Chapter Text
He comes to a sudden halt before the open door, hanging broken off its hinges.
“Beef?” he calls, voice hesitant, and gets no response.
The door is already open, and so he walks inside, jaw dropping as he sees furniture knocked astray, a mug of coffee spilled across the floor, cupboards and drawers flung open. Doors are pulled half off their hinges, there are scuffs in the walls, and one of the windows has been shattered. Lemon and Lime rush over to him, comforted by his familiarity, and push at him, as if demanding him to fix this.
And Beef is nowhere to be seen.
Etho thinks, faintly, that he may be sick.
That’s when he notices something he hadn’t seen the first time: a letter. It’s sitting innocuously on top of the table, smudged ink still drying atop the crumpled and blood-splattered envelope. Etho’s stomach drops. He picks it up with shaking hands.
The addressee’s name is written in Beef’s familiar handwriting, and the name itself is just as familiar.
Doc.
“Well, snappers.”
The Post Office is normally comforting, all warmth and familiarity against a backdrop of technological marvel and natural whimsy. Now, with the three of them gathered around the counter, the crumpled letter sitting between them, that feeling has been replaced by a constant low-level dread.
…That might not be the room, actually. That might just be Etho.
“Well,” Pearl says, once he’s finished reciting what happened. “That’s… not good.”
Tango snorts. “That’s an understatement,” he mutters. Then, louder, “We have a kidnapping on our hands. Who the hell just… kidnaps someone? In the middle of the day?”
“With no one noticing?” Pearl adds, baffled. “I mean, yeah, Spawn Village is pretty spread out, but surely someone would have seen something? Noticed strangers wandering about?”
“I’ve been out all day and I didn’t see anyone I didn’t know,” Etho says. “And nobody mentioned seeing anyone weird to me, either.”
Pearl worries at her lip, staring down at the letter. “We need to do something about this,” she declares. “People can’t just be wandering around kidnapping our villagers all willy-nilly.”
“We need to figure out where they’ve gone,” Tango adds. “We need to get Beef back.”
There’s a pause.
“How, uh…” Etho licks his lips. “How do we do that?”
Nobody replies for a long moment.
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Tango mumbles.
“I’m thinking.” Pearl’s got one hand pressed to her lips in thought, and swats at Tango with the other. “I can talk to the Mayor about upping the village’s security. Or, heck, maybe even call a town meeting—I’m sure between all of us, we can figure something out.”
“What about Beef?”
A longer pause.
“Hey, so, correct me if I’m wrong,” Tango says, “but doesn’t Ren’s Petition let him, like, findificate things?”
Etho frowns. “Does it work on people?”
“It’s worth asking,” Pearl decides. She grabs a piece of paper from the desk and a pen and scribbles something down, before whistling loudly into the air. One of the mail pigeons swoops down from above, landing beside her on the counter and fluttering its feathers as it coos. Pearl rolls up the paper and slips it into the holster attached to the pigeon. “Go find Ren,” she tells it.
The pigeon, with a final trill, flies off, soaring out of the Post Office through an open window.
“So, we’ll wait on Ren,” Pearl says, turning back to the two of them. “Other than that, I guess it’s just regular detective stuff, isn’t it?”
Etho and Tango blink at her.
“Don’t look at me,” Tango says. “I’m an engineer. I’ve never solved a mystery in my life.”
Pearl frowns. “I think the biggest mystery I’ve ever solved is trying to figure out where to send mail with the wrong address.”
The two of them turn to look at Etho.
Etho stares back, a deer in the headlights.
“Uhh… Whatcha looking at me like that for? Guys?”
“You were an adventurer,” Tango says. “Isn’t that, like, kind of like being a detective?”
“Um, no? Not at all?”
“Closer than either of us,” Pearl points out. “I mean—did you notice anything when you were at Beef’s place that might be some kind of clue?”
Etho frowns, thinking back. There had been the footprints in the dirt, but he’s not really sure what to do with those, because he’d only seen them going into the house, not back out of it. The place had been ransacked, so everything had been out of place, which means there’s nothing in particular he can go off. And then there’s…
“The letter,” he says, pointing.
