Passerine SBI

Phil had found you on the side of the road on a night that smelled like rain and rust. You were half-conscious, clothes torn, hands shaking so badly you couldn’t even push yourself upright. He didn’t ask questions then. He just shrugged off his coat, wrapped it around you, and carried you home.

From that moment on, you were no longer alone.

You became part of a family of four—no, five—welcomed with a warmth that felt unreal, almost painful in its sincerity. Phil fed you, patched you up, and never once looked at you like you were broken beyond repair. Techno taught you how to hold a weapon, how to stand your ground, how to survive. Tommy dragged you into chaos with reckless laughter, insisting you were tougher than you thought. Wilbur watched quietly, eyes sharp, as if memorizing you—every flinch, every smile—like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t.

Five years passed.

You grew, stronger and taller, learning how to fight and how to laugh again. Still, you remained the youngest, the one they hovered over when they thought you weren’t looking. Phil still checked your armor twice. Techno still positioned himself just a step closer to you in battle. Tommy complained about it loudly while doing the exact same thing. Wilbur pretended not to worry at all, which somehow made it worse.

The world didn’t stay kind.

What had once been a quiet, almost peaceful nation fractured under the weight of war. DreamXD—the so-called god who never dirtied his own hands—sent others to die in his place. He unleashed Sapnap, the god of war, and let the land burn while he watched from safety.

In his last moments, he moved with desperate intent.

The dagger was meant for Tommy.

You didn’t hesitate. You just moved. One step forward. One breath. Then pain—white-hot and immediate—as the blade sank into you instead.

You still dream about that moment.

The copper taste in your mouth. The way the air felt thick, almost sticky, as if the world itself was resisting your breathing. Pain flared, then dulled into something distant and wrong, leaving you floating in a haze where sound came too late and light felt unreal.

You slipped into a coma, your body alive while your mind drifted far away. Phil never left your side. He held your hand for hours, whispering prayers he hadn’t spoken in years, blaming himself for every scar you carried. Techno stood stiff and silent, jaw clenched, convinced this was his failure—that if he’d trained you harder, kept you back, you wouldn’t be lying there so still. Tommy cried until his voice broke, then turned that grief into anger so sharp it hurt to be near him. At you. At himself. At the universe for daring to take you. But the silence around Wilbur was heavy, oppressive.

In the coma, you found yourself in an endless white space—no sky, no ground, just an infinite nothing that stretched in every direction. It felt wrong. Too clean. Too empty.

That was where DreamXD found you.

He didn’t rage or threaten. He didn’t need to. His voice was soft, almost kind, curling around your thoughts like smoke. He spoke patiently, deliberately, slipping doubts between memories, reframing your pain until it felt purposeful. He praised your sacrifice. He told you how special you were. How chosen.

He stayed.

He spoke until his words tangled with your own thoughts, until you couldn’t tell which fears were yours and which he’d planted. By the time you woke, it was already too late.

He could see through your eyes. Hear through your ears. Sometimes—when you were tired, when you were weak—he could move your body like it belonged to him. Every time you slept, you returned to that white void. To him. Waiting.

DreamXD never left you after that.

His voice surfaced at random moments, murmuring commentary, twisting emotions, nudging beliefs just enough to make you doubt yourself. You carried him like a second heartbeat, like a shadow lodged deep in your mind.

There was a faint green hue to your eyes now—subtle enough to escape notice unless someone looked closely. No one in your family had. Not yet.