Chapter Text
Ever since his birth, he could not see.
He wasn’t the first child of his parents. The first had been a girl named Rana who had died after a zombie attack at the age of five. Abigail and Samuel Blocker, his parents had been disappointed by his lack of sight, but, as anyone in the village could confirm, they, like the pioneers they were, took their son’s blindness into account and moved on with their lives.
By the age of five, he could navigate his home with no help. At seven, if someone was guiding him, he could move about the village comfortably.
All in all, his life was good. A little mundane, but good. He had food, water, shelter, a family who loved him, and protection from the creatures of the night.
Monday was a market day in the village. Everyone set up shop to trade goods and socialize. However, families who did not have anything to trade were still taken care of. For example, Mary Smith and her two children, Kyle Smith and Nissa Smith had plenty to eat and a place to stay, despite the fact that Mary’s husband Rodger had died protecting the village from a rogue phantom, or old man Fenwald, who lived on the streets most of the time, particularly because he was too stubborn to receive help.
Fenwald and Herobrine could be considered friends. Fenwald liked to complain and tell stories, and Herobrine was a generally quiet child who sat still for long periods of time.
“Tell me about The Farlands again,” Herobrine asked Fenwald one Monday evening.
“Harumph!” Fenwald growled, stretching out across the stone stairs on the path. “You always ask for that. I’ve told it far to many times.”
“Please?” Herobrine asked, and Fenwald sighed.
“Fine,” He pulled his legs back and sat cross-legged. “Far away, thousands and thousands of miles from our village is the mystical Farlands.”
“What do they look like?” Herobrine asked.
“You always ask that,” Fenwald grumbled. “They stretch thousands of miles into the air and are made up of chunks of earth suspended by forces we do not understand. Plants, such as grass and trees still grow there, and water and lava flow, as they should.”
“Well, why is it so bad?” Herobrine asked.
“You always ask that,” Fenwald grumbled with an eye roll. “There are unnatural creatures that call The Farlands home. Being inside feels… unnatural. You feel watched, preyed upon, hunted. It’s terrifying.”
“I understand,” Herobrine nodded. “What else?”
“There’s nothing else,” Fenwald snapped. “Run along now.”
Herobrine laid a hand on a nearby building and stood up slowly, as to not fall over. He stretched out his legs.
“Next time bring some food,” Fenwald grumbled, crawling back into the gray-black alleyway, barely lit with the orange sun setting beneath the wall that surrounded the village.
“There you are!” A voice called from behind Herobrine. He turned around and someone took his hand. It was Ella, the mayor’s daughter. She was eleven, a whole year older than Herobrine, but she was still his best friend. Ella had gold-brown eyes, fair skin, and long black hair. Herobrine couldn’t see colors, but Ella had once let him feel her hair, and he liked the touch. Black was soft.
She took his arm and linked it into hers. “Watch out, there’s a step.”
Herobrine lifted his foot a little higher to step up. Ella guided him down the streets, carefully making sure that he didn’t accidentally fall. The going was slow, but it was also calming. Herobrine gripped her arm thoughtfully.
“Why do you always hang around Fenwald anyway?” Ella asked. “Step closer to me.”
Herobrine followed her command. “I like Fenwald. He tells stories.”
“Oh,” Ella answered, relaxing her grip slightly. “He doesn’t like children very much.”
“He’s just lonely, I think,” He answered. “Besides, it’s not as if I can read a book for entertainment anyway.” He added sadly.
“Maybe someone will invent a way,” Ella pointed out, stopping him gently. “Or you can ask your parents.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Herobrine answered. “We’re here aren’t we?”
Ella laughed softly. “Smart boy. Yes, we’re right outside your house.”
Herobrine grinned and gingerly reached out with one hand until his fingers brushed the door. He found the doorknob and twisted it, pushing the door open.
“Are you going to be okay?” Ella asked as he walked inside.
“Yeah,” He answered, pushing the door shut. “Bye!”
He shut the door and moved inside his home. Herobrine reached out until he found the long string tied from a knob at the door that lead around the room.
Holding onto the string, he began to move around the room, towards the kitchen. After a little while, he let go of the coarse string and took hold of one with little knots tied in it, moving through the living room.
“Well, I don’t know!?!” He heard his father shout from the kitchen and flinched. His parents were often fighting, and though they tried not to do it in front of them, Herobrine was a quiet child who could slip into rooms quietly.
