Archive of Our Own ^beta

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In the lengthy stories that people only spoke of at campfires, good fortune found weak beggars on their darkest and most dreary nights.

A light would brighten the tenebrous sky and wonderful riches would be delivered. Prizes beyond any man's dreams used to decorate previously-woeful hands. The tales proclaimed a fairy would come down from the hawthorn tree's boughs and bless those who had prayed enough. Flowers would bloom in circles around the chosen ones, marking the spot of the loyal people and encouraging others to follow in their footsteps. This was the gleeful ending; only true for children who believed in their imaginations.

Believe in the other, were the words many said after. The people Eret had sat with were lonely and desperate to clutch onto myth, enough to forget the fact that no fae existed within the mortal realm. Not anymore.

Peace and prosperity were well spoken of in these tales, cherished by words that floated whimsically around the warm fires and died within their embers. The humans had driven off the fae, just as they were squandering monster-kind into dark hovels. The world was imbalanced, eternally tipped in the favour of normal man. In a world like this, Eret did not like the campfire stories, because they reminded them of what they could never have.

The desired ending was rarely met when those same stories were woven for things happening on real soil. Mouths could spin pretty ditties, but when torn boots squelched in thick muds and blood mixed with the grime under desperate men's fingernails, fairytales held little purchase on the living. Happy endings did not happen; they did not exist and were as much folklore as the tales of guardian angels who were supposed to look over them.

Any angels on man's earth had long since abandoned it. 

In the tales the naive spun, war ended, people flourished, peace prospered. In the real world, where the light of day was strong enough to bleach bones and the acidic rains ate through barricades in the blink of an eye, the final moments of conflict never ceased. There was no recession of death and violence, no tidal wave into great periods of peace and longevity. No matter how much these things were sought-after.

Where men went, destruction and death followed. There were no fairies in this world. 

This augury of apocalypse and assured failure was an unspoken scripture that Eret lived with. They carried this weight with them everywhere; everything they touched was sure to fall someday, as sure as any sortilege pronounced upon dead leaves and rotting corpses. Each person they seen walking on the roads would eventually collapse and not get back up, the weapons they clutched in numb hands would cease to be once enough damage was done. Predictions of the future were ludicrous by man's mind but the known truth of all histories repeating upon themselves convinced those who did not shed an ear for a prophet's scourging warnings.

A cold breeze had followed them off the battlefield. It curled tight at their ankles and pushed them forwards when their bones jittered and their muscles ached. When Eret began to waver, the wind hurled them onwards.

They followed this wind to a small country. It was a cold night when Eret walked through the wooden fences of a festering cesspit; their next victim. Wherever they went, rampant destruction became all that was left in  place of boisterous villages and innocent hamlets. Where Eret paused their travels, the lives of the people in their near vicinity ceased. Such was the force of their preordained ruination. The wind howled deeply at each loss. Had they covered their ears with their hands, this noise would've sounded like the beat of death, the heave of a skeleton rising from the dead, a beast writhing under the mud. Fate. 

In this small hamlet, built of wooden huts with straw roofs, the stench of desperation was cumbersome. Yet, when Eret set foot within the fences, the wind ceased. It did not follow them, no matter how long they stood. This alone, where the wind had haunted them for years upon years, was enough to make them decide that this hamlet would be their temporary shelter, if only for the night. The country they were currently in was not appreciative of monster-kind. Even with their glasses, they needed to be careful.

Children bumbled about, quiet yet loud. The toys some carted around were larger than their thin, small bodies. In lieu of watching the young, mothers instead scurried around the huts, lofting last minute pales of water fresh from the well. Water spilled over brown grass, sure to leave deep gouges where the children would play and loiter. An old man was sat on a large stone along the lake's edge, his fishing rod set in place by a well-shaped stick. The rod was bowed near in two by age and the natural warp that took hold in all branches. The fisherman's face was cast in a shadow greater than the alleged gloom left by the ender dragon's silhouette.

Throughout the hamlet were gaunt faces and ragged skin. Any small hamlet like this needed to trade with its sibling settlements. Within the same country, known generally as the Country of the SMP, the closest settlement was a city not three miles off, named as the Capitol.

Cracked lanterns sat on posts, dim flames flickering in the unseen hurricane that Eret brought with them. The meek lights barely did anything to brighten the area in the wake of a silvery moon and heavy clouds. At a single glance, Eret knew these fences and weak fires were not strong enough to keep away the vicious mobs that appeared when dusk consumed the lands.

Eret walked into the hamlet called L'Manberg, striding past the creaking sign of its namesake swinging from a broken fence post. They did not need the rumours of the travellers they had passed by naught three days prior to know what would befall this small population.

L'Manberg would fall. Perhaps, not briskly or sweetly, but fall it would. The dirty air that surrounded the dismal hamlet had their stomach rumbling. With their boots touching the mud of its ground, the hamlet's doom was now assured.

Destruction followed Eret, but there was something vile inside them that fed off it the same way the scavengers that followed behind did.

The little boy's fantasy that begged for freedom, rights and civility would be crushed under the Capitol's ire; the final embers of a dying fire blotted out under the ruler's boots, be they carved of gold or steel. This was fact, not opinion nor decision.

Those who reigned over a country very seldom felt the need to be kind to those who dared rebel. With so many countries making up the world map to form the Main Continent, those owning land often held onto what they laid claim to with iron fists.

The self-appointed ealdorman of this hamlet, their leader, Wilbur Soot had rallied for emancipation and led hundreds of civilians off into the forest, making this settlement. He had made the fatal error of bringing no army.

"Who goes there?" Came a young, high voice. The quiver of fear was hardly concealed. A boy with a loose clutch on a dull sword had slipped from the building in the middle of the hamlet and now stood against them. Not one elder came to the child's aid.

It rose a bitter taste in their mouth. Everywhere was the same. Those who should look out for the younglings never did. 

A child stood before them. A boy with a sword, a shaking hand and a peculiarly coloured jacket that looked like something dyed by every flower in a prairie. Blond hair stood stark in the night, blue eyes a bright glint under the judgmental moon.

Eret looked into those eyes, past their sunglasses, and saw a fearful child led to a battle by a fool. What sort of leader could not teach his young fodder to properly hold a blade? If he was to die, he should be granted a death of honour. Not one drenched by the pity that came with dropping a weapon moments before death.

"I go by Eret," they explained, faux smile coming to their lips easier than they'd hoped. Ela always said they looked less scary when they smiled. In a further effort to placate, they tilted their bare hands outwards, unable to resist knocking their head to the side. On the fields they had come from, their tilted head would've made the air stagnant. It was an old motion that came out when they were irate, and irate they were - this hamlet was warding off their fated wind but seemed cursed by itself.

To this child, they said, "I am a traveller, seeking board. May I speak to your innkeeper?"

"Don't got one."

"Then, the ealdorman?"

"Wil's busy," snuffled the boy, both hands now holding the sword. He did not lower it, despite his shameful stance and unsteady clutch. "Anyways, he says we ain't takin' in anyone who won't join up."

As if they're an army, snorted a low voice in their eardrums. Twin giggles followed after.

Eret stood unmoving. They worked their expression into something thoughtful and observed how the hamlet was reacting. Though, no mother nor elder came to the front when the boy did not lower his sword, they all seemed to take his judgement as important word. The clamouring children had stalled, the women backing off and pulling them alongside. Cowardly eyes watched Eret, weary and unsure. L'Manberg was made up of nothing more than paupers who'd gotten a different side of life in the SMP and had not liked it.

There were no fighters here.

The plain iron sword shook and shifted closer to them. The boy took a deep breath, though it helped very little. He was afraid and young; set to pass very soon. A boy without armour and training would be unable to touch anyone with a blade he obviously could not wield. Even had he been a master of the sword, he would not have been able to touch Eret. Tonight, they had eyes bristling in every lick of skin. They were on edge from walking past this country's border and not stopping to rest once in days. It was difficult to rest when the wind deafened them.

"Ah," they said. There was no pity, nor disappointment. Their voice was cold and rigid: Eret had seen the fate of this hamlet and had accepted it, just as they always did. "And what do you fight for?"

"Eman-sipi-pation," the kid warbled the words.

Eret didn't know what he meant until emancipation was whispered in their skull. 

Freedom, said Elaina, her voice sweet like cherries in Eret's aching head. They had originally decided to stop here for the night because they were tired and thirsty, but now that they'd gotten a taste of the mildew in this little hamlet, they were feeling partially inclined to stay. For just how long would L'Manberg remain standing? They could spare a few moments from their unending travels if it meant they would get to feast on the chaos that fate would leave behind after these huts fell. 

"Right," Eret nodded along. "Do you know when your ealdorman will be available?"

"You makin' fun of me?" The kid barked, voice loud enough to stir even the drowned dead. Young; arrogant; stupid. "I'm the one in charge with Wil gone!"

Taking that in stride, Eret nodded along. "I'm simply asking to join."

Their lack of animosity and apparent successful recruitment seemed to make the blond relax. 

"Right, course you do." He murmured, a giddy grin pulling at his lips. Finally, the sword was lowered and clumsily sheathed at the boy's hip. The loose belt that kept the leather by his side looked uncomfortable. L'Manberg had no weapons master nor blacksmith, by the looks of it. "Well, Wilbur'll be back with Fundy in an hour. I- I'm Tommy. Tommy Innit, best fighter of the land!"

If you're the best fighter, can the others even hold a sword?

Eret smiled along, making no sign of the harsh words tumbling about in their head. They ignored the hand the boy stuck forward, obviously waiting for a handshake that Eret would not give. They did not make it a habit to touch strangers, never mind those who pointed swords at them. 

"Nice to meet you, Tommy Innit. May the moon shine favourably on this night."

Tommy's smile was too bright for him to have understood the ill-fitting joke Eret had made. Perhaps, that was only a joke Jameskii laughed at.

The moon never held anyone's favour. It was as fickle as the roaring tides. 

Wilbur Soot, self-proclaimed ealdorman of the hamlet that he boasted would blossom into a new nation, arrived an hour and fourteen minutes after Tommy Innit said he would. A bad thing, considering things like rebellions were time sensitive events that needed to be wrapped up quickly. Or, if not with speed, then precisely. Eret nodded and smiled where necessary, silently watching the bushy eared fox-hybrid boy that stood in the man's lanky shadow.

The man was hardly old enough to be considered an elder. He was an eadorman in only the leading aspect, not the age. They had yet to see if he held the wisdom of an old man, but they doubted a young man like him could compare to a true holder of the title he flouted. 

"Wilbur Soot, I wish to join your revolution,"  they said brashly, after the duo had stopped in the little hut in the center of L'Manberg's fenced lands but just before they could throw suspicious glances to them. It was most likely that the majority of travellers avoided them in favour of going to the Capitol, hence the caution of the people. L'Manberg probably hadn't seen an addition to their forces since the paupers had picked up their things and stormed out of their first walled city.

The man's face lit up. A hand gripped theirs, soft and unused to war, fingertips roughened only by an instrument. The joy seen in the tall man's face was irritating to see. "Excellent! We've been needing more fighters, your name?"

"Eret," they said, the oncoming lies sweet on their tongue. "I'm honoured."

Revolution was not for the weak; rebellion was. Rebellion was sticks and stones in the water, whilst revolution was iron and steel and armour. Sharp swords and heavy axes.

The children's fantasies that kept L'Manberg alive were sleepily made up of netherite armour, sharpness five enchantments on axes and the illusive thought of mystical fortresses in mountains. Though not on the level of campfire stories, the people of L'Manberg were just as naive and stubborn as all those who believed in the fairies coming down to bless the poor.

L'Manberg was not ready for any of the true aspects of war, not even those which they dreamed up. This much was clear with how miserable a sight the hamlet was, even being more lenient considering how it was in the midst of a rebellion. The small hamlet was dreadfully underprepared. It made their fight seem childish, turned their glory and vigour into senseless squabbling as men and children pushed on towards a deadended path - like an unruly child throwing a tantrum.

Most pressingly of all, Wilbur Soot was not ready for what he thought his war would be, with his red and blue coat and silver tongue that hummed lyrics. None of the L'Manbergians were.

Not Fundy, with his redstone projects and his hand-stitched jacket.

Not Tommy Innit, with his shaking sword or his boisterous laugh.

And, most definitely not Tubbo, with his bees and jars of honey and the large spiraling treehouse that was a mix of logs and sticks, but mostly sticks.

These four made up the backbone of the hamlet. They were the main fighting and planning force, despite the numerous others present within the fences. When a fight was left in untrained hands, it was sooner lost than won.

Was this where history repeated itself?

Years ago, there had been a horrid war of avarice and conceit. Two kings had clashed over trade routes, over shared roads, over too-slim borders. They had fought bitterly, sending their armies out into their border fields to be slaughtered by each other. When their experienced troops had run low and refused to fight, mercenaries were used. When the hired men quit, the kings both turned to more cruel ways of continuing their fighting.

They pulled children off the streets. As child soldiers grew and frothed upon the shared fields the war waged upon, the rest of the Continent cast a blind eye upon the fighting. The quarrelling kings were held in high regards with the other countries, and no one wished to antagonise them, even if the cost was the life of children who had not yet reached the age where respawn was unlocked.

King Skeppy and King Squid Kid had fought by way of their orphans. The children had split apart the fields and painted them red and brown and pink. Neither was satisfied with gaining fields back amidst their war of satisfaction. Both wished to be able to say they had won, but in the end, neither could.

Across the sea, away from the Main Continent, was another landmass. The land was home to a then-small kingdom that stretched over the expanse of ice and snow. This was the Antarctic Kingdom, held steadfast by two kings who ruled with a passion for warmongering.

It was the Antarctic Kingdom that rose up after years of war destabilising the Main Continent. The Kingdom stormed Skeppy and Squid Kid's palaces and held them hostage, effectively putting an abrupt end to the bitter warring and simultaneously accelerating the Antarctic Kingdom into what was presently known as the Antarctic Empire.

With the book of Skeppy and Squid Kid's war written and shut, Emperor Technoblade had offered aid to the remaining soldiers, most of whom were children or just barely adults. Any remaining army members who had willingly partook in the recruitment of younglings, such as Generals and most high ranking officers, had been punished by as many deaths it took for them to give up. However, both seized lands had done their best to hide the full numbers of just how many children had been used and how many had died vain deaths. Fearing repercussions after their own inactivity, the surrounding kingdoms had turned their heads away from their borders and allowed the unmitigated migration of the abruptly-lost soldiers into their lands in an effort to hide how terrible the war had truly been.

In no possible world did the hissing match and rising tensions between the SMP and L'Manberg ever equal that long war. Neither had the means to commit to such in the first place, although L'Manberg was certainly flaunting a burgeoning lead with its own lackadaisical child soldiers.

Perhaps, they were stupid to have even thought to compare the two situations for a moment. 

Eret had seen war. They had fought until they could no longer see past the red on their hands. Their eyes were stained white, a sign of curse to the fearful but a blessing to the warmongering. White eyes meant death on the battlefield. White eyes meant pitchforks and angry villagers outside of battle, meant sleeping in the root cradles of trees rather than getting a comfortable night in an inn's bed, meant thick sunglasses that didn't come off during the day or night when there was supposedly polite company nearby.

Their sword's sheath was heavy with history, thick with the dirt of battles long stripped from the murmurs of history and forgotten about. Their blade was thinning from too many strokes over the whetstone, nearly broken despite the mending enchantments and the sharpness four they'd scribed into the metal with their own blood.

They had seen war and chaos and death. Unapologetically, they had been molded by it, wrapped up by violence and threats in their youth and rocked to sleep by it all. Eret had prospered in war, so it only made sense that, in times of peace and murky tensions, they grew restless.

On the thirteenth day of being with the L'Manbergians, Eret decided to go for a walk.

Their walk took them into the SMP, deep into lands the L'Manbergian's hated with all their might. They found themself standing outside the Community House, a common locale for the country's ruler, Dream, and his crew to hang out.

It was an open house - a bar, of sorts. Pool tables stood to one side of the first floor, a long sweeping table of marble along the furthest corner, sparkling water fizzing in glasses. Upstairs, Eret knew there were beds and extra resources that the chests lining the entirety of the right walls did not have. Their earlier recon had been made in the dead of night, with an invis pot safely nestled by their hip.

There were three people inside, all sitting on little extending barstools. Dream, with his green hoodie and white mask. Sapnap, with his bandana and flame emblem shirt. George, colour-blind glasses perched on his nose, motion-deep in moving to throw his sparkling lemonade over a cackling Sapnap. These were the main ruling body of the Capitol; a largely informal force that the people seemed to respect and communicate freely with.

Upon Eret's entrance, the three men turned to them. Dream's head tilted in a curt greeting. He was the name in charge and acted like it only when the need arose.

"Those colours aren't welcome here," the man said, tone sharp and brittle. George set his glass on the counter with a thump as Sapnap got to his feet and cracked his knuckles.

Eret smiled at them. They did not fear these amusing displays. "I'm aware. I'm not too sure who designed their wardrobes, though I'm sure it was one of the children."

Seemingly put off by their statement, the infamous Dream Team remained immobile. Sapnap sneered at them, shorter by a few inches but more than willing to make up for it in attitude. He made quite the sight, long hair curled in twin buns, teeth grinding together as his fists bunched by his sides. He was a fierce man and held that fire in his eyes. 

"They're all children, those scum. It's a Capitol Offense to wear their uniform on these lands."

"Truly?" That startled a laugh out of Eret, which only seemed to make the trio more angry. "Please, accept my apologies. If I had've known that, I would've left the scratchy cotton in the fireplace."

"What do you want?" George hissed, nose scrunched. Eret watched as his hands wriggled towards the bow on his back, making sure to keep their own hands idle and away from their own blade, Ted's Wrath, who sat eagerly on the hip opposite their tucked-away potions.

"I come with hopes of a proposal."

"Oh, yeah?" Sapnap huffed in their dramatic pause. "Don't stop there."

"I'm a new member of the L'Manbergian's fight for independence," they said, watching the men with a lazy gaze that was hidden astutely by their glasses. "They talk a lot and certainly know how to perform, but I'm quite bored of their game."

That drew the men's attention, the tense hostility in the air fading for a moment as George and Sapnap perked up. They were like creepers, hissing and bubbling in wait for a weakness and a moment to strike. Dream was unmoving, flimsy mask painted with black paint boring into Eret's very soul as if he would gain anything out of trying to intimidate them.

After a tempting lull, Eret added, "I'd also enjoy being on the winning side."

"We're going to crush the rebels - that's no game!" George snapped, lips twisting cruelly. "We're serious about war."

Did they truly see this as a war? Eret viewed it as nothing more than a challenge to hopscotch; the L'Manbergians could not fight and the Capitol could not invade their own lands.

A civil war was what these people wanted, but would never get. At most, L'Manberg could be labelled a terrorist settlement and then wiped out, but not without great advocation of the civilians within the Capitol and clear evidence of L'Manberg's actions.

George got to his feet and stalked forth to stand beside Sapnap, shoulders tense. "Who are you to have the arrogance to stand here?"

Seemed he did not appreciate Eret's laundering silences. They had never been a big talker, so the tension others felt rarely affected them.

"A human?" Eret questioned, tone light. Three cackles circled their brain, heard only by them. The voices' participation in the conversation made Eret feel a bit more lively, so for the antsy SMPer's sakes, they put their hands on their hips.

The motion did little to soothe the jumpy trio. Sapnap pulled his crossbow off his back, levelling it at them.

At this, Eret pouted. "Hey, now-"

A sharp echo pierced the hush of the room; the bolt flew towards them. Muscle memory responded and Eret drew their sword. Without a thought, they tilted their blade to the side and put the bolt into the far wall, inches from a dainty plastic clock. Simple motions like these were easier than breathing. The sharp screech from the deflected bolt bouncing off their blade thrummed in their ears. 

When they blinked, everything was red.

For a moment, the wooden floor was gone. It had been replaced by soiled grass, reddened hands, cries of pain. Everything swirled around them before they blinked again and the world was back, colour renewed as their actions caught up with them. 

The paused conversation left a roaring silence in the room. Eret idly checked over Ted's Wrath for any scratches before sheathing him, pleased he was unharmed. Sapnap gawked at the bolt embedded into the wall as George fumbled to wipe his glasses, as though someone could dare imagine something so bold. At his friends' inconclusion, Dream hopped to his feet, rolled past his friends and came to a stop before Eret. He was the same height as them.

"What's your name?"

"You may call me Eret," they said. Dream reached forward a hand to shake and Eret noted, with great amusement, that the man stopped halfway before withdrawing his hand. Instead, he offered a respectful nod. Behind Dream, George was still peering at the deflected crossbolt but Sapnap stared right at them, something akin to awe in his fiery brown eyes.

Dream hummed, seemingly satisfied with the lack of striking him down that Eret could've done but hadn't. His mask glinted in the bright lamp light, the painted black smile the marking of a new era.

"What do you want?"

They smirked. "What can I get?"

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The sun hammered down on their back; a blisteringly harsh mistress as they rolled the stones of a soon to be great wall into place. Eret was alone, pushing cobble into cracks and securing it with the cement. Their supposed helpers had wandered off for a lunch break three hours ago and had not returned.

Eret didn't have the force to go and drag them back. As it was, they could barely hear the clunk of stone settling past the pounding in their head. Sweat dripped down their nose and had entrenched their back in a roiling miasma of heat. Their arms were slick with it, face flushed with warmth alongside their breathy lungs. Eret felt as though they had taken a few shallow breaths too many and now their lungs were tight and crowded with the humidity. The temperature had never been this high before, and they'd perhaps picked the worst day to do the most demanding task of all. 

A while ago, they'd been humming. That had stopped quickly when the vibration made their eyes ache. Eret's eyes had thrummed as though they were about to pop out of their skull. Their fingers were brittle and chilled despite the stones they shifted being scalding to the touch, their skin risen in goosebumps in contrast to how warm their veins felt.

You need to rest, Elaina whined. She was floating above the wall, nagging them incessantly.

No, they thought back. I want to finish this. 

This wall had been going on for too long. They were tired of it - wanted to move onto the next phase. Eret wanted to rest under the trees at the far edge of the hamlet, like everyone else was. They wanted to swim in a clean lake, wanted to open their mouth wide and let it drown them-

Drink some water, Scot disagreed. He did not entertain those thoughts, saying they were a blight. Eret thinking about killing others was fine but if it was themself, Scot would rage endlessly. He'd kept them up throughout the night countless times with his self-preserving rants.

Never before had Eret allowed sickness to slow them. If they took that time, they would die. And they had to live. Needed to.

Scot smiled approvingly. 

They'd travelled through entire countries when unwell. Some of those journeys had taken weeks. A wobbly balance and a pounding headache wasn't going to halt their tracks. The wall would never be built if they required a sit-down every five minutes.

And, the wall was going well. They'd borrowed some jungle wood from the Community House, flaunting it to Wilbur's uncaring ears as the best find of the century. In reality, the wood was laced with a special sap that began deteriorating the moment moisture hit it. Within the clammy walls chock full of cement and rubble, the sap would activate and begin chewing away at the wood.

Seeing as the wood would be the main component of the wall, Eret predicted its stability would begin to falter after around a week. Wilbur Soot wanted walls; never specifying for ones that would withstand the testament of time herself. It was likely a few choice explosions would destroy their work before any instabilities made themselves known but it was the thought that counted.

Teeth gritted hard enough to crack the stone they laid, Eret finished their section with a final stone. So far, the walls were around twelve foot. It would take another few days to stack up along the top layers, extra difficulty coming with the guard stands that Soot wanted to run along the top.

But that wasn't their problem today. They'd make the lazy L'Manbergians do the final four feet and the crows nests and they'd sit in a tree and shout orders. If Soot got away with it, there was no reason why they shouldn't be able to.

Struggling for air, they lowered themself onto a particularly large rock and breathed. Around them swirled the wind, the currents singing their songs of dismay as they sat at their meeting points. Grass crunched a few feet to their left, a twig softly cracking under a light tread.

"Eret," a voice chirped from behind.

"Fundy," they greeted, fingers digging into their trousers. Sword laying slanted against the slope of their chosen perch, they twitched. The sun was heavy on their back, stark against the green grass around them. It was almost too bright for their poor eyes. "Lovely day, today."

"It is," agreed the boy. He sounded nervous. "Your wall is going well."

"I'm aware," Eret said, the chilly breeze scraping along their windpipe as they turned to the right to pant for air. Their lungs seemed a little too small all of a sudden, chest a bit too tight.

"Yes, uh, well," Fundy stuttered.

Eret offered no non sequitur. Not that they could, really, with a worrisome problem concerning their current lack of oxygen intake. Fundy filled the silence with shuffling, fiddling with the lapels of the long coat Soot now made everyone wear. The only people who wore it of their own free will were Wilbur and Tommy, at this point.

Tubbo wore it because Tommy insisted. Eret was forced to, or risk being glared at. Fundy faced the risk of disownment if he refused his father's wishes.

In the days of his warfare, no one was spared Soot's vehemence.

"Eret," Fundy finally said.

Bone tired now that they'd regained lost breath, Eret nudged their sunglasses further up the bridge of their nose and looked to the hybrid. His ears were flat against his head, nearly blending in with his mess of curly white and ginger hair.

"What's the matter?" They pried softly.

"I-" he trailed off, biting down a sigh before straightening abruptly. Fundy squared his shoulders and squeezed his hands into fists, sharp nails digging against soft palms.

Eret watched the blood bead from his hands and wondered what was bothering him.

Only fifteen, reminded a voice. He's just a boy.

"Will we ever get peace?"

If the question was a whip, the air crackled for its strike. Fundy's eyes seemed to blaze as he stood firm, begging yet asking all at once.

They had no clue what to say.

I don't know what peace is, they thought of saying.

All wars eventually end, was their second thought.

The stretch of silence lingered too long; a low thrumming worming between the two of them as they stared one another down. Fundy was being honest, baring his heart for the world to see, beyond L'Manberg's walls. It could've been his downfall and had Eret actually been able to make out the dew on the grass in front of themself, they would've most certainly taken advantage of the boy.

But, they didn't. Fundy spoke on.

"I know that Tommy thinks we'll win and Wilbur makes all his plans and his backups so that we do but... do you think we- we could really know peace if we do break off from the SMP?"

"L'Manberg already has," they managed. "The SMP would hang any of us if we stepped foot in their lands, moreso now that war is official."

This was not true. The Capitol cared little for Wilbur Soot's demands. Nor would they raise death against children for a silly thing like this. However, Eret enjoyed saying it. They liked the expression of fear that plagued the boy's face - like the same one that had crossed Tubbo's when they'd warned him off from telling Soot of him having an inside lead. A lead that had never materialised.

"I, right," Fundy nodded, head turning as he glanced back over his shoulder, to the wide forests that cunning eyes could lurk in and creatures would stalk, waiting for the weak to enter the darkness so they could prey on them. "Do you- you think we'll ever gain emancipation, Eret?"

"If you fight for something hard enough, you'll get what you want," they declared, recalling their own promises to people long dead. "I'm here for a reason."

Fundy was reassured by words not meant for him. Eret said nothing more on the topic, gazing at the looming figure of their wall until Fundy murmured his goodbye and took his leave. Still, they sat, legs like jelly on their rock, blood thumping under their skin.

They sat and wondered if they'd laugh when L'Manberg would fall or if they'd fall with it.

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It was three days before their fever broke, two before they could stand by themself and a further one before the demon hybrid deemed them to be back to full health. BadBoyHalo was a shaky man who had apologised profusely to Eret when they'd woken. They remembered everything but pretended not to, in order to avoid the awkward conversations of their allegiance. Whoever this hybrid was, he knew too much and that scared them. Made them weary in a way they hadn't felt in a long while. 

Trust the scummy insiders to be all over the Continent, Elaina hissed. She suspected the hybrid to have been a higher-up of either Diadom or Squatra. Eret had no words for her. 

In the past, people had not liked that they had fought in that particular war. Lots of innkeepers owned communicators, had read the news as it came out, and had felt the economic shifts that came with the temporary flux of two kingdoms. Before the Antarctic Empire had fully taken over, Squatra and Diadom had simply ceased to be. They had become stale husks, whose nobles and people poured out en masse. Eret had been amongst them. With their family dead, there was nothing keeping them in one place. The blood of a General on their hands left them a target to anyone who wanted to avenge him. Staying to fight and eat would've been nice, but Eret had been able to tell that their timer was sliding to its finish in Diadom.

Although, the Antarctic Empire had done its best to re-stabilise the Main Continent after the war, the scars remained. People could recall the reformatting land like it had been a breath ago, and some of the older and more miserable people had taken it out on any identifiable soldier. Commonly, inns had public bathhouses beside them, or slept multiple people in one room or one bed, so it was not unusual to get a glimpse of someone whilst they changed. 

At the start, Eret hadn't known. They'd been kicked out of establishments, threatened and beaten for the mark between their shoulder blades. When strangers reacted so harshly, they had grown weary and confused, bitter at the world. They'd been told stories their whole life by Scot and others that the lands outside of their war were better, brighter, kinder, but these immediate experiences had crushed those dreams the same way their hopes of family had been so brutally torn apart. 

War was horrific, but the people around it were even moreso. To Eret, a soldier was not frightening, but a civilian lashing out made their hair stand on end and their blood curdle. 

War was scary, but people were scarier.

"Again, I'm really sorry for the trouble," BadBoyHalo squeaked as he packed up his healing potions and bid them farewell. The Capitol team had been standoffish towards the demon hybrid. Though Eret hadn't really tried to wrestle a proper answer out of anyone, they were surprised by the shift. The team had been open and accommodating with them - all except for Punz, who liked to glare and huff when they looked at him. It was confusing, to say the least, for they couldn't understand what the demon hybrid could have done to reason such behaviour.  

Chapter Text

Jack Manifold was a bright boy. Tommy, having surely been up to no good, had ran into him on the path that connected the city to the wilderness. They'd become fast friends and Tommy had tried to inaugurate Jack into L'Manberg. According to Tubbo's whispered words, Wilbur had not liked that very much.

The new boy lived on the cusp of a small village a few miles away that was still within the SMP. He was happy with his farmer parents and ran their vegetables up to the street vendors every sunday and wednesday. The second Eret heard this, they knew Manifold would never stay. He would be a friend to the boys, but would thankfully not be joining Soot's doomed revolution. True to their presumptions, Manifold tried to visit somewhat weekly to hang out with Tommy and Tubbo, but the distance and his chores at home made it difficult.

