Waking up was just as painful as before, and he lingered in the half-awake state for as long as he could. It was pleasant to have his thoughts float in blissful semi-consciousness, but all too soon the pain became more pronounced, and he awoke to see flickering candlelight again. He blinked, grimacing as he shifted beneath his blanket. He still hurt so badly. How long would the pain persist?

A soft, familiar sound reached his ears, and he turned to blink at Sandy, who sat where Bunnymund had been. Instead of cartons of eggs, an old manual from the Golden Age rested on his lap. His golden eyes sparkled as he spoke in symbology again.

"Good morrow. How are you?"

"I've been better," Prism rasped. He winced at the pain in his throat.

Sandy smiled and reached for the spoon and the bowl. This time, Prism didn't even try to do it himself, and he allowed the Star Captain to scoop up a large spoonful of the paste and place it in his mouth. Prism swallowed, feeling the soothing balm settle over his raw throat. He sighed in relief and accepted a drink of water. Sandy floated around without a care in the world.

"There now. Are you hungry? You've been asleep for days."

Prism nodded. "I wouldn't mind some food. If it's no trouble. I've caused enough of that."

"No trouble at all," Sandy assured him. He formed a little mouse out of dreamsand and sent it scurrying for the kitchen. That done, he floated back to his chair and sat down, setting the book aside. "So, are you okay?"

"No," Prism said honestly.

Sandy nodded. "Understandable. Bunnymund told us about your conversation. It seems you've been carrying a lot of pain around for a long time."

"It feels like an eternity. It was only a year though."

"Pain makes time pass slowly in some ways, yet it can take away hours of your life at the same time," Sandy replied.

Prism smiled, unable to help himself. "True. You show your age, Sanderson."

Sandy shrugged. "Those of us from other planets are far older than those here on Earth. Still, it takes time to learn lessons. As we've had more time, we have learned more lessons. But we will always need to learn more. We are not perfect."

Prism nodded. "Yeah. That sounds right."

The little sand mouse scurried back in and Sandy held out his hand and it poofed into sand and was absorbed into his body. Prism watched.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly," Sandy replied.

"Are they an extension of your own consciousness or do they have some sentience? If the latter, is it fair to make them and then disassemble them?"

Sandy raised his eyebrows and considered how to answer. He tapped his chin, his lips pursed.

"It's a bit of both. The creatures I make out of dreamsand are most certainly an extension of my being. However, they have a touch of sentience. They can move independently of me because of the very nature of dreams being free-flowing. But they are always happy to return to me. Every kind of dream runs through my veins, and they are always there, in a sense, even when a part of me. So when they are projected, it's like going outside for a breath of fresh air, and coming back to me is like returning home. It is not uncomfortable for either of us." He paused then looked at Prism and shrugged. "Best way I can explain it. It's not an everyday occurrence. And it's even less so now that so many Star Captains are gone."

Prism smiled again. "It's as good an explanation as any. It's like trying to describe my fear powers to outsiders. When Jack asked—"

A thought made him stop mid-sentence. His fear powers weren't working. His mind reeled as he tried to remember the last time he sensed fear from somebody else. It was Jack, right before his lies. Since his lies, he'd not sensed a smidgeon of fear.

"Prism?" Sandy prodded. "What's going on? Talk to me."

"I can't sense fear," Prism murmured, still in disbelief. "I haven't in almost a year. I don't understand…"

"Difficult to sense others' fears when you're so afraid yourself," Sandy pointed out. "Perhaps you need to have your own fears assuaged before your powers will come back. I know you need to talk to MiM and Jack, as well as Nightlight. They are quite hurt by your refusal to confide in them. And you are afraid of that, yes?"

Prism nodded, exhaling sharply and rubbing his temples. His body protested any movement, but he didn't care. "Terrified."

"Well, you'll be able to talk with them soon, and then everything will become balanced again."

At that moment, Toothiana flitted into the room, carrying a tray loaded with food and tea. She landed beside the bed, set the tray on the nightstand, and began to fuss. After checking his temperature and brushing his hair out of his face, she smiled and grasped his arms with her delicate hands.

"Up we go," she said.

She was far stronger than she looked, and it was relatively easy, if a bit painful, for Prism to sit up. Toothiana adjusted the pillows then eased him to sit back, grabbed the tray, and set it on his lap.

"Eat up. You've got to be hungry," she said.

Prism chuckled as she poured him a cup of healing tea. She set aside the pot and scanned his face.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, you remind me of the Tsarina," Prism said, picking up a piece of toast and taking a bite.

"In what way?" Toothiana asked.

"She used to fuss over me. In fact, she was the first person to do so. My own parents certainly didn't do that." He smiled at her. "It's not a bad comparison, I swear. She was the bravest and kindest woman I ever knew as a child."

Toothiana smiled back and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. "That's kind of you. I know it's difficult for you to talk about her."

Prism took a drink of tea. "Less so now than before. Lunar and Nightlight have spent hours talking with me about what happened and our fond memories of Tsar and Tsarina."

"Are those their names?" Toothiana asked.

Sandy shook with laughter, and Prism snorted into his tea.

"Is that a no?"

