Dream didn't see it himself, but he saw the result.
Dream watched from atop the camarvan as Nightmare erected an obsidian wall around New L'Manburg's borders, as he defined them.
There was no doubt, to Dream, that Tommy had done something. Despite being the vice president of New L'Manburg, Tommy was often out for reasons that no one could seem to keep track of.
Dream thought he knew what Tommy was doing. Stories drifted in of houses and builds around the Greater Dream SMP being griefed, stolen from, and partially burned. That made people uneasy. Of course, the general opinion was that Tommy was behind it.
But nothing was done. After all, it was just small pranks. But that had recently changed.
A few of the people of L'Manburg came out to ask Nightmare what he was doing. Dream didn't follow them. He had no reason to, and he dreaded what he might hear.
So he remained still, standing atop the camarvan silently. Even though he didn't get closer, Dream couldn't stop himself from watching them.
And worrying.
/perspective shift Nightmare
Nightmare looked up at the other Dream and scowled beneath his mask.
How could he stand there so calmly and support a menace like TommyInnit? When he had first seen him, he had thought that this alternate self might be an ally in the future, but all concept of that was now gone.
It had left when he had seen Dream working among the people of New L'Manburg to rebuild it. Nightmare would certainly never do that. He was a god, and gods did not stoop to work like common men.
So he glared up at that impassive pillar of morality. As if he was any better. Nightmare knew what he had done, and he intended to follow. There was a weakness in that Dream, an imperfection. As in all of the Dreams before him. In the end, he was just a man behind the mask.
But Nightmare had become something more. A figment of imagination brought to life. The deepest fears of his enemies personified. He was a god. And he would prove it.
Nightmare reached into his pocket and touched the object hidden away there.
The book. The one thing that could single-handedly turn the tides of any war.
The secret to true immortality.
It was not weapons, not armor, not even totems.
The revival book.
With it, he could restore a dead player to life, just once. JSchlatt hadn't found a use for it. But Dream could duplicate it. If he used it, his allies could never die. And with Philza's help, maybe...
Maybe he could kill his enemies without using a sword.
Nightmare wasn't a fool. He knew that JSchlatt had been a fluke, and he was lucky to have achieved it before the idiot told the members of L'Manburg anything.
To think, with immortality at his fingertips, JSchlatt had given it away.
Nightmare didn't know how anyone could be so stupid, but he didn't care. It was to his benefit, and Schlatt was dead now. He couldn't hurt Nightmare anymore.
No one could.
Not with this book. Of course, the only problem was that he needed someone to revive him if he died, so he couldn't do it himself.
But Nightmare had a plan for that. He had a plan for everything. It was beautiful really, the way that people could be manipulated so easily to believe what he needed them to. The way that each piece fit together perfectly.
Order out of chaos. And Nightmare atop it.
/perspective shift Dream
When Tubbo returned, he went out to talk to Nightmare, with his cabinet, minus Tommy, behind him.
And when they returned, they talked.
Dream didn't join them. He had recently gotten an open invitation to meetings of the cabinet, courtesy of Tubbo and his knowledge about Dream's support, as well as a few passionate conversations with Tommy. But Dream didn't feel like exercising that right now.
He didn't want to be there to see the nation he had helped rebuild crash and burn.
And burn it would. Just like George's house.
All Dream could do was salvage what he could.