Sometimes, at night, they heard Tommy murmuring about things to Tubbo. They worked on the wall through light and dark, with the long arduous task of hefting stone twelve feet high something that no one wanted to help with. As they worked, they listened, and managed to ascertain that Tommy was unhappy with his backtracked role; he thought the newly bestowed title of Second in Command that he'd been given during Eret's absence meant that he would be out in the field setting traps and planning attacks. The boys were old enough to know that Soot's fight was not a proper war. They had not attacked the Capitol, nor had the Capitol attacked them - save for the early animosity where Tommy and Fundy had been put in time out in the Community House's cellar. The boys had gotten over it relatively quickly, not having seen it as much of a punishment as they'd ran away with their inventories full of whatever had been in Dream's storage chests.

In reality, this supposed war had no field. Simply because, it was no war. This was a shambles of a pissing contest between Soot and his imagined opponents. Soot, self-proclaimed ealderman, self-righteous leader, arrogant and idiotic fool, was leading nothing but a charade. It was middling into the high heats of summertime, but Eret had a scratching feeling in the back of their skull that the hamlet would not last until winter. 

With the lack of promised action and little adventure to be found in the woodlands of the SMP, the boys grew restless. Eret felt their own skin skitter like ants underneath the urge to move around, to peer at bugs, to go and see the Continent rather than be stuck staring at these stone walls day-in and day-out. Having thoroughly mapped out the forest, Eret gave the run-down to the children and encouraged them to go out looking for berries and bugs.

They went, Tommy and Tubbo and Fundy running off into the trees with a few other children right behind. A few mothers who could be spared from washing duty toddled after, pleased to let their kids outside of the walls. When Eret spoke, heads turned to them and agreed. These widows and elders did not look at them with the same enamoured glint that they held for Soot, but there was respect unlike anything they'd seen directed towards them in a long time. The children, those younger than the main three, huddled around them and begged to be lifted and picked up, to be told stories, to be sang to. When Eret sat with the mothers to sew their clothes back together, caught in an ever-endless cycle, the younglings swamped them and pestered them relentlessly. Sometimes, when the children were in bed, the roles were reversed and it was the mothers huddling around them, asking how the wall was going, enquiring if they were eating enough, wondering what Soot's latest plans were.

Soot did not speak to them, so they had no idea what was going on. He stayed inside his house all day and only left on occasion, where he had a new rule to impose or a new declaration to flaunt. He wrote laws for a nation that had not yet been born and - Eret suspected - never would leave the container that was his heart. Those within the hamlet had noted a severe decline in how much Soot smiled, how much he sang, how much he spoke. Where his songs and guitar had been often heard, it was now startlingly quiet. If someone spoke to him on his rare outings, he was more likely to ignore them. When the mothers asked Eret after Soot, the women often told Eret more than what they knew. 

As the ealderman became reclusive, the boys he'd left in charge grew more restless. Eret finished the walls, through choking sweat and hard work. Their neck, face and arms were sunburnt from the harsh summer's glare and each time the children went out to explore, they returned with heat rashes and red faces. On one memorable occasion, Tommy had returned with white spots along his arms that stung - having fallen into a patch of nettles. Eret had laughed and went out to find dock leaves to rub over the stings until he was green.

But, explorations in the nearby forest would not tide them over forever. 

Tommy wanted more, wanted responsibility and a chance to do something for L'Manberg. Tubbo whispered of trees and lands far off, wanted safety. Eret had overheard these conversations many a time, where the two sat on their wall under the moon and murmured longingly. Sometimes, Eret listened to Tubbo speak and thought they heard nostalgia in his voice - but the boy had never indicated ever having been beyond the city, where Eret assumed Tommy and Soot had come from. Whilst they had never shared their own background, they realised they had never asked of the children's, nor Soot's. Perhaps, it did not matter, for the past was gone.

Upon the shallow crevasses of stone walls, Tommy and Tubbo imagined a reality that was not.

Personally, Eret didn't care for such things. They could dream and wish all they wanted on the stars and the moon and the infinite darkness beyond, but their family would never come back. That was the only thing precious enough to them. Ted's Wrath hung by their side, a soothing weight as Elaina sung to the birds in the trees. With their images forever lingering, Eret had no need to whisper into the night.

You've done so well, Scot congratulated them. He stood in the shade of the wall, looking up at it with a proud grin. He was taller than Eret, them seeing the older version of the big brother who'd died. Even Elaina and Jameskii looked older, though Eret had never asked and they had never explained. Why would they see the younger versions, when Eret had seen those bodies die? 

You're a good builder, agreed Jameskii. He poked a rock. It's a shame it's gonna fall over soon.

Admittedly, Eret was quite pleased with their damned wall. It would assuredly fall, but with L'Manberg's death hanging overhead like a shroud, that mattered little. Never would they have called themself a builder, not before arriving in L'Manberg, yet now they stood in front of their wall and felt satisfaction pull at their lips. They had finished the walls for the hamlet in record time.

The sun glistened, shining down at their eyes and blinding them through their glasses. Summer was thick and heavy on the grasses, the water in the lake and surrounding ponds warm. Flowers waved in the gentle breezes and peered up to the sun with glistening buds, the specks of colour thick amongst the green grasses that came up to Eret's hip. All the beauty was beyond the wall, for within the walls, buttercups and daisies struggled to sprout along the brown paths. There were patches of green that were littered with the meadow flowers along the areas where the huts were not, but the grass seemed duller than that which was visible through the wooden-stick gate.

"I see the walls are finished, soldier," Soot's voice came from behind, the sulk of his false righteous demeanour bristling under the hot midday humidity. He'd taken to referring to everyone outside of Tommy as 'soldier', even then, all Tommy got was 'Second' or 'Lieutenant'.

Not seeing a need to speak, Eret licked their dry lips and nodded. As they peered over their work, they noticed the parts of the wall that were looking rough for wear. The sap had been too easy of a way out. It was almost embarrassing to have this on their resume. 

"Excuse me?" Soot turned on them, lips curled in a snarl, eyes burning with a furious fire. Unbidden, Eret jerked. In front of them, Jameskii startled and scurried off to stand with Scot.

Screams echoed in their ears. The sky flushed a torrid red, and loomed menacingly overhead. The wall was gone, replaced with dirt and mud and the hollers of the dying. Children masquerading as soldiers lined up along the edges of their sight, awaiting orders as Eret blinked, throat thick on the chaos.

"What?" They snapped, as lost as ever as they blinked themself awake. Soot had stepped into their face, making the hairs on their arms stir to a stand. Eret straightened their back and leaned closer, irritated with the man's actions. He was the worst adult they'd met in a long time and Eret would be damned if they let him walk over them another time. They'd been caught out last time and the bitter feeling had left them uneasy for days. They'd stand up for themself, this time. Eret knew better than to quail. "I suggest you get out of my face."

"Or what?" growled Soot, brushing imaginary lint off his coat. He wore the colours with a pride unseen in the rest of the land, wearing them as if they weren't the sole thing responsible for wrenching these children away from a safe city and starting violence. Eret's coat was dumped in the grass a few feet over. They didn't think they'd put it on again. "Are you threatening me, soldier?"

His tone wasn't appreciated. Eret was tired, they'd spent most of the night and the early morning putting the finishing polishes on the wall that stood not fifteen meters away, and Soot was showing his appreciation by demanding they kiss up to him. He was nothing; they'd seen scarier in a man in a tent-

Don't think of that, Elaina whispered, furious.

"I built your wall," they reminded him. "Shouldn't you be thanking me?"

Eret had no fear of pulling out Ted's Wrath and cutting this fool down, but the children were watching with wide eyes and the older settlers were shuffling about with worry. The only thing stopping them were the gazes; they wouldn't get to have a nice meal if they slaughtered him here. 

"You'll get your thanks in due time," the man scowled. "Now, I'm sure you'll busy yourself with other duties, seeing the wall is complete." He turned his nose up, as if it could raise any further. "Oh, and call me General. We're turning this place around. The war starts now." 

Eret's stomach dissolved into a pit of writhing snakes. They would not be calling this man anything close to that.

So, they did not speak. Soot glared at them impetuously for their silence.

With that, Soot turned and strode off to the main house. Eret watched him go, seeing the man's coat swirl out behind him as he skulked away. They spat on the grass where he'd stood to clean it. 

Pay him no mind, Scot reassured them, hand a grounding presence on their shoulder. Fools earn their due.

He's just jealous of all the good work you did, Erie. Jameskii beamed, grinning as a bird flapped down to settle by his feet.

With the walls done and slowly decaying, Eret found themself in a lull; chest empty as they sat on a small stone fountain one of the older men had put together with the leftover stone from the wall. It was small and empty, with no one having bothered to run a line from the fishing pond over to the fountain, but it was pretty. The stone had been smoothened down to make a nice place to sit.

Around them, the young children were running around, playing a game of tag. Their mothers were hanging their washing out to dry. The old fisherman was sat by the pond with his shaped stick holding up his rod. He hadn't ever caught a fish, from what they knew.

L'Manberg had been built where everything centered around the main house. The stone circle Eret sat on cemented the middle of the plaza that surrounded Soot's home. As the children ran about, the dry dirt that had been pressed down by the people and the weather and dried out by the hot sun became an arid dust that lingered in the air. At the wooden gate, Tubbo and Tommy stood, peering out of its slits and muttering together. Fundy was on the other side of the plaza, stacking up more of the excess stone to create a wall that would be the first stone house in L'Manberg. Eret was happy to watch the boy - he was old enough to start these things by himself, and they were still sour over no one having helped them with their wall. His plan was to create a close-fitting stone wall around his father's house, alongside a new roof, essentially improving it from the outside but not from inside.

How horrible, Elaina murmured, beside them in all of a blink. She was not a fan of Fundy's current efforts, nor his idea. The stone he'd grabbed was the bad, cracked lot that Eret had left out on purpose. Their wall only had to look structurally stable, but Fundy's was meant to be and it did not look like it in the slightest. 

He should've gone mining for new stone, Scot chipped in. Eret hummed in agreement, too paranoid to talk lest someone overhear. The last thing they needed was to be kicked out of L'Mamberg on cause of insanity. The ones in the Capitol hated them as it was, they were sure. Eret didn't need to add fuel to the fire and end up a wanted man cornered by two barking puppies.

He's so gaunt and tiny, I doubt he could've. 

That drew Eret's attention. They looked a little closer, noting how the boy's shirt was glued to him from sweat and how they could count every rib. It wasn't an unusual sight for Eret, who had grown up desperate, but it wasn't one that was supposed to be here. A glance back over to the gate found Tommy and Tubbo, equally thin and weary looking.

"Alright," they mumbled, a new plan set into action as they pushed their stiff body off the fountain's seat. For a moment they wobbled, legs threatening to buckle under them as they breathed in. Ela ghosted her translucent hands around their wrist, big wide eyes looking up to them. 

Eret steeled themself before heading off to find a tool shed. Soot wanted them to do something? They'd do everything, then. It wasn't like anyone else in this pit would. 

It took them the rest of the day to dig out a large rectangle. They took a portion of the green grass out and the fresh soil drew the younger children over, who stuck their hands in to look for worms. Eret didn't bother to shoo them away, uncaring for the way their mothers came out hollering.

Midsummer was not the prime time to be planting, but it was not the latest. When Tommy and Tubbo came over to investigate their new ambition, Eret told them to take some coin and sent them off to get seeds. The boys had complained but Tommy wasn't about to turn down the chance to pilfer his brother's purse, and so they left gleefully and returned back hours later with cabbage, beetroot and cauliflower seeds from Jack's parents.

That night, they sat on the opposite side of the wall from the boys, shooting down skeletons that passed by whilst listening to Tommy and Tubbo talk. The dusk breeze carried their voices easily, and they heard mention of themself a few times.

When dawn came, they jumped off the wall easily and gathered up the bodies. Tubbo and Tommy came over at the noise and stood with wide eyes as Eret snapped ribcages and pulled apart arms. An old form of magic kept skeletons together and a bit of force could easily overcome that. A skeleton could be taken down by a strong branch. Only the weak were caught by these mobs.

By lunch, they were coating the base of the dug-out pit with crushed skeleton bones. It was tedious, and it earned them more than a few odd looks from the younger children, who didn't understand how good bonemeal was for fertiliser. Something about the magic, they'd once been told by a rambling farmer. 

The toll of work was larger than they thought it would've been. They took a break after finishing with the bones and sat down on a large rock to rest. In that time, the children had been allowed to come over and pester them, so Eret told them to grab shovels and fill in their dirt. They did, eager for the competition Eret set out where they would lift the one who got the most dirt shovelled. 

When they went to stand to survey the children's work, Eret found their legs were nothing more than meat. They gave the children the packages of seeds and the old fisherman came over to direct on the placement. 

"Haven't seen a plot like this in a while," said the fisherman, as the children tapped their seeds into the ground and patted the dirt over them. A few women had started making a scarecrow with the clothes they could spare. Eret donated their L'Manberg coat to the cause. They had been determined in deciding to never wear it again. "Not even when I was a farmer. Who taught you to dig like that, son?"

The trenches needing dug out of blood-rotten soil had taught Eret to dig with a sure, forceful hand. They did not tell the old man this.

"I just dug a hole," they shrugged.

"It's a damn good one. I seen you've got beets and cauliflowers in those packets."

"L'Manberg needs the food," Eret answered. No one wanted to trade with the Capitol, or the farmers around the Capitol, so L'Manberg had been living off the spring fruit they'd brought with them to the hamlet and surviving by killing whatever passed by in the woods. That had been fine for the spring, but in the last few weeks alone, the food was sparse. By the end of summer, there would be nothing but berries and leaves to eat. This midsummer planting would harvest in the fall and hopefully keep enough for a kind winter.

Already, quite a few families had been slipping out of L'Manberg by cover of night. Eret had watched them go, helping them open the gate when the mothers clutched children in their arms. The smart ones had left already, but the stubborn people would probably stay until they either starved enough or died. What Soot had over these people was unknown, for his charm had been completely lost on Eret, as of late. When people turned to them for advice, stating they were worried for their children, Eret did the best thing they could and advised them to either move back to the city or leave the country. Either way, the number of settlers in L'Manberg was slowly but surely dwindling.

Starvation was a bad creature. Eret had seen what the beast did to armies, seen others carted off on stretchers - it had not just been children fighting, but criminals and older hybrids as well, many of whom had been conscripted into the army and refused to fight, going on hunger strikes and other forms of protest throughout the war. Not enough food would cripple an army if they weren't careful: a small hamlet that dreamed big and suffered bad would never last against the pull of skin and the loss of muscle. 

The farmer commended them. Told them they were doing god's work. 

Eret didn't believe in a god. If there was one, why had they let hundreds of children die in a useless war?

But they said nothing. Best to let the old man keep his peace.

The flagpoles that the boys had become urged them on. Eret upkept the gardening patch with the help of the younger children, who scared away the pecking birds and liked to help water the dirt with the sole watering can.

In the absence of food, Tommy and Tubbo had taken to leading scavenging groups out what little berries and mushrooms still thrived in the forests. Fundy accompanied them between breaks on his stone house to ensure no one ate anything poisonous. Wilbur was too held up with ironing out plans, trying to figure out what the Capitol was doing, when they would attack, how they would attack.

Come the first day of the new month, summer deep in their souls and beginning to near its end but not feeling like it with the cloying heat, Eret left the plot in the hands of their little gardeners and left for their weekly meeting. 

The scent of bread permeated the air where the street vendors were busy selling their wares. Cool ice, chilly drinks of all colours and sweet, sugary treats were on display everywhere. These summer stalls were flooded with people, everyone desperate to get something cold to snack on in this heat.

If there had been a gardening plot set up sooner, before they came, then perhaps sugar cane could've been grown. The people of L'Manberg could've had these pastries and cakes. But, Soot had inspired a revolt among lazy people, and no one had done anything. The hamlet was four months old by now, with Eret having been present for two. 

They'd be dead without you, Scot whispered into their ear, hand clasped around their shoulder. He walked beside them, a reassuring presence as they traveled through the streets, dodging hawking sellers and keeping their coin purse safely in their inventory. They just can't recognise how brilliant you are, Erie.

A grunt was all they could muster. Their words seemed to have abandoned them, leaving them stranded in an ocean of thorns. Elaina was fluttering around the cupcakes again and so they bought a pink frosted one with a shimmering icing ladybird perched on the highest swirl. 

So pretty, Jameskii fawned, cooing at the cupcake until they pulled the wrapping off and downed it nearly in one. As nice as the food tinged with the sweat of their own labour would be, Eret had long grown a penchant for foods other than crops.   

If only L'Manberg had a bakery, they mused. 

A bakery, Ela sighed, voice longing. Eret focused on her soft, lulling voice as they stormed through the Capitol and made their way to the doorstep of the Community House. 

Swinging open the door, they glanced at the newest clock hung on the wall and found themself approximately five minutes and thirteen seconds late. They sighed and grabbed a water carton from the bar before swinging upstairs. 

The other four were already huddled around the table, strewn about, lazy.   

Relaxed, Scot corrected. They are not the ones starving.

At this point, I fear I am more invested in the game than they are in theirs. Eret fumed silently and took their seat. For most of the meeting, they listened to Sapnap babble about his newest fish, Mars.

Don't be silly, Elaina tried to soothe. Their heart rattled in their ears, the sweat on their back twining uncomfortably as they remained still. Pins and needles raced all over their body as flashes of red and black infiltrated their vision, split second images of decapitations and corpses lying stockpiled hounding them. 

Breathe, Eret, that's all gone, Scot murmured. All that's in the past. Stay here, with us. 

"And your report, Eret?" Dream's too-happy voice broke in. 

"Had to make them a garden plot to keep them alive," they declared, voice cold and detached. The Capitol team had just been discussing whether or not to postpone the coming week's meeting, as there was to be a festival of some sort. 

Eret hadn't seen the point of it, considering they were the only one actually travelling a distance to attend. George, Sapnap and Dream all lived somewhat permanently in the Community House, with Punz usually staying there too, only occasionally leaving to his inner-city apartment. IF they were scared of missing out on the festivities, that was silly. They ran the city.

To put a hold on a council due to a celebration was an overreaction, Eret believed. 

Just say you want to go, too, Jameskii announced, telling them how he saw it. Jameskii had always been deathly honest, even until the end, where he'd professed his previous doubts of making it out alive. 

Ted's Wrath weighted against their side, twisted at an angle from the way they'd sat down in the cushion-puffed seat. The Capitol was rich enough for things like that – cushions on seats and fancy mugs. Rich people liked to waste resources on making things look pretty, rather than making them comfortable and practical. 

They finished, "Their morale is low."

Dream seemed unhappy with how little they'd said, though he said nothing in complaint. Sapnap was slung over his own chair, legs extended on one arm whilst his upper back rested on the other. He sipped at his cold drink that had created a pool of water on the table and wiggled his eyebrows at George, who seemed more consumed with his tea than anything else. Punz was glaring a hole through their chest, unsurprisingly.

"And?" Pried the man, mask settled on the table. His green eyes were alight with his curiosity, his whole statute leaned forward as he rested on his hands and pitched towards them. "What about the walls?"

"If the heat is high enough," they droned. "The sap will pull them down within the week."

"You sure?" Punz snapped, something hard in his tone that rose Eret's hackles. "You said that last w eek and nothing happened."

"It wasn't warm enough," they responded, right hand dropping from the table to rest in their thigh. Ted's Wrath bristled for blood.

"There's no heat in Autumn or Winter." He complained. "The walls were supposed to be down by midsummer. It is midsummer."

"They weren't finished until recently," Eret explained. They didn't care much for this argument. 

Sapnap opened his mouth. "What ab–" 

"What if they don't?" Punz continued, talking over Sapnap, who pouted.

Eret stared at him. "They will."

"What about doing something else?" Sapnap hurried to say. "Like, in case the walls don't fall, we could blow the place up!"

"We've already said no to that, Sap," George huffed, sipping cautiously at his teacup. Eret slid their eyes between the two, wondering when such a plan had been discussed. They certainly hadn't heard of it before.

"Maybe we could do something else? Like cause a rat infection?"

"You mean infestation?" Dream chuckled.

"Yeah, obviously! Why, what did I say?" Sapnap burst out, looking to the blond haired man in confusion.

"Infection," Punz repeated with the monotone of a man who'd lost the will to care.

"No, I didn't!" Sapnap harried, causing Dream to start wheezing.

Eret remained tense in their chair, sword by their side, the others voices ringing in their ears. They weren't even getting much of anything out of this deal, just some coin and a promise to let them do whatever they wanted when Soot was dead, why were they still here? With how fast the respawn rate was in this country, mere minutes after death, the body disappeared and was respawned in a bed, whole and proper again. Would that even be long enough for them to get a bite?

The boys, said a reminding voice.

They stared down at the grain of the wooden table, chest rising and falling with the thudding of their heart. How terribly they wanted to leave this server, begone of this land, yet here they were – bound to it through some inflated sense of duty. They were no better than the lazy L'Manbergians; too weak to do anything. Tubbo and Tommy were weak, could fall and die whilst they were away, yet the thought burned.

Was it really worth it? Were two boys worth their peace of mind?

They'd dug their trench already, they supposed. What was a little more time?

Chapter Text

"What was it like?"

Eret jerked out of their reverie, blinking away the shimmering blood that coated an axe they didn't hold in the present. They turned towards the deathly stark loom of the hamlet's walls, the sun beating off the pond they'd been stooped over and reflecting glimmering rays into Tubbo's naïve brown eyes. It was the end of summer and the days were growing cooler too quickly, the frost slowly growing with each day that autumn approached. They knew from the way the weather was turning that the winter would be horribly harsh.

They'd survived the summer; a miracle Eret had once doubted.

(But it hadn't been a miracle, had it? If they hadn't done something Soot would've let everyone starve, children rotting to bones as mothers wallowed into petals. Wilbur Soot was going to let everyone perish, fading slowly in the dreadful heat, yet when a solution was cultivated, he walked up and took all the praise.)

"What?" They asked, only barely having heard the boy's mumble of sound. Manners were long lost to an exhaustion that seemed bone-deep. Eret had given their all into survival before yet never before L'Manberg had they felt so tired.

It's almost as if you aren't getting what you deserve, Ela snapped, in a snide mood this morning.

"Out there," when Tubbo looked beyond the pond, past the woods, eyes faraway and hopeful, a sinking feeling filled their gut. Eret knew what he was going to say before his little mouth reopened. "Before you came here... Was it hard living there? Were the people kind? Did you enjoy it?"

It was harsh, frowned Scot.

We were free, Jameskii whispered.

Ela did not speak. She hovered with her back to the boy, long dress flowing in the softest of breezes, and glared down at the pond water.

"It was hard living," they said, tone tinged with a half truth they couldn't bare break to the teen. "I'm a traveller by nature. I haven't stayed so long in one place in a while. Crossing between countries is easy, it's the passage through them that's hard."

Not a word of the hunger, nor the hopelessness of a warm bed, nor the sometimes ear-aching loneliness they had felt would reach this boy's ears. Eret had been hardened and sharpened by a cruel world but there was only so much a protected, sapling boy could take. They were also lying about having stayed in one place for a long time - this was the only country they had been in for so long. Nearly four months, now. Before L'Manberg, Eret had mostly eaten on the side of the road; this was their first attempt at cooking their own meal and it had gone terribly astray. Hence, they were still here. 

Tubbo's eyes shone at the good things, beaming in the way he did that made them feel as though they'd accomplished something. The boy was bright and happy and deserved more than the world had in shares of kindness, and he certainly was worth more honesty than Eret could give him. "Oh?"

"Everywhere's so pretty," they said, vision losing focus around the edges as they thought of never-ending wheat fields that glowed golden in the slightest sparkle of light, forests that towered tall and cast thousands of shadows onto their skin. Peacefully, they recalled meandering rivers that burbled with fish, deserts that swayed with fake images and swamps that stretched for miles of sodden marsh. Such memories made them nostalgic, a cold barren land swiping into their inner eye.

A bridge had sewn the gap between the two countries once, simple stone - protected and upkept by both sides. But that had been years before their existence, long before sides had came into creation and lines had been drawn. In the present, the land was nicknamed the 'Wasteland', then it had been two flourishing but greed-ridden countries. Squatra and Diadom had been allies until jealousy overrode their peace, shattering into tumult and suffering and warring.

The fields had been green, flowers blooming, the river babbling under the bridge, separating the two countries. By the time Eret had been a soldier, the soil was fattened with dried blood and the grass was wet with tears. In the years of their service - childhood swept away by a pointed dagger - the soil was permanently stained red, flowing a never drying river of red viscera. Bodies had coated the edges of the river, bloodflies swarming by day and monsters congregating by night. Noise had been a constant, gone from a peaceful meadow to a bristling battlefield that was alight with the gasps of the dying and the cries of the living. Spears were inch deep in the ground, shoved through bodies long buried by others; the trenches were built of the dead children who had never been gifted the chance of respawning - too young, just as Eret had been once (at least, that's what Scot always murmured to them on late nights, his apparition clear in their mind's eye and only theirs - their family safe and sound where no one else could hurt them).

"-Eret?" Came a soft voice.

Jameskii lay beside them, a picture of death: serene, pale, at peace. But that made no sense, because Jameskii was dancing before them, off to the right of the pond, gushing over Scot's impressive waltz. Fighting did that, they supposed; war was just a fancy name for a fight and Eret had been held within that grasp for years. It was understandable their head was a little messed up.

We're dead, Ela hissed. She'd turned from watching Scot and Jameskii to stare coldly at them, her blazen eyes seeing all. A chill ran down their spine.

"Eret?" Tubbo's voice interrupted.

They vocalised, "Hmm?"

"You, uh, you were muttering," stammered the boy. "Who's Ela?"

Chest suddenly tight, their breath caught their throat and they gasped. Tubbo's eyes widened, his hands shaking as he attempted to take back his words.

"Well, I- uh- nevermind, sorry!" He yelped. "Sorry, sorry! Forget I said that - I didn't say anything, no, nope. Nothing! I'll, um, leave you alone... sorry, Eret."

Panting, they fisted their shirt and shoved themself to the floor lest they pass out and drown. Eyes fluttering shut behind their sunglasses, slow and harsh as if gravel was scraping their eyelids, they buried their face in their knees and promptly cut off their oxygen supply with how they'd bent their neck. Around them, the world buzzed, the pond rippled, the trees creaked. The grass was cold despite the sun burning their back. Tubbo was gone, a meadow of gore in his place, a bloodied axe to their left with a scratched sword on their right.

A thunderously loud roar broke them from their panic. Eret jolted upright, eyes wide, mouth gaping. Booming thuds echoed around them, reverberating off the trees as the villagers in L'Manberg shrieked.

They knew what fear sounded like.

The people- the children-

Eret crawled to their feet, stumbling over uneven dirt as they barreled through the gate and plunged into the depths of the walled city to find plumes of smoke crowding the sky. Huts were tumbling with deafening cracks, the scream of the fabled beast even louder. A woman scurried past them, a stream of people racing for the gates as a line of smoke and destruction marked the beast's path towards the back of the town.

Stalking forth, they felt numb as they unsheathed Ted's Wrath. Sword a reassuring weight in their palm, they scanned the skylines and found the flash of silver marking Punz' departure.

Where had he gotten-

Another roar, more of a cackling demented laugh, ricocheted up. It bounced off the tall walls the same way a baby's cry tormented a mother. Eret's attention zoned in on the sound, barely hearing the crunch of wood being trampled. They stepped carelessly over discarded belongings, crushing flowers and toys alike in their wake. Passing through the plaza, they turned where the noise was loudest and found it standing in between the shrowd of two huts.

Larger than some trees, almost dwarfing their walls, the rotund creature stood on four stumpy legs. Large, round feet forced large imprints the size of boulders into the grass. Its body was larger and wider than they were tall, skin a murky grey that rivalled the darkest kind of smoke. Purple letters were etched into its hide, which glistened like primed leather and seemed to stretch easily over the creature. Eret knew from a glance that the letters were Galactic - a language older than the Continent itself and the unspoken tongue of the enchantments. No living creatures spoke Galactic, though allegedly what endermen warbled was close to it.

Though some may have called this creature a warped and overlarge elephant from behind, when facing it, such a comparison was impossible to make. The creature's green eyes were empty pits and its face shaped into a snout, much like a leathery wolf's muzzle. What completely distorted its wolf-like image were the curling antlers studded above its eyes. Almost woven in appearance, the antlers could've been longer than the creature was tall with how tightly they were packed together, twisting and bending akin to how vines spooled together. On the ends, where any opposing creature would come into contact with them, the antlers were studded with sharp spikes.

This close, Eret could see the numerous minute studs along those spikes. An impact from those would gouge into skin and tear at the wound.

The Ravager - a beast of the Pillagers and rarer than finding an emerald in a meadow - snorted a cloudy breath. Green saliva dripped from its gaping maw, drooling from a black void. When the spit reached the ground, the grass hissed and frothed as it dissolved. 

Though Eret knew better than to question the existence of most creatures spoken of in folklore, they had never expected to see a ravager from afar, nevermind so close. They doubted anyone who'd seen one this close had lived.

Ted's Wrath grew eager. Eret didn't move as the creature sniffed at them. It didn't seem to be moving to attack them. Perhaps, it was like a bull - only heading towards motion?

Then, the ravager pulled its head back, as though taking a deep breath, and snapped forward with its mouth open wide in a deafening roar.

One thing about ravagers was that they did not roar like other animals did. Travelling storytellers claimed it yelled like a grown man.

Standing right in front of one, Eret could say ravagers roared almost exactly like how one would expect a banshee to. It shrieked at a pitch so high and loud that their ears were ringing with a whirring tone before it had even stopped. They wouldn't have called it a roar if not for the distinct rumble that finished the call. How a creature could sound like a screaming woman and an irate bear in the same breath astounded them.

It stomped back a paw and readied to charge. Eret lunged to the side just in time to see it blur past, slamming right into the main house. The stone walls exploded; stone, straw and wood blasting out like a shot from a trebuche. It rained down around Eret, who brushed aside a large stone aimed for them with their blade. Despite the evident mass and lumbering gait of the beast, when it charged, it was fast. Eerily so. 

