve dreamscapes in Penacony, and its time coincides with midnight. The dream’s time is forever stuck in the moment before midnight– ah, but the time in the dream still goes on in sync with reality. It’s more of… the “time of day” that remains the same. To avoid any physical or mental burden on guests, time in the dream has been synced with reality's, so don’t worry!”
They ascend the stairs, boots softly shuffling atop the velvet carpet, until they stand directly in front of a tall picture frame.
“Here we are! Beyond here is the Golden Hour. Come,” Misha offers his hand to Durin with a small smile, “let’s figure out what happened to you.”
Durin gently grabs Misha’s hand in his own, and they step up to the “door”.
It begins to glow with a lavender light, getting brighter and brighter until they can no longer see anything else. And as Misha guides their hands towards the door, he whispers, “Tomorrow will not come, and this night of revelry will never end…”