Misha didn't remember falling asleep. The young bellboy did not remember leaving the waking world for the dream one. But suddenly, the soft ticking of the countless clocks that lined the walls of his and his grandfather's room of the Reverie Hotel were no more. How long ago had the silence settled in? His eyes opened, and he was in a world of endless black and white.

"Woah… Am I in outer space…?" He voiced his curiosity, curious to know how his voice would sound in this vast new world. There was darkness everywhere, but it didn't bother him at all, because the bright white light surrounded him equally. Stars fell gently like snow…

"No… Wait. This is snow…" The boy held out a white-gloved hand as if to catch the falling starlight. Most of it dissipated the second it touched the tips of his outstretched fingers, but the flakes that lingered made it clear. "Hmm…" He looked left. He looked right. No one. And nothing. Just him. Alone in this wide, white world.

There was a deep, aching, profound sense of loneliness deep within his chest, ticking like a pocket watch. But alongside the melancholy was the sweet, aching feeling of freedom, so vast that he could hold his arms out like wings and it wouldn't be enough to embrace the full magnitude of the feeling. And before he knew it, his boots left the ground. Unconsciously, he held out his arms, and a sudden wind lifted him into the sky.

Woah…! Misha gasped, then giggled with the giddy delight of a schoolboy. I can fly! The white masses surrounding him shifted back and forth between clouds and nebulas of stars. Was he in outer space? Was he still somewhere on Penacony? Was it summer? Was it winter? All he knew was that he was flying.

I NEVER want to wake up from a dream like this! Misha giggled again as he did a barrel roll. Rare was it for the young bellboy to behave in such a carefree manner. Usually, he was diligent and dutiful to a fault. But such was the beauty, freedom, and isolation of the night. Masks could come down. The wind ruffled Misha's fluffy, blue-white locks as his smile stretched wider and wider.

He felt a sudden draft, a cool breeze, and his curious spirit of Trailblaze drove him on. Even though the vast cosmos still stretched out in all directions around him, the boy briefly felt a moment of pause. It was as if he was swimming through a stellar sea, but now he was passing through a narrow channel. The walls were invisible, but he could feel them now… And then suddenly—

A whimper. A whine. Misha gasped. "H-hello? Is- is- is someone there?!" he called out without thinking. Arms still outstretched, he swam his way forward, briefly imagining himself as the Capitan of a sunken ship. Even though it was said that the best captains went down with their ships, Misha's Trailblazing spirit pushed him to survive no matter the cost, and spread the story of his fallen crew, to honor their memory.

"Plea…? Hel… p… me…"

Misha gasped again. "Y-yes? Hello?! I- I- I'm here if- if- if you need something!" He smiled sheepishly, then felt woefully pathetic and stupid. Not only was he falling back on his usual Reverie Hotel jingles and memorized lines, but it was rather foolhardy to make his presence known before surveying the area for danger. He was an adventurer at heart, yes, but not an idiot. But still… that voice!

Maybe he was trying to deflect the blame, but his justification was the sorrow within it. No one who was happy pled for help. And the voice sounded so young… It almost sounded like… like… like a little kid…

Even though Misha was but a boy himself, scarcely 12 years old, protectiveness surged through him. Maybe it was part of being a bellboy. Maybe it was part of his dream to one day have a loyal, faithful crew of his own. But if there was someone who needed help, Misha wanted to be there to provide it. Despite the pit in his stomach, he swum forward, in the general direction of the forlorn and whispery voice.

"Plea…? Mo-ther… Mother…?"

Misha paused again, treading in the air, stars and snowflakes swirling around him as he hung suspended in the void. "I- I-… My name is Misha! What's your name?"

Silence. Then a long exhale. A world-weary sigh that echoed across the eons. A cool gust of frozen wind that again ruffled Misha's fluffy, blue-white hair. "Mo-ther… No. You are not… Mother…" Something about the tone, though disappointed, seemed expecting and knowing.

"I- I'm sorry…" Misha apologized as a reflex, then he cringed at himself again, fiddling with his gloves; a nervous tic.

"Mi…sha…? Misha…" It was as if the voice was testing out his name. "I… I'm… Oronyx…"

"Oronyx…" Despite the tension of the moment, Misha's eyes drifted shut as he smiled as comfortingly as he could. "That's a cool name!" More silence, then another exhale, but unlike the first, it was quick, short. It rippled like a wave, abrupt. And after a moment, Misha's eyes widened slowly in realization. Wait. Was that a laugh? Did I just make it—Oronyx—laugh?

Now the voice sounded bemused. Still painfully young, and tinged with sadness, but with a touch of humor this time. "Yes. You did."

Misha flinched again. Ooops. It was rare to meet a telepathic guest, but not impossible or unheard of. Misha always had to be careful to guard his thoughts around such guests, so as not to accidentally give off a poor impression of himself—or Penacony as a whole—but it was so easy to forget that in some worlds, even memories and emotions were not safe from outside intrusion.

"Don't worry," Oronyx continued. Now it was their turn to sound like the consoling one, and for just a moment, Misha thought he glimpsed something ancient. Maybe Oronyx sounded like a child younger than Misha, but that couldn't have been further from the truth.

Who are you…? WHAT are you?