Ravagers charge, they thought, terribly excited. Ted's Wrath jittered in their hand, practically begging to taste flesh. 

Eret was used to mass meaning slow. Bears were quick, but only so quick. Whatever speed they could run, they could not climb in the same time. There was always a weakness to a large foe - a slow reaction time, or a limited range of view. The ravager's eyes were front-facing, like a human's, so its field of vision had to be limited the same. All they had to do was get behind it. Without the antlers in the way, they could drive Wrath through its skull or neck.

Stepping back, Eret allowed the creature to circle them. It hissed and spat at them, dripping green uncontrollably. An acid attack would be inopportune - their skin was hard but not that hard - though it seemed the ravager didn't have the intelligence to purposefully shake its head to fling the spit towards them. 

It screamed at them again, stomping forth with lumbering footsteps that had the earth quaking. Their grip on their sword didn't waver, even as their arms shook with glee. Eret stared up at it and grinned, teeth too large and sharp in their mouth as they hissed right back.

It didn't like that. The ravager pulled its head low again and charged. Eret danced out of the way, watching as it barged through another hut like it was nothing. A herd of these things would've decimated entire forests in minutes. It was a good thing ravagers were so rare, or else most humanoid life would've perished. Humans lacked the same instincts as most hybrids, though Eret doubted many of their own kind would've been able to stand up against a beast like this. The majority of hybrids were made up of harmless things, like rabbits and insects. Prey animals. Maybe that was why humans seen their kind as something to be squashed under their boots.

Suddenly, the Ravager reared up, lifting its feet into the air. When it slammed back down, dust and soil rose in a cloud, alongside a long crack that rivetted through the dry path. This line speared through the dip of the pond. Almost surprised, Eret watched the pit drain of its water. Fish gulped in the empty bed. The number of fish lying on the bottom made it a wonder how the old fisherman hadn't caught any. 

If a stomp could break the land in two, Eret did not want to see what the ravager could do if it stepped on them. They stepped backwards, prompting another charge that led the beast through another house. Though they weren't trying to destroy the entire hamlet, Eret didn't much care for these huts. The sooner L'Manberg was decimated, the sooner people would turn their backs on it and more naive people would live. 

As they evaded the brutal charges, Eret successfully managed to draw the ravager away from the plaza. Closer to the back wall, the watchful eyes from the gate were gone. Here, Eret could pull their sunglasses off and let them slip into their inventory. The sun loomed high and heavy in the sky, glittering down on this mundane affair. After a moment to adjust, Eret could see perfectly well. 

The ravager had been kind enough to wait for them. It charged just as their vision cleared, but Eret was ready. They stepped to the side, swinging Ted's Wrath up in the space they'd been in. From the beast's earlier charges, they'd noticed it couldn't change direction after committing to the charge. Their blade caught the ravager's jaw, though failed to draw blood. Purple runes swelled in the space they'd hit, but no wound appeared.

Frowning, Eret waited for the ravager to finish its charge. As it turned around for them, they aimed an easy strike at its legs. Again, no wound; only purple markings. 

It shrieked at them, not seeming to feel pain but irritated nonetheless. Eret leapt back, if only to save their ears, and had to roll out of the way as it charged again. With seemingly no time between its lunges, they'd have to be careful to not get caught off-guard. This charge had the wall crumbling down around it. Eret pushed in on the advantage and leapt upon its back, rearing their blade high to gather momentum. Before they could drive it into the creature's neck, the ravager's head revolved to face them. It blinked back at them, head having rotated the entire way round to stare at them, neck twisted and bulging. Eret had never seen anything capable of such a grotesque act other than owls. Those birds weren't as fearsome as this creature.

The ravager seemed to grin at them, eyes pinching. Steam billowed from its grisly lips as it snorted and screamed once more. Eret retreated along its back, but not before pushing their blade down along its spine. The tough skin didn't break and when the ravager began to rear up, they were forced to jump back onto the grass.

No sooner than their feet touched the ground, the ravager was charging again. Eret flung themself away, though was caught flatfooted as the ravager skidded to a halt and whirled on them. Its second abrupt charge caught them in the side.

Eret blinked to wood laying around them. They pushed the remains of a straw roof off their lap and sat up. The ravager dragged back a foot in the same way a bull warned of an incoming charge. It had just knocked them through a building and was still targeting them. What a beast.

They blinked away the swirling tilt to their vision and scrambled away. Though they didn't quite make it to their feet, the fact they avoided a direct impact was enough. Everything was buzzing with adrenaline, and though they felt no pain, there was a blooming dark patch on their shirt from where the ravager had caught them.

As the ravager took its time in turning back to them, Eret propped themself up on their knees and assessed it. Neck was too strong to cut, back invincible and the head turned all the way. If the back of the neck was a weakness, they'd be hard pressed to hit it.

You stroke the bear's belly to gain its trust, Scot murmured. Eret grinned and spat on the grass. Glossy black blood came alongside their saliva, but they weren't too worried.

When the ravager readied another charge, they remained where they were. A scream broke the terse air as the ravager bound towards them, and just when it seemed to be too close, Eret bent back and kicked themself to the side. In slow motion, the ravager seemed to approach, its large feet shaking the ground as it neared. When the things maw was inches away, its spiked antlers stretching out towards a prey that wasn't there, Eret's field of view dropped to the ground as they skidded along the rubble. The wood and straw took them further to the side than they thought it would, leaving them to stretch out in a hurry to drag Ted's Wrath along the beast's underbelly. Their sword connected and the creature's black blood gushed out from the slit in a massive outpour, though the resistance of its skin slowed down their slide and left them scrambling back from the mess. 

The ravager let out a new noise – some warped mix between a cat yowling and a wolf howling – and hunkered down low. With its belly flat to the ground, Eret could only pull back to marvel at their work. Black quickly seeped across the grass, a low hissing accompanying it. The ravager seemed to glare at them as its head turned in their direction.

Movement by the crumbled wall drew their attention. It was Tommy, standing with wide eyes. Tubbo was behind him.

The distraction cost them. The ravager's antlers became writhing caricatures and lunged at them of their own accord. Spiked bone tore through their side and thigh simultaneously; twin daggers finding their target without issue. Eret gritted their teeth against the splintering pain and threw themself back, tearing the jagged antlers out of themself. The bone searched after them, moving like an octopus' tentacles. 

Spluttering, Eret spat blood over the wreckage. When the ravager didn't move to get up, only continuing to flail its antlers at them, they assumed it was grounded. One more blow would finish it, but the moving and stretching antlers were another issue entirely. 

"Eret!" Tubbo's small voice carried over the graveyard of huts easier than it should've. "You can do it! Get it!"

As they leapt out of the way of another antler attack, watching the bone dive deep into the soil at their boots, Eret carried on with the momentum they'd gained and went for the ravager's backside. With it down, there was no maneuvering of its body to be done, and with the antlers stuck in the ground, its head couldn't follow them. 

They jumped onto its back, avoiding the heavy swing of its tail, and drove their blade into the creatures neck at the same time its head snapped around. The outstretched mass of the antlers caught them heavily in the side and threw them through the air. A small tendril of black dribbled down the ravager's neck.

Eret hit the ground hard, attempt at a saving roll failing terribly as they hardly ducked the eldritch-like squirming antlers that chased them. Eret kicked out of the spot they were in just in time, the antlers spearing into the ground to graze their calf and no more. The beast chittered at them, empty green eyes watching as it nattered with its drooping jaw.

It was gruesome. It was horrible. It was the most interesting thing they'd ever seen.

Heart rabbeting, Eret took stock. The beast could bleed. They just needed something to give them an edge. Something that could—

They watched the antler that had nicked their leg draw back and shake their blood off. A small amount had stained the bone, but Eret would've needed to be blind to not notice the way the black antler seemed to smoke for a moment.

There was a reason they'd lasted so long on the battlefield. Eret pulled Ted's Wrath to their palm and ran his sharp edge over their skin. It broke easily, and they bled over their sword. The netherite didn't react, but the antler that dove for them next was sliced in two thanks to the caustic effect of their blood.

As the ravager screamed, making the gathering crowd by the broken wall rear back, Eret jumped for the kill. Wrath glinted beautifully in the sunlight as he arced in the air. Their soiled blood drooled along his length, visible for all of a moment before Eret buried him into the ravager's neck up to the hilt. 

It took affect immediately. The ravager cut off mid-yowl and its head fell back at an unnatural angle. Eret gripped Wrath and ripped him through flesh and bone. They pulled until the body lay headless and the antlers stopped twitching. 

In victory, Eret stumbled off the beast's body and sat heavily on the dirt. The pool of black blood drew near but stopped just shy of their boots. As they gasped and urged their vision to stop wobbling, they clutched Ted's Wrath close to their chest and caressed his hilt.

"Good boy," they breathed, weakly rubbing the clumpy mix of their corrosive blood and the ravager's acrid smelling one off his length. "Good job."

Scot was clapping in the distance. His laughter blended seamlessly with the cheers of the people by the breach in the wall.

Abruptly, the hamlet fell silent. A swathe of blue appeared, storming towards them.

"Eret!" Came the murderous half shout, half shriek of Wilbur Soot.

Chapter Text

Silence crackled into static, pulsing through their ears where no static should be. Their ears were still ringing as their heart hammered in their chest, adrenaline forcing their hands jarringly still yet leaving their legs shaking. Breathing in quick, short gasps, Eret sat on the dirt and peered at the wall they'd built - one they'd made to fall easily but had withstood a Ravager's wrath. Now, the people of L'Manberg cowered behind that wall and pretended not to watch the unfolding scene.

"What have you done?" Came Wilbur Soot's cry - revolutionary, ealderman, false general. His voice came out a stentorian roar, not as fearsome as the ravager's but still mighty impressive for a human's vocal cords. When he stopped his march, actions brisk and sharp with rage, he stooped over them, seemingly trying to intimidate them, though all he did was shade their eyes from the sun.

Eret didn't see fit to grace him with a response. Their torso was beginning to smart, a soft radiating bead of discomfort that would soon morph into agony. When the ravager hit them, they'd felt their ribs move inside their chest the same way a man slipped in mud. They were surely broken.

I don't like it here, anymore, whispered Jameskii, voice on the edge of tears. Something deep within Eret resounded at the sentiment, aching in time with the man's whispers.

Their gaze strayed to their left as Soot began shouting. Scot and Jameskii stood, holding hands. Off to the ravager's corpse, Elaina lingered, head twisted unnaturally in a mirage of the beast. Her frown was sharper than Ted's Wrath.

He never gave you what you deserved, she fumed, voice rising and rising till she was screaming. She screamed and screamed unendingly, draining out whatever Soot was saying as Eret's ears were filled with her rage. Scot and Jameskii trailed over to crowd around her. Her head stared at them from its backwards perch. You've been used this whole time, Eret.

Scot wrapped an arm around her. Eret shook with a glacial desire. They wanted to be hugged by Scot, they wanted to cry in his arms, they wanted to be standing with him, cocooned in his warmth. They wished to trust, so badly. All Eret wanted was to be able to relax, to settle down somewhere warm and dry and nestle into their furs.

Eret wanted to be with their family. They always had.

Their chest ached. Unsure if it was the doing of their stiff lungs or their spasming heart, they clutched Ted's Wrath tighter, pulling him close. Eret had to be ready to stand and leave, but they could barely breathe.

Soot's voice rose to a holler. "Respond to me when spoken to, soldier!"

They glanced up at the man, taking in his prickly eyes and twisted sneer. In the forlorn wind that wallowed through the empty walls, his long L'Manberg coat flared around his knees, hair shifting to darken his face. He was wrath, danger; the embodiment of every adult that Eret had spent years avoiding. Anger, manipulation and deceit were all synonymous for Wilbur Soot - bringer of suffering upon innocents.

"You destroyed my city!" The man shrieked but L'Manberg had been no city, nor had they been the one to turn her wooden huts into dust. "Where will my people stay after what you've done?"

"Wil..." Tommy began to speak.

Soot turned his glare on the boy. "Shut the fuck up, Tommy. You ran away screaming like a little kid - I thought you were supposed to be my Second in Command but you did nothing."

Eret couldn't help it, they snorted.

"What do you think you're laughing at?" He snarled, hands thrown violently into harsh gestures that barely helped articulate his shouts. "You think this is funny? All these people's homes are destroyed. And, you're laughing?" 

Eret steadied their twitching fingers and pulled Ted's Wrath up, digging him into the ground for purchase to clamber to their feet.

"This was never going to work, Soot," they said, tone snide but filled with a levity that was calmer than their opposition's. "This was a childish dream that you put real people in danger for. Your brother is standing over there, lost and scared, a child and yet you berate him. I did not see you when the beast was rampaging."

"I was in the forest, doing my part for this nation. If you weren't so useless, I would've returned home to something!" Soot snapped, eyes dangerously thin, fists shaking by his sides. "You've left me with no choice. Getting rid of the one who caused all this destruction is all I can do."

"Don't speak as though you've ever done anything for this dump. You were content to let your people rot to starvation, Soot," they reminded, bitter. Anger began to peak past the fatigue. "If it weren't for me, L'Manberg would have been nothing - I built these walls, I grew the food. Surely, you of all people should know that."

"What did you call me?" Soot hissed instead, stepping forth until they were nose to nose. The man's spittle hit their cheek as he glared down at them. "I am your General, peasant, and you will address me as such!"

Their throat twitched. Eret broke into raucous laughter, chest heaving with the force of it, though their ribs protested something fierce. Their limbs ached, tears flushed their eyes and their mouth stretched until their grin shattered.

Sharp canines dug into lips as they bore up at the man, their gleaming white eyes reflected in shaking, enraged brown.

"You shouldn't say words you don't know the meaning of. You're a little boy playing dress up in daddy's suit. The fact you decided to argue about your title when your nation is nothing but rubble speaks for itself." Eret spat blood. It leeched into the dirt and gnawed away at it. The man opposite them stared with a horrified expression as their blood hissed and sizzled. They were starving, wanted to eat, wanted to feast, but the audience by the wall was too loud, too present. They'd be making a fool of themself, though they doubted they could ever purposefully humiliate themself as thoroughly as this man had to himself. "Wilbur Soot, you are no general. You are not even a proper man. You have no army, no weapons, no morals and not a drop of sense. What you've got is a group of women and children you've deceived and lied to, promising them greatness when you've only brought around their starvation. I've seen battle - there is no war here."

The got up close and shouted these words into his face. Eret was tired of being ignored, tired of leading this man's dream. As they told the truth and nothing but the truth, they grabbed his pristine white lapels to tug him close. Their blood was on their hands, dripping from their mouth, and it splattered down his clean shirt. They were inches from each other now, Eret laughing up at a man who thought he owned the world when he had nothing. This was not the way to deal with an arrogant fool but they couldn't help themself.

"I know a useless war when I see one," they whispered, twitching with rage and pain. Their vision was splitting into doubles and triplicates but they remained on their feet. Soot's eyes were wide and they had the pleasure of seeing almost six sets of his pale, aghast expression. "There was never anything to fight for in this wretched pit and I'm done pretending otherwise. Your people have crumbled away in this cesspit and you let them - sitting back and feasting on the wine and bread in your house of songs and netherwart. You are a dictator who wants what he cannot have. You, Wilbur Soot, are a farce of a man; the darkest, most disgusting thing a human could ever be."

"At least, I'm human," he hissed.

"I killed that Ravager, Soot," Eret smiled. The reminder made him pale. "You would go down so much easier."

"You're mad," Wilbur Soot declared. "Hybrids should never be allowed to walk like you do. You're a monster - an insane monster. I know who you are, now. Do you really think you can escape and keep pretending to be free? You don't even know who I am."

"Oh, I do. I know a fool when I see one." Eret flexed their jaw, shoving the tall man back. He lost his balance and fell to his ass in the dirt, the corpse of the wicked monster beside him. Soot's hands splashed into its black blood, skin sizzling as he yelped and crawled away, hurriedly wiping his hands on his stained slacks.

With him on the ground, they grinned, "You talk big, Soot, but you're not even the dirt on my boots. What makes you think you can stop me? I could walk out of here right now with your head and hand it to Dream."

Soot was a bumbling fool who did not even own a blade. He preached of peace and heaven when he did nothing to achieve those dreams except for declare imaginary wars and argue with children.

He had nothing, yet he glared with the fury of a spited man. "You're a traitor!"

"Stand up," Eret taunted, levelling Ted's Wrath at his grubby chin. "Get up and kill me, Wilbur Soot. Kill the one who saved your hamlet, fed your children and sheltered your own head from those mobs out there. Get up and kill me."

He bowed his head, flinching away from their blade.

Eret had won, but it was not the satisfying victory they had imagined. 

"You hate hybrids, but when it matters, at least we can act human," they spat on him and he scrambled to wipe it off his cheek, Eret lifted their gaze from the blubbering idiot and eyed the remaining population of L'Manberg. They were huddled by the broken wall, watching with wide eyes. Not one spoke or moved. They had seen and heard everything.

Head held high, lightened by what they'd said, Eret strode towards the breach. Eret propped themself up with him as they walked, feeling their knees creak and groan with each step.

As they lumbered forth, the crowd parted for them before they'd even met halfway, making their slow hobble all too evident.

Tommy stared at them, eyes flickering between them and Soot. Tubbo was silent, something unknown in his gaze as they passed. Fundy was crying, staring at his father with a betrayed expression. For a hybrid child with a bigoted father, his world had likely been crushed. The women stood by with their toddlers, some already having left with whatever they had on them. Slowly, a trail of people spilled from L'Manberg like ants from a nest, never to return to the broken hamlet.

Eret left and did not look back. Scot once told them things would haunt them if they did that. They did not need more ghosts than they already had.

When they had slipped into the surrounding forest and made it a safe distance away, they dropped to the ground and spat blood onto the white flowers on the side of the path. Instantly, the plants withered, decimated in seconds. Eret bent their head and mourned something they'd always known they'd never have. They hoped the kids would be okay.

The walk to the Capitol was long.

Elaina murmured ditties in their ears as Scot beckoned encouragements. Jameskii rhymed off his litany of jokes, all three attempting to help them get to the city. Ted's Wrath expressed no displeasure in being blunted by the cobble path, and although a voice in their head despised the damage to the netherite blade, they desperately needed assistance in walking. Too weak to reach up and break off a longer sturdy enough branch, with the branches on the ground all rotten and brittle, Eret kept on the path and stumbled on.

They'd liked the city; tall marble walls surrounding tall houses and a large inner-city marketplace. Now, covered in blood and seething, they hated it. They despised this country with every froth of blood that fell from their lips. They wanted so badly to leave now, but they needed answers. They needed the truth.

Slowly, they trudged over the lowered drawgate, ignoring the guard's stunned looks as they heaved by. Ted's Wrath groaned a dull snick-skktch against the cobble paths. Vision warbling, they sucked in a breath and stumbled past the shocked faces of the citizens who stopped to stare.

"Hey!" A guard yelled after them. "Stop!"

"Stop right there!" Another demanded. "Stand down!"

Onwards, they thought. As they trudged on, the red petals in the gutters blurred with the sour sight of bodies lying in the unsteady water that separated two warring lands. Eret looked away but the dubious stares of the citizens gouged into them tenfold. As Elaina began to sing louder, her voice echoing in their aching skull, a flare of black caught their eye and they blinked. A familiar demon ran up to them, clutching a basket of glass bottles. For a hybrid who rarely ventured beyond his home, it was a wonder he was here when they needed him.

"Eret?" BadBoyHalo squawked, gaping at them. "You- Oh, my- Are you alright?"

The blood and state of them should've been enough for him to leave them alone, or at least should've been enough for him to be quiet and follow them. But, the demon hybrid walked with them and pestered them with endless questions the entire way.

They grunted at him, unable to stop lest they collapse. The last thing they wanted was to fall not even halfway to the Community House. There was a crowd beginning to gather in the street and Eret didn't like the way they were staring.

"You're bleeding," the demon cried, fluttering after them and stumbling over himself in his haste to remain by their side. "Eret, what happened? Eret, please."

Red and blue cropped up in their sight - the tarp flaps that acted as rooftops for the small market stands appearing. Their legs were shaking more than anything, each step a precarious thing that came after a delayed moment. At their own side, they seen their white fingers shaking around Ted's Wrath, though they felt nothing in their hands. 

BadBoyHalo chittered at them the entire time, voice raising in concerned pitch as they crumbled to one knee. Panting, ears ringing, Eret could do nothing as the darkness closed in. They propped their forehead against the base of Wrath's handle, clammy skin pressing against the wrapped leather. Knelt in the center of the market, they heaved once, twice, and were forced to swallow bile. Blood stung at their tongue, eyes watering as they choked on a precious breath.

Everything was burning; their torso was a blazing pit of alight coal, their shoulders were pressed thin by a roaring blaze, knees crunching against the coarse sand of sweltering dunes. Their thighs quivered, muscles seizing with one final contraction before stiffening and leaving them keening, throat already hoarse by dehydration and the blood they'd gulped back from leaving.

"Aether's blessing," came another voice, the murmurings of the civilians echoing in their skull alongside Bad's wails. This one's pitch was deeper than the demon's, tinged with worry.

Green appeared. A blisteringly hot hand cupped their chin and forced their head up. A shaky smile appeared, a porcelain mask watching them. Callused, fingerless gloved hands carded through their hair, swiping it out of their face.

"What happened, Eret? Did Wilbur do this to you?"

Rage spurred forth, crawling up their throat like a despairing ghoul. They pulled their face out of the Admin's grasp and spat dark blood on the ground, the clamor of the people growing in vehemence.

"Wilbur Soot?" They snarled, voice twisted and warped by fury even to their own ears. Blood rushed in their veins, a puddle below their knees. Ted's Wrath was safe in their hands, grip tight and unrelenting. "Wilbur Soot?" They shrieked, voice loud as they broke into hysterical, gasping laughter. "Why don't y'ask Punz? Hmm,- ask Punz!"

The figures around them had stilled and remained unmoving until they shuddered violently. Blood dripped from their mouth, but they didn't remember bending down to spit. 

"Let's get you to-" a hand curled around their ribs-

heat, a swift dominating heat stroked along their side like a whip-

"Don't touch me!" They screamed, slapping away the hands, falling back onto the side of their thigh. Their chest heaved, bile joining the blood as they clutched their side, attempting to hold their ribs together as they creaked and shifted. The green and black shrunk away, though Eret barely noticed as their sight flickered madly. The ground came up to them in a rush, but the stone felt warm against their skin. Not once did their hold on Ted's Wrath drop, the blade shunted out of the ground to lie beside them as Ela lifted their head to coddle it in her lap.

I'll hold your hand, Scot grumbled a lullaby in that rough tone that meant someone was doomed. It was one he'd hummed out on the battlefield to the ones who had clung to life long enough for a hand to be clutched but had died in that hold. He'd uttered it when he d- And when you wake in the morning, I'll still be here. So sleep, little one, and dream big and wide.

Eret groaned a shuddering breath and let their eyes slip shut.

They woke in the gloom of artificial lights, blue torches lit up in an effort to ward away the dead. For a moment, they were in an old campsite, the fire blazing in front of them - they'd woken to a branch snap - it was weeks after the war had ended, their nerves were on fire but all it was was a fox hunched over them, red coat blazing from the firelight. But then, they blinked, and it was Sapnap's red bandana in their face, the man's worried eyes staring down at them.

Eret growled at him. Sapnap jerked back with a squeak, falling off the stool he'd been sitting on.

"You're awake!" He nattered, bouncing up with a large grin. His excitement was heady, long black hair falling over his eyes. "Gimme a sec, I'll get everyone."

He raced off, spiralling up the stairs. Eret huffed a breath and braced themself up on an elbow, gritting their teeth as their ribs gave a pang.

Round your head, flowers gay bring you slumbers today, Ela was hunched in the corner, nattering an old lullaby. Her white dress swirled around her bowed form, shoulders shaking to and fro in the current of the wind that swept through the open window in the far left corner. She looked sad, fingers bunched in the soft fabric of her skirts. Go to sleep now and rest.

Eret shoved themself upright, hissing through the pain in their ribs. Someone had dabbed them down with a wet rag, judging from the lack of all-covering filth.

May these hours be blessed, Elaina murmured, tone one of finality. Scot appeared through the floorboards to stare at them, stare solemn.

"Eret," Dream sighed, first into the room. "You shouldn't be sitting up. Bad thinks your ribs are broken."

"Oh, they are," BadBoyHalo insisted, filing in after the maskless man. Eret looked the two over and wished Dream was wearing his mask; they didn't know how to decipher that tight look he sported. George appeared, tugged in by Sapnap. Punz stayed back, lurking at the edges.

The demon stepped up to mix a few potion bottles together on the nightstand. They remained still, watching everyone. After some fiddling, the man offered them a glass filled with the amaranth pink colour of a diluted healing potion. Accepting it, they sniffed the liquid - just a healing pot with some water, it seemed - and took a cautious sip. The thick substance rolled down their throat, settling heavy in their stomach.

"You killed the Ravager," began George, tone tinged with awe behind annoyance. Gut shifting uncomfortably, they looked up into the man's dark glasses. His arms were folded across his chest, mouth a thin, unhappy line. Instincts rising, Eret chugged down the healing potion despite Bad's cautious warning.

"What if I did?" They snapped, voice tight and snipped. A feeling close to despair rose within them as the group shifted awkwardly, no one seemingly overjoyed that they'd survived. Did this mean they'd all known about the Ravager-

Everyone had known, yet nobody had warned Eret.

Go to sleep now and rest, sang their sister, voice hushed yet frantic. She echoed the rising panic that Eret felt. May these hours be blessed.

Their chest felt as though it was caving in on itself. They'd trusted these people, trusted them, yet when they needed them, they had been abandoned. Dream had expressed a friendship. Sapnap always grinned. George had been amiable. Punz had been standoffish yet reticent.

Betrayal! Scot roared, causing them to flinch. Their gaze snapped to him, the others' following. A few brows creased (at the fact there was nothing there) at the sight of their brother standing tall, sweater threadbare and ragged but clinging to his firm muscles and wide shoulders (he would've had if he'd lived). He was an imposing figure, eyes flared wide with emotion. These people have betrayed us. They left us for dead!

"Eret?" Dream questioned from the side of their bed, hand reaching out for them.

Attack, attack, attack, their mind chanted. They batted his hand away, swinging their legs over the side of the bed. Bad was to their back, the other four in front of them. Ted's Wrath sat propped on the nightstand beside them. When they grabbed it, everyone backed away.

"Hey, man," Sapnap was spluttering. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Elaina shrieked, Friends don't-

Scot bristled. They're no friend of ours-

Leave, leave, leave, hollered their instincts. Danger, danger, danger!

"Friends don't unleash a Ravager on each other," they snarled, breath slithering into their lungs in rough pants. Their volume climbed until they were screaming, screaming like they had at Soot, screaming the way they'd wanted to at the world for years and years- "We're not friends!"

Sapnap shrunk back. Dream moved in front of him, protecting.

"Eret," he said, scathing and harsh this time.

They bared their fangs, Punz pulling his bow from his inventory to level it at their face. When they hissed, it was cold and sharp. The sound almost hurt their chest but the healing potion was working - pulling bones back into place and healing scrapes. They felt their ribs clicking as they settled, felt their throat echoing with the hollow noise.

Eret hauled themself to their feet. If they could breathe, they could fight.

"Stay back, monster!" Punz shouted, slipping another arrow onto the string. Two was overkill - if he was any good, he would've been fine with one.

We'll show him a monster, Elaina cawed.

Show him, Eret. Make us proud, added Scot.

Jameskii joined in. Show 'im, brother!

A deep, vicious rumble filled the air. Eret towered over the humans, well aware a mistake now could have all five able-bodied people pouncing on them. They liked those odds. 

"Punz," cautioned Dream, prompting the archer to lower his weapon, before the man turned to them, hands raised beseechingly. "Eret, sit down. You're hurt and tired. Punz didn't mean what he said."

These people were underestimating them. These little humans thought Eret was nothing- they were trying to tame them, attempting to force them into the dirt. Eret would not accept this.

So, they snorted a breath and sat back down. Behind them, Bad gave an audible sigh and offered them another glass of healing potion. They sniffed it again, Ted's Wrath resting broadly on their knee. The potion was gone in two gulps.

"That- that should be good for a couple days," Bad smiled meekly. They looked to the fidgeting demon, noting his shaking hands and the way he clutched at his tunic. "If not, uh, tell me, and- and I'll get you more."

They were silent, lifting and twisting Wrath within their palm, slapping the broad side down onto their bouncing knee, repeating this action as the group shot them wary glances but eventually thinned. Dream offered them a pair of trousers to replace their torn and scratched ones. Eret looked down at their current clothing and dismissed the man. There was nothing a bit of sewing couldn't fix. Bad was puttering about in the adjacent kitchen, Sapnap babbling loudly to him. George had gone downstairs, if the creak of the stairs meant anything. Punz was likely in the kitchen, lurking, because Eret hadn't heard anything to show his retreat up or down the stairs.

"I'm sorry you got caught up in that," Dream said eventually, seeming to have taken the time to pick his words. It didn't matter - anything he said was an annoying drone in their ears. "Although, I'm amazed you managed to kill it singlehandedly."

Eret said nothing.

"A few citizens came back, asking for refuge. Started talking about L'Manberg being rubble." The Admin went on, perching on the bed beside theirs. He bridged his fingers, resting his elbows on his knees. His green gaze caught theirs, eyes searing into their skull. "You lost your sunglasses. You might want to make sure you cover up your eyes. You caused quite the commotion in the marketplace."

Dream shifted in the quiet, edging towards unsure at their lack of response. "You're lucky, y'know. I never thought anyone could kill a beast like that alone. Guess you have to be one to kill those sorts of things, huh?"

His tone was not appreciated. His words were ice in a desert, pinging off their defenses but still leaving a splash in the sand. Eret sat, tapping Wrath off their knee to hear the hard sound. The healing potions were churning in their stomach, working heat through their limbs and settling in their bones. Their lungs were still rattling.

"Good thing is that L'Manchildberg is nearly totally decimated. I bet they'll surrender within the week."

The tapping got quicker, louder; an imitation of their heart as they'd trudged into the city in hopes of respite. Apparently nice things were not reserved for people such as them.

Nice things never were.