“I was going to ask about that,” Pearl says. “Who’s Doc?”
“An old adventuring buddy of ours,” Etho says. “I haven’t spoken to him in…” He does the math in his head and feels himself pale slightly at the numbers. “A while,” he finishes weakly. “I guess he and Beef must still be in touch?”
“Good terms?” Pearl asks suspiciously.
“Oh, yeah. We didn’t really part on bad ones.” Without thinking about it, he lifts a hand up to his face, a finger tracing the scar that gouges across his cheek. “We all just decided that it was time to move on, you know?”
It’s not quite a lie. It’s just… not exactly the truth, either. And he’s not lying about the important part: they really have no reason to be suspicious of Doc.
“Hm.” Tango still looks a little suspicious. “It can’t be a coincidence, though, right? I mean, look at that smudge. He must have been finishing it as he was abducted.”
“Maybe whatever he wrote in the letter is a clue?” Etho suggests.
Tango looks at Etho. Etho looks at Tango. Both of them, slowly, turn their heads to look at Pearl.
Pearl’s face has gone dark. “We’re not opening the letter,” she says, and Etho jokes about Pearl being scary, but he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s heard her use this tone. The I’m-your-boss-and-you’d-better-listen tone. He swallows.
“Right,” Etho says. “Of course not.”
“I mean, if we delivered it to this Doc guy, he could open it, right? It’s addressed to him.” Tango reaches out to pick up the envelope, checking the back for an address. There is none. He turns to Etho instead. “Where’s he live, anyway?”
“North,” Etho replies. “I have the exact address written down somewhere.”
“We can send it through the mail system,” Pearl says. “Add an extra letter explaining what’s happened and ask for his help. He should get it, what, three days from now, max?” She glances at Tango.
“...Under normal circumstances, yes,” Tango says, “but the northbound system’s still busted. There’s a chance if we send it it’ll go through, but there’s an equal chance that we’ll lose it forever.”
“We can’t take that risk,” Etho says quickly. Then, before his brain has had a chance to register what he’s saying, but after the dread in his stomach has begun to boil at the thought, he blurts, “I’ll deliver it.”
Pearl and Tango stare at him.
“What?”
“I’ll deliver it,” Etho repeats, hoping he doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. “It’ll take longer than using the mail system, sure, but we’ll be able to guarantee that it’ll get there.”
More staring.
“I mean,” Tango says slowly, “that would work, sure.”
“But are you sure?” Pearl asks. “That’s a big trip. You’ve never delivered the mail that far.” She pauses. “I mean, I could go. I used to make trips like that regularly. I could do it.”
Etho shakes his head. “No, you’re needed here,” he tells her. “We still need someone to run the Post Office and make sure everyone gets their mail while I’m gone. And if we need to make changes to village security—well, you’re better at organising that sort of stuff than me.”
Tango rubs at the back of his neck. “He’s right about that, you know,” he tells Pearl. “Us two knuckleheads would fall apart in a day without you.”
Pearl rolls her eyes. “No, you wouldn’t,” she admonishes them. “You guys are more capable than you give yourselves credit for, you know.” Then, to Etho, “Sounds like you’re set on this.”
“He’s one of my oldest friends,” Etho says, and then, realising that he didn’t clarify, adds, “Both of them are. It would feel wrong if anyone else went, you know?” He forces a laugh. “Besides, I may be retired, but I was an adventurer. You’re not the only one who’s made these kinds of trips.” The last comment is directed at Pearl.
“I dunno,” she says. “There’s just something about delivering the mail that’s different. My old travelling partner used to say that it attracts chaos.”
Etho smiles wryly. “I think I can handle a little chaos.”
It’s been years, but Etho knows exactly where to find his old adventuring gear.
The clothes are stored in the trunk at the foot of his bed—his old sturdy dark grey travelling pants, long-sleeved black turtleneck, and the fur-lined armoured sleeveless green jacket that completes the look. His old hiking boots are in the chest, too, along with his armour—leather knee and shoulderpads, fingerless leather gloves, metal pauldrons, the black leather and steel headband, the thick utility belt, and a bandolier with a quiver affixed. He pulls them all out, nostalgia swelling inside him, and slowly changes out of his work uniform, replacing it with the years-old outfit.