"Tsar and Tsarina are their titles," Prism replied. "But most people from our age referred to them in that way as a name. So you've heard me say both their titles and what most considered to be their names. That's why it changes. Technically, Lunar is now the Tsar, and if he marries, his wife will become the Tsarina. But that doesn't mean his name is Tsar anymore than his father's name was Tsar."

"So what were their names?"

Prism chewed on a bite of omelette then swallowed. "The Tsar was Lunar Lunanoff XI. Tsarina was Nova Lunanoff. To me they were the Tsar and Tsarina. And at the end, Mama and Papa. But that's a different matter entirely."

A booming laugh from the hallway drew Prism's attention to the doorway. North and Bunnymund walked in, the former still laughing. They turned to appraise the room.

"Prism! You are awake again!" North exclaimed.

"Yes," Prism replied.

He glanced at Bunnymund, an unexpected wave of shyness washing over him as he recalled their last conversation. Still, the Pooka did not seem amused or defensive. In fact, he smiled and leaned on the doorframe.

"Heya, Fringe. Good ta see you up and around."

Prism snorted and set down his fork. "You're really going to call me that?"

Bunnymund's smile turned to a grin. "Oh yeah. Why? Do you mind?"

Prism considered this. "No. It's better than the last name you came up with. I believe that Pitch Black was your idea, wasn't it?"

Bunnymund flinched and looked less cheery at once. "Yeah," he murmured, looking away. "That was my handiwork. And I'm sorry."

"It's in the past," Prism said dismissively.

"You think so now, but last time you were awake, you weren't so sure about that," Bunnymund challenged.

Prism flushed. "You're not wrong," he replied quietly. "I'm still afraid." He glanced at Sandy. "And that's affected me more than I knew. I just figured out that I haven't been able to sense fear for almost a year."

Toothiana blinked as she took his tray and carried it over to his desk. "Really? Is that… Well, is that healthy?" She paused then added. "When I can't sense memories in teeth, it means something's wrong. Is it the same for you?"

"I think so," Prism said. "It's been a power of mine since Shadow Man…" He trailed off and shivered. "It's been a part of me for a long time. We'll just say that."

"Is it natural for you and your kind?" Sandy asked. "Or is it a learned ability from what happened?"

Prism leaned back and cast his eyes to the ceiling, thinking about this. "I believe, and there's no real way to test this theory, mind you, that my people have a natural affinity toward darkness. Different Darklings were able to connect with different darknesses, emotional or physical. It depended on their lives and experiences as to what that was. I believe the abuse Shadow Man perpetrated against me awakened my ability to connect with fear. I was so afraid, and thus fear became my ability. It grew from inklings to what is now a full ability to sense and soothe fears. Or exacerbate them, as Shadow Man forced me to do sometimes."

"Which wasn't your fault," Bunnymund asserted.

"I suppose," Prism replied. He didn't look at them.

A throat cleared from the doorway, and they all turned to see Nightlight standing there, his thin form rigid as he looked at Prism with his wide, glowing eyes. From the guarded expression, Prism knew that he was angry. Some other emotion was there, but Prism couldn't quite place it.

"Yes?" North asked.

"Lunar wishes to speak with Prism, if he is strong enough," Nightlight said crisply.

Terror made the color drain from Prism's face, and he clutched the blanket, overwhelmed for a moment. He glanced at Sandy, who nodded encouragingly.

"I think you're strong enough," he said helpfully.

Prism nodded, the shadows returning to his cheeks, turning them dusky grey again. "Toothiana, could you get my robe? It's hanging in the closet."

Toothiana flitted over and pulled open the closet, pulling out a black robe. North eyed it with a frown.

"I will make you a better one. At least add a little color for you. Besides, it is old."

Prism tried to hide a smile. "Only about five thousand years."

Toothiana, North, and Bunnymund stared with slightly open mouths, glancing from the robe to Prism. Sandy shook with mirth.

"Five thousand years is still a long time, even for us!"

"True," Prism replied. "Even more for those who've barely cracked a thousand." He pushed back the blankets and stood on weak legs. North gripped him as he swayed from the rush of pain. "Don't worry," he said, slightly breathless and exceedingly pale. "You'll get there."

North helped him into the robe. "Can you walk?"

Prism took a deep breath then stepped forward. He grimaced, but he nodded. "If we take it slow."

"Come then," Nightlight said and turned to walk down the hall.

Prism used the wall for support as he followed his old friend down the hall. Nightlight walked slowly but stiffly, and he wouldn't look at him. Prism cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, Nightlight," he said quietly.

Nightlight didn't answer, but his hand tightened on his spear. Prism wanted to say more, but the walk from his room to Lunar's was far too short, even at the speed they were going. Nightlight paused outside the door then looked at him.

"He's in there."

And with that, he left. Prism stared at the door, which was marked by a crescent moon, and he dreaded what was about to happen. He stood there, gripping the wall for support, then raised a hand and knocked. The door slid open even though he hadn't touched the keypad.

"Enter," Lunar said.

Prism swallowed then stepped inside. The door slid shut behind him. He was alone with Lunar. And for the first time since they'd made up, it terrified him.