The sound of a bow being plucked reached their ears. Kitchen, Punz.

Go to sleep now and rest. May these hours be blessed.

They'd enchanted Wrath with the highest enchants they could find on the road, adding a few more when the SMP's library was opened to them.

Sharpness V was only one of many they'd etched onto Wrath's skin.

Their lungs stopped rattling. Eret stretched out, pulling in a deep breath. Dream was too close, too at-ease. He'd underestimated them.

Eret would show him the cost of pride.

They were a monster. A thing that travelled and used their blade freely. They did not yield to common law.

Eret was what was left when children went to war.

They took advantage of things others didn't.

In one quick movement, they lifted Ted's Wrath off their knee and speared him through Dream's face. Blood sprayed as his nose vanished into the new pit that was his face. Wrath dripped crimson. Eret breathed out, the crunch having drawn no attention over Sapnap's loud rambles. Unfortunately, the gurgle Dream let out was loud enough to be heard from L'Manberg's ruins.

Footsteps rushed to the door. Punz shouted.

The good thing about communicators was that, whilst they sent a death message to any friends, they did not state the cause of death. It made a temporary murder difficult to prove. Or, so they'd been told. Murder wouldn't matter once they left this country - no crimes committed elsewhere lingered when one left.

Dream was slain

"Traitor!" The archer screamed, pulling back his arrow.

Eret twisted in time to deflect the projectile into the wooden floorboards, the tip seeping acid into the wood.

"By the gods!" BadBoyHalo cried, seeing the death message. Sapnap abruptly fell silent. George's screech of loss echoed up from the first floor.

Tilting their head to the side, Eret flashed their fangs and promised, "I'll rip your neck out."

Punz backpedaled, flinging off arrows at them. Bad raced out of the kitchen, netherite axe sparkling with enchants clutched in his hands. The demon sprinted for them under the cover of Punz' arrowfire, rearing up in a swing. Eret ducked under it, raising and curling a hand around Bad's wrist to disarm him with a crack. Their foot swept under his knee and brought him down onto the bed in front, offering a human shield from the archer waiting in the doorway.

The axe, Language, glimmered in their palm. Eret twirled it once, testing its weight, before they decided to test its grit. They hefted it high and threw it at Punz. He went down with a scream, axe lodged in his side. Eret stepped over to him, scowling at the cut. A blade that only ever chopped wood was no good for skin and bone and it showed in how the axe had only went halfway through Punz's chest. Discontented, Eret yanked her out and took another swing, this time getting through half his ribcage.

They hadn't known Punz could be so loud. Even with his right lung missing he was working up a storm. George made it to the top of the stairs, firing off three consecutive arrows that they simply brushed away with Wrath as Punz firmly slumped against the floorboards. They kicked him away, listening to the crcck-sh as he thumped uselessly off the wall.

George swung into action where Sapnap did not; the younger stood frozen in the chaos. The stoic man swung a blade at them, Eret blocking with the curve of the axe and heaving the sword away from his chest to run the glasses wearer through with Wrath. Blood was spat in their face as George went down, sliding off their blade, limp and dead.

GeorgeNotFound was slain 

BadBoyHalo had gotten to his feet. He spared his fallen comrades an aghast look, seeming outraged that Eret had slain one and left one immobile in the twenty seconds he'd been nursing his wrist.

"You monster!" The demon shrieked, voice warbling into a hundred pitches as he drew on his demonic side. Eret levelled him with a head tilt and a smirk before parrying his sword with the man's own axe. Ted's Wrath came up, sharp tip narrowly avoided, only grazing the man's side.

They separated, Sapnap useless behind Eret, BadBoyHalo literally blowing steam out of his nose.

"You'll pay for this," hollered Bad.

"Don't think I will," they drawled, slipping under the sword and swinging up with Language. Bad's hand dropped to the floor, twitching and still holding onto the sword, and the man gave a gods-awful bellow. Eret sprang forward as the demon let his guard down, stumbling back and clutching his arm, and swung down with Wrath as his wrist began to writhe, skin twisting.

The demon dropped before his hand fully reformed. Eret stared down at the half-formed husk, morbidly curious.

BadBoyHalo was slain 

Must be a demon thing, they thought and turned around to look at Sapnap.

A picture of shock met them: eyes wide, brow creased and shining with sweat. Sap's hands were shaking, sword drawn but teetering out of his grasp. They labelled him no threat and went around, methodically breaking the pulsating stars on the top of all the bed frames. These stars signified a set spawn on the bed and by doing this, they were abandoning the Capitol team to respawn in the country's set public spawn. For such prideful men, that would be humiliating.

That'll teach 'em, chittered Ela, particularly vicious today.

"Humans never were very smart," they agreed.

Sapnap's sword clattered from his hands. The sound prompted them to turn towards him, Eret rolling Language in their palm. The man looked even paler than before.

Having a sword and axe was calming. Once upon a time, they'd been one of the better dual wielders on the battlefield; capable of cutting multiple foes down with a simple swing from both. Most favourably, having two weapons meant they could scrape the two together, sending sparks through the air. With the rain of golden light, they had charged into the fight, brining chaos with them. The two weapons screeched when they clashed, making a wonderful noise that most had taken to mean as a charging signal. When they glinted their weapons off one another, the armies roared.

"Sapnap," they called in the living world. What they seen in their mind's eye was long gone, no matter how they mourned it. "I'll say this once, you hear?"

He nodded, a puppy surrounded by thorns.

"Don't come after me."

They struck.

Sapnap was slain 

Turning to the barely breathing archer on the floor, they lifted their axe once more. 

Punz was slain 

They left the bodies. There was no point in eating spoiled food. 

Chapter Text

The evening sun glittered past the canopy, shining golden rays down on the detritus path. Birds chirruped high in the branches, squirrels skittering above as foxes scurried through the brush. Eret walked along, thick canvas bag on their back to keep their inventory clear. Alongside them, visible to only them, were their family, jumping and dancing around them. In the peace of nature, they breathed easily; relaxed and happy.

In the morning when you waken, grass will shine with dew. Elaina giggled, attempting to master a hymn they'd heard from a passing village a while back. She'd been in a much better mood since they'd left the Country of the SMP all those months ago. They'd ran as far as they could, stopping only in an inn three countries south when the winter became too harsh to keep treking along. They'd taken a week of rest in that inn, slipping coin from others' purses, and had moved on when a break in the frost came. The winter had not been as bad as they'd thought, but then, they had moved further south-east - closer to the deserts and the sunny southern coast.

It was nearly summer now, spring in the middle of its height. Flowers had bloomed, festivals spreading over the Continent as Eret swept from mountain paths to forest paths. It was harder to track people when they were surrounded by nothing - they knew that well enough. They did not fear Soot or any of the Capitol team coming after them, but it was better to put distance between those types of people regardless.

Elaina was in a sweet mood, jumping over puddles and serenading frogs. You will hear the church bells ringing. Ringing in love for yooouuu!

"Don't think any bells are ringing for me," they huffed, hitching themself over a downed tree and dusting their palm off on their trousers. They'd sewn the torn pair back together with some fabric they'd traded a couple gold chips for. Currently, they wore a dirty pair of hiking trousers, to see them through these nettle-covered, muddy paths. They'd shrugged on the first shirt they'd grabbed from their inventory; an old henley that used to tighten at the neck with a lost piece of string. Its sleeves were short and showed off their sunned arms, nowhere near long enough to hinder any movements they made towards the sword strapped to their left hip. Their claimed axe, Language, was slung on their back, baldrick that was also connected with Wrath's sheathe having been refitted by them one night specially for the second weapon to be carried as well.

That's because they're all fools, sister dearest, Scot smiled, peering down at a particularly long caterpillar Jameskii was cooing at. He pulled the other away from the poor creature and tugged him onto the path, forcing him forwards. The eldest of them looked up, squinting past the thick leaves. The sun is lowering, perhaps we should seek shelter?

Eret titled their head back and gave the breeze a casual sniff. The creature inside them rumbled at the dry heat. "There won't be rains for a while," they assured. It had rained the night prior and the skies were utterly clear now. "We can stay under the stars."

Yes! Jameskii grinned, bouncing on his toes. You can teach me more constellations, Scottie!

I've already told you all the ones I know, Scot spoke like a parent hushing a petulant child but was no less joyful. And, I don't know the stars round these parts.

"We're still too far North, James," they clarified. "Diadom was around the South-East. Scot's never been this far North since we went to Hermitcraft in the South-West."

Meeting the Hermits was fun, Ela added her two cents. They were nice, even if we didn't talk much.

A few years back, Eret had torn their last shirt in half after a close encounter with a skeleton. Annoyed without a shirt, they'd ventured to the nearest settlement to trade for fabrics and had stumbled upon the building grounds of a small crew of architects. They'd been amicable, most of them hybrids and thus secluded from the general normal populace out of fear of violence.

Humans were not kind towards hybrids; afraid of what was different. It would have been pitiable were their fear not so dangerous to them. The lengths some went to in order to ensure their villages were hybrid-free was honestly astonishing.

Can we settle here? Jameskii pleaded when the group came upon a small meadow. Eret looked at it, wincing at the open-ness and pushed them a little further on, finally deciding on a relatively root-free area where they could lean against the bark of an old oak whilst they slept. There was a large enough patch in the center for them to dig out a hole and fill it with stones. By the time they'd amassed enough kindle and larger firewood for the night, the sun was nearly gone. They lit the fire and filled the area with enough torches on stones to both ensure a lack of any forest fires or any mobs spawning.

It was nearing zombie season - a prime time where corpses were attacked by the bacteria in the ground and rose to haunt the living with dangling limbs and congealed blood. Anyone who didn't want to be a zombie come midsummer was usually burned but not everyone had privilege to such, and most were buried in mass graves on the cusp of cliffsides or the edge of forests.

Eret despised zombies. Not only were the undead irritating to kill, but the memory of - people rising from the- Elaina- their family - dirt and worms in eye sockets- they-

Sucking in a breath, they blinked white eyes open to a half-skinned rabbit clutched in their lap. Their family was gone, and it was just them in the silence.

Quietly, they finished skinning the animal and speared a sharpened stick through it, leveraging it over the crackling fire. When it was cooked, they ate what they could and burnt the rest, unwilling for the remains to attract wild animals. Sometimes creepers were lured by the scent of meat. Any and all travellers with something of worth on their person despised creepers - it felt like the mobs always liked to strike when one was down.

Though, that might've been karma.

Darkness came, the night's sky cloudless and clear. Their mind was silent as they stared up at the unfamiliar stars, the city smoke that blighted them out unseen here. This forest was one of the largest on the Continent, lesser explored simply due to no one really caring about what trees a large woodland had. There was a general location and size of it outlined on maps and that was all people needed before they could ignore it.

Content in the campfire's warmth, they pulled a particularly tattered pair of socks from their pack and rummaged around for their sewing kit. Comfortable and well-versed in needlework, they made quick work of the garments, moving on throughout the night to re-hem a shirt and re-seam the ragged outer layer of a preferred high-waisted skirt. If the weather was as warm tomorrow as it had been today, they'd be putting on a pair of shorts instead. 

Once done, left with a ball of string and spare fabric (small blessings; they hated going into towns for trading), they neatly tucked away their kit and flipped to the front of their bag to pull out their well-used whetstone. Since making off with BadBoyHalo's axe they'd sharpened the weapon a handful more times than they had Wrath. Finding a place to safely enchant sharpness into the blade was almost impossible on the road, as though the process was doable with blood and determination, it helped if there was a crafting table and some lapis nearby. The axe had Bane of Arthropods, anyway. Eret couldn't understand why anyone would waste so much time on such an unnecessary enchant but they supposed everyone had their weaknesses.

Humming the tune of church bells from earlier, they unclasped their canteen and poured some water over the whetstone. Not much, certainly not enough to fully soak the whet nor cause a cascade onto them, but enough to start the process of sharpening a blade. Usually sharpening rods were enough to keep Wrath thin edged, that or a casual strike off the axe, but Language was as weak as she was strong.

They had to be careful sharpening weapons. Out here, it was difficult to find blacksmiths willing to work on netherite (though most were unversed in the rare metal and were more likely to destroy the weapon than fix it). If a blade was over-sharpened then the edges became brittle, cracks forming. The same went for smoothing out chips in the blade - if the blade had chips in the first place, the best bet was that it was being used wrong. When dealing with repairs, too much vigour could easily spell the end for a weapon.

"You will hear the church bells ringing," they murmured softly, soothed by the scrape of the netherite against the whetstone. Eret had never known a netherite-infused weapon could be so weak, although it seemed they were terribly uneducated on the matter.

Before them, the firelight flickered serenely. It cast them in shadows, painting their work orange. If they were to look out into the distance, the rows of torches they'd left would look akin to yellow will-o-wisps, the little creatures purely fantasy but still spoken of amidst the tales of Ravagers and Withers. Many real beings were so rare that the humans thought them either extinct or fake; as was human nature. The way Eret seen it was that they were all better off with the humans thinking the more powerful creatures had never been real.

Hunting was a real issue. Long ago, humans had hunted for food - rabbits, deer, pheasant. Then, when they'd domesticated animals and forced them into pens, they began hunting for sport - birds, wolves, bison. Humans were dangerous, could not be trusted to stay away from a mighty beast such as the Ravager, if it came lumbering into a town. They'd cull them for their horns, their skin, their blood - everything that made the beasts so dangerous in the first place. Not that humans would care for the impact of their actions - be it loss of human life or the loss of a species. It had been made remarkably clear, in the past, with there having been certain groups of people that cared for neither.

Eventually, they'd worked Language to a decent rim and had ran the sharpening rods over her. The netherite glittered purple in their hands, beaming up at them. Netherite forging was a difficult task - one Eret had went though with Wrath just before the prior summer. The ancient debris first had to be smelted down with gold, the two warmed separately until molten before being added and left to cool. The cooling period was no longer than three changes of the sun, lest the concoction be ruined. Once it had been moderately cooled, one was to place their sword over the anvil and pour the metal over the diamond.

Diamond was the only thing capable of taking netherite (or so they said) but Eret had looked at Ted's Wrath - a blade that had been with them since their war - and poured the netherite onto iron. He'd wavered, core warping a tad, but Eret had first forged him and knew enough about the art to salvage the blade, molding the netherite into a sharp blade worthy of war. Enchantments tended to remain on the diamond blades, but the Mending had worn off through the heat, so they'd spent a further few hours making blood sacrifices to ensure their carvings would anchor the enchants depicted in the books.

Enchanting was difficult and dangerous. There was a reason most people carried plain weapons and armour. To go into the Enchanter profession was a death wish with the blood required for the scriptures to set. Not to mention, the requirement of being able to write Galactic somewhat legibly. Galactic was all Eret could write, and even then, they only could because they had memorised the signals to write for certain enchants.

Sheathing the axe, they pressed their forehead against Ted's Wrath. "Ringing in love for you," they hummed, kissing the blade. He vibrated in their hold.

Behind them, Scot chuckled. 

Standing, Eret shook themself out. Breathing in the must of the forest, they were at peace; calmer than they'd ever been. This was the lifestyle they adored - this was how they were meant to live. Humans were too boisterous about their eyes, hybrids too difficult to interact with. Sometimes, when they went to talk to people their voice got stuck in their throat and their fingers twitched for a blade.

In the wild, where no human nor creature lived other than the ones meant to be there, in the deepest places of nature, Eret felt free. There were no awkward conversations, no stilted stare-offs. No one called them a monster out here and they did not have to kill unless they wanted.

Sweeping the sword out, they spun him in their hands. Dexterity and agility were two of the most necessary aspects of blade wielding. Anyone who could not appropriate either was either versed in other weapons or a horrible swordsman.

On the battlefield, Eret had forced themself to be the best. The best didn't die, the best rose up. Eret had always wanted to live.

With a sharp breath, they sprang left, twirling and slicing down unseen enemies. They ducked under an invisible blade, swiping out at imaginary feet with a swift ankle-sweep. They backflipped away, the fire kept in their peripheral, twirling the blade in their hand before changing it up and switching to a left-handed wield. They drew Language with their right - not the way the sheathe was angled but a task needing to be practiced in case their left hand was put out of commission. Through force of habit, they shunted the two blades off each other, a shrill ringing filling the air as the two weapons collided in a flurry of sparks. This was it - this was their war tune, their death march. They could hear the thundering drums now, feel them reverberating through their skin. This was how they fought.

Breathing measured and controlled, they span around, jumping and lunging. Their skills needed to be upkept if they were to survive.

Eret would survive.

Twisting on their heel, they brought Language forth in a heave and slashed Wrath sideways in a parry. Moving until they were above the fire, they grazed the top of the dying flame and kicked a thicker branch into the small pit. A flurry of ash and fire-sparks went up, Eret satisfied with their work as they sat down.

Catching their breath, they hunched on a root, elbows on their knees. Their weapons slipped silently into their sheathes, beautiful in all aspects of the word.

They looked up and saw the moon high above them. Sparing a gulp from their canteen of water, they pulled a wrap-around fur out of the bag before pushing the canvas under them. There was nothing breakable in it, everything fragile resting securely in their inventory, so they had no qualms about sitting on it.

Having something under them meant if it rained their ass would be protected. The fur was pulled over their head - one of the more waterproof ones - and was there to keep their torso and head warm whilst they slept. Eret was fragile in the chill of nights, their biology leaving them prone to coughs if they caught a chill. Sneaking up on mobs was made nearly impossible when one was hacking a lung out every few seconds, and right now their sole source of legal income was taking contracts to get rid of mobs that the humans couldn't.

Nestled down, they gave a final cursory look into the darkness around them. Their torches were still lit and the fire was tall enough to last the night. Out here there were no humans.

They'd be fine.

"Dew on the grass," they muttered, "Church bells ringing. Ringing for your love."

They dreamt of butterflies and oceans.

Chapter Text

They woke to dew on the grass, the muted morning sun glimmering down on them. Birds chirped in the tall trees, Eret shifting the slightly damp fur off themself. Stretching out until their legs were pleasantly numb and their back had cracked, they rolled to their feet and shook out the fur. All that was left of the fire was a smouldering pit.

Mornings out here were nice, Eret thought. Slow and gentle, the pace they set allowed for them to rework blood into scarred muscle and reduced the aches and pains they got throughout the day. Rains were the worst for old scar tissue acting up; wounds long healed smarting like brand new in the high pressure. The Ravager had left nothing but internal bleeding and bruises but the scrimmages before had not: their chest littered, back pulsating in the harsher breezes. Their right shoulder in particular, one that had nearly been shattered after a too heavy warhammer swung down on them, made itself known the most consistently.

Chewing some mint leaves, they took a swig of water and called it a day. Swapping their henley for an off-blue tank top, they shrugged on a pair of leggings under their shorts. The weather was nice and from how hot it was with the sun barely out, Eret knew the day would be warm. With their plans of trekking off the path, they needed to cover their legs from any stretching brambles, hence the leggings. They tended to gravitate towards slim-fitting and tight clothes that could be moved in when they were travelling like this; out in the middle of nowhere where they did not have to dress up to look trustworthy. These types of clothes were the most appropriate for battle. Eret was nothing if not prepared.

They were cautious; mayhaps more in the direction of being paranoid.

Pulling the stones out from under the fire, they chucked the dirt they'd previously dug up over the pit and dropped the rocks across the clearing. One of their greater strengths was perhaps their ability to cover up after themself. It was difficult to track someone who didn't want to be. 

(Maybe they were paranoid.)

Eret swept about the campsite, grabbing everything. The grass was dusted off their bag and it was shoved into their inventory. Inventories could become too heavy if over-filled and could slow the person down as if weights clung to their bones, however, Eret had slung the bag over their back yesterday and with their shoulder mewling in protest today they didn't want a relapse of a few years ago. It had been painful enough to teach them a lesson, to say the least.

Muscles seizing and refusing to move always was. Young as they were, Eret knew more of pain than most middle-aged men who'd slaved lifetimes out over fields.

Whistling to themself, alone for another day, they went about grabbing the nearly burnt torches and subspaced them and the circular-bases into their inventory. Torches were of no use so short but the stumps at least meant they had some easy kindling for their next fire.

Sniffing the cold breeze that hurtled into the campsite, they picked up the distant scent of animals and a gentle flush of humans. The humans were far enough out that it was probably the downwind from the villages beyond the forest. Although, Eret smelt bear and something close to wolf and they did not want to be murdering the wildlife if they could help it.

Snorting out the smells, they double-checked the area, making sure they hadn't left anything behind. Once they were sure everything was the way they'd found it, they started on their way, breezing between spindly branches and reaching bushes.

The forest was alight with noise; the rustle of leaves in their ears, the chitter of bugs crawling over the dirt floor, a woodpecker hacking at a tree. It was nature at its untouched. It was beautiful in its simplicity, delightful in its purity. They were overjoyed to find that there were some places unburdened by the bane that was humanity.

Here, Eret enjoyed walking. Putting one foot before the other was not the goal now, not like it had been back in the SMP. Passing through countries, climbing mountains and swimming through meandering lakes was a small slice of life that was a virtue. Most Players didn't seem to understand that, instead choosing to settle down in dull villages that eventually became towns. To remain in one place was alien to them - their stint with the L'Manbergians and the SMP Capitol had been harsh enough.

To be able to take their time, floating through lands, feeding off the land as much as the land fed off them (everything was balanced; they killed mobs and earned the right to hunt for food by protecting the lands from hollowing explosions and piercing arrows). Sometimes they wondered what would've happened had they not been grabbed from the streets as a young child.

Would they have fought in that war? Probably not.

Would they have ended up in the SMP, fighting for their right to live alongside bigots and fake Generals? No.

They wouldn't be who they are - more children would be alive, less cut down by their wrath on the battlefield. Maybe the fields wouldn't be abandoned red and brown. Maybe they would have joined a different L'Manberg and been greater.

Would- Would they have still met their family?

"Ringing in love for you," they murmured, catching a falling leaf before it passed their hip. Striding along, jumping over logs and avoiding tripping on high roots, they twiddled the leaf in their hands, running callused fingers over the jagged edge of the small thing.

Everything in nature had its defense mechanisms. Trees had bark, leaves had sharp sides. Some frogs were poisonous, some snakes venomous. Scot had called it the cycle of life, a never-ending wheel of life turning into death and becoming energy, he'd called surviving an admirable trait, a sign things were strong enough to adapt and carry on.

Did that make them strong? Eret had survived things others had not. They'd graced a good portion of the Continent with their lurking presence, taking jobs on monsters for coin.

Yawning, they stretched out, arms reaching above themself and grazing a low-lying soft branch.

Head snapping up, they blinked at the squirrel that nattered down at them. It clutched a nut protectively in its two hands but had stopped to lean down and watch them.

"Sorry," they chuffed, offering the little creature a small smile. They turned the way they'd came and tilted their head back at the little guy. "Hope I didn't hurt you?"

Peering down at them, the squirrel shook its bushy tail and took off along the long branch, disappearing up an adjacent tree. Now that they'd looked up, they were suddenly aware of the veritable maze of branches the great towering oaks created. There were thousand of branches, from small to large, spindly to straight, all crisscrossing or intertwining in some way above them. They were sure the squirrels had fun jumping around them, catching light beams through the gaps in the canopy.

Chest feeling full and warm they shuttered their eyes and spun in place, the soft breeze licking at their face as they breathed in the luscious scent of nature at bloom. A little while away ran a babbling creak, frogs gathered around it, croaking in the morning dew. To their far right, klicks away, a fox swished through the undergrowth. A few miles ahead of them, a twig snapped and the birds tweeted.

They opened their eyes and found a child standing a few metres in front of them.

Startling back, Eret looked at the child, taking in his short brown hair and his multicoloured hoodie. He didn't look like a wild child with his clean apparel and calm demeanor. His large hoodie - a dizzying mix of yellows and purples, a large spiraling pattern in the centre - and navy leggings were tear-free and probably cleaner than Eret themself. The boy watched them, unblinking, arms limp by his sides.

His golden eyes shone in the sunbeams.

"'Lo," they greeted, not daring to take their eyes off the child. For all they knew he was no boy at all. There were plenty of rumours of eldritch beings and creatures that took the forms of children.

Eret was not trusting the fact there just happened to be a child in the middle of nowhere, miles from civilisation. They were not going to die today.

The boy blinked, once, twice. His eyes seemed to sparkle brighter each time. Finally, after a few moments of silence, he opened his mouth.

"What do you want?"

He sounded like a boy; voice high and childlike. His little leather boots were tied neatly on his feet and he'd somehow made it very close to them without Eret smelling or hearing him. A hybrid, perhaps?

"I'm a wanderer," they said, head tilting down to appear less threatening. If the child was some sort of forest spirit they didn't want to anger him.

"Go home," the boy demanded, voice stern and heavier than any child's had the right to be.

"I-" blood, rivers of red, bloodflies on their face, copper iron on their tongue.

"Go home," the boy repeated.

They swallowed, voice stuck in their throat as their inner eye flashed with taunting memories.

This time, the boy sucked in a breath and yelled loud enough to shake their bones. "Go home!"

A rustle from behind- panting- Eret whirled to find a large brown wolf growling at them, saliva dripping from its maw. Eyes of amber bore into them, their instincts hollering as they squared off against it- don't have your back to the boy!

Eret leveled out, the boy to their left, the wolf to their right,, baring their side to each but keeping both within sight. The child was expressionless as he stared at them, seemingly uncaring for the drooling wolf inching closer. Either the kid didn't care or-

Kid has a wolf friend, they quailed. In the distance, twigs crunched.

"Don't wanna fight," they struggled to say, hand shaking by Wrath's handle. "'M just passin' through-"

A large buck stomped into the area, large hooves stomping and crushing roots. Its large antlers spanned out in a sickening imitation of the Ravager's, leaves and moss hanging off the bone branches. The area they'd stopped in wasn't exactly open, the trees a thick barrier around them, bushes covering potential endless pits they'd sooner break a leg in than jump over. The branches above them weren't strong enough to bear their weight and they wouldn't be able to outrun a hungry wolf.

They didn't want to die. They needed to run, but if they timed it wrong and couldn't escape, they could be doomed; stuck in a forest with predators that knew the floor much better than they.

Behind them, a sudden stomping rumbled the detritus. Their breath caught as a black bear's roar nearly burst their eardrums.

Cornered, cornered, cornered, their mind chanted, ragged and high-pitched with panic.

"Leave," ordered the boy, standing on their left. With a wolf to their right, a bear behind them and a buck in front, the boy's side was the weakest link. Sure, the wolf would have a straight line of a free sprint but if they could get past the thick base oak tree the boy stood beside and veer left, into the slower bear's territory, they stood a chance.

Draw your blade, whispered Scot.

A low growl filled the air, Eret's hairs standing on edge as their frantic gaze was drawn to the wolf. It opened its mouth, gnashing strings of saliva and flaunting sharp gruesome fangs.

"You heard him," glowered the wolf, speaking with a man's voice. The wolf was speaking and they could've wept. They had to be dreaming. "Leave now."

Eret hitched in enough oxygen for a hundred metre sprint in one second and took off, scrambling towards the boy. The wolf screamed and lunged for them, his claws narrowly missing them as they kicked up dead leaves into his face. The boy turned his head to watch them, staring at them as they sprinted by.

The bear thundered a growl, the buck's hooves clacking after them as they forced a hand out and used the tree's rough branches to propel themself forward. Hissing as their hand was scratched, blood dribbling down their palm, they fell into a full-out pelt as the wolf joined his friends and raced after them.

They were at a disadvantage here, the forest not known to them - was this why no one ventured deeper than the path? - and they were going to be outrun by a snarling wolf in a few seconds.

Eret, hissed the thing in their mind.

Shut up, they shouted back, barely hearing the harried clamour of voices-

Left! Elaina screamed.

They twisted left, crashing into a failure of a roll. Narrowly, they avoided having their head chomped off by the wolf, his long claws clipping their bicep instead. Hot blood gushed down their arm, startling them as the pain set in.

"Get back here, little human!" Thundered another man's voice.

Clamping down on an uncharacteristic whimper, bicep smarting like salt had been sprinkled in, they forced themself to their feet and bolted right into the buck's flank. Collapsing back, they scrambled on their hands, gawking up at the buck's grinning façade. For all of a moment, the creature was human, looming over them and promising them death.

"Got you now," he said, tone sharp and snide-

axe in one hand, sword in another. blood everywhere- red- pain- the soil wasn't soil anymore, it was mush, sodden with their dead family's lives

-they screamed, shrill and horrified.

In slow motion, the buck reared up, hooves ready to grind them into paste. Dirt flew up around him, haloing the actions and intensifying the way the creature's blood blue eyes glinted down at them.

They drew Language and dug the axe into the dirt, pushing themself away from the buck and between two lonely trees. Clutching the weapon, they pushed themself to go faster, completely lost now that they'd taken too many turns. Eret ran and realised they were breathing louder than any of the others. Creating all the noise to follow after them as they tried to escape, they were practically giving their pursuers the easiest field trip of their lives.

Heart beating a death march in their chest, they sucked in a breath and held it, slowing to a stop and rolling their boot soles with each step.

The cracking of twigs stopped. The wind blew towards them. The scent of wolf was closest.

What the fuck is in this forest, they thought, chest shaking as their body begged for air. As slowly and quietly as possible, they opened their mouth and drew in a breath.

"C'mere, human!" Bellowed the wolf's voice.

The voices pounded in their head, all insisting they do different things. Eret dragged in another lungful and began softly walking, attempting to make as little noise as possible. For all intents and purposes, the forest hadn't changed: the birds still twittered, the wind still whistled.

Except now, rumbling in the undergrowth was the hunters.

And, Eret was the prey.

Scuttling along like a bug in the weeds, they kept their breathing hushed and sparse. If they were still enough, silent enough, they could get far enough away and high-tail it. Along the way, between ducking through conjoined trees and sincerely debating scaling a tree with their subliminal tree-scaling capabilities, their heart rate had calmed. If they breathed deep enough, they were in their element, tracking down a horde of zombies lurking in the shadows of a small, desolate village.

If they tried hard enough, they would survive this.

The wolf howled in the distance, far but still too close for comfort. From what felt like the opposite end of the forest, the bear roared.

Sheathing Language, they hurried forwards, winding between poison ivy patches and slipping through a thinner line of tight-knit trees. They stumbled, caught off guard as the ground sloped down from under them and they tumbled forth, crashing through a bush with a loud crack. Above, the birds scattered, shrieking out their location.

