Chapter Text
David Ardry's eyelids fluttered open, the world tilting like a poorly balanced dreamscape. He lay on a modest couch in a cozy, lived-in apartment, the fabric beneath him slightly threadbare but clean, smelling faintly of lavender detergent and something warm cooking nearby. His head throbbed with the dull, grinding ache of cold iron's lingering curse — a pain unlike any mortal hangover, one that lived in the marrow rather than the skull. Confusion wrapped around his thoughts like fog over a trod.
Memories flickered, disjointed and half-drowned: the slick New York streets at night, his boots splashing through puddles as he sulked over his forced abdication as High King of the Dreaming. His rivals — those treacherous nobles who resented his comprise agreements that ended the accordance war and borough equality to noble and commenors — had orchestrated it all, hating the peace he'd brokered and the Parliament of Dreams he'd helped forge. Cornered in a shadowed alley, they'd struck him with cold iron, the metal searing his very essence and stealing his memories. They'd dumped him like refuse, letting him believe the commoners had risen against their king.
He groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead, fingers trembling slightly. "The Dreaming has a *weird* sense of humor," he muttered under his breath, voice raw, "pulling this stunt when I'm at my lowest. Couldn't have waited until I'd at least found a decent cup of tea."
Voices drifted from across the room — soft, concerned whispers that pulled him fully awake.
"Who is this guy, anyway?" a young voice asked, curious but cautious.
"I don't know, but he looks out of it," another replied, quieter.
"Do you think he's dangerous?" the first voice pressed. "He was making weird noises."
"Hush, both of you," came a third voice, calm and slightly raspy. "You'll wake him properly and scare him half to death."
David sat up slowly, one hand braced against the couch's armrest, his vision swimming before clearing into focus. A family stood gathered a respectful distance away, watching him with a mixture of hospitality and wariness that reminded him, absurdly, of minor courtiers deciding whether to bow or flee. They appeared mostly human — with odd but warm green hair, simple clothing suited for everyday life — but their subtle frog-like features sent a jolt through him. Webbed fingers twitched expressively at their sides, large eyes blinked with an unnatural, liquid slowness, and their mouths curved in ways that evoked amphibians more than people. The uncanny valley effect hit hard; they were close enough to human to feel familiar, yet alien enough to unsettle his changeling senses, which kept insisting, quite unhelpfully, that these were “not quite” normal mortals and “not quite” anything else he had a name for. He instinctively scooted back against the armrest, spine straightening despite himself — old instinct, old caution.
The elder woman stepped forward first, her movements graceful and motherly, raising her hands in a placating gesture, palms open. "Easy there. Easy. You're safe now. This is our home, and nobody here means you any harm."
"I'm Beru Asui," she introduced herself with a gentle smile, nodding to the sturdy man beside her, whose arms were folded tight across his chest. "And this is my husband, Gamma. Our children — Tsuyu here, along with Samadre and Satsuki — found you lying unconscious in the woods while they were out exploring. You gave them quite a scare."
"More like *he* got the scare," the youngest boy piped up, puffing his chest a little. "I poked him with a stick first."
"Samadre!" Beru scolded, though her mouth twitched toward a smile.
Tsuyu, the eldest daughter, with her distinctive dark green hair pulled into a low bun and her wide, unblinking eyes, stepped forward and nodded earnestly. "Ribbit. We did find you. You looked hurt, so I carried you back myself. It was the right heroic thing to do."
"She really did carry you," the younger girl — Satsuki — added, eyes shining. "The whole way. She didn't even put you down once."
The two younger siblings peeked out from behind their parents, their frog-like traits making their excited expressions oddly endearing despite the strangeness of it all — small webbed hands gripping fistfuls of their mother's sleeve.
David steadied himself, drawing on centuries of courtly poise even as his head still throbbed. He inclined his head with what he hoped was convincing grace. "Thank you. Truly, all of you. I'm David Ardry." He paused, glancing around the apartment — family photographs lining the walls, showing the Asuis in various unremarkable, happy moments; a kettle steaming softly on a nearby counter, its whistle just beginning to rise. "But… forgive the question. Where exactly am I?"
"You're in Musutafu, Japan," Tsuyu answered plainly, tilting her head in that characteristic way of hers, as though the answer should have been obvious.