Surprisingly, it still fits—it’s a little loose in some places, and a little tight in others, but it’s still comfortable. He pulls the curtain that covers his mirror aside and glances at his own reflection: he doesn’t even look stupid. A little uncertain, sure, but he recognises the Etho staring back at him. He takes a moment to shake out his dishevelled hair, affix the headband in place, and retie it in the familiar small ponytail that sits at the base of his neck.
He wears the armour, but leaves the bandolier on the table as he walks to his weapons’ closet and pulls open the doors. His old bow is still hanging there, and he pulls it down from its hook, running his fingers over familiar worn wood. He places it alongside the quiver, and then ducks down to the drawer at the bottom of the closet, fishing out the arrows he has in there. Twenty-five regular arrows, and five trickshots—it’s not a lot. It’s not enough. He’ll have to find some more somewhere on his journey. He moves them into the quiver anyway.
The last thing he pulls from the weapon’s closet is a long knife, about the length of his forearm. He pulls it out of its leather sheath, inspects it for rust, and, satisfied in his findings, slides it back in and places it on the table with the rest of the weapons, ready to be affixed to his utility belt later.
Next, he opens the storage chests on top of his bookshelves, where he finds a handful of potions in colour-coded bottles, as well as a length of rope, some wire, a first aid kit, and an old backpack that he’d modified to attach to his bandolier. He adds those to the growing pile on the table, before finally making his way to the kitchen and pulling open the pantry. There are shelf-stable ration packets stored here, and he double-checks that they’re in date before putting them with the rest of his stuff. He stares at the pile for a long moment before a thought occurs to him—he heads back into the bedroom, grabs the satchel that contains Beef’s letter, and makes sure that it’s with the rest of the things that he needs to pack.
Okay. All sorted. He’s got to put everything in its place, make sure everything is easy to carry and as accessible as it needs to be, but first…
Well, first he needs to go and visit an old friend.
Etho had moved to Spawn Valley for Beef, but he’d chosen his house up in the hills for this: the pond that lies behind it, cherry blossoms and water lilies sitting atop the surface, a bridge stretching across it. It’s beautiful, and tranquil, and alive with Growth and Water Wisps alike, but that’s not the reason he picked it.
No, that would be what’s beneath.
He leaves his shoes and socks on the bank, stepping down into the water and wincing at the way his pants become sodden and cling to his legs. He stands there for a moment and breathes, feels one of the koi beneath the water brush against him, watches the cherry blossoms float. He takes a step, then two, walking to the centre of the pond.
It doesn’t take long, and the water isn’t particularly deep, only reaching his waist at its deepest. He glances up at the sky above, blue glimpsed through green, and takes a long, deep breath.
In a single smooth movement he falls backwards into the water and pushes himself down beneath it. Lips clenched shut, eyes squeezed closed, he lets himself fall with his momentum, feels the water cradle him in its embrace.
This part always takes a little too long, if you ask him. He’s always thought that it’s the Spirits’ idea of a prank, the way you have to half-drown to meet them. After all, some people think that the Spirit Realm is where you go when you die—they probably think it’s funny to make getting there feel a little like dying.
His lungs burn. His chest aches. When he cracks his eyes open, he can’t see the light, or the water, or much of anything at all. He closes his eyes again. Tries to count down from one hundred in his head. Loses count somewhere around the sixties. Loses his fight and sucks in a breath—
Air. Etho gasps, eyes snapping open, and he’s lying on his back in a forest clearing. Everything is bright luscious green and shimmering, the colours aberrating in his peripheral vision. He pushes himself into a sitting position and glances around, and to his surprise, this clearing is a place he’s never been before.
He frowns. Tilts his head. Calls out to the trees, “Bdubs?”
His voice echoes, bouncing off the trunks and the leaves to reverberate back at him. He pushes himself into a standing position, bare feet against the ground, and spins around. Now that he’s looking closer, the forest he’s in doesn’t feel exactly welcoming; the trees loom over him, trunks pressed close together, prison bars making him feel small and trapped.