Eret took off running, vision impaired as their eyes watered thanks to the wind blowing at them. Tall, dark hedges surrounded them, closing in on them in a crescendo of leaves and sharp prickly thorns. Pushing through them, they struggled to keep their feet under them as they skidded down a dirt mound, hands catching dirt to stop an imminent fall.

When they looked up, a large wooden mansion groaned before them. Gaping, surprise mingling with abject horror, they swayed on their feet. Here, barely on their feet and walking with teetering steps, the scent of their own blood was rife; their bicep had bled enough to stick their shirt to their arm, sodden with black that the blue cloth kept hidden. In fact, the fact their arm was slashed open was unnoticeable, were it not for the large tear through the sleeve.

Attempting to steady themself, they gasped in as much air as their burning lungs and dry throat could take and trekked down the steep incline of grass, venturing towards the mansion. It was huge, maybe thrice the size of the Community House, and double the height. It was all wood, dark oak mingling with purple and white to create stunning accents and high-framed panels over the many windows and double door.

As a whole, the building looked old. Giant beasts of stone, things with gnarled faces and ragged wings, stood in pairs, split along the neatly cobbled path up to it. They passed six statues like this, nerves on fire as they stuttered past. The glass was thick but clean, evident even from a distance; white crystals marking the edges of the panes and drawing swirling patterns over the centers. Potted plants, wither roses and netherwart, sat on the windowsills. Long, thorn-laden vines curled up the side of the walls to enshroud the slated roof.

"Hey!" Came a yell.

Flinching, Eret twisted to find the entire group of talking animals at the foot of the cobble path, the boy on the buck's back. The wolf pulled back his lips and growled.

"Get away from there."

Weighing their options and finding they had none, they turned and booked it towards the mansion doors. If nothing else, they had a chance of distracting the group in the mansion and making a run for it with them all indoors. The loud footsteps of the wolf thumping after them echoed in their ears, louder than their sputtering heart as they barreled into the doors. The dark wood released and let them fall through, Eret landing on their slashed arm and hissing through a scream. They rolled to the side, prepared to kick the door closed on the wolf's maw, but nothing came.

An odd, dry, skin-rubbing sound filled the silence. Eret decided to make possibly one of the the worst decisions of their life and stepped out to stand in the open.

A man with brown hair and bright brown eyes looked at them, standing where the wolf's heavy breaths had stopped. He offered a panting smile, blue denim jeans and casual grey shirt out of place against the green of the forest vines that seemed to dome around the outer ring of the mansion grounds.

"Sorry about that," he said, voice similar to the wolf's but not as rough or gravelly. Tone surprised but friendly, he shrugged sheepishly. "Didn't realise you were a hybrid."

Chapter Text

"Again, I'm really sorry," said the brunet as he dabbed at Eret's torn bicep. The alcohol poured over the rag made their wound sting but that was nothing more than a prickle against the buzzing scorch of having sharp claws gouge a few inches out of their arm. "I'm just glad we didn't quite reach you before the house accepted you."

They'd been ferried through the mansion's long hallways and led into a large marble-topped kitchen. At the man's insistence, they'd jumped up on the counter and had sat stiffly through the man's self-imposed clean-up of their arm. The dark marble was cold under them, the wood of the kitchen and island stark against the stone floor. To their left was the large open doorway into the maze of hallways and in front of them was a line of counters, an oven hulking to their right. In the centre of the room, a wide island-table stood, wooden stools with plush cushions tucked under it.

"All good, buddy," grinned the man who'd been a wolf not five minutes ago. He stepped back and Eret slipped off the counter, lightheaded and faint.

A shadow swam into the room. By the doorway stood the boy, ignoring them as he waved a small hand at the man.

Like a puppy, the older brunet rushed to the kid's side, tilting his head to the boy's mouth and nodding along. When they were turned to, the man wore a look of apology.

"Sorry, guess we never did introduce ourselves, huh?" Two others appeared in the doorway; a lanky man who yawned and a woman with dirty blonde hair. Cornered, cornered, cornered.

They stepped back, hip bouncing off the rim of the marble countertop. The boy's golden eyes watched them, unrelenting.

"Hey," said the woman. She sounded like a tamer, more effeminate version of the buck-

dirt flew up, surrounding them, flaring around as if a chorus for a babble of angels, the buck's hooves were falling down towards them, their head would be-

"Sorry about earlier," she was saying, voice fading in and out. Eret struggled to blink, bandaged hand finding the counter and pressing down into it. Maybe if they felt more pain they'd wake up - the world couldn't be that cruel, could it? "My name's Anna. I was the buck."

Gritting their teeth, jaw feeling ready to crunch against the pressure of their teeth, Eret funneled in a breath and jerked back as the boy appeared before them. The kid pulled his hand up, small scarred fingers stretching out as he held his hand out between them, as if asking for a high-five. They stared down at him, off-balance and queasy.

"I'm Karl," said the kid, voice not nearly as emotionless as before. He sounded sad and suddenly his mask broke, glittering eyes beaming up at them with eager remorse. There was an apology in his words. "I'm sorry for making you see something else."

"What?" They mouthed, quite sure if they attempted a full sentence the air would be stolen from them and they'd faint.

"That's Chandler-" he pointed to the lanky one who was evidently the bear. "And he's Jimmy-" the wolf man.

Blinking down at the boy, their gaze caught on a swirl on his neck. He pulled his arm down and in the shift of his hoodie moving, a thick purple spiral made itself clear on his neck. It matched the one on the front and back of his hoodie, the marking almost more of a square than a spiral. They frowned at it, recognising the mark from somewhere-

Diadom's mages marched through the city. Their cloaks swayed with a thick blue spiral, the black of their cloaks shadows shivering in daylight. As a child, they hunched in an alleyway, clutching a loaf of bread, and watched men of all sorts thunder through the streets. The mages were renowned beings, neither human nor hybrid; men who were rumoured to have stolen the enchantment tables and scribed the enchants into their very skin to harness their power.

The hecklers said they were being sent out to fight. The war that had sprung up on the edge of their country was a very bad thing - they had heard many of the adults talking about it with fear in their words. Maybe, these mages would stop it, and everything would go back to normal. They hadn't been able to steal much bread recently because the baker was making all his loaves for the soldiers.

A man turned his head, eyes molten gold, and sneered at them. They shot back into the darkness, heart hammering, hands shaking-

Most had died fighting in the war's early days. Eret wasn't sure if those people had truly been mages, or if that was just propaganda. If they had really been magic-blessed, all of them dying in a war had been very unfortunate.

Anyone who died in war was unfortunate. 

"You're a mage," they said.

"Mmm, not quite," replied the boy, lips splitting in a bright smile. "I'm a time traveller!"

"Why don't you sit down?" Jimmy beckoned, brows creased. "You're looking a little pale, buddy."

They didn't mean to stay with the group, not really. That first day, they'd accepted the bed offered to them, dazzled with the real feather mattresses. A week later, they'd sat down at the dining table and noticed that no one had kicked them out yet.

The group were bounty hunters. Jimmy was more than happy to tell Eret most of his stories; spouting of saving damsels in distress to fighting kings for payment. Called the Beast Crew, they were all shapeshifter hybrids except for Karl (who appeared to be somewhat of a recent addition from his lacking appearance in the stories). Jimmy was also known as Mister Beast, an old assassin who'd been around for years before Eret had known how to wield a sword, and he'd started up the crew on subject of being short a few coin.

Anna claimed to like shifting into deer and squirrels, but her buck had been more of an eldritch horror. She was capable of shifting whenever she wanted into a manner of creatures. As Jimmy's sister, she'd been one of the first on the crew, with Chandler joining up next, as the siblings' lifelong friend. Jimmy and Chandler expressed an ability to morph at will, as well, however neither wolf nor bear had as flexible a choice as Anna did with her selection of forms.

Eret had never met shapeshifters before. Anna appeared to be a fully-fledged shifter versus the other two, who seemed to only shift into their hybrid forms. Interestingly enough, none of them presented with hybrid features when in their human forms. Eret was confident that any of these people could hide amongst the humans as though normal themselves. If not for their glowing eyes, Eret would've been able to masquerade, too.

"What kinda hybrid're you?" Chandler asked over gobbling down his steak on that first night.

"I am..." they hesitated, fingers pulsing for Wrath even though he sat on their hip. "I'm a wither."

Expecting it to be glossed over, as no humans had ever shown interest in what they were when they were obviously a monster, Eret was suitably on edge when everyone decided to stop eating and stare. In utter silence, everyone blinked at them. Under scrutiny without much of a reason, Eret tensed and tried to recall how many steps it was to the frontdoor. Should a need become a must, there was a window right behind Anna that they could jump through, if they were willing to take a tumble through the rose bushes.

"Pardon?" Jimmy questioned, eyes wide as his fingers threatened to slip off his wine glass. His spluttered words broke Eret from their doomsday planning, though did little to reassure them. What they heard was the same ludicrous disbelief that the humans had in their voices whenever they realised they could make Eret hunt their mobs for pennies - because a hybrid had no place to argue for fair pay when it was a mercy someone was hiring them. "Did I hear you right?"

"A wither?" Anna burst in the same breath. Abruptly startled, being shouted at and confined in a tall-backed chair, Eret jerked backwards, spine shooting ramrod straight as a hand fell to Wrath's handle. The woman's eyes shot wide and her hands rose-

hands of blood, hands of pain, a laugh from the boy in front of them as they faced off- armies roared behind and around, fields of red, bloodflies on their skin-

"Woah, woah- sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, we won't hurt you," Jimmy murmured, voice soft and raw. The sound of it made their eyes itch, overwhelmed and unsure as they quivered in their chair.

A small hand cupped theirs, squeezing gently. Golden eyes shone through them- "Come back. You're safe here, Wither."

And that tone- that tone- no one had ever spoken to them like that- no one other than their family-

A boy with blood on his horns- "What are you waiting for, Wither?"- a mighty grin stretched over ragged and thin skin, two starving children forced to take lead of armies for old men's amusement- two children forced into a war they knew they wouldn't win but had lost themselves to anyway-

"Wither?"

"Waiting for you to surrender, Ram," they'd sneered, spinning Ted's Wrath in their hand, an axe in their other. They screeched the blades off each other and blood rained around the two, flies buzzing in their ears in a cacophony of sound-

Eret gasped, jerking to their feet, struggling to not clutch their head. Their ears were popping with the noises, sounds that weren't in the mansion but were happily rattling inside their skull. Death and screams and children dying. 

"I need a minute," they dragged out of their throat, and turned for the door. 

The forest air smelt of dew and grass. It shone with an exuberance of life that Eret was not familiar with, and felt almost swamped by. 

Eret sat down on a bench in the garden. Their ears were warm as they pulled their hands up to cup them. With their palms in the way, there were no outside noises, yet they still heard the shrill screeches of blades hitting one-another, was forced to listen to the final wails of children-

Take a deep breath, little one, Scot murmured. His heavy hand came down to rub their back, but their nerves were on fire and their heart pounded in their throat. Eret could barely see the swathes of grass in front of them as they stooped over their knees, head dipping away from the neat rows of flowerbushes.

The bench shifted. They gave an aborted twitch and looked over to find Jimmy sitting, staring out at the flowers. He said nothing.

Digging through the air, they got a few breaths in. The hand on their back didn't vanish as Jimmy offered them a comforting nudge, pressing his shoulder against theirs.

"You're safe here," he told them, voice sincere. "We won't hurt you."

Despite the screams in their ears, Eret believed him. Hybrids didn't hurt other hybrids. Not without humans telling them to.

Here, there were no humans. 

It was four days before they told the others their name. Not that they meant to keep it from them, it simply slipped their mind past Jimmy's 'buddy's and Anna's 'dude's. Before, names hadn't been important. Scot had been the first to name those in their little group, presenting himself as named and proclaiming the importance of such. He'd given them theirs before the battlefield had monikered them Wither.

The war had been a long fought battle of deprivation and demise. It was children against children, poor souls wondering what they had done to be forced to fight for old men's entertainment. At the head of both 'armies' were two ones in particular, a boy with horns curling atop his head and a glint in his yellow eyes versus one with brown hair matted black with the blood they'd spilt, eyes bleached by staring at the bones of their enemies.

Children's minds were so creative, sometimes. The ones Eret had fought with had never shown disgust towards their eyes, and their General had loved them, but the ones on the Ram's side, the Squatrans, had all glowered at them, hated them, feared them.

The two, the Ram and the Wither, had been forced to the front as two of the most dangerous hybrids. Ram was Squatra's. Wither was Diadom's. For most of the scrimmage, it was Ram vs Wither, Wither vs Ram; the two so dangerous that everyone had known them by title.

They'd been almost nameless then, Scot bringing them into his arms in the late nights and murmuring over and over again. "Eret, Eret, Eret." His mantra, words soft enough to be a prayer but sturdy enough to brace against the horrors of the world, had kept them up each night until his death. Then, it had been the silence that kept them awake. They hadn't understood the meaning of a name, back then, but Scot's vehemence and insistence with it had changed their views.

Elaina and Jameskii had already wore names. They'd had families before being brushed onto the streets. For a few months before enlistment, Eret had fallen in with the trio in the back alleys. When the soldiers came, they'd went together.

And then, the others had died and left them alone.

Everything they'd done before was wiped clean, leaving them a blank slate. For months it had been "Wither" this, "Wither" that. The first time they spoke their name aloud was one hushed night after they'd lost themself to a rare rage and woke bathed in blood, the survivors of both sides staring at them with horror. There had been none of their family left to calm them, so they'd gotten lost. Very lost.

Their General had sent Officers out to drag them back from the frontlines. When they couldn't walk, they had been dragged.

For the first noticeable time, with their weakness fully on display, no one had moved to kill them. What they had shown themself capable of had rendered both sides inert. No one dared stand against the Wither. 

Ram had grinned at them until they could no longer see him. After that day, he'd grinned so very widely each time they saw each other. 

(Monster, monster, chanted the voices. You'd kill everyone, given the chance.)

It was Karl that brought attention to it, as Karl always seemed to do. They were beginning to think they had a soft spot for the kid, because anytime the boy asked to go out walking, they agreed too easily.

Except Karl was no boy. He was a man stuck in a child's form, burdened as such after a mishap no one dared speak to them of in detail.

Presently, they strolled through the forest they'd been chased through days prior, the evening sun flushing down on them. The light glinted off Karl's hair, painting it amber as he toddled along ahead of them. They jumped over roots and avoided the sharp bark, all the while keeping an eye on the boy.

"What was it like?" He asked them, peering down a hole in a tree, little knees bent as his large hoodie sagged over him. It cast an image much like that of a walking multicoloured marshmallow. For all he was mentally a man, Karl flaunted the attention span one would expect from his eight summers old form. "Oh! A raccoon."

"Don't annoy it," they chastised, pinching the body's baggy sleeves to pull him away from the hissing creature. They made sure he was settled on his own two feet before they nudged him onwards. The raccoon was still hissing, eyes glaring up at them but a low hiss of their own had it shrinking back, cowed.

"What was what like?" They queried as the boy wheedled off, following a chrysanthemum blue butterfly.

"What was fighting in the Useless War like?"

They halted, chest tightening. Is that what everyone else had called the it? The Useless War...

It had been but to hear something they'd fought in, an event that had taken hundreds if not thousands of lives, ridiculed and made a mockery of with an obsolete name made them more than upset.

Karl turned around, golden eyes widening as he blinked back at them. Their expression must've shown their conflicted emotions for he too stopped. "Sorry," he whispered, warily stepping back to stand with them.

why were their hands so red?

"Do'y wanna sit down?"

Their hands were filthy. Too dirty to be held by the boy beside them. 

The boy tugged at their skirt, big wide eyes looking up to them. He was worried; worried for a monster.

The very thought burned. Moving to speak, they found themself trudging through a thick fog, body unresponsive as they heaved in a slow breath.

"Wither?" Nagged the boy, voice wavering. He hiccupped, hands shaking. "Wither, you're scaring me."

Elaina cradled their cheek, hands smooth like honey. Stop living in the past.

Karl was crying. Big watery eyes wavered up at them, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Panic seized them, chest tight as they dropped to their knees, hands flapping around as they debated the best course of action. They didn't know what to do, they'd never consoled a child before.

"'M sorry, Karl, sorry," they warbled, words spilling out to drown them. Their own voice wavered, cracking on yet another apology and cascading into an inhumane keen as the boy barreled into their chest, wrapping small arms around their shoulders. Eret pulled their heavy arms around the boy, hushing him as they ran a hand through his hair. The Wither let out an inaudible whimper that was vocalised as a low rumble in their throat.

The boy quietened, hand lifting almost curiously to their vibrating throat. His little fingers pressed lightly against their adam's apple as he blinked.

"You're purring," mumbled the child, excited smile spreading over his lips. It seemed his tears had dried and gone as he rocked back in their hold, clutching their puffed sleeve, and giggled. "By the way," he canoodled. "What's your name?"

"Eret," they husked, suddenly content to kneel on the forest floor. Something within them burst, like a clump of dirt giving way to a rush of water, and they felt safer than ever. Karl's gold met their whitish grey and they offered a fanged smile as they reared to their feet and ruffled a lithe hand through the child's hair. "My name is Eret."

Karl's grin was bright enough to make the sun ashamed.

Chapter Text

Gasping for breath that would not come, Eret shot upright, chest quaking with every thunder of their heart. The dark room spun around them, shadows painting the alcove in the corner and dripping off the gold-framed painting above the fireplace. Opposite their large feather mattress, a large window floated, clean enough to see their reflection in. It was an opaque doorway to the moonlit gardens, which rustled and swayed in an unfelt breeze. Their ears were ringing in the night's pitched silence, the room dark and unyielding to their glowing eyes.

Sweat cooled on their skin, blankets swaddled around their waist as if trying to pull them back into the mattress' warm embrace. Eret steadied their breathing, hands digging into the furs, and began the tedious process of freeing their legs from the heavy throw at the foot of the bed. The want to return to sleep quaked them, aches spiralling through their skin, but the way their bones buzzed with unrest was too telling. 

The mansion was almost eerie in twilight's embrace. The moon glinted down on it from high above as vines shifted and curled within the grounds, forming a dome that protected those inside from those out. Jimmy said the grounds were warded by some old magic, something the Pillagers had been working on to only let their own kind inhabit the mansion before Jimmy had stumbled across the area and claimed it as his own. The magic was ancient, even dangerous.

But it did its job; only allowing hybrids into the mansion.

It had been Eret's saving grace.

Legs slung off the steep edge of heavenly feathers, they hesitated, cold nipping at bare skin. The fire in the hearth had gone out from too little wood. In the lingering darkness without a warm flame, the room seemed to writhe in the gloom. Once, Eret had feared the darkness, had lain awake at night as the enemy brewed beyond the trenches and then, as mobs fettered around in the dirt. There was a list of unknowns within the night, some of which Eret would never see. To be exact, they had feared that which would hurt them, rather than the darkness itself. 

As a child on a battlefield, they had been weary of dusk. Seeing the moon used to mean bad things; Squatra liked to attack in the early morning and by the time everything was done, their dying would be left to whimper and cry out in the dirt as the skies darkened. No one had been willing to go out and drag back the bodies, so the soldiers either died to mobs or to exhaustion of their injuries. Now, older and more experienced, they found it very hard to feel fear to what they did not care for. When they were travelling, it was easiest to get a meal at night. When people slept, they were weak.

However, running for one's life was a completely different matter when it came to the dark. Things became tricky, but Eret's eyes had always gotten them a bit further than most. The way they glowed made branches glimmer and the grass shine. Eret could find a way out of any forest with just their eyes.

Thus, Eret would say that the dark was an explored crevasse. In contrast, the aspect of death was not.

Did they fear death? Perhaps.

Eret fought for king and country, got nothing but dirt thrown on them for the thanks, and had yet to be gouged by death's molten claws. They'd been scratched a few times, but they'd never been truly brought down.

In the present, their feet touched the wooden floorboards, skin stinging as the glacial cold rocketed up their calves. Their torso ached, the feeling pricking at the barrier of their consciousness. It wasn't even morn and they knew today was going to be a bad day. Their back felt as though someone had redrawn the symbol of the wither into it. 

All haste was drawn out of them as they made their way towards the drawers containing their clothes. Since temporarily settling, they'd been managed to procure more clothes than their pack could hold. If their pack was too full, it would not fit in their inventory. If their inventory was crammed with clothes, they would not be able to fit the things they really needed in there - like weapons, flint, food.

Jimmy's careful prodding for them to make use of the wooden drawer set in their room had been heeded. They had yet to put anything truly important in them, aside from socks and a few of their spare outfits, but it was a start. The chest of drawers was intricately carved, swirls and small bodies etched into it. There was a story in the wood, much like the very mansion they stayed in; a story they may never know to its fullest.

Although, Eret couldn't deny it was nice. Domestication was simple, less of a battle for survival – although they would rather live free if told to pick. There was something here, a small wriggling instinct that claimed to feel so much more at peace with people of their own kind. Humans are harsh and bitter, it said. Hybrids are kin.

With their only kin following them as translucent beings, Eret hadn't known what kin would do to change their opinion on remaining in one place. Surprisingly, it had been substantial enough for them to linger with the Beast crew.

Indescribably, they were grateful. They'd never felt as well-rested anywhere else as they did here.

After rummaging around in their drawers, they pulled a roll of socks from their meticulously organised drawers and slowly unrolled them onto their feet. The multicoloured socks were only around because the mansion had a surplus of wool that Jimmy was more than happy to give to them for their knitting. It was easy to pluck a ball from a wicker basket and begin threading rather than be forced to settle somewhere remote for a longer period to attempt to finish a piece - no shirts strewn over their lap as they rushed by the firelight to patch gaping holes. Now they could do that in comfort by the fireplace, feet tucked up on a stool whilst Karl and the others chattered around them. The very fact they could knit was a relief; out on the paths, all they usually had time for was sewing.

A personal favourite was the fact they not only had a free supply of wool and fabrics, but they also had people to give their machinations to. They'd never made their knitting habits apparent in L'Manberg, too afraid of being forced to contribute to the ugly uniform. But here, in the middle of nowhere in a forest even the locals feared, they felt safe enough to indulge themself.

Scarfs wound from their fingers, trousers mended from awry shapeshifts that had torn seams. To sit in the main lounge and have the warmth of a fire lick at their cheeks whilst Karl babbled in their ear was a recent development within the two weeks they'd existed within the mansion, yet it was one of the more favoured ones.

Never had they thought they'd grow so attached to a human boy, yet they had. Karl was possibly the friendliest human they'd ever met and Ela was insistent that intoned something. Scot had been quiet for a while, Jameskii nattering in the background of Ela's words - words which grew in malice and left Eret in a state of acrimony. Ela didn't seem to like where they'd settled and Eret, for the life of them, could not understand why.

Gaze lost within the dark ash of the long-dead fire, they shrugged on a fluffy nightgown (silver, like their eyes, Anna had claimed after gifting them it) and spared the seething moon one final glance before turning tail and pushing open their door. The warm hallway met them, their socks padding down polished marble steps quickly and quietly. Portraits of people lined the walls, following the grand staircase with gold frames and frowning faces. Small placards sat under each one, detailing the people painted onto canvas. There were some from thousands of years ago - an archer named Watson, a boy called Robin, a bloodied pink haired man by the moniker of Porkius. Eret didn't spare the intricately carved frames a second look, instead choosing to scuttle down the huge steps, chemise long enough to lick at their calves. Anna had given them the ones that didn't fit her, and they'd quietly taken to wearing them to bed. It was nice to feel the soft fabric against their skin when they slept - much nicer than sleeping in itchy hiking trousers and an old shirt.

Before they knew it, they were on the main floor, sequestered in the lounge with its large couches and blazing fireplace. The heat here was indescribable – an inhumane permeating wall that made them keen, monster rumbling as they bloomed in the sensation. Tall dark wood walls rose up around them, gentle and kind. The room was large yet small, homey and more comfortable than decrepit or cramped.

Striding over to the wicker basket, they grabbed it from its corner and set it beside the couch opposite the ever-crackling fire. Nudging over a stool, they took the matches from the hearth and struck life into the candles lining the edges of the room. The room glowed a soft blue from the special wicks. Calmed, they let themself fall into the couch and began knitting, the soft click-clack of the needles lulling them into a gentle haze.

Slowly, the mansion rose to life, the sun clawing itself above the horizon. Karl popped his little head down the stairs and joined them on the couch, small body curling into their side. He was precious, had to be protected; Eret knew this well. 

They knitted him a blanket, a large purple swirl in the middle of a patchwork of pieces. It slipped over the boy's shoulders easily and he smiled in his sleep. Eret curled a hand round his head and let their eyes slip shut.

Jimmy stumbled down the stairs a few hours later and softened at the sight of the two dozing together, Karl wrapped around Eret like a snake around a bird. He smiled and turned around to start making breakfast.

They tied off the last loop of the mittens. Peering at them, Eret decided they were acceptable and chucked the blue pair at Anna. They were still working off the indenture they had to her after she'd gifted them her various dresses.

"Hey! Wha-" the blond blinked as she processed what had slapped her in the face and fallen into her lap. When she grinned, it was blinding. "Thanks, Eret!"

It seemed everyone in the mansion could smile and laugh like they'd never known anything other than joy. Sometimes, it left Eret jealous of a life they could've had.

Humming, they nodded at the shifter and moved their legs. Their left leg was propping up their right atop the stool and was going numb so they swapped them around and put their right heel against the wood, reclining back into the plush of the couch. They'd never sat in anything as comfortable or soft - hadn't known such a thing was possible, so used to wooden benches and dirt floors - and perhaps it showed in how their body fell limp and their neck sunk against the cushioned top of the backpillows. A few months ago, this would've been a sign of weakness; now it was a sign of security and invulnerability.

Chandler was arguing with Jimmy about pickles, the argument itself mellow and lacking spite. To hear such after nearly a year with Soot and his vitriolic snark was a soft whiplash to their head, vision left blurred as their eyes smarted. Eret had never known complacency wasn't a fault until they came here.

Eyes shut, they relaxed in the lull of nothing being life threatening, calm in the hush of life that was those in the room with them being on their side, at ease with people that trusted them to not turn on them. Dream had always been waiting for them to turn, his whole nice act just that - a façade. Soot had been paranoid enough by the end that their betrayal probably hadn't even surprised him.

There was a quiet voice in the back of their head saying they should care for those they'd abandoned. A louder voice huffed and said they'd done everything they could.

If the children wanted us to help, they should've stopped us from leaving, snapped Elaina.

It's not that easy, whispered Scot.

"Eret?" Came Jimmy's gentle voice. A hand touched their shoulder, rousing them from their doze with a small tap. "Wanna get up? It's dinner time."

"Sure," they hummed and got up to eat at the large dining table. A lingering sense of dismay followed them through the halls, only dissipating when Karl turned to them and beamed from his chair. They smiled back and their chest imploded with warmth.

Things weren’t going well. They had been. But not anymore.

Karl stared at the mess of flour and eggs on the counter and wondered if he should’ve recruited Chandler’s help.

The other day, Eret had let slip that they didn’t have a birthday. Upon pestering them, Karl found that they didn’t know when their day of birth had been and even if they did, everyone knew the records of Diadom and Squatra had been burnt after the war. Eret was a literal unknown, hometown gone, life in ruins.

He held great respect for them, even if their purring did make him all sleepy and warm. Karl knew being a soldier wasn’t easy – most didn’t survive the battles, and those who did usually didn’t last much longer. Despite never being one, Karl had seen enough on his travels of time to understand that there were certain groups that life was a tad (or a lot) harder for.

Those who'd fought in the Useless War had definitely had it rough.

It wasn’t out of pity he was doing this. No. It was the fact that his chest genuinely hurt when Eret had said “I have a month of birth,” in such a confused tone that it made his heart pound. Eret didn’t see the use in celebrations, said they didn't need to know how old they were, or when they'd been spawned.

His chest ached. Maybe it was another side effect of the scuffed mission that had left him in this childish body for the next few months, maybe it wasn’t. A child soldier and a natural spawner - two of the world's worst lots. Karl stood on his stool, hands thick with a failed attempt at a cake, and felt his mouth wobble.

He cursed the childish regulators of hormones. He swore he hadn’t cried this much when he really was a child.

The tears came anyway. Tears of unknown beginning – perhaps because he’d messed up the cake, or due to him thinking about a young child Eret stumbling about in the blood of a battlefield, or maybe because his flour-coated hands had begun to itch – but still, he sobbed them.

Movement in the door caught his attention, Karl looking up briefly from where he’d curled up on his stool. Anna stood there, the shifter looking awfully out of place. She stepped into the bombshell the kitchen had become and made her way over to Karl, wrapping her arms around him. Karl wailed louder in the warm hold, starting to blabber.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay,” soothed the woman, lifting him up to bounce him on her hip. In times like these, Anna resembled the mother she'd been once upon a time. Anna had been pretending to be a normal human until one day, something went wrong and her entire village had turned on her and chased her out. Her husband included.

Karl could not pretend to relate to the pain of leaving one's own child behind, with an anti-hybrid father, but they knew well the pain of abandonment. No hybrid or magically-blessed figure in the world could live without feeling that at least once. To the humans, there was no difference between hybrids and those who were god-blessed.

Over the slow span of a few minutes, the tears stopped. Karl was left sniffling, nose red to match his eyes.

Anna kissed his forehead. “All better?”

He couldn’t wait to be back to normal. Just a few more months, maybe weeks, and he’d be grown again.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, yawning and coddling into Anna’s side.

“What were you trying to do?”

“Make ‘Ret a cake,” he whispered. The eldritch would hear him no matter his volume – just another perk of being more than human.

“Aww,” Anna cooed. “It’s alright, we’ll make them one together.”

“M’kay,” he agreed.

Jimmy appeared by the door as the frosting was settling. He blinked doe-like eyes at the smattering of cooking utensils and the copious amount of flour that had become his kitchen. “Uh, should I even ask?”

“We’re making Eret a cake,” explained Anna. Karl was too busy trying to place his masterpiece of a fondant rose on the cake’s rim. They’d mixed together some black fondant quite unexpectedly after using a few too many colours, thus Karl had taken it upon himself to style wither roses out of it – they looked decent enough, according to Anna.