Another exhale. This time, more like the first. "I am… sad. Lost. Lonely. I miss… Mother. I am… so cold. So trapped…"

Misha felt a chill run down to his very bones, and in the back of his mind, it suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time he'd ever experienced true cold. As an ice-wielder, he had a natural immunity towards the type of cold that would at least make people shiver. Now Misha was the one who shivered, as if Oronyx's very breath was a west winter wind, and every time they sighed, a snowstorm.

"H-how can I help?" Misha treaded forward, concern and determination both written across his pale, youthful face.

"Stay with me, Misha. Stay with me forever…" Even though Oronyx was still invisible, voice everywhere all at once, Misha was certain something off in the distant ahead of him was reaching out, like the hand of an expectant child wanting for their best friend to come home. "Adventure with me together. We can have so much fun! We never have to grow up. I can keep us like this, frozen in a perfect childhood memory, forever…" The stellar sea got colder and colder, heavier and heavier.

"W-wait…!" Misha tried to tread back, but the ice in his bones was now in his veins. "I- I- I'd be happy to help you however I can! On my honor! B-b-but I don't know if this—"

"You're just like me, Misha… I can sense it… How do you think fate brought us together?" The bellboy gasped as a vision—a memory—flashed through his head. A tall, shadowy figure, imposing, with a wicked, curved blade. The dark knight snarled and split the sky with his sword. The very fabric of spacetime opened in an ugly gnash, a rift. Some of Oronyx's ice hissed out, leaking into the cosmos.

And somehow, for whatever reason… Oronyx reached out to me… Misha thought, his eyes and brain growing heavier and heavier… Like an icy fog creeping through is head, through is very soul.

"Be a happy memory with me, Misha, forever! You can have all of your friends if you'd like…" Clockie flashed through Misha's mind. "You never have to leave, you never have to suffer, you never have to grow old and die…" A mechanical wheelchair flashed through Misha's mind, empty, but implicitly, he knew that chair was somehow his destiny… "But it doesn't HAVE to be that way… We can control the hands of time…"

It was a tempting thought. At least in Misha's mind. What was he thinking about anyway? He wasn't sure. Something about… eternal life. Or more specifically, eternal youth. Eternal boyhood. The child who flew through the clouds and stars. It certainly was tantalizing. But why was Oronyx pushing so hard for this? What terrible fate awaited Misha if he grew up?

As the ice settled deeper and deeper into the young boy's veins, he could feel Oronyx trying to fill his mind and body up with memories, but all of them were blurry, like trying to see underwater. Misha felt like he was sinking… Drowning in his dreams… Lulled to sleep… He could even feel tendrils of ice steadily wrapping around him like an embrace, or a blanket tucking him into bed. One tendril slipped into his pocket, curling and twirling around the pocket watch within, fiddling with the hands to make them freeze in place.

Then Oronyx shrieked in pain. It jolted Misha awake like an alarm clock. He was still treading in the stellar sea. "Nooo…!" Oronyx sounded frustrated and terrified all at once. HE is back…

Misha still could see nothing but the falling stars and snowflakes, but he felt another chill run down his spine. This one didn't come from Oronyx's ice, though. It came from the darkness and the abyssal void of space itself. It was like cold steel. Instinct pulsed through Misha's legs, and before he knew it, he was backing away. This time, Oronyx seemed distracted by something even farther out than them, though it was fast-approaching… While Oronyx thrashed and whined, trying to escape while they still had time, Misha bit his lip.

"Oronyx!" He reached out, but it suddenly occurred to him that the stars in the sky were starting to outnumber the snowflakes… Oronyx was retreating. Misha still couldn't see it, but he knew that Oronyx—whoever and whatever they were—was beyond help, at least for then. Guilt gnawed at the bellboy's stomach, but it was as if an ocean current had suddenly picked up to sweep him away. He wasn't pulled under, but he was soaring through the sky again, back the way he'd come.

In an hour's time, he would awake in his bed in his room of the Reverie Hotel. His grandpa would be asleep beside him, one bed over. And the only sound would be of the old man's gentle snoring, and the endless ticking of countless clocks that lined the hotel room walls. Misha woke up with a vague feeling of discontent. It was as if he'd forgotten something important, but of course, had no idea what that important something was. With a frustrated sigh, and a sadness in his chest that he did not fully understand, he sat up and reached for his bellboy uniform.

He gasped, for when he grabbed it by the pocket, it felt as cold and hard as ice. He swiftly yanked the pocket watch out of the pocket and was stunned to find that, sure enough, there was a thin sheen of ice on the lid, even though it spent the entire night in his pocket. Once he managed to (carefully, gently) pry the lid open, the hands of the watch were spinning wildly.

AN: Yes I know the whole point of Amphoreus is that it is "locked" away from the rest of the universe, but in this one-shot, I'm headcanoning it that the Flame Reaver (whether accidentally or intentionally) cut a rift in space time that allowed some Amphoreus to "bleed out" and Oronyx's ice-time-memory thing naturally connected with Misha all the way over on Penacony, and they were able to interact via a dream. This is mostly just a write-out of the random idea I threw out in the author's note of my Misha fic from yesterday. Told yall, for some reason I'm on a Misha kick rn LOL!

Remembrance Misha with a Clockie summon or Misha is the summon when? /hj