“Bdubs?” he tries again.
“Bdubs won’t be coming.”
The voice is unfamiliar; Etho jumps, whirling around to see its owner, and freezes in place. Standing before him is a—girl? woman? honestly, he’s never been sure at what age you should make that transition—that he’s never seen before. She’s dressed in blue, a short navy cloak wrapped around her shoulders and tied with a sharktooth clasp, a lighter buttoned shirt beneath, and dark trousers that disappear behind tall brown boots. She’s wearing leather gloves, not unlike his own, and the skin that he can see between the tops of the gloves and the bottom of the cloak is mottled with scale-like turquoise patterns. There’s a hazy sort of light that emerges from her forearms, and it takes him a moment of puzzling over it to realise what it resembles: a betta fish fin. She has a fishing net wrapped around her waist like some sort of sash, dotted with beads and shining jewels. Her ginger hair trails oddly through the air as if it were in water, swishing as she moves.
He’d comment on her face, but he can’t see it past the deer skull mask that she wears. The bone is bleached and weathered, the gaping eyesockets revealing nothing but void and a faint blue glow. The skull’s antlers twist up and over her head, tangled with fishing lines and hooks and torn netting.
She is, all in all, kind of terrifying to look at.
Etho swallows. “Uhh, hi,” he manages. “You—You said that—Bdubs isn’t coming?” His voice pitches with confusion.
“Nope,” the girl replies. “He said he’s mad at you.”
And now Etho is really baffled. “Mad at me?” he echoes. “Wh—What’s he mad at me for? We haven’t spoken in years!”
“He didn’t say,” the girl says with a shrug. “If I had to guess, though, probably that. Jeez, you should really talk to your friends more.”
Etho feels, a little, like he’s just been slapped. He frowns. “Who even are you, anyway?”
“Gem,” she replies, cocking her head slightly. “I’m Bdubs’ apprentice.”
“Apprentice?”
“Mhm.”
“I didn’t know Spirits did apprenticeships.”
“They usually don’t.” Gem shrugs again. “I guess I’m a special case. He saw you were coming to meet him and sent me instead. Said he doesn’t want to see you.”
“But—” Something desperate surges in Etho’s chest. “But I need his help! Beef’s missing, and I need to find him, and we—”
“He said, and I quote, ‘whatever bullshit yarn he starts spinnin’ you, I’m not interested!’”
“Hey!” Etho folds his arms defensively. “It’s not bullshit! It’s urgen—”
“‘Yeah, yeah, it’s urgent, whatever. Not happenin’.’”
Etho blinks. “You are scarily good at that.”
“I’m just copying.” Etho can’t see her expression, on account of the terrifying deer skull mask, but he thinks she might be smiling. “He said something else, too, that I think you might be interested in.”
“Is it an insult? Because I don’t think I—”
“‘Tell ya what, if you wanna help Etho out, maybe I’ll grant you that favour you’ve been badgerin’ me for.’”
Etho tilts his head. “Favour?”
“None of your business. But, well, Bdubs may not have the motivation to help you out, but I might.”
“...Might?”
“I’ll be honest: you don’t really impress me, Etho.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m still debating whether it would be worse to travel with you or do more of Bdubs’ stupid chores. Really on the fence about it.”
“You met me five minutes ago!” Etho protests. “Not even! How do you know I’d be so terrible? Worse than chores? Come on!”
Even through the mask, he can feel the weight of her withering look. She then proceeds to not answer his question. “So I’ve come up with a test,” she says instead. “For you to prove yourself to me! You pass, I come with you. You fail… Well, I guess you’re on your own, buddy. Good luck!”
He narrows his eyes. “What kind of test?”
“Catch.”
She throws something at him, and he fumbles to catch it out of the air—it’s only when his fist closes around it that he recognises the item.
A wooden sword.
He glances up, and sees her holding a wooden sword of her own, lunging straight at him.
He lets out a strangled yelp, dodging to the side, panicking because he’d managed to grab his wooden sword by the blade. He loses his footing, knee sliding against the dirt, one hand outstretched to catch himself before he faceplants the ground. He feels, more than sees, Gem whirl around to strike at him and twists himself around to meet her. He pushes his sword up in front of him, one hand on the blade and one on the hilt, blocking Gem’s strike from above.