“A c- ohhhh.” Jimmy made a noise of understanding, prowling into the room. “D’you need help?”

“Nah, I think we’re finished now. Karl?”

“Yep!” He chirped, bouncing away from the perfect cake. The blue icing spelling out ‘Happy Birthday’ in squished and wriggled scripture sat proudly in the middle, twirls and swirls of the left-over icing mixed into a frosted blue and swiped over the rest of the cake. Its base was white, spongy layers hidden under the buttercream. For the product of two amateurs, it looked splendid.

“Great, you want me to get them?”

“Get who?” Chandler called, popping up from around the corner. Karl stood tall on his stool as Anna gestured towards the cake, Jimmy tugging Chandler out of the way as Eret appeared in the door as well.

They blinked at seeing everyone.

“Happy birthday!” Karl yelled, jumping up and down as he beamed at Eret.

The wither hybrid looked stunned, mouth parting for a moment as their gaze flickered from Karl to the cake. Realisation struck and their eyes shot wide. Then, they were smiling, lunging for Karl and sweeping him up in a crushing hug.

“You didn't have to,” they murmured, voice wobbling like a boat at sea. They were shaking as they cradled Karl. He giggled, enjoying the weightless sensation of being six foot up in the air. A grateful hand rested on Anna's shoulder, their joy visible even to Karl – who had his face buried in Eret’s chest.

“You deserve much more than this,” the eldritch murmured. Eret froze up at the words but before anything else could be said, Anna’s sober tone morphed into a happy one: “Three hip-hip-hoorays for Eret!”

“Hip!” Chandler sparked, voices a mantra in the room. 

Jimmy joined. “Hip!”

Karl cheered into their quaking chest. “Hooray!”

Eret sobbed hard enough they had to sit down.

The cake tasted like shit. Eret ate their entire slice.

Chapter Text

“Why?” They asked when the cake was cut and the group had dispersed through the lounge, nestled together amongst the blankets and cushions. The living room was soft and warm, the easy aura curling through them. Eret had never felt so at peace in L'Manberg, or the Capitol. After how that had gone, Eret had not expected to settle somewhere again.

People scared them. Maybe, the difference between this house and the other places, was the fact that the Crew were all hybrids. 

Kin, Scot murmured.

They make you feel safe, Elaina added. Because they are monsters, just like you. 

Karl looked up at them with his childish eyes and beamed a brilliant smile. The way his eyes scrunched up when he grinned made something in them melt. 

“Why what?” The kid echoed.

“The cake, a fake birthday,” they queried, hushed as Anna and Chandler fell into a heated game of charades. “Why would you do that for me?”

“Because you deserve it,” Karl said, echoing Anna’s earlier sentiment.

Eret did not know how to respond. They sat quietly for a long moment, simply watching Chandler hopping around. Karl sat sedately beside them. He was smiling. He smiled a lot.

You deserve nice things, Jameskii nodded. 

They whispered, "I don't think I do."

Suddenly, Karl clambered onto his feet and turned to them. His small hands slapped against their cheeks, squishing their mouth shut with a fierce expression. “Yes,” he said. “You do.”

They were speechless, throat convulsing, chest too warm for them to breathe. Tears welled up in their eyes once more, lungs shaking through a hiccup. Tamping themself down, Eret gulped in a deep breath and nuzzled the boy, rumbling through a grateful purr. Karl giggled and hugged them.

“Oh,” he chirped, peeling away from them. Eret let him go, watching as he skittered off the couch and made for the door.  He called back to them, “I’ll be back, wait a second!”

Unharried, Eret sat there, tuning into the game happening in front of them. Chandler was desperately screaming at Anna, accusing the eldritch shapeshifter of being a pickle (despite how she clearly was not). Jimmy offered them his friendly smile, throwing out reasonable guesses above Chandler’s wails. Listening quietly and throwing in a few guesses here and there, Eret smiled and waited.

Less than five minutes later, Karl reappeared.

He barrelled through the doors as a blur of colour, hoodie marking him out before Eret’s eyes acknowledged his presence. He beelined towards them, bouncing up onto the couch again as the room fell silent.

“Every birthday, people get presents,” the time traveller explained. In his small hands, he clutched a milky bottle, the size of his fist. “This is yours!”

With the small glass bottle shoved at them, they accepted it, blinking wide. At Karl’s furiously excited nods, they unscrewed the cap and were met with around twenty see-through pills. Unsure, they plucked one from the pile, surveying how a water-like substance swished within the little gelatin capsules.

“This might be rude, but it wasn’t meant to be,” Anna hurried to say.

“We know you might not want to stay with us forever,” added Jimmy. “These pills are infused with a little bit of old magic. They'll give you the illusion of looking like you have visible pupils and irises.”

They struggled to speak. “What?”

“They’ll make your eyes look like a human's,” Chandler explained.

Eret's eyes had always been white. They weren't sure to be thankful or upset with this gift...

Were they trying to give them a disguise? For humans or themselves? None of the Crew had expressed distaste with their eyes, and when they did not wear their glasses, no one refused to make eye contact or shied away from their gaze. This gift was quite a surprise. 

"They are to keep you safe," Anna murmured, quiet and sad. She'd told them what had happened to her and her baby. Chased out. Child stolen. It was just another facet to their harsh reality as non-human creatures. "From those who might wish you harm."

The way Karl was grinning up at them told them this was not meant to hurt them. He was practically vibrating in place. “Try one! They taste like milkshake.”

Cautious but secure in the knowledge that the others wouldn’t kill them like this, not when they had a bedspawn right upstairs, Eret rolled the pill they were holding in their hand and tossed it into their mouth. It sat heavy on their tongue, but they swallowed it down without a word. 

Everyone was watching them. Eret felt the pod slip down their throat uncomfortably. They swallowed again and their eyes tingled like an itch had sprung up in their retina. Forced to blink because of the sensation, they shuttered their eyes and reopened them to the Crew sitting around, the orange fire flickering in the hearth, the shining jar sitting in their hand.

Nothing had changed.

“Blue,” Karl murmured, little hand reaching up to point. His golden eyes burned, hellishly bright yet holy in their beauty. In the reflection of his eyes, they saw a pair of cerulean blue irises.

Their chest wavered as their throat went dry. They looked like Scot's...

“One capsule only lasts a few hours,” Karl explained when they pulled him against their chest to try and ignore how their mouth wouldn't open, how their chest felt like acid had spilled down its insides and melded everything together, fusing it inseparably. This gift felt like poison - who would make them hide their eyes in this safety? It was a practical gift if they were to move on, but it felt cruel. “But when you run out, I can make you some more!"

They dropped the bottle into their inventory and tried to not think of all the things they wanted to say.

I like your eyes the way they are, Elaina reassured them. She was standing by the fireplace with Jameskii nodding enthusiastically along. Scot's hand settled on their shoulder and rubbed some strength into them. 

“I hate this country,” snarled someone, voice indistinguishable past the wailing winds.

“Agreed,” growled Mallard, duck hybrid hissing in a breath as he tugged his cloak closer to himself. He went by Quackity to the new faces, but to the old, he had a second name - like so many of the others in this army. “I didn’t sign up to trudge through swamps or march in storms.”

“You signed up because you pine after Ram,” snickered Corpse Husband in his usual decrepit monotone.

“I do not!” Squawked the duck. “I'm here for the cause. I believe in equality!”

“We all do,” assured Wisp, striding to be aligned with his fellow officers. The men were trudging heartily behind them. Quackity’s usual dawdling pace had been accelerated by Corpse’s pressuring presence, thus making for a lot of thankful soldiers.

They were somewhat of a quarter through their conquering of the world. The Main Continent holding all the important kingdoms made the expansion easier than it would've been had they needed to go overseas. However, if the Ram turned his attention onto the Antarctic Empire, Wisp feared they would be grabbing boats and doing just that. Barely three months in, most countries they'd passed through in the North had fallen under the might of the Ram and his men.

Most of the soldiers were just that; soldiers. This army held more child fighters from the Useless War than Wisp had seen in the Empire. The First Emperor had brought back a few hundred children after his initial sweep-through of Diadom and Squatra. There had been so many that Wisp had impossibly thought there couldn't have been many more left.

Him joining the Revolutionary Army had corrected these oversights. It was clear there had been far more child soldiers left to fend for themselves than the mere few that had come to the Antarctic Empire. Honestly, it made sense - how was a war that had supposedly been ran by children supposed to have only a few handfuls? Still, the reality was sickening.

The soldiers who were not ex-Squatrans or ex-Diadomians were either mercenaries, former guardsmen or soldiers from the armies of the kingdoms they'd swept through already. Others were normal, non-fighting men and women who Schlatt had charmed into being on his side. The only rule to join the Revolutionary Army was that one needed to be a hybrid.

The aims of the Army, under Schlatt’s thumb, were simple in theory. Equality for hybrids was first and foremost, the half-mob people were tired of segregation from the ‘normal’ humans. Second was the right to oversee this law being enforced.

That meant Schlatt wanted the Continent conquered. Most, used to being led into a fight by the horned man, agreed with this sentiment. Wisp had noticed those who had fought with the man in their childhoods did not argue with the words he said; they listened, nodded and agreed. No one argued with the Ram. Nearly half of the Army had grown up on the bloodied fields of the Diadom-Squatra war and everyone here dreamt of power over those who had hurt them, yet no one rose up against Schlatt.

Maybe, that was the scariest thing of all. Never mind the fact that wherever the Army went, kingdoms fell. Over six countries (a few admittedly very small but still) had crumbled under the Army's influx. The Antarctic Empire laid claim to twenty-three former kingdoms, owning the entirety of the South Continent and then the Antarctic lands off shore... Schlatt was a cunning man who played his cards well.  

Wisp was here because he had to be. He had not fought in the Useless War, and the night terrors and horrible visions of those who had made him grateful he had not. Wisp Dot Exe was an inside man – for none other than the mighty Antarctic Empire. The Emperors were worried for the integrity of their lands, therefore Wisp had been sent out to enter the ranks of the enemy and gain their friendship.

So far, a month into his tenure (where his skill had already been realised and he was one of the forefront Generals alongside Quackity and Corpse: one of four) there had been no inclination from Schlatt, the definite leader of this quest and regarded as such by all, that they would be moving in on the Empire. It was unquestionably going to happen, for the Empire was the sole of its kind and held the most power over the lands, however it was to the South and the Revolutionary Army was surging through the Northern Continent primarily, traversing by sea secondarily. Wisp kind of held out the hope that Schlatt would stop before the Empire, seeing how they had the best hybrid laws worldwide...

Though he knew, if the Army grew much bigger, the Empire would be setting aside time to quash them. Or maybe, the Emperors would help? Wisp knew these people were fighting dirty, storming into kingdoms by nightfall and taking the crowns by force, but their ideals were good. Hybrids needed to be respected. Wisp had not seen the extent of abuse that hybrids outside of the Empire faced before he had joined this army. It was disgusting the way that some were treated. Those who had obvious features and couldn't blend in with the humans were all but doomed. 

Currently, the Army was on a high, marching on from another takeover of a small country called the Badlands, where they’d taken many fearful hybrids into their ranks. It had shocked Wisp at first, the tenacity and volume with which Schlatt accepted unknowns into his missionary ranks, although it was not surprising. Everyone knew those with the majority won easier, and there were certainly enough fanatics to keep those less inclined in line with the cause.

Schlatt’s main line was something along the lines of, “Aren’t you tired of the persecution we have to face just for being different? Make a stand now, and we’ll change this world to suit us.”

It was a damn good catch too – the Army was hundreds wide and hundreds long. Segregation and bullying of hybrids was not an isolated thing, Many countries conspired with their hatred-made laws and actively aimed to eliminate their hybrid populations. Hybrids had been shunned since the beginning of time, the only safe space being the Antarctic Empire – although, with the Empire being fuelled on isolationist principles, it was often difficult to secure a way into the Empire's safe space. Most were tired of the hatred, wishing to strike back. Through Schlatt, they were.

“Wisp?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, turning to see Quackity staring at him past the torrential rain that looked and felt more like stones thundering down on them. The ground was muddy and wet under his boots, sloshing menacingly. The weather was bad, but when Schlatt had stopped earlier and asked his men what they wanted to do - to rest or continue on - there had been a resounding roar to keep going. In these people's minds, a storm was nothing compared to what they could have. “What?”

“Geez,” huffed the duck hybrid, waving his hands around. “You say you’re not traumatised and then you go an' do this-”

Sighing in protest, Wisp argued, “I’m not!”

“Spacing out is not an indicator of traumatic experiences or sufferings, Mallard,” Corpse repeated for the umpteenth time.

“See!” Wisp nodded. “Just because I think more than you, it doesn’t mean I’m traumatised.”

“Hey!” Quackity bristled good naturedly, cloak jolting as he shifted his wings under it. He was probably uncomfortable. It had been raining for hours and Quackity, despite being a duck hybrid, hated getting his wings wet. “I am the pinnacle of nature’s finest. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The rain picked up in intensity and the conversation subsided in favour of them all lowering their heads and staring at the misty road. Behind them, the chatter of the men picked up, the splash of puddles loud as they dragged their procession of men, horses and carts through the intercountry paths. Of course, the entire Army wasn’t with them – they’d split up into separate groups, three in total, but this group was the main one, with Schlatt and his Generals. The fourth General (whose name was currently unknown to Wisp) was with one of the other groups, leading small raids on backwater towns and slowly cutting human’s off the foodchain. The final group was a smaller scouting group, one that circled the Continent and gave nightly reports by means of Comms. They were the ones who informed them of the world’s reactions and suggested where the humans’ countries were weakest.

Ahead of them rode Schlatt, seated atop a fine skeleton mare. It had been a prize from the Badlands’ stables and he’d been keen to lead the progression upon it. Wisp blinked himself through the sharp pains of an incoming headache and tugged his cloak closer to himself, shovelling air into his lungs with a few deep breaths as the chill nibbled at him.

On their way to a smallish country called the Country of the SMP, they had not expected a storm to hit. Wisp hated storms; despised the way the wind bit at him and how the rains shot down like arrows from the dark clouds, raucous thunder and sharp lightning dancing along the skies. Beside him, Quackity sneezed. Corpse had to make sure he didn’t get too wet or his zombie part would become less than flesh and more like sludge. He, unlike mob zombies, would not become a drowned, instead dying over time from pneumonia in his human lung and whittling away to a slow respawn.

“I don’t see why we’re worming through the Continent like madmen,” a soldier muttered a little too loudly from behind. Not with enough volume for Schlatt to hear, but enough to perk the Generals’ veiled attention.

“It’s because the Ram’s chasing after his old buddy,” one of the older soldiers said in response.

“Yeah, he’s pinning over Wither,” another snickered.

“That’s why we’re moving like this. We’re chasing the Wither first and foremost,” said a woman. “Conquering the Continent and gaining equality second.”

In a lull of the rains, Wisp looked over to the other two Generals. Corpse seen his gaze and nodded.

“It’s not false,” agreed the half-zombie.

“Mhmm,” chirped Quackity, pulling his gaze up from the muddied path. “You really think we’d be stomping through a barren path if we had a fleshed out plan for this? Ram’s had it for Wither for years and now he’s caught their trail, of course he’s gonna follow. He’s like a dog sniffing out the scent.”

This was intriguing. Up until now, Wisp hadn’t noticed an abrasive nature to their route. It had seemed pretty cut and dry; the Ram wanted the North. But in reality, he was slipping past some countries (ones Wisp had thought they avoided due to little manpower) and going into others simply because he was following someone?

To think that Schlatt was chasing after a supposed best friend whilst knee-deep in a purge was… surprising? He didn’t seem like the type of man to be driven by emotions, and at that - if any, moreso greed and lust. Maybe it was more reckless, which seemed more like a Schlatt trait than following after a friend due to loneliness (or love) did.

After the Useless War, the Wither had not been seen. Most assumed they had been made up by the Diadomians, or the name was simply a fancy pseudonym for their leader. The children who'd been rescued were mostly too young to tell the history of the war, and those who had been old enough to know had spoken very little on it. Wisp had been one of those who thought the Wither was a legend brought over from the war; children clinging to what hope they had left in the form of oral tales and fantasy heroes. It seemed Wither was very real – as real as Ram was.

This’ll be interesting to report, he thought as the forestry gave way to a large walled city. The lights within glimmered enticingly.

“Alright!” Called out Schlatt, rearing up on his mare. “We’re settling here. Generals on me.”

Wisp strode up to the man, Quackity to Schlatt’s right as he took to his left. Corpse, the protection, took the frontmost stride, and they were off, trundling down the cobblestone path as the rain flurried down.

“State your intentions!” Beckoned a sentry by the drawgate. The man’s silver armour glistened in the shielded lamps, his spear grinding against the cobble ground. The green ribbon attached to the spear dictated the country’s colours.

If the armour wasn't telling enough, the cobbled road was - the SMP had money. Wisp could see the money signs as he peered at the walls. 

“We’re here to talk with your leader,” stated Schlatt, looking down at the man with his square-pupiled eyes. His voice boomed; authority and power swirling into his accented words. The sentry shrunk under his presence. “Let us in.”

The drawgate shivered and rose with a shriek.

Another day came and passed, finding Eret downstairs first, curled up in a blanket as they stared into the fire. Karl was in bed still, the couch empty without him. Everyone else was sound asleep, the house still, the air calm. It had been a week since their ‘birthday’ and although they weren’t feeling older, they felt softer. They had no plans to use those pills gifted to them - which now sat comfortably in one of the drawers in their chest - but the thought was nice. No one had ever given them anything.

Excuse me? Elaina bent over them, hands on her hips. She frowned down at them. Are you forgetting the flowers we gave you? That scarf we stole from one of the officers? 

The one we all got put on latrine duty for, Jameskii whined. 

The fire crackled and popped, licking at the fireplace and curling up the chimney. It was a myriad of reds and oranges, flames a lulling symphony of colour and sound. The wood popped, startling them out of their daze.

Eret shifted, propping a pillow under their head as they lay down horizontally on the couch. With their breathing deep and unhurried, they slowly relaxed, sinking into the cushions. The murmuring of their family washed over their ears, lulling them away. The fluffy blanket coddled them like the mother they’d never had and their eyes slipped shut.

Something tickled their arm, phantom pains arching along their wrist. Jerking back, they flew out of their doze and whimpered through a breath. Something haggard bristled in their chest, shifting with them.

Rolling over, they got to their feet and braced through the dizziness that met them. The fire crackled up at them, the paintings on the walls peering down curiously. Eret folded the blanket, righted the pillows and strode into the hallway, slipping down the grand staircase onto the ground floor, where the front doors were.

By the doors sat a little wooden rack. It was small and old, but it was strong. On it, sat everyone's shoes. Eret owned two pairs of shoes - a pair of sturdy boots and a thinner pair of sandals they'd grabbed a few years back when they'd been toeing the line of the desert. It had been boiling hot around those countries and they'd been permanently sunburnt. Of their shoes, only Eret's boots were on the rack. Their sandals were upstairs, sitting in their rucksack that usually sat in their inventory. For the first time since leaving their war, Eret had been able to unload their inventory. They'd never realised how heavy it made them until they'd been afforded the opportunity to empty it out. Now, everything aside from their weapons and a few snacks had been set neatly in their room. 

Eret grabbed their boots off the bottom rack and pulled them on, lacing them up with a firm tug.

Deciding they’d much rather feel the morning dew on their skin, they left without a cloak, Ted’s Wrath loose on their hip. A morning walk would do them some good; clear their head.

Twigs stayed silent underfoot, the detritus soft under them. The leaves swayed with the gentle breeze, the tall oaks towering around in a familiar and comforting shawl. Eret hummed a lullaby and picked a sturdy tree, hitching themself up it with the help of a few low-lying branches. Since staying here, they'd gotten better at climbing trees. It helped that Chandler was a good teacher. 

Safely perched high in the canopy, possibly forty or fifty feet above the ground, they gazed up at the green hue of the light hitting the stout leaves and let the fresh air and the soft breeze calm them.

Soft pitches of sound rose up, swirling around them. It could've been a squirrel chittering, if not for how insistent and varying in depth it was. Eret roused to this incessant noise, mind switching on after a few hours of sleep to realise that people were talking below them. 

Eyes peeling open, they pressed back against the bark of the tree and noted the warmth. Mid-day then, no later.

Eret looked down at the forest floor, keenly aware of the unknown voices. They didn’t recognise them as any of the Crew’s and it certainly wasn't their family's - Jameskii was hanging onto their branch at the end, noodle arms wrapped around it as his feet swung in the air. Elaina was standing on their shoulder like a ballerina and Scot was standing amiably on a different tree a few feet away, watching with a smile.

Smirking at their antics, Eret was content to listen to the mystery voices below for a few more minutes. When they rose in volume and vehemence, Eret finally shucked themself onto the edge of their branch to scan the ground. The branch they'd chosen was so thick that it was twice their width, so there was no chance they'd been noticed. 

Which was a good thing, as these people were heavily armed. A few wore belts looped with clinking potion bottles. They all sported their weapons, held out in the open as a clear threat. How interesting. 

They counted over three handfuls – Eret had been briefly taught basic maths, which started and ended at counting. There were sixteen armed threats; six spearmen, two archers, eight swordsmen. In quite a suspicious fashion, these strangers were huddled in a tight group, creeping through the trees. They wore black and red clothing, leather armour strapped tight. One turned around, scarred face cautious as his gaze flicked over the brush. Eret peered down and caught sight of his face, mouth slackening.

Oh, said Elaina.

Eret knew these people.

They were some amongst the many who had fought in the war. Eret remembered that scarred man because they had given him those scars. He looked a lot older, but Eret remembered well.

Biting their tongue for a moment, they pondered their course of action. They could-

“Let’s hurry up,” the scarred one moaned.

“Shut it, Josh,” snapped a woman who was short in stature with long, untied black hair. With how loose and long it was, her hair could be tugged; head pulled back for a blade to slip past, her weakness. Her long black wings were also a nice treat - it was easy to pull out a few feathers and ground birds. Eret recognised this woman from the girl she'd been; Corvus. She'd been one of Squatra's named fighters, much like Wither and Ram had been. Only the best fighters had been named, and the Squatrans had boasted more titled soldiers than Diadom had. Eret's General hadn't minded, because he had them and he said they were powerful enough to kill his old enemy, General Augustine, who he utterly hated-

Focus, Eret, Scot whispered.

“What, Corvus?”

“I hate listening to you.”

“Mean,” pouted Josh, spear glistening in the swathes of lightbeams that fluttered around the forest floor. The black ribbon tied around the handle of the spear spoke of freedom. The man’s scar was his weakness – a blind patch in his vision. Eret couldn't remember if he'd been named, but they remembered him fighting with a spear like that on the battlefield. He'd taken out many Diadomians before Eret had gotten close enough, and even then, they'd only gotten a swipe at him before they'd had to turn to take on an older soldier who'd been going for their head. It was disarming to remember these small things after so long; minute moments in battle turned into ever-lasting memories.

“Hush, both of you,” chastised a brunet. He was small and thin, likely agile. The small wings on his back suggested he was a bird hybrid, perhaps a chicken. His weakness would be how brittle his bones would be, as all bird hybrid's were. “We’re nearly onto the mansion. We need to be ready to deal with the Mage’s protectors first.”

“The Beast Crew aren’t shit against us, Chip,” chuckled a man. His cat ears twitched on his head. Eret wondered how good his hearing was.

The thin one, Chip, shook his head, short plait swinging. His tone was stiff, the warning clear. “They are more powerful than you seem to think, HBomb.”

The rest were silent, all of them hybrids, traits discernible in some manner. Corvus was a jackdaw, Josh a salamander, Chip a tanuki, HBomb a cat of some sort. There looked to be a couple ferrets hybrids, a seagull, a bear and a panda amongst them.

Assessment complete, Eret jumped from the tree branch. They landed with a soft crackle of leaves. Chip and HBomb both turned at the noise, ears perked. Chip hissed at them, knees bending as his stance widened out. HBomb responded by subspacing his weapon back into his inventory.

With the group of sixteen centered on them, they tilted their head.

“Hey,” smiled HBomb, hands spread out in front of himself to distract from the other sneering fifteen. “We’re just passing through, we’re kinda lost. Could you direct us in the direction of a big mansion? We were gonna meet our friends there but I think Josh took us on a wrong turn.”

“I did not,” huffed Josh, ready with his spear despite his easy-going attitude. The entire group played a convincing act but it had been made clear to Eret on their first day that the Beast Crew had no allies. “I swear it was left at the blue wood.”

“Leave,” they warned, growl entering their voice unbidden. “You are not welcome here.”

“Oh,” HBomb was non-plussed. “Are you part of the Crew now? I- Sorry, we haven’t even introduced ourselves, I’m HBomb.”

“This is your final warning,” they snarled, eyes glowing in the shadows. Their hand rested on Wrath’s handle. “Leave.”

“What’s one guy versus sixteen?” Someone laughed.

Eret sunk low and decided they wouldn’t even need to sully Wrath’s blade. When they grinned, it was all teeth and no mercy.

They lunged, knocking down a spearman as the archers stepped back. Chip fell with a cry, ears twitching as he frowned at his swelling wrist. HBomb swung at them with a blade, crying out as they ducked under it and swept his feet out from under him, leaving the cat in the dirt. His sword found its way through Josh’s head; body falling like a lumbering tree.

The black ribboned spear fell into Eret’s hand. Silent, they twirled it and sprinted forth, chasing after the group as they scattered. The archers fired off steaming arrows, the arrowheads thick with slime, as they downed the sword-wielders one by one. They dodged the arrows with simple steps, and those they could not avoid found the chests of their downed allies as Eret lifted up the bodies to shield themself in between swiping down others. 

One woman stumbled away from the main group. Eret didn't bother to go after her as they pulled the spear from some guy’s back. They wound up, one foot seeking leverage behind them, and swung forth, throwing the spear as if a javelin.

She fell with a gurgle, spear through her back. The thump echoed in their ears.

Death, shivered their hunger. So good, so nice, delicious. Feed me. Feed me.

Hush, they decreed and bent double to avoid an arrow to the eye. The goo on it was red; a harming arrow. These people were well-off if they were able to use high caliber arrows such as these in abundance.

Sidestepping a swinging blade, they stuck their palm out and caught the woman’s neck. Letting her fall into their grasp, their other hand rose and aided in the twist, the snap of her neck ringing out. They brought her armoured body up to shield their back from her compatriot, watching the man’s sword pierce her limp corpse with no emotion. The man attempted to pull his sword free, but Eret watched as he reared back at an odd angle and the metal got caught within the ribcage. A few tugs did nothing, so he hurried to shy back, abandoning his sword in the woman.

Eret let the body thud against the dirt, bending to both dodge another arrow and retrieve the sword. A wiggle and a gentle nudge back into her chest had the weapon free. The man’s handle was too heavy, leaving the blade unbalanced. It was a weakness to have a bad weapon.

They sprung, diving behind a tree to avoid the pairs of arrows racing for their head – the two archers had finally decided to combine strengths, it seemed. From their cover, they cut the Achilles tendon of a woman thanks to Eret's tactful diversion with their pilfered blade. This woman screeched loud enough to rouse the dead and fell convulsing. The pain must've been too much, as a moment later, she plunged a dagger through her own throat.

A hybrid with a long tail charged them, streaking out under the cover of a handful of arrows. He sneered at them, lips pulling back to reveal long canines. Eret growled back, teeth jagged, and lunged into the man.

Tumbling across the detritus, they pinned the tailed one to the ground and jerked a dagger from his waist, plunging it into the base of his neck for a silent death. As the hybrid’s scrabbling hands fell from their arms, that very dagger was used to deflect an arrow aimed for their back.

Standing, they surveyed those remaining. Six still stood, the rest splattered across what was likely half a mile’s worth of forest dirt.

“You bastard,” Corvus snarled. Her wings flapped behind her in agitation, long jackdaw feathers bristled and puffed.

“No," they hummed. "I go by Eret.” With that, they threw the dagger. She dropped like a sack of peat.

The other five rallied, the archers firing what was essentially pot-shots at them. They rolled under the overswing of a spearman, shooting up and catching his elbow. It broke with a crack in their hold, the man yelling out as he dropped his weapon. Eret scooped it up before it fell and shoved the longspear through the man’s skull, idling at the pretty glisten of his animal-like thin pupils as they twitched and rolled into the back of his head. An arrow skimmed their cheek, another delving into the flesh of their upper arm.

Growling, they snapped left and bounded towards the closest archer. The woman cawed in horror and tried to scramble back, stopping only when the spear pierced her heart. The other archer, a bushy tailed soldier with a cap, shrunk back in mute terror. The spear cut through skin like butter, with Eret’s strength the tearing force.

Finally, there were two left. Chip and another man stood on shaky legs, staring at them in trepidation.

Chip’s ears twitched. “You’re too late,” he snuffed. “All it takes is one little spark and the house is gone.”

What? They thought. Suddenly, the smell of smoke was rife, thick clouds lolling through the forest. Eret looked up and found a huge plume of smoke in the direction of the mansion.

Chip fell to his ally’s spear. The final man stumbled back when Chip disintegrated into the fluttering dust of death. He would respawn, they all would, but that made Death no less fearful.

“Please,” the man called, begging. He sounded like Wilbur.

Blinded in a fit of bubbling anger, they roared.

When they blinked there was more blood on their hands. The body was gone. The respawn rate in this country was too quick for them to get anything tasty, which left a pit of remorse in their gut. They dropped the spear, taking in the smattering of weapons across the forest detritus and turned towards the mansion.

Sprinting towards it, jumping over logs and arching roots, they stumbled into the clearing where the vines crept. Gasping through the tsunami of smoke that rushed them, they waved the grey carcinogen from their eyes and caught sight of the mansion, an entire wall alight with fire. It roared, the fire harsh and unyielding as a group of ten soldiers lurked around the destructive flames.

None of the Beast Crew could be seen. Eret stuttered to a halt in the clearing, the soldiers turning on them with vicious grins. These weren’t the same people from before, but they wore the same uniform and wielded the same weapons.

They growled deep in their throat.

“Aw, they’re leaving this one behind!” One laughed cruelly.