“Japan?” David's mind spun, thoughts scrambling like startled birds. He lied to buy time, his voice smoothing over the panic beneath it. "I must have had some kind of accident. A Dreaming mishap, no doubt, to yank me clean across the world like this." Aloud, he added, more politely than the question probably deserved, "Forgive me, but why do you and your family have these… amphibian attributes? The webbed fingers, the eyes — it's quite striking, if you don't mind my saying."
Gamma's brow furrowed, annoyance flashing hot and immediate across his face as he crossed his arms tighter. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Gamma," Beru murmured, a warning wrapped in his name.
"No, I want to know," Gamma pressed, stepping half a pace forward. "You wake up in a stranger's living room and the first thing out of your mouth is a question about how we look?"
Beru placed a calming hand on her husband's shoulder before David could stammer out an apology. "It's because of our Quirks, dear. The Asui family Quirk gives us these frog-like traits. It's part of who we are — nothing more mysterious than that."
David blinked, feigning ignorance with the ease of a man who had spent centuries in courts full of far more dangerous liars. "Quirks? I'm afraid that term doesn't ring a bell right now. Is it… a title? A house name?"
The entire family stared at him in disbelief, as if he'd claimed the sky was green and the sea made of glass. Tsuyu's large eyes widened further, her whole body going still. "Ribbit? How can you not know about Quirks? Everyone knows what they are. They're superpowers. Most people are born with one."
"Even babies have them," Satsuki added helpfully. "My friend's little brother has a Quirk that makes his hair change color when he's mad."
David raised his hands defensively, backtracking with a sheepish, practiced chuckle. "Apologies — apologies. I've been suffering from some rather serious memory loss lately. Things keep slipping away from me like water through my fingers. I'm piecing it together bit by bit, I promise you." Mentally, though, surprise bloomed bright and cold. *Another world, where such powers are commonplace? They feel like linear sorcery — bound by blood and birth, hereditary magics passed hand to hand — or perhaps faint echoes of the Dreaming touching mortal lines that were never meant to carry it. I can sense the glamour humming in them, faint but real, buried under generations of forgetting.
Beru leaned in kindly, crouching slightly so she was more at his eye level. "What do you remember exactly, David? Take your time. There's no rush."
He rubbed his chin, crafting his tale carefully, each word chosen the way a man might choose stepping stones across a river he didn't trust. "It's all hazy. Like a half-forgotten dream, if you'll pardon the phrase. I remember walking through New York City — the year was 1996. Crowded streets, the smell of street food and exhaust, rain on the pavement. Then a flash of light in an alley, and… nothing. Nothing at all, until I woke here."
The Asuis exchanged shocked glances over his head. Satsuki gasped softly, hand flying to her mouth. Samadre whispered, too loudly to actually be a whisper, "That's way in the past!"
Tsuyu spoke up, her raspy voice careful, as though breaking news gently. "The current year is 2253."
David let out a surprised huff of breath, glancing toward the window where the cityscape of Musutafu looked… disappointingly ordinary. Grey rooftops. A few distant towers. Laundry lines strung between buildings. "2253. Huh." He shook his head slowly. "I always imagined the future with flying cars zipping between glittering spires and holographic billboards on every corner. This is a bit of a letdown, if I'm honest."
"There are flying cars," Samadre said defensively. "Just not, like, everywhere."
"Alright, that's enough." Gamma's voice cut through, low and final, his wariness deepening into something harder. "We need to take him somewhere for professional help. A hospital, a clinic, someone qualified. The guy's clearly not right in the head."
"Gamma—"
"I mean it, Beru. Two hundred and fifty-seven years off? Cold iron curses? He talks like he stepped out of a storybook." Gamma's eyes flicked to David, sharp and assessing. "And I don't like how he *feels*. You know what I mean."
Beru's expression didn't waver, but her voice firmed, the warmth in it taking on an edge of steel. "Not yet. We should help him settle first." She glanced meaningfully at her husband, something unspoken passing between them. "He's a dreamer, Gamma. I can feel it, same as you can."
"That's precisely why I want him *out*," Gamma grumbled, voice dropping lower, more urgent. "He feels off. Powerful, in a way that puts me on edge — like standing too close to a live wire. We have to think about the kids' safety first."
"David seems confused and harmless," Beru insisted warmly, though she didn't quite meet David's eyes as she said it — a mother's calculated diplomacy. "It's the proper thing for our kind — Dreamers — to aid each other. Hospitality matters. You know that as well as I do."