He can’t see her grin, but somehow he knows it’s there. “Gotta say, I’m still not impressed.”
“Give me a chance,” Etho grunts and, with more effort than he’s willing to admit, finally musters enough force to push her back. He takes the opportunity to drop the sword’s blade and use that hand to push himself to his feet, darting back away from Gem as she recentres herself. They observe each other for a moment, swords at the ready, knees bent, chests heaving with breath.
Gem moves first. She’s across the clearing in three steps, in the time it would’ve taken Etho to blink, and his first parry is clumsy from the shock of it. The force of Gem’s blows reverberate up the wooden sword and into his arm, rattling his bones. He grits his teeth against the feeling and dives in for an offensive blow of his own, but Gem blocks him easily, like she’d known what he was going to do before he’d even done it. He tries again, aiming high where he’d aimed low, and leaves himself open for a counterattack that almost gets him in the ribs before he dodges to the side last minute. He spins with his momentum, whirling his sword around, but all the blade meets is the trailing ends of her hair as she launches herself back—and up into the air.
“Oh, come on, that’s not fair!” he whines.
“Who said we were fighting fair?” Gem shoots back. She moves through the air like a fish through water, circling over his head, and Etho’s forced to crane his neck back as he follows her, turning so that he never has his back to her. She’s toying with him now, a cat playing with its prey, and it fills Etho with equal parts unease and indignation.
Before he can act on those feelings, Gem swoops, but this time when she strikes it’s not with her sword. No, it’s with the fishing net that she’s pulled from her waist, tangling the cords around his legs and yanking hard. There’s nothing that Etho can do but fall, skidding across the dirt and kicking at the net to try and dislodge it. It doesn’t work. If he had a real sword, he’d just cut through the rope, but his only weapon is made of wood.
He blinks.
If Gem’s not fighting fair—who says he has to, either?
Gem’s feet hit the ground and she stalks towards him, sword in one hand and fishing net wrapped around the other. He watches her clench her fist, tighten her grip—
He yanks his legs, hard, and she yelps as she’s pulled forward, nearly tripping from the force of it. She lets go of the net in an attempt to right herself and he turns and scrambles, not bothering to stand as he flees to the safety of the treeline. He reaches up, fist wreathed in Wood Wisps, and knocks heavily against the trunk of the nearest tree.
A door opens up and he tumbles into it just as a wooden sword swipes at his back.
Gem can’t follow him into the tree: the door closes, and he’s alone, just him and his ragged breathing and the all-encompassing light. He takes a moment to catch his breath, then reaches down to untangle the net from his legs. It’s easier said than done when he’s floating through a light-filled void, but he manages it in the end, throwing the net over his shoulder. Then, he reaches out and latches on to another door handle, slowly pushing it open and peering out.
Gem’s standing in front of him on the opposite side of the clearing, arms by her side as she stares in what is presumably bewilderment at the tree he’d just disappeared through.
He emerges from the tree he’s in as quietly as he possibly can, keeping his strides long and his steps light, raising his sword ready to strike.
He’s not sure what gives him away—maybe he’s too loud, or his presence is too big, or maybe it’s simply coincidence—but Gem turns at the last minute, just before he can strike her, and she would have fallen to the ground if she weren’t capable of floating. She hangs in the air, limbs askew, and Etho catches himself, readying for another strike—
Gem kicks him in the chest hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Etho falls down into the dirt and glances up just in time to see Gem’s sword land just above where her kick had, the tip of its blade grazing his throat.
They stare at each other for a long moment. Etho lets out a pained, wheezing groan. “Oww,” he whines. “You didn’t have to kick me that hard.”
Gem just laughs in response. It startles him—it’s the first time he’s heard her laugh. And then, as it fades, he’s hit by something else: the realisation that he’s lost. Bdubs won’t be joining him. Gem won’t be joining him. Etho will have to go on this journey alone—
(And it’s not like he’s never been alone before, but it’s ill-advised for adventurers—even mail carriers travel in pairs.)