Before they could comprehend what that meant, the mansion flickered out of sight. There was a huge gust of wind, clearing the smoke from stinging eyes. Rocking back, Eret guarded themselves with their arm and stared at the pressed down dirt where the mansion had sat. The gardens were still pristine, immobile and untouched despite the loss of the house.

The soldiers laughed. Eret struggled for a breath past their screaming mind. They- The-

They’d been abandoned.

Karl had said he could travel through time and space with the house, through the magics being bound by a similar nature, but-

But they’d never thought they’d leave them behind.

Karl. Anna. Chandler. Jimmy.

Eret was left. Alone. Abandoned.

They should’ve known it was too good to be true.

Faced with the snide expressions of the remaining soldiers – they did this, they burnt it, they caused this—

Eret howled.

(They waited. They waited for hours and hours, ‘til the light gave way to crawling mobs and the blood around them grew stale and brown. Eret waited for the mansion to return, tried begging, attempted prayer and ran out of tears.

The mansion did not return.)

Chapter Text

In the aftermath, there was blood.

There was always blood with them. It followed like a tangible river, always swaying and snaking after them no matter where they went. Here, out in the forest, the trail of blood curved softly around each tree and encapsulated them. It clung to their skin and weighed them down. Red and cherry-sweet, it never left them. 

When there were no more soldiers, Eret was the sole one left standing. Their hands were red. Wrath was dripping, soft little noises coming from the blade as the juices ran down his length and plipped on the ruined grass. Language was slipping in their hand, their tight hold loosened from the scarlet that had mingled with their own dark liquor and bathed its handle in a slick dampness. At some point, they'd stopped using the soldier's weapons and had switched to their own. Now, everything was a mess.

This country had a fast respawn rate, they'd been told. That meant, those who fell returned to life quickly. If this was true, the soldiers would come back for their gear even quicker. 

They pillaged the dropped items before they could meet the soldiers again. Eret could not recall how they had killed each one, only knowing that they had. Not a single body remained, which meant none of them had seen their final life. A man who was not truly dead would be angry. They would want revenge, but there was no reason for Eret to fight them. Not any longer.

They did not wish to fight with foes that had already become background noise. There was no need to get rid of these hybrids now that they had nothing to protect.

And so, left with nothing to protect and nothing to their name Eret went around and pried open the small bags some had dropped; the remnants of their inventories consolidated into tiny, cloth pouches. There was very little to take, even less to be added to their own sparse inventory. Dried meats, a few potions. These soldiers were low on supplies. 

Looks like they were going to resupply soon, Scot grunted. He stood at the top of the hill, surveying the mess, scowling at the pit where the mansion had been. Eret wanted the Crew to come back, but they were old enough to know they wouldn't be. They'd been taken in like a stray dog, brushed and petted until it stopped biting at the hand that fed it, and then, when the attackers had come, they'd been pushed out the door and made to defend. Eret had defended the mansion, the Crew, and now they were alone again. Like everything else, they'd been disposed of. 

With this move, the Crew had made it clear that Eret was nothing but a mutt. 

You have us, Ela smiled. Something in it didn't reach her rotting eyes, which flies had begun to feast upon. Eret wasn't too sure when her face had started decaying, but now that they looked at her, they saw how her hands were becoming bone-thin and her dress sagged miserably where it had once clung to healthy skin. She looked very sad, even though she was smiling.

They turned away, unable to get a word out past their thick throat. Their chest was heavy, and not with the sickliness of a harmful potion or an injury akin to the likes of that which had torn their bicep open. It was a cruel, leaden weight that they recognised to be similar to the one they'd felt when Jameskii had died - the crushing pressure that came with the last of their family leaving. 

Chatter sounded from the trees. Eret pulled their head up from a nearly empty bag and listened like an animal, head cocked to the side with their eyes flicking over the brush. Distant, low. Angry. They were still a few hundred feet away. Any decent soldiers would come back with weapons, or more men, and take back what they owned. Eret did not want to see them. 

From the haste of their return, Eret assumed they had set up a spawnpoint somewhere within the forest, or perhaps by a neighbouring village - few of whom knew of the Crew but despised the supposed beasts that lurked within the trees. It wasn't difficult to convince people that able exterminators were present, prompting suspicious farmers or innkeepers to offer up a bed and somewhere to shelter. Eret had played that line many a time when they were trying to scrape by, killing mobs for the coin. Desperate people accepted white lies easier than others. If the mobs were dead, they were dead - if those mobs had been killing good people, it didn't matter what killed them, so long as they were gone. That type of job had made up the majority of Eret's hunting contracts.

From the dropped inventories, there was an abundance of clothes. There was very little cheap armour mixed amongst the more expensive pieces and noticeably, most of the weapons that had been dropped were strong and balanced, likely perfect for their owners. A large percentile of these soldiers were experienced, ready for a fight and had impressively held their own against them. Eret had a few decent sized gashes to speak of for that. Any group that had members from that war was not one Eret wished to meet on the roadside. 

We'll have to be careful, Jameskii chittered nervously, skeletal fingers clacking like stones tumbling from a mountainside. He stepped alongside them, though his usual bouncing gait was stilted and rough from the skin that slipped down his legs in molten rivets. His face had already peeled like an orange, white porcelain flesh melting away to reveal the tension of red muscle and the glisten of bone that made up his facial structure. If we run into any of these people again, it could be bad. 

There was a hollow feeling in Eret's chest. They didn't really listen to what Jameskii was saying, nor did they care enough to bother with a debate. If they had a drop of anything in them, they would've scoffed.

As it was, Eret stood up from rifling through the final bag and turned in the opposite direction from the voices. They dipped into the treeline and threaded their way through the bulk of the trees until they came upon the small river that slipped through the outer edges of the forest. Out so far, they couldn't hear the voices, or the gentle rustling of the garden's flowers as the breeze caressed them. They couldn't hear the heady chirping of the nested birds nor could they hear the haunting wind.

By the side of the creek, they crouched and listened. Something rustled in the undergrowth. The water burbled along in an idyllic scene, faster than a leaf falling from a branch but not filled with much more haste. Eret eased down the bank and crossed into the deepest part of the creek. It was shallow and narrow, the grasses and ferns on both sides tall enough to hide it from afar. They could've laid down and let the water rush over them, abandoning everything they'd ever had, and no one would notice anything amiss until the downstream flow became polluted and killed whatever drank from it. If no cattle or men drank from it, there would be nothing seen. 

The fact that they could lie down and not get back up with no one noticing was not a new revelation. In fact, so used to these thoughts, the notion felt like a nostalgic memory. How many times before had they considered the very same thing? To simply let go and allow the world to sweep over them, time moving on, their aching body put to rest... Sometimes, like in this instance, the musings held a visceral appeal. How heavenly would it be to simply fade away from existence?

Eret breathed deeply, filling their ashen lungs with chilled midday air, and sat down in the water. It poured over the edges of their boots, gushed into their wounds and drew more inky blackness from their skin. The clothes they'd stolen sat perfectly in their inventory as they stripped out of their garments. They were borrowed clothes that left a bad taste in their mouth. 

In the water, they found a quiet, idle peace. As they let what they'd been wearing drift off downstream, they sat in the cold stream and tipped their head back, up towards the sky. The trees met in wide-spanning bushels of leaves, dark and heavy in their shadows and their shade. There was very little of the beyond to see; no clouds and certainly no blue abyss. This creek was shrouded by the forest in a labyrinthine manner - isolated and closed off from what lay beyond. If they closed their eyes here, would they be trapped like the ferns along the side of the embankment that were held under by the current? One such plant wallowed beside them, its leafy fringes brushing out towards them, the water crushing it down every time it neared their skin. Eret reached out and tugged it free of the soil and stone. Its roots came loose in a mist of dirt and floated down the creek to vanish from sight. 

They sat for a short time, not thinking much. What had stained their skin washed off in thick globules. It dripped into their eyes and ears, making them tip all the way back to push their head underwater. The shock of cool water woke them up and had them hastily scrubbing their frigid skin with wrinkled hands. When they sat up again, they took the time to unthread their hair from its braid, letting the water run through the strands. It was heavy and matted. 

Reaching for their soap, Eret floundered at the emptiness of their inventory. In the middle of a cold stream, in a forest they hated, what they had lost became apparent. 

They had nothing.

Everything they'd owned had been inside their backpack. Their pack was sitting on the floor of the room they'd been allotted in that mansion. 

To their name, Eret had the clothes, meat and potions they'd stolen from the dead and the things they'd left in their inventory. Wrath, Language and a few bags of dried fruit and nuts. They had little to their name and little of worth in their pack, but it was the loss of most of their few belongings that ached more than losing their sewing kit or their spare trousers.

Eret pushed their head under the water to scream, but nothing came out. They shut their eyes against the gentle current. 

Eventually, they sat up, though they had very little to sit up for. They pulled their boots off their feet and set them on the dry bank. The clothes they had taken because they'd been pretty were sorted out. When Eret stood and emerged from the stream, they had a shirt and loose shorts to wear with their sodden boots. Wrath had a sheath for their hip but there wasn't one for Language, so they put their blade by their thigh and kept the axe tucked away in their inventory.

They had not taken money from the dead, simply because if there was one practice that Eret deemed too much, it was pillaging the lost for coin. Clothes and food were fine, but it was the curse of coin that made great woes befall decent people. A man could buy back a shirt, but he would only pine after his lost purse. Eret was not of the superstitious type, but they would not risk a dead man's ghost for a few coppers. 

The living were there to be stolen from. Those who passed needed their coins to be ferried towards peace. Eret would not stand between someone and their rest. 

When the adrenaline had truly worn away and the weight of the day left them staggering in the early light of a new dawn, they found themself staring at the bleak sunrise. Eret had walked throughout the night to ensure the soldiers had not managed to follow them and were rewarded by the rising sun draping its initial rays over their cold skin. It was a mellow and soft light that spilled over open fields, the forest long gone behind them. With no aim, Eret had picked a direction and walked in it.

They had avoided the towns around the forest. If the soldiers had set their spawns there, those villages were not safe. With how Eret had singlehandedly taken most of them out, they would not be received warmly. Wherever they went, Eret did not have a nice welcome, but if they stumbled upon men they had recently killed, the air would be staler than usual.

The North was out of the question. They didn't want to wander back near the Country of the SMP nor any of those countries that were near it. The West's Swamplands were too barren and empty for a lone wanderer to satisfactorily survive. Additionally, the forest was close to the Western Continent, almost bordering the beginnings of the swamps, and Eret had little appetite to go near those trees again. 

The East held hot deserts. Eret had been there before, had seen the hot sahara sunrises and had felt the burning hot embers of death dance upon their skin. Those lands were dubious for hybrids, not as bad as the North in their stigmatism though not as forgiving as the South was rumoured to be. However, the East was rife with slavers and one wrong game of cards at a pub could be one's final moments as a free person. During their time there in the past, Eret had avoided many inns and turned down many a free bed, wary of the supposedly friendly faces. Sleeping in the wrong place could end up with a man in shackles. 

Eret disliked being chained down. If they stopped somewhere, it would be of their own volition. They would not break their back for a master who demanded they mine their life away. They had fought to free themself after the war. This was their freedom. 

It didn't have the same shine it once had. 

For days they wandered, tired but unwilling to stop. There was a lingering nag in the back of their skull that said bad things awaited them if they stalled now. 

They walked during the day and during the night. If they slept, it was high in a tree's clutch, or down the side of a hill where no man would look. Everything was a bit distant; their head two seconds behind their feet. It might've been the sleep deprivation or possibly the thundering noise in their skull any time they thought. Jameskii hadn't stopped speaking for days and recently, Ela had joined in with the inane chatter. No matter how many times Eret told them to be quiet, they kept going.

Regardless, Eret couldn't help but feel betrayed. They were lost, because what were they when their ‘friends’ could abandon them so easily? Hurt, because they’d been abandoned and all their stuff was gone and no matter what they did the mansion wouldn’t be returning. Karl had broken his promise so did that mean they weren’t worth it, were they so useless there was no need for them other than as a distraction or something to kill others—

Their heart ached and not due to a physical injury.

Eret spent days in a daze, only waking briefly to find their body moving mechanically; hunting, feeding, resting. They were traipsing over the countryside with nothing but the blood on their hands and their trusted blade – praise all Aether they’d strapped Wrath to their hip. It seemed the only thing they could rely on nowadays truly was themself and their weapons.

Other than that, they had nothing. Were nothing. They were as useless as the war they’d fought for survival in.

What was their purpose if they had been left behind so easily? They’d felt safe, had been safe for the first time in years and- and they-

Abandoned. They’d been abandoned again.

Why did no one want them?

I want you, called Ela, dancing along the path they'd wound up on. I’ve always been here, sister.

“You don’t count,” they sighed. “You’re dead.”

The girl vanished. Eret collapsed, knees buckling. Their face sunk too close to the ground before they caught themself. They were a puppet with its strings cut short; limp and ungainly. Everything mounted to a roaring blaze inside their head and they choked on their lungs, angry tears of hopelessness blistering lines down their cheeks. They'd dropped in the middle of the path but could barely see their hands in front of them to get back onto their feet. It wasn't like they'd see anything different - their hands were permanently stained red, always dripping blood no matter the hour.

Maybe you should get some sleep, Scot suggested. 

Sleep was fitful, much like their waking habits. One moment there was nothing, the next they were jerking awake to a raccoon scurrying out of the bushes, or maybe they were resting on a sturdy branch and seconds later they were bolting upright, hand catching arrows that weren’t there, startled by a loud gust of wind or an insect crawling on a leaf nearby.

They were adrift, astray; a small seed spirited away on an unfamiliar wind and thrust into an unsure land. Where they could set themself down and build up a foundation, Eret did not know. They’d lost the people they’d put their trust in to those very people. As their blood boiled with anger both at themself and at Karl and Jimmy and Anna and Chandler, they grew restless from lack of sleep.

They didn't even have their sunglasses. Because they'd only went out for a small walk, they had left everything. Without their glasses, they'd have to be careful of which towns they entered. If they were singled out for being a hybrid... Eret didn't even have the energy to worry about the assured prejudices. 

We've been in worse times, Scot tried to reassure them. Their family flocked them at all times, standing around, looking in the shadows for them, lingering. 

Two weeks after they left the forest, the mansion returned. A boy tumbled out of the hastily repaired building, screaming the name of the one they'd accidentally left behind.

Even if the abandonment had been unintentional, it did not change the damage dealt. The time traveller had returned but the Wither had stopped waiting.

They opened their eyes to the back of a wooden cart. It was large yet rickety, jerking with each stone the large wheels trundled over. The planks at their back were splintering and harsh, digging into them through the shirt they wore. It had been plucked from a hamlet's washingline and the cloth was thin.

Eret's hands were bound tightly in front of them with twine. One iron shackle coiled around an ankle, connected to a thick metal chain that was hooked around a bolt in the middle of the wooden cart. Their position by the opening of the cart was advantageous. If not for the shackle, they could've jumped right out. Unfortunately, even if they could leave with the restraints, the metal chain was linked to five other shackles, which had each claimed another ankle. 

They lifted their head, surveying the group they'd been cast in with. Shallow faces, eyes round in their skulls, ragged clothing. These people had been dealt a rough hand for a while. 

There was a woman beside them, her hair limp and paler than her skin. They took special notice of her as she leaned towards them, cracked lips opening in a choked whisper. "Are you alright?"

Casting her a glance, Eret eyed the heavy position of the sun. It was later than they remembered. They hadn't been sleeping much recently - they must've passed out too close to the path and had been scooped up by this lot.

Slavers were a tricky bunch. If they'd already put a price on their head, Eret would have to kill them all to get free. Lately, they hadn't been in much of a mood for anything like that. There was an ache in their chest that throbbed like an open wound and they weren't quite sure how to eliminate it.

There were two men sitting on the cart's front perch; rough and old. One easily roiled a whip at the dawdling horses whilst the other chewed on a piece of dried grass. Ahead of this cart, there was another, also filled to the brim. They noted four other horses trotting alongside the procession, men with swords on their hips bouncing along with the steady gait. Six slaves to a cart, two carts and eight slavers.

A high number of slaves but a lower number of armed guards. Eret spied Wrath dangling from one of the rider's packs, alongside a few other weapons. A quick and discreet check of their inventory had Language sitting primly, ready to be used.

The slavers had likely assumed the gear on their body was all they had - as was common for most travellers. People found the process of quickly drawing something from their inventories very difficult. If a fight broke out, there was usually a need for a weapon being a breath away. When most people had to fiddle with their inventory, it left room to be cut down during that delay, hence why most travellers kept their weapons on their form.

Eret did not struggle with quick drawing. It was them lacking a suitable sheath that had prevented them from sporting Language on them. People did not hang their weapon sheaths on their washinglines in the same fashion they put their clothes up to dry, so it was not as simple to procure one without coin. However, this time, their lacking supplies had proved to be in their favour.

At their silence, the curious woman beside them had shrank back into herself. On her other side, there was a thin man with sandy hair and a tail, head downcast with his floppy ears shading his features from them. Directly opposite Eret, a man with black hair and a scar down his face - a thick arc which trailed from the top of his brow and slashed right across the bridge of his nose - was staring at them. They didn't tend to stare at people's injuries, but this man's scar seemed to glitter with the insides of a galaxy. His dark violet eyes watched them like a weary man watched a feral dog. 

Beside their admirer, there was another man. He was shorter and wearing a ragged red jumper. His face was flushed, likely overheating, though he kept his head tipped down, much like the dog hybrid. It was encroaching into summer and the days had been warming up. Even in their thin shirt, Eret could feel the sweat on their neck and along the ridge of their back.

To the left of this man, there was a zombie hybrid. Eret had seen a few of those, so was mostly unsurprised by her appearance. Except, she was glaring at them.

"She asked you a question," the woman snarled, voice low. She was feisty.

Eret blinked, unimpressed. She should be using that anger to break herself free. 

In response to her temper, Eret flicked a glance back to the pale lady who'd first spoken. "How long have I been here?"

This made her blink. "Oh... Um, a few hours?"

The dog hybrid beside her nodded along mutely. Eret gave the rest of the slaves a glance. They were inactive; defeated.

"Where are you all from?" They questioned, wondering where they could've gone in a short time. Horses and carts were quicker than going on foot, if the horses were put to pace, but it seemed these slavers were leisurely trundling along. Eret doubted they'd crossed the border of this little country yet.

Interestingly, their mundane question had the group sharing a long glance. There was a deep-seated tension that had them all quiet.

"Nowhere near here," the scarred man eventually croaked. "You?"

Eret shrugged. If they were going to be secretive, Eret would be too. There was no need to tell these people anything. It was clear they'd been held captive for a while from the state of them; dusty, pale and unhappily sitting still. 

Their gaze tipped left, scanning over the meadows and fields they'd passed. A distance they did not have to travel by foot was one they did not mind, provided this caravan kept on their current course. Content to be pulled along, Eret settled in to wait.

A few hours later, the sun began to droop. The roads they were travelling along were narrow country lanes, dust or mud, with overgrown bushes to each side. A forest had sprouted to the right and to the left, fields of long grasses stretched on for miles. There were a few that had been tilled in the distance - farming land. Anywhere there was a farmer, there would be a trail over to a town or a village large enough to buy their goods.

When the bushes morphed into shadowed hills and the light of the day curdled into an orange sunset, the slavers began to chat about calling it a day with a lot of noise. They were a loud, unworried bunch. Either experienced or arrogant enough to not expect any trouble. By the time the moon was peering above the horizon, they had led the carts up to a section of the path that allowed the carts to pull off the road to set up a bivouac camp in a small meadow that was surrounded by a middling nursery of trees. Eret waited.

"If we can..." the man in the red sweater began to murmur.

"We can't, Grian," the dog responded, just as quietly.

"We have to find the others," Grian hissed back, the most life to be seen out of him yet.

Eret watched this interaction silently. It wasn't alarming - groups were often broken up by slavers, with many not seeing each other again. It was likely their friends were already dead. The man with a scar was watching them again. He looked torn on whether or not to speak.

The slavers dismounted and spread out over the grass. There was a large stone-rimmed digout in the middle of the area that suggested this was a common campground for them. One slaver with a sword started rattling about and got the other six slaves off the cart, pushing them around behind the trees to take a toilet break. When they were finished, they were pushed and shoved back onto the creaky, old cart. 

They watched this quietly. When that same slaver stomped over to their cart, they took a deep breath.

"Hey," the zombie woman snarled to him, voice no higher than a whisper. "If you can't walk, crawl."

She meant if they hindered her between getting to that tree from the cart, Eret would not be treated very well. They ignored her, caring little for things that didn't matter. She wouldn't need to walk over to that tree, soon.

As the woman drew herself up for another breath, the slaver pulled out his sword and rapped the side of the cart. He looked weathered; greasy hair slicked back with dark bags under his eyes. His clothes were travelling clothes, like all the others. Men like this blended seamlessly with the other drunkards in a pub, making them difficult to spot. 

"Shut up," he called, lax and easy. These slavers didn't expect any hassle from their previous group and Eret was no exception. That was just fine. 

Eret wouldn't bother them for long.

They were the first one to get off. The slaver pointed with his dull blade and urged them to shuffle over to the edge of the cart. Eret went slowly, feigning exhaustion and weak limbs. When the slaver scoffed and reached for them, they let him wrap a hand around their bicep. He didn't have the strength to lift them, but he was capable of pushing them around. He tugged them towards him and sped up their motion towards the lowered planks. 

Feet on the ground, Eret wobbled in an exaggerated manner. The slaver was watching them, looking amused.

"If you faint, you'll have to hold it in," he told them. Then, he turned to hurry the scarred man along and said to the others, "If that one drops, you lot will have to drag it back yourselves."

The zombie woman scoffed and glared at Eret. They looked away as the slaver tugged the scarred man to his feet, casting a glance over the barren camp. Three men were starting a fire in the pit. Two were lingering by the bigger trees, plucking branches from the ground - collecting firewood. One was standing by the tree the other slaves had been taken to for their toiletry needs. In the immediate vicinity, there was just this man and one of the drivers, who was now tending to the horses that were tied to the cart Eret was just off.

The slaver minding their group leaned into the cart to urge along the pale woman who had been sitting beside them. With the scarred man hunched over beside them, looking like he was watching them closely, Eret moved.

Pushing forward, they threw their bound arms up and caught the slaver's neck between the twine. He gave a strangled noise and fumbled his grip on his sword. The pale woman was watching with wide eyes as the zombie reached over and yanked the blade away from him. She immediately clutched it in a grip that suggested she was a fighter, but Eret had already pulled the slaver backwards and twisted his head. There was a low crunch before he fell limp. Eret let him fall into the grass. 

"Hey!" Another slaver shouted.

They bent over to rifle through his pockets, finding nothing. What sort of decent slaver only carried a sword? When they straightened, six men were converging on their position.

"Shit!" The zombie woman snarled. "What the hell were you thinking?"

They eyed her with the blade and held their bound hands out. She cut their wrists free with an easy slash, having already cut herself and the other woman free. The scarred man went next. As the blade cut through his twine, he turned to Eret.

"The keymaster is that man," he pointed to a man standing back from the group, watching on with an unamused expression. Eret nodded. It would be too risky to cut off the shackles. A key was best. They didn't want to waste the time chopping at the metal chain with their axe. Eret didn't know if they had the strength to get through clean iron and anything that distracted them during a fight could get them killed. The only issue was that the keymaster was in the middle of the camp - a distance far enough away that the short chain of their shackles would not stretch to. They were essentially pinned down to the close quarters around the cart, thanks to the heavy metal pike pinning the chain to the middle of its floor.

"Get down on your knees with your hands up!" A slaver hollered. "And you might not die."

They wouldn't be killed. Slavers didn't risk the merchandise like that. Eret ducked under the swinging axe of a man behind them and kicked out with their free leg. They caught his crown jewels and had the man on his own knees. As his grip on his axe loosened, Eret slipped it into their own clutch and swung down.

His blood painted their face with warmth. They looked over to the other approaching slavers, axe too heavy in their hand.

"Can you wield?" They directed to the scarred man standing beside them. He was bristling with something tense.

"Yes," he croaked. Eret gave him the axe and summoned Language to their hand just in time to swing her around into the jaw of the next man to charge them. The slavers were unsure of an enemy that could fight and three of them had rushed over to the horses to rifle through the saddlebags. If they came back with a crossbow or bow, Eret's stationary defense would falter. 

They cut down this new attacker in a spray of blood. Those in the cart had all gotten their hands free and were climbing onto the damp grass.

"Xisuma," the zombie woman called, speaking lowly. She shuffled over to the cart's edge and pushed her shackled foot out. "Aim for my shackle."

"Cleo," the scarred man breathed. "That's dangerous. If I hit your ankle-"

"Hit it," the woman snapped. Xisuma reared up like a woodcutter and hammered down a solid blow to the metal cuff. It cracked apart and Cleo jumped the side of the cart to race towards an unmanned horse; the one with Wrath hanging from the side. She grabbed the saddlebag, tugged it from the dewy mare, and returned to divvy out her shares. From this alone, Eret knew these five had definitely been a close group prior to being taken. No lone woman came back to a group she didn't know. She could've mounted the horse and been off, like any sane person would've done. 

In the time it took Cleo to grab this bag, the other slavers had taken to a safe distance and procured a crossbow. Eret watched them without speaking, eyeing as the youngest slaver struggled to notch a bolt. His hands were shaking. The older men were spewing harsh vitriol as they impatiently waited with their own blades clutched defensively. The keymaster stood, observing with a cruel eye. When Eret looked at him, his gaze caught theirs. They looked away.

"The sword," Eret called to Cleo as she returned. The woman wasted little time in tipping the bag out into the wooden cart, letting the others grab up what weapons there were. She had grabbed a whip for herself and spared them a sharp glance as she lifted Wrath from the weapon pool.

"You have an axe," she said.

"He's mine," they returned, not affording her the staring contest as they kept their gaze on the squabbling slavers. They disliked how they were being held in one place. Three slavers were already dead. Four were standing a few meters over and the other one was lingering around the other slave cart, probably keeping an eye on them so they didn't get any ideas. That, or the man was preparing to betray his allies and run off with the merchandise. 

"We have to get the others," the pale woman said suddenly, head twisted to watch the other cart. "The other man's doing something at the other cart."

"They'll be fine. Stay down, Pearl." Cleo ordered. "There's a brat with a crossbow."

"Jumbo!" Grian hollered, yelling at an abrupt volume. He aimed his shouts towards the other slaves. "C'mon, this is the time!"

A ruckus started up on the other cart. It began bouncing and shifting as the slaves began to shout and complain, making the horses nicker and complain. Eret paid their antics no heed, watching the boy with the crossbow. The other slaver began shouting and threatening his rowdy passengers.

"What are you waiting for?" Yelled a new voice, breaking over the noise. It was the keymaster; old and stalwart, voice cracking through the darkening evening. The moon was rearing up over the camp, shining its silver light over the ongoings. "Deal with that white eyed one! It started this. A slave that can fight will fetch me a good price at the market, so try not to maim it."

"You killed Nancy!" The youngest screamed. He fired the bolt. 

"Move!" Xisuma roared, reaching for them. Eret grabbed Wrath from Cleo's hands and in the same swipe, pulled the blade in front of themself. The bolt hit the long of Wrath's blade and bounced off. Eret's arm felt the strength behind the impact and went a little numb, but they rolled out their shoulders and everything dissipated. The bolt pitched into the grass, harmless.

"How did you-?" Pearl gasped. 

The dog gawked, "No way..."

Cleo glared fiercely at them. Xisuma seemed shocked and his arm fell back to his side.

Eret knew blocking an arrow was not a particularly popular skill, but they felt their onlookers were being a tad dramatic about it.

The keymaster watched with a stricken expression. "Who are you? If you're one of theirs, we had an agreement to take this lot into the West."

Although playing along would be amusing, Eret was not in the mood for tongue twisters. "I have no affiliations."

"Don't lie," the keymaster barked over the grass. "A talent like yours would be snapped up in seconds. Hybrid or not. If you are not an ally, you're an enemy."

They did not want to be snapped up. Eret let Language disappear into their inventory and shifted. They didn't have the strength to crack open their shackle like Xisuma had with Cleo's and they would not be letting a stranger take a swing at their ankle. If they were dismembered out here, they wouldn't spawn nearby. Eret refused to lose Wrath.

"I own myself," they said. There was nothing for this man to misunderstand, yet he was still jumping to the wrong conclusions. Maybe, he wanted a fight. Eret had seen men who had to justify a brawl before they could engage. However, Eret had already taken out three of his men and for most, there was no greater justification than death. 

"I'll pay you three coppers a day if you'll keep those bugs in line," the keymaster offered, sticking his hands into his pockets and smirking. The other men were nervously waiting around, seeming annoyed with them - most likely upset over their fellow slavers' deaths. 

Eret clicked their tongue. The slaves behind them seemed doubtful now, as if they would actually accept such a poor offer. Sure, they had no coin to their name, but they would not take a position as a slaver lackey to get paid next to nothing. Three coppers could barely buy a full loaf of bread in some towns. 

The business of selling people didn't sit right with them. Eret would not be affiliated with these people. 

They brandished Wrath and said, "If you don't shut up, I'll gouge your tongue out and feed it to the crows."

That made the keymaster's face drop. Looking grim, he turned away and commanded his men, "Get that one, boys. Teach it a lesson but remember to leave me something to sell."

The slavers gladly agreed. The youngest notched his crossbow again as the others moved in. Cleo leapt to the front with her whip, standing up beside them. Behind, Eret heard the noise of Xisuma's axe breaking more shackles. 

"This is for Terry and Richard," one man growled as he ran towards them. His sword pushed out, coming down in a shoddy arc. Eret parried it with a simple flick of the wrist, and pushed the man off balance. He toppled, acting as a roadblock for the man running up behind him. 

The two cried out as they fell in a heap. Cleo began thundering hits upon them with her whip, eyes ablaze as she beat them. Eret made no comment aside from keeping their ground. The youngest slaver, on the other hand, could not stand watching his friends be beaten. He cried out and rose the crossbow towards the zombie.

"Cleo!" Xisuma warned.

Eret took a step forward and-

Caught a crossbolt from the left. It burned their hand with how hard they gripped it, but they'd grabbed it inches from their face. The slaver in the other cart made a grand show of fumbling for another bolt before the slaves jumped for him and brought him down into their cart. His screams were quickly drowned out. 