“What do you want me to do?” His mother responded. “It’s too late to stop it now!”
“I. don’t. Know!” Samuel answered.
“Mom?” Herobrine walked into the kitchen. “Dad?”
“Oh, Herobrine!” Abigail said, sounding surprised. “Dinner’s on the table if you want to sit down.”
“Well, great, now he’s heard,” Samuel grumbled. Herobrine pretended not to hear him and climbed into his chair.
Abigail and Samuel came over and sat down at the table near their son. Abigail began dishing out rabbit stew to her family.
“Did you do anything fun today?” She asked Herobrine, setting a bowl in front of him.
Herobrine picked up a spoon. “Fenwald told me about The Farlands.” He took a bite.
“The Farlands are a myth,” Samuel snapped. “The sooner you stop believing in fairy tales the better.”
“Samuel,” Abigail said sharply, and her husband fell silent. “That’s wonderful, Hero.” She addressed her son.
She glanced at her husband, then back to her son. “Herobrine, there’s something your father and I need to tell you.”
Herobrine took another bite of stew. “What?”
“You know that Ella has two younger siblings, right?” She asked him. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Yes,” He answered. “Their names are Monica and Carlo. Why?”
“I know their names, Hero,” She reminded him gently. “You don’t have any brothers and sisters, however, and well…” Abigail trailed off.
“Well, what?” Herobrine asked.
“You’re going to have a younger brother or sister,” Abigail replied.
If they could, his eyes would have lit up. “Really!?”
“Yes,” She laid her hand on his. “Now finish dinner and head up to bed. Your father and I need to talk.”
“Okay,” Herobrine said happily and continued eating.
Later, in his bed that night, Herobrine lay silently and tried not to listen to his parents shouting in the kitchen.
I can’t wait for my sibling to be born. He thought with a groan, rolling over to face the wall. Then I’ll finally have someone to talk to.
He lay silently as his parents continued their screaming, and, within minutes, was fast asleep.
“It’s here! It’s here!” the midwife shouted, catching the baby and lifting it. “It’s a boy!”
“A boy!” Abigail cried, tears running down her cheeks.
“Check his eyes,” Samuel shouted.
The Midwife looked over the baby in her arms, sniping the umbilical cord and cleaning the child off. “He looks alright to me.”
“Can I hold him?” Herobrine asked, getting up from where he was sitting. As a rather quiet child, Herobrine found that he could get into pretty much anywhere by not speaking and moving slowly.
“Let your mother have a turn first, okay?” The Midwife replied, handing the baby to Abigail.
“Oh look at him, Samuel,” She whispered, cradling her newborn son. “He’s perfect.”
Samuel folded his arms over his chest. “When he can see, hear, speak, smell, taste, think, and touch just fine, then he’ll be perfect.”
Herobrine, standing behind his father, ducked his head, feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut.
“Samuel!” Abigail snapped. “Don’t talk like that in front of Herobrine!”
“Why not!?” Samuel half-shouted. “The sooner he learns that he’s a useless embarrassment, the better.”
Herobrine whimpered and sniffed, trying not to cry.
“Oh, look what you’ve done!” Abigail shouted at her husband. “You’ve made him cry!”
Herobrine wiped the tears off his cheeks. “I’m not crying!” He turned and fled the room, walking outside as fast as he could and sitting down on the yellowed grass.
The hot summer air brushed against his skin, and he pulled his legs up to his chest, sadly.
“Herobrine!” Fenwald called from the street. “What are you doing outside?”
“Being an embarrassment,” Herobrine muttered.
Fenwald walked up and sat beside him. “Your father down on you?”
“Mphf,” Herobrine answered. “My little brother is apparently more important than I am.”
“You don’t know that,” Fenwald argued. “Your father is just a prideful man. He wants something so bad and didn’t get it. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”
“I don’t know,” Herobrine grumbled with a sigh. “It’s just that he doesn’t love me because my eyes don’t work. I can do so many things. I can ride a horse, or go to the market. I can even chop wood if I’m careful, and yet he just doesn’t love me.”
“That’s bad, buddy,” Fenwald answered.
“Thanks,” Herobrine growled sarcastically. “That makes me feel so much better.”
Fenwald rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t know how to fix your family, okay. I’m just trying to help by listening.”