Gamma rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders despite himself. "You and your obsession with being the perfect host…"
"Someone has to be," Beru said sweetly, and for just a moment David caught the ghost of real affection pass between the two of them, old and well-worn as a favorite chair.
David watched the exchange in polite, careful silence, his expression arranged into something appropriately bewildered while his mind whirled beneath it. *Changelings? Or simply mortals touched by something greater and long since diluted? I'm too weary to pierce the veil fully right now — the iron's still humming in my bones.* Revealing himself as a noble Sidhe felt far too risky. These Asuis struck him as genuinely kind but grounded folk, unlikely to grasp the vast, hidden architecture of the Fae and him being a changeling. Humans feared the unknown, and even wrapped in their Quirks, talk of the Dreaming might paint him as a monster rather than a guest. And if they were Changelings, however distantly, the old divides between noble and commoner could ignite without his even knowing the shape of the local courts. Best to say nothing. Best to watch.
"I'm sorry," he interjected smoothly, letting a touch of genuine confusion color his voice, "but what exactly are you all talking about? Dreamers? I don't mean to cause any trouble — I can see I've already put you all out enough as it is."
Beru turned back to him with a reassuring smile, waving off his concern with a webbed hand. "Oh, nothing to worry about. We're just figuring out where you'll sleep tonight, that's all. The couch is yours for now, but we can make better arrangements come morning."
"I appreciate it, truly, but I don't want to impose any further than I already have," David said graciously, already halfway to rising. "I could sleep in the garage, or find somewhere else entirely. It wouldn't be right to burden a family that's already been so kind to a stranger."
"You're not sleeping in the garage," Satsuki said, scandalized, as though he'd suggested something faintly ridiculous.
Tsuyu stepped forward, her voice steady and quietly heroic, settling the matter before it could go further. "You should stay here, ribbit. It's not safe for someone with memory loss to wander around alone — especially not at night. There are supervillains out there who might take advantage of someone confused and without a home."
David offered a grateful nod, though inwardly he smirked, a flicker of his old self surfacing briefly beneath the borrowed humility. Supervillains. I could weave glamours strong enough to scatter most threats this world has to offer without breaking a sweat. Still, wisdom whispered caution, an old and familiar voice — pride is what put you on that alley floor, Your Majesty. Best remember that. "Very well. I accept your kindness, gladly. And please — allow me to repay it. I'm willing to help around the house, or with anything else you might need, in any way I'm able."
Samadre and Satsuki's faces lit up with bright, beaming smiles, their expressive eyes sparkling with sudden excitement. "Really?!" Satsuki chirped, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Can you help me with my homework? I'm terrible at math."
"He just woke up, Satsuki," Tsuyu said, a small laugh escaping her. "Maybe not tonight."
Gamma remained guarded, arms still crossed, watching David closely with the unblinking patience of a man cataloguing every word for later. But Tsuyu regarded their guest with genuine curiosity now, a small smile tugging at her lips as she settled onto the arm of a nearby chair. "I'll help you jog your memory too," she offered. "There's a lot that's changed since 1996 — probably easier if I walk you through some of it slowly, instead of dumping all two hundred and fifty-something years on you at once. We can talk more tomorrow. Maybe some familiar things will come back to you."
"I'd be grateful for that," David said, and meant it, surprising himself slightly with the honesty of it.
Beru clapped her hands together softly, the earlier tension dissolving into brisk, practical warmth. "Good, that's settled then. Now — has anyone eaten? David, you must be starving. I'll heat something up, and then it's early to bed for the two of you," she added, nodding at Samadre and Satsuki, who groaned in perfect unison.
As the family dispersed into the comfortable chaos of a household settling in for the evening — Satsuki arguing for ten more minutes, Samadre demanding to know if David could teleport, Gamma murmuring something low to Beru near the kitchen doorway — David leaned back against the couch cushions, the weight of his exile settling over him like a heavy, familiar mantle.
In this strange future of Quirks and heroes, a single thread of the Dreaming had pulled him here, frayed and half-severed though it was. For now, he would observe. He would learn the shape of this new world, its rules and its dangers, and bide his time until his strength — and his memory — returned in full.
Allies, even unexpected ones with webbed hands and kind eyes, were a treasure in unfamiliar lands. David Ardry, once High King of the Dreaming, closed his eyes on a stranger's couch, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, allowed himself to simply rest.