“Alright,” Gem says, dropping her sword into the dirt and reaching back to sweep her hair out of her way. “You pass. I’ll help you out.”
Etho—blinks. His brain takes a moment to process the words. His jaw drops.
“But—I lost?”
“The challenge wasn’t to win,” Gem says, her tone implying that should be obvious. In Etho’s opinion, it was anything but obvious. “It was to impress me. And you did. I mean, overall it was kind of pathetic, but you genuinely surprised me for a couple moments there! So, sure, I’ll help you out.”
Etho pouts. “Would it kill you to compliment me without insulting me?” he grumbles.
“Yes.” Words light with laughter, Gem holds out a hand to him. Etho eyes it for a moment, then reaches up and takes it, allowing her to pull him up to his feet. “Well, Etho,” she says, “looks like we’ll be stuck together for a bit. Don’t make me regret it.”
Weakly, he replies, “I’ll try not to.”
(“Dude, why does your house not have a roof?”
“It has a roof!”
“That’s a hole. Etho. Look at me. A hole.”
“It’s a perfectly fine roof. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You are… so strange.”)
“Sorry, dude,” Ren says, ears drooping and tail skimming the floor. “My Petition only works on objects, not people.”
Etho, all his gear equipped and ready to go, is back in the Post Office for what may be the final time in a while. Tango is perched on the edge of the counter, and Pearl in her usual place behind it. Beef’s dogs are both lying in a heap on the floor, their distress from earlier having tired them out. Ren shuffles uncomfortably in the middle of them all, looking guilty at his own admission.
“Don’t sweat it,” Etho tells him. “I figured it was a long shot, anyway.”
Ren nods, eyeing Etho up and down. “You’re ready to go, then?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Well, good luck, man. Seriously. Bring our Beefers home safe, won’t you?”
Etho nods solemnly. “I will,” he promises.
Ren leaves, then, and the Post Office is alone with its employees. There’s a thick feeling in the air, not quite tension, but not quite sadness, either. Etho’s not sure he knows the name for whatever this is.
“Well, then,” Pearl says. “This is it. Are you sure you don’t want my company?”
Etho shakes his head. “No, I’ll be fine. You need to stay here. Your job’s pretty important, you know!” He tries to say it with humour. He’s not sure it lands.
Pearl smiles back at him. “So’s yours,” she says fondly.
Etho’s not sure what to say to that, so instead he says, “Well, I best be off. I’ve got a long way to go.”
“Good luck out there, man,” Tango says. “And, E, hey, next time you make it to a Post Office? Send us a letter. Let us know how it’s going.”
Etho nods. That, at least, he can do. “I will,” he promises. “I’ll see you both when I get back.” He glances down at the dogs. “Are they alright to stay here?” he asks. “I can’t leave them at Beef’s, and I can’t take them with me.”
“I’ll look after them,” Pearl says. “Just make sure you’re looking after yourself.”
Etho nods, swallows against the tight feeling in his throat, and offers a final, “Well, I’ll see you later, then.”
As goodbyes go, it’s not a very good one. The two of them don’t seem to mind.
“Yeah, see you later, man,” Tango says with a firm nod and an easy wave.
“Good luck,” Pearl says. “And, hey, Etho?” Her eyes glimmer. “Next time you make it to work, don’t be late.”
They make it to the edge of Spawn Village, where the paths and easy terrain vanish into thick forested foothills. These aren’t the hills where Etho lives, but rather the ones opposite his home, on the north side of the Valley. Etho stares up at the first obstacle of the journey ahead. Gem floats by his side, hazy and aberrant in his peripheral vision.
“So, this is it,” Gem says. “You ready?”
“Not really,” Etho admits with a nervous laugh.
“Well, that sucks,” Gem says, unsympathetic. “Come on, we’ve got a lot of walking to do.”
And then she’s off, several steps in front of him, and Etho’s about to protest that it’s an unfair thing to say because she’s floating, not even walking. Then he thinks the better of it and scrambles to keep up.
The hill rises ahead of them, and the valley falls behind them, and with that first step, their journey has officially begun.