“Whatever,” Herobrine muttered, standing up and walking back to the house.
“Hero!” His mother called. “Do you want to hold Steven?”
“No,” He called back, taking the railing to the stairs and walking up to his room. He sat down on his bed and curled up, sobbing. It’s not fair. It’s never fair. No one loves me. No one cares. I could probably just die and no one would care.
He sobbed some more and rolled over.
From downstairs, an infant wailed.
Oh shut up you stupid baby, Herobrine felt like shouting. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the mattress and thought about his father. He hated his father. Samuel Blacker should die. Herobrine wouldn’t even care. It wouldn’t even matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.
Years passed quickly. Herobrine turned from a naive ten-year-old to a capable teenager. His brother grew from a pudgy baby to an inquisitive five-year-old.
Steven, or Steve, was the talk of the village. He was the cute one, the smart one, the one who needed all the attention. He was the one who deserved all the attention.
After only two years, Steve, it seemed, was more important than his blind brother. Even Fenwald enjoyed telling stories to the child. Herobrine became invisible to everyone but Ella, and even she was mesmerized by Steve. He was a friendly child who agreed with people easily.
Finally, however, it was time for Herobrine to prove he was a man. Time for him to show the village that he was finally an adult. The yearly logging trip was what he had been looking forward to all this time.
Every October, the villagers sent out a group of men to go logging and sent their sons along. A child would leave a boy and return a man. The trip lasted a whole month, and Herobrine had been looking forward to it all summer.
Most boys went on the journey at twelve, but when Herobrine had asked Samuel if they could go, Samuel had replied with ‘maybe when you’re fifteen’.
Now he was fifteen and excited to go.
That night, at dinner, he decided to make his move.
“What day are we leaving?” He asked his father over the roast chicken his mother had made.
“Leaving for where?” His father asked, glancing up from the chicken he was eating.
“You know,” Herobrine’s forehead wrinkled with worry. “The logging trip.”
“Oh,” Samuel nodded. “I’m leaving in a week. Why?”
“...I’m not coming with you?” Herobrine asked, confused.
Samuel burst out laughing. “A blind boy with an axe surrounded by a group of men with sharp objects? Of course you’re not coming!”
“But…” Herobrine cut in. “You said when I was twelve that we could go when I was fifteen!”
“Samuel…” Abigail began.
“Now don’t you start, Abigail,” Samuel told her. “Look, Herobrine, you’re not coming. It’s too dangerous.”
“I can handle an axe fine!” Herobrine protested.
“Where’s brother going?” Steve asked Samuel.
“Nowhere,” Samuel answered. “He’s going nowhere.”
Herobrine stood up and shoved his chair in so violently that it crashed against the table. He turned and stormed off to his room in a huffy rush. Inside his room, he grabbed a few of his possessions. A bed, some torches, and a small carving Ella had made him. He shoved all of it into his inventory and climbed into bed.
When Steve’s bedtime came, he went upstairs and walked over to his brother’s bed.
“I love you, Hero,” He whispered.
Self-righteous little jerk. Herobrine thought to himself, pretending to be asleep. As soon as the house was quiet and he was sure that all the occupants were no longer awake, he slipped out of his room and made his way silently down the stairs. He crept into the kitchen and found one of the cupboards, opening it.
There was a crash as a frying pan fell out of the cupboard and clattered to the floor.
Herobrine froze.
A light flicked on.
“Hero?” His mother asked. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry!” He cried out, turning around so he could hear her better.
She approached him and took one of his hands. “What for? You’re not in any trouble.”
“Mom, I… I can’t stay here any longer,” He sighed. “I can’t do it. I have to find out who I am.”
Abigail sighed and pulled her son in for a hug. “Can I at least help you pack?”
Herobrine pulled away, tears streaming down his face. “Please.”
Abigail pulled a few loaves of bread from the pantry and handed them to him along with some cooked steak to her son. She added a few carrots and an apple as well, before smiling softly as he left the room.
She followed him out to the barn, where he saddled up his favorite horse, Debbie, and swung himself into the saddle.
“Are you going to be alright?” Abigail asked her son.
“I’ll be fine, mom,” He answered. “Debbie can see alright, I have enough food, and I know where I’m going.”
“Where are you going?” His mother asked.
Herobrine smiled. “The Farlands.”