The boy fired at Cleo, who pulled up one of the writhing slavers on the floor and used him as a shield. Eret discarded the bolt in their hand, shaking it out for feeling, and turned to eye the keymaster as he turned tail and made for a horse standing by the farside of the clearing. 

"I've got them," Cleo announced. She ran and slapped her whip into the crossbow boy's neck as she passed. Windpipe crushed, he dropped, clawing at his throat. Eret wanted to deal with the keymaster, but they were still connected to the cart via the chain. 

"Everyone's free," Xisuma said, quiet. He motioned with his axe. "Would you like me to take a swing at yours, too?"

Eret looked back, noting how the other slaves in the cart were all sporting shackleless-ankles. The prospect of a stranger taking aim at them was unsettling, but as the zombie woman brought the keymaster to the ground and went at him with a dagger she'd procured, Eret did not much want to test the waters about getting the key off her. She didn't much seem to like them.

"Xisuma has a steady hand," Pearl reassured them, voice sincere. She'd been bent low in the cart during the fighting and only now did she sit up properly. The other two who had climbed out of the cart had only shifted to hide by its side. It was clear who the fighters of the group were. Xisuma had stood daringly beside Eret the entire time. 

"If you nick me," they said, voice blank even to their own ears. "I will take your head."

"I won't hurt you," the man nodded. Eret put their foot up on the edge of the cart, shifted for Xisuma's angle to be better and tried not to tense.

The man's arm rose. His eyes were sharp and focused. 

"Thanks to you, we're free," Pearl said. Eret looked over to her and the weight around their ankle fell. The shackle clattered against the cart's wood. 

With a nod to Xisuma, Eret brushed the rust off their skin and stood firm. The keymaster had stopped screaming. Cleo was running over to the other slaves, key brandished in her hand. 

"We fell victim to some bad luck," Xisuma said as the others were unchained. Eret watched as a few bodies vanished in white clouds of particles, leaving behind cloth bags of varying sizes. "You doing what you did really helped us."

A man with his greying hair tied back in a long ponytail strode over. He made straight for Eret and offered out his hand when he got within distance. They stared at it until he dropped his hand, though he seemed unphased. "Thank you, friend. What you did out there was truly brave. I am Keralis and should you ever require aid in the future, I will happily come to help."

Eret stared, trying to gauge his seriousness. The rest of the slaves piled out of the other cart and came round to give their thanks. They were all close with each other, indicating they'd all known one another prior to being sold to these slavers. A group so large all being transported together was suspicious. Were these people what remained of some backwater village?

"I'm Xisuma," the scarred man finally introduced himself, seeming prompted by Keralis's words. He bowed deeply, and the others followed. "We thank you deeply for your aid, stranger."

Eret felt no need for names to be shared. They were still holding Wrath and their face was tacky with drying blood. Their supplies were low and some of the slavers' bags were particularly large looking. 

"I'll be taking a horse," they declared, just to see if anyone would argue. No eyebrows were raised. 

"Of course," Keralis nodded along. "Please, do."

The kindness of these strangers was disconcerting. To give away a horse without protest... Eret grew wary of an ambush down the road. They'd have to push the horse fast to give these people a wide berth.

"We'll be settling here for the night," Xisuma announced. 

"You shouldn't," Eret said, before they caught their tongue. They stood still under the confused gaze of the man who was likely the leader of this group. At his reaction, they explained, "If the slavers return, you'll be dead meat."

Oh, some good meat sounded nice round about now. Eret was tired of the bird and rabbit they'd been eating. A good hearty animal would make for a nicer meal. The keymaster was still lying, bleeding red juices over the grass by the firepit. Their mouth grew wet with saliva before they could stop themself. 

You've been so good, Ela whispered, voice right on the cusp of their ear. Her dainty hands caressed their shoulders and tried to urge them forth. Go on, eat to your heart's content.

"We should head back home," someone said in the lull. Eret tuned back into the conversation to find the group debating right in front of them. 

"They've probably burnt everything," another person said. This man was tall, with a sharp moustache, and was holding hands with man in the red sweater, Grian. 

"Mumbo," someone gasped. His comment seemed to have put a dampener on the mood.

"We need to find Doc and the others," Pearl announced. "If they were sold off too, we might be able to find them in the West."

This was not for Eret's ears nor interests. They made to step away and caught Cleo's bright eyes piercing into them.

"You can have first pick of the loot," she told them. 

They blinked. Cleo motioned back to the keymaster.

"If you want something," she hummed. "Take it. This is our payment. We will owe you nothing."

"I owe you all nothing," Eret added. Xisuma, Keralis and Cleo all nodded. 

Terms agreed upon, Eret pushed off from the cart, only now realising they'd been leaning heavily upon it. The grass was wet on their boots, the beaded water on the individual stems leeching onto them as they passed, making the leather slick and shiny in the moonlight. It was a night with good visibility for horse riding. If they took a decent mount, they could get to the border in no time. 

If this group was headed West, Eret would have to go another way. They hadn't intended to head into the desert to begin with, though they'd never truly had a specific direction until now. As of tonight, the only way they could head was South. 

The South was a land of the sea; of fish skewers sold by the market and somewhere word of mouth said was rich in hybrids. A place where the Antarctic Empire's pro-hybrid ways had stretched over, seeing how the Empire owned a large cusp of the lower Continent. The Antarctic Empire was the only Empire in the world - the rest of the countries being ruled by monarchs or prime ministers. Most rulers were absolute and all-powerful in their countries. The Empire was the same, and strict with their rules. 

A wither hybrid would be secure there. Not safe, but on steady enough ground to settle down for the winter. With how cool the spring had been, Eret doubted the frosts would be kind to them. If they spent the summer travelling down, they may get lucky and be able to have a warmer winter in a seaside town.

They walked over and stopped by the dead keymaster's body. He had yet to disappear into the grasp of respawn. Maybe, he wouldn't. It looked like this country had a slow spawn rate. Some of the other men had yet to vanish. 

Their fingers twitched. With them standing over him, their stomach felt very empty. 

Eret pulled themself away before they could do anything that might give the group behind them a reason to accelerate a planned attack. When they crouched to check that he was dead and not unconscious, their fingers pushed against his neck and found no pulse. Blood dripped from his lips. Cleo had just about butchered this man with that dagger...

The group behind them were being very silent. Ready with Wrath, they tipped their head back. 

None of them were looking at Eret. Some had sat down on the cart perches, others having sat down on the open edges. Most were standing around, as though waiting for Eret to leave before they took to their own pillaging. 

Turning back to the keymaster, they looked long and hard to remember the man's face - in case of ever meeting him again. They ripped the other fine-chained necklaces from his neck to pawn off later and then went over to one of the dropped bags to peer inside it. They took a sewing kit after checking its contents and finding a suitable lump of thread and a small needle. They'd lost their trusty kit to that damned mansion and hadn't yet found a good replacement. 

There wasn't much they wanted, so they left nearly everything to the group. Food could be found on the road, gained by their own hand. They didn't trust another man's provisions.

Eret abandoned the bags and picked out a horse with a saddlebag on it. A strong gelding stood amongst them, and he flicked his ears at Eret as they walked over. In his bags, there was little of value. They tipped most of it out onto the grass, keeping the small dagger inside as well as a pair of riding trousers that looked like they would fit them. There was a brush for the horse that they threw back in. Even if they wouldn't be keeping him long, it was cruel to not take care of the gelding.

They got up and threw a leg over the horse's back, settling into place in the saddle. 

"Here," Xisuma announced his approach, and stood by the horse's side. He clutched a simple purse in his hands, seeming half-full. "Please take this."

"From the slavers?" They asked.

The man nodded. "We'd feel bad sending you on without a cut."

Eret waved him off. "I don't take dead men's coins."

With that, they tapped their boot into the horse's side and went off on their way. A bit down the road, they pushed the horse into a gallop and kept the pace until they could no longer feel their face from the wind.

Chapter Text

Travelling by foot was long and arduous. Fortunately, with a horse, travel was much easier. Eret managed to seamlessly pass through two smaller countries before getting bogged down halfway through the Continent. They had to take the long route as they refused to pass through what remained of Squatra or Diadom. The countries had fallen to ruin when the Empire moved in to end an already finished war. Eret wasn’t sure what had happened to the people living there, but they didn’t want to know either. What some referred to as a desolate wasteland had once been a home to them, though they did not look back on it fondly. Eret had very little to look back upon with warm nostalgia – the only good thing they’d ever had was their family and when they’d left, they’d came with them.

By the time two months had passed, midsummer and her deadly heat were rearing up in full force. They found the paths becoming bone-dry, mud cracking as the crops not fit for the feverish drought wilted in the heat. Travelling through the largely uninhabited countryside where farmers mostly lived, it was a quiet, soothing existence. This was what Eret had before the Country of the SMP, before that mess, before hunkering down with the Crew. Eret had always been on the move, scouring over the Continent wherever their feet took them.

Now, they were alone again. They could hurt no one and no one could hurt them. Eret was tired of people turning on them, of people judging and crowing them an enemy. Alone, there was a harmony that no one could ever contest. Possibly, they were happy.

Regardless, Eret spent their time simply watching the fields go past. They were in no rush to get flustered under the hot sun, so they whittled away time in orchards, sulking under the shade of trees and taking the paths where tall strands of grass grew unhindered. It would do them no good to get sick in the heat. When the autumn equinox came about, they would hurry South if they weren’t near. Right now, they were content to dawdle.

(Moving, moving, moving; always moving.)

More often than not, they woke strewn over slightly damp grass with a well-known ache in their chest. Their horse was always tied nearby, and anytime they woke, it was to the beast’s heavy gaze on them.

On one such day, Eret woke under the shade of a large oak tree. Summer was thick in the air, with their forehead already warm with sweat as they woke. They were too far East for their liking, though they hadn’t truly pressed into the desert lands. The Southern end of the Continent was close, practically a breath away. With their plans of making it to the sea before the seasons changed for the worse, they were well on-track.

Stretching weary limbs, they sat up, twisting their head to brace for the crick in their neck. It stung as they rolled their shoulders out and looked up at the hollow blue sky that lorded over them. It was barren of clouds, with only the scorching sun domed within the azure. This sun was hot and heavy as it presided over endless fields of green. Birds chirped in the trees down to the far right of the meadow, the tall grasses swaying in a gentle but warm breeze.

Eret rolled themself onto their knees, shooting their horse a cursory glance as they stood. There was a deep pond a few meters off with a running creek spearing through it. Eret stepped over to the running stream and bent down to splash some of the cool water over their face. Where the water travelled faster, they took a few gulps to soothe their parched throat. After stretching and surveying the hazy outlook of the fields, where the sun’s heat was ragged and scorching, a blistering ball high in the sky, they bent again to fill their canteen before setting everything neatly into their inventory. These days, little of what they owned stayed outside of their subspace for long.

Eret stripped down carefully and stepped into the pond. The water was warmer than it usually was around these parts, stoked like an open flame by summer’s kiss. Eret sank into the water, letting the tension in their bones sift away like sand in a goldcatcher. Wetting their skin and hair, they took their soap to themself and began scrubbing the sweat away.

Over the past few months, they had gotten together the funds to purchase replacements for what they had lost. Another whetstone sat heavy in their inventory, alongside new soaps and blankets. It was good to purchase wintering items in the summer, when they went for cheaper prices, though Eret’s avoidance of most settlements had resulted in more limited funds than usual.

That, and what coin they did pilfer as they passed through villages and towns was put towards their imaginary savings jar. They intended to spend the winter in a seaside town – an act that would likely not be cheap should they wish to rent or have a prolonged stay at an inn. Camping wasn’t foreign to them, though any time they thought of the sea, they imagined drinking tea in a little hut that watched over the waves, or sunbathing in a hammock on a quiet beach. Eret’s dreams of solitude were nothing new, but this time, they knew what they wanted was too overzealous. They’d have to save what they could and test the waters when they were down there. It was always possible there would be a bed for free if they were to provide some work.

They made quick time in their bathing and a few minutes later, they were stepping out of the pond and dressing in clothes suitable for the weather. Skirts were inopportune for riding a horse, so they pulled on the riding trousers they’d washed the night prior in the same pond they had just emerged from. Overnight and with the early morning heat, they had dried everywhere except around the knees.

The horse shifted on his hooves. Eret looked over and unhooked him from the branch they’d looped his rope to. He’d been near the water overnight, as to not die of thirst. They inspected him for any obvious signs of illness and found none, brushing the field dust off him before getting the saddle back on. A horse was a pain to deal with, so they planned to sell him off to a farmer or someone at a waystation before they got into the seaside towns.

Mounting the horse, they plucked an apple from a nearby tree and snacked on it as they pushed to a steady pace.

Midsummer was a time of high heat and high thirst. They rode through most of the day before having to stop at the side of the road for the horse to drink. The stream ran fast enough for them to bend down to refill their own canteen. Whilst they were doing this, an old horse and cart trundled past.

There came a shout; a coarse, rough voice. “Oi!”

Eret straightened from the stream, hand close to their hip, where Wrath sat impatiently. Him sitting in the sheath often gave people false safety – if he was needed, Eret could make him vanish into their inventory and summon him into their hand in a blink. Currently, they didn’t need to escalate the situation, but showed they had a weapon in turning around.

It was an older man, hair greying under his straw hat. His face was rife with wrinkles, eyes pinched as he stared at them. Notably, on his head, he sported two twitching rabbit ears. “What’d you take fer that gelding, sonny?”

A few days ride from any true Southern towns, this man wanted to buy their horse. It was an opportune moment, but Eret couldn’t help but be wary. If this was a well-planned robbery – where this man took their quick escape and let them go into a thieves’ ambush somewhere down the road – they would be put in a tough spot.

“Six silvers,” they said.

The old man laughed. His voice cracked and burbled with a rough chuckle that morphed into a cough. He turned his head away and spat his tobacco onto the grass. “Bit steep for a thing like that. How’s three silver and a slice of my girl’s pie sound?”

It had been a while since Eret had sat down to have a nice meal. With them avoiding most inns and bedstays, they’d ended up hunting most nights and roasting their catch over an open fire.

With them stagnant, sweat prickled at the back of their neck. Even though it was close to evening, it was still warm. The sweet-scented air blew around them and made their empty stomach quite noticeable.

“What’s in the pie?”

“Cherries and steak,” the man said. “Good for supper and dessert.”

“Three silvers and a slice of that pie,” they nodded. The man grinned with his stained teeth and told them to follow him. They climbed back onto the horse and kept behind the old farmer as he trundled along with his cart. It was filled with burlap sacks, some fuller than others.

Eret observed this in silence. The farmer, however, liked to chat.

“Was out plantin’ there for a fall harvest,” he told them, head bobbing with the gentle rolls of the path. It was a good road out here; dust and dirt versus the unfavourable and unsteady loose gravel or slick mud. Though, the dusty paths made for a messier travel, Eret preferred them over trying to goad a horse out of foot deep mud. “Some nice basil, beans an’ beets for the wife. There’s a town two clicks that way—” he gestured a bit right of the path— “that’ll buy those up. Good cordwainer down there if you’re needin’ a new set.”

The farmer led them to a fork in the path, where it struck off left into a lane. Letting the cart go first, Eret trotted after and was lead through a myriad of fruit trees into a small grass lane. Here, wreathed by trees and sitting on a bit of a hill, a small stone house sat. A wooden beamed porch fanned the front door, with an old rocking chair sitting serene amidst the shade. Slatted windowcovers painted in a chipping red were pushed wide open to show off the dull window panes, likely as old as the stone which made up the house’s foundations. In the windowsills, the deep pots allowed small bunches of flowers to sprout – yellow daisies giving the dull stone a sparkle of colour.

It wasn’t the type of clean, prim house that would be found in a city, but Eret was not used to those luxuries and so they did not mind. Compared to most houses, this farmstead was one of the cleaner ones they had seen. These old stalwart buildings were a commodity in each and every countryside across the Continent. Even if the people had been less than stellar, they had gotten lucky with the glamour of the SMP’s Capitol and then, the mansion. Before those, a good bed had been hard to come by and still was.

The farmer pulled up round back of the boxy house, Eret following after to find a wooden stable sitting behind the strong stone. Fences circled the land and opened up into a large field that a few other large horses were roaming free in. The sight of the other seemingly healthy horses was a good sign that this man knew how to care for them – not that Eret much cared for what became of their mount.

As the man slugged himself off his cart’s chair and got his horse unwound from the reigns, Eret dismounted and pulled their own belongings out of the saddlebags with a quick swipe. After letting his horse trot off into the adjacent field, the old man clambered over to inspect their gelding.

“He’s in good shape,” the old man said, checking his hooves. The horse was unbothered by the prodding, of good temper. Eret had faced no issues with the gelding, health or behaviour wise, and told the man this. He nodded along. “Aye, seems like a good walker. He’ll be good for pullin’, too.”

Eret didn’t care what happened to the horse. They took the man’s comments as surety he would buy the gelding and went, at his prompting, into the house.

The back door brought them into a warm kitchen. There was a fire lit in the hearth and it smelt like cherry jam. There was a wooden table sitting proud in the middle of the kitchen, with a ceramic vase showing off a bright yellow tulip. The farmer made them sit down at the table and stomped off through the doorway into the house, hollering for his wife.

A few moments later, a woman of similar age, with her greying hair tied back in a loose bun, came into the kitchen. She had a grey tail wagging under her dress, with a pair of ears on her head that looked like a wolf’s. “Oh, dearie, Jor said you’re here for some of my pie?”

“For the gelding out back,” they nodded. The woman wiped her hands on her apron and peered out the clean windows, shaking her head.

“That man, I swear,” she huffed. “Always buying horses, he is.”

“Can never have too many horses, Beth, darlin’,” the man laughed as he returned. He held his dirty hands out to Eret and set three silvers into their palm. Eret accepted them with a nod, not bothering to check if they were real. If they weren’t, they could be easily swapped out at a pub or inn. They wouldn’t start bother with people that were feeding them.

The farmer sat heavily opposite them. His wife covered her hands with cloth mittens and went to the fire to pulled out a metal tin from below it. She lifted it up and opened it to reveal a steaming pie. “Tea, dearie?”

“Please,” they agreed, watching as the woman cut the pie and dished out three plates. A ceramic teacup was set down beside them a moment later, with the kettle hanging above the fire taken off. Pouring the hot water, the woman fussed about filling all the cups as the man stood and came back to the table with a small tin. He opened it to reveal ground tea leaves with a spoon sitting inside. He scooped out some for Eret, his wife and then himself. They thanked both of them.

The pie was sweet and warm. The pastry was perfect and the easy chatter of the husband and wife made the food go down easier. Eret was not worried about being poisoned, or becoming sick, as both the man and woman were eating and drinking the same things. Farmers who did not strike out at them for being a hybrid often had little interest with them. This was a nice change. They supposed it helped that these two were clearly hybrids. Just upon the cusp of the Southern border and there were hybrids living free, unoppressed lives… that boded well for what the inner South would look like.

When the meal was done, Eret helped with the dishes, despite the woman’s protests. The old man snorted and stomped out the door, heading on down to the field to hustle the horses back to the stable for the night. Swiping a well-used but soft cloth over the wet dishes and setting them in the cupboard where they were stored, Eret watched the old man wave his hands and whistle at the geldings.

“He’s got far too many,” the old woman said, words scathing in comparison to her soft tone. Eret looked at her and eyed how she watched the man with a gentle, amused glimmer in her eyes. They had never been close to many couples but being here, in this house, and able to stand so close to witness this firsthand, Eret suddenly felt as though they couldn’t have found a pair more in love.

Wasn’t that what most people wanted – to find someone who would grow old with them and live in a house with nothing but grass and horses for company? To have another living being by their side, in all situations?

The longer they stewed over it, the more their chest ached. Eret dried the dishes that Beth handed to them and put them away. They hadn’t yet finished by the time the man, Jor, returned.

“S’dark out,” Jor grunted as he stepped back inside, shutting the door on what was shifting to a misty dusk. He stomped his boots on the mat by the door, though kept them on. Ushering him to stay put by the door, Beth squinted at his feet for any mud before nodding and allowing him entry to the room at large.

Eret lingered by the sink, drying the final cup. They planned to thank the two for their kindness and be on their way, though the easy air between the two was enough to give them pause.

The old man’s beady eyes landed on them. “You don’t want to be walkin’ in that night, sonny. Too many sinkholes ‘round ‘ere.”

“Sinkholes?” They echoed, blinking.

“Oh, yes,” Beth nodded. “This was a mining area some fifty years ago, before they dried it all up. The caves under here are old and weak. Sometimes they crumble and bring most of the road with them. Poor Clive lost half his shop to a big one.”

“Clive’s fine,” Jor scoffed, rolling his eyes in as much of a petulant way as a man hitting seventy could. “Him an’ his missus got away with nary a scratch.”

“Sweet Liza had to dig him out,” Beth reminded her husband, slapping his arm. “She gave birth half a moon ago.”

“She’s a smith’s daughter,” the man huffed. “She’s been pullin’ heavier sheets o’ metal from ‘er daddy’s forge fer a lot longer than she’s known that Clive.”

“Clive’s a good boy,” came the rebuke. “He sells me the lamb meat for half price after you gave him that mare.”

“Damn right he’d better,” Jor gestured, hand lifting up in a sweeping motion; a hearty agreement. “That horse was worth more than any lamb. He oughta be givin’ it to you fer free!”

Suddenly privy to the details of people Eret did not ever intend to meet, they turned to put away their last cup and closed the cupboard. The damp drying cloth went on the string line beside the fire to dry. When they turned, both Beth and Jor were watching them with unusual expressions. Eret couldn’t place what either felt, though they had never been good with guessing others’ emotions.

“Thank you for the meal,” they thanked again, head dipping.

“What good manners,” Beth smiled, stepping over to pinch at their cheeks. Flummoxed, Eret allowed the older woman to do as she pleased. Neither Beth nor Jor were a threat to them and though they disliked company, they were not in the habit of scorning those who were kind to them. “I’ll get the spare bed made up for you.”

She broke away from them, making to head into the next room. Eret frowned. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll—”

The old woman turned and raised a sharp eyebrow. What made them pause was not the fluidity or poise behind the act but moreso the emotion behind it. Eret stopped speaking to observe her unimpressed stare.

“You’ve nowhere to be in such a hurry, sweetheart,” the old woman chastised, tail slapping behind her. “One night won’t dampen your adventures. They’ll still be there in the morning.”

Unsure what to make of this, Eret flicked their gaze over to the old man. He was standing with his hand on his chin, scratching the grey stubble there. His ears flickered.

“Stay the night, sonny,” he piped up, looking over to them not a second later. “Aye, Beth, go on an’ make the bed up fer him.”

“Them,” Eret corrected quietly.

The man nodded. “A bed fer them, Beth.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Jor,” Beth rolled her eyes good naturedly and walked off.

Standing awkwardly in the couple’s kitchen, Eret eyed the old man. He stared right back before starting in on the next room. “Come out an’ sit with me, kid.”

The old man disappeared into the next room. The creak of wood sounded from upstairs as the woman made her way through the bedrooms. Eret cast the dark evening a glance, suddenly winded by the ache in their back and the tension to their shoulders. Sleeping in the fields had done them few mercies, even if they were supposed to be young and ready for those things. These people had fed them and been pleasant. One night would do little harm.

Decision made, Eret ventured to the front of the house. The room connected to the kitchen was a sedate living room, with an old couch and a larger fire. In the corner of the room, long shelves displayed a variety of books and any free wallspace was taken up by pinned-up embroideries of plants and animals. There was a notable number of horses depicted in this manner above the large front window.  Through this large window, they caught sight of the man sitting on the rocking chair on the porch, his back to them.

Eret stepped outside and stopped by the man. A second rocker had been pulled up beside him, which he gestured them towards.

“Sit, sit down,” the man encouraged, sitting calmly. He stuck his hand into his jacket’s pocket and came back with a metal tin clutched in his rough hands. This was a man who had been tilling the land for years and his body showed the signs. For his efforts, he popped the tin lid and revealed a line of cigars.

Easing into the rocking chair beside the man, Eret settled in the surprisingly comfortable seat. Beyond the porch, the slight hill the house sat on made the lane seem as though it was falling away into a cloud of white. The mist had grown thicker from what it had been when the old man was gathering his horses and now it could’ve been mistaken for a cloud having settled upon man’s land.

The old man cut his cigar and lit it with a match. He let it burn before going in for a puff. The grey smoke mingled with the white air and blended seamlessly with the night’s chill. The used match was flicked into a bucket at the side of the porch, where it hissed as it sank into the small puddle held within the green-painted metal.

“What brings a kid like you down ‘ere, eh?”

“I’m headed further south,” they said, watching as the man took a long drag of his cigar. Its scent curled in the air and bathed them both in a sweet, wooden aroma. “I want to see the ocean.”

“Heh,” the man puffed, breath leaving him in something short of a chuff. “Sure any puddle would do.”

A puddle was not the waves, nor did it hold the fish and the sand and salt. Eret wished for the tranquillity that people whispered of when they spoke of the beach and the distant cry of gulls. They had no way to say this to the man, so they sat in silence, simply watching. Waiting.

The old man peered at them when their quiet stretched. He snorted a bloom of smoke through his nose and offered them the cigar. It was heavy and thick in their hand, though they copied the motion the man had made earlier and took a pull. It tasted like a heavy night by the fire, like sitting under the moon and watching it shine, like standing out in the rain with a warm coat as the world span on without them but for once, they didn’t mind. It was soft yet bold; careful yet resilient. A distant waft of cherries hit the back of their throat as the earthy husk of dry, rich dirt and aged leather smothered their tongue.

They exhaled and handed it back.

“I hope you see it,” the man continued, tone abruptly softer. “My Beth wanted to see the mountains her whole life. I took ‘er a few years back, when we were younger. She embroidered a fancy quilt of the sights. Took ‘er almost a whole winter to make the damn thing. Was a cold season fer me, I tell ya.”

Eret mulled over that as the cigar was handed back to them. What did they plan to do once they seen the ocean? They wanted to possibly stay the winter by the seaside, taking a renter’s place or, more likely, camping out under the stars as they always did. But… what lay beyond that? What thought had they given to their future? Eret had always been focussed on what they would get from things – they killed to protect their family and then themself. They had eaten because they needed to be alleviated of their hunger. They travelled to keep themself active and alive and feeling something, because what was the point in being alive if they could not feel anything?

Here they were, back at the start. Their chest was a cold, gaping wound that had scabbed over. The mansion and that forest had left them empty and aching. They’d grown too attached and were now paying the price.

A corpse shambled across the wooden porch, stumbling to a stop before them. Eret kept their gaze on the end of the lit cigar, watching as it burned a golden orange as they pulled from it. The old man was staring out over the misty land, unmoving at the presence of their guest – which meant that only Eret seen it.

They passed the cigar back. The old man took a haughty drag and leaned back in his rocking chair. It groaned softly as he tipped it back and forth. Eret was immobile as they lifted their eyes up to the creature standing in front of them.

When they looked up, the corpse grinned. Shredded tendrils of flesh peeled back to show off jagged teeth. There was a hole where skin should’ve covered over ribs and protected internal organs. Able to see through its body, Eret glimpsed the sheer nothingness of its core – an empty chest, devoid of a heart or lungs beyond the sharpened claws of ribs and a knobbly spine. Blood dripped in clumped strings through the vast gape, little holding the thing’s flesh together aside from the strips of skin and muscle that reverberated with the buzzing of flies. What remained of the creature’s soft bits was writhing with larvae, muscle and tendons rotting away in the midst of maggots and decay.

It leered at them. Eret stared at the rags of its clothing, able to easily recognise the old jacket and trousers they had worn during the war. They had never seen anything like this before – so far, they'd only had to deal with repeatedly dreaming of that dreadful creature with its long tongue and sickening call. Their family had been appearing in more dire states as of late, but not even they were as dirty and decayed as this thing was.

The old man’s hand appeared in their eyeline. The cigar sat, tempting. Eret’s shaking hand plucked it from his grasp, the brown wrapper a gauze to their chilled fingers. They pulled its cloud into their lungs and breathed it into the creature’s face, blinking to find nothing but the expanse of cloudy night stretching beyond them.

As abruptly as it had come, the buzzing in their ears was gone and the tension in their bones had returned. There was a heavy pressure inside their chest that seemed to bubble and coil beneath the surface of their skin, though another drag of the cigar seemed to quiet it. They held this inhale in their lungs as they passed the cigar back to the old man, who took it without mention of the length they’d held it.

The smoke festered and boiled inside them. Eret held their breath for as long as they could, afraid of everything inside them erupting in a wretched scream if they gave in. When they finally exhaled, their head was light and their pulse tapped behind their eyes in a distant, woozy manner. They felt robbed of air until the cigar was back in their hold, where it settled heavily in their fingers and brought a mundane comfort with the aftertaste of cherries.

“I’m sorry,” they said when they had taken a long drag. Eret stood from the rocking chair. “I think—”

The front door opened. The old woman stared at them as though expecting them to have tried to leave. “The bed’s made, son.”

Everything left them in a breath. No one had ever called them son. No one had ever wanted anything to do with them. There had been no ‘sweetheart’s and certainly none of the affectionate ‘kid’s that they had been heralded with this evening. Eret lingered.

The old man grunted, “Finish this with me.”

They sat back down. Beth came out to kiss Jor and pinch their cheeks before vanishing off to her own bed.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with not knowin’ what to do, sonny,” the old man told them. “It’s what you do in the meantime that counts.”

Eret didn’t know what to make of that. They shouldn't have inhaled so much smoke; their pulse was thready in their ears. “Are you always this nice to strangers?”

A slow glance from the old man made their skin tingle. “I’ll be honest, sonny,” the man sighed, scratching at his stubble. Smoke wafted from his mouth with each word. “You remind us of our June.”

“June?” They broached carefully.

“Aye,” he nodded, forlorn and old. “Our girl. She flew the coop ‘bout twenty years ago, took a lil bun with ‘er.”

Eret reminded this old couple of their long lost daughter. Though they had grown gaunt with little food, Eret had never been told so forwardly that they appeared feminine. A small thing in them sprouted upwards, towards the surface, at the thought of that, before what sense they had slammed into it and tore it apart. They should not feel good about being told they reminded someone of their dead child, yet they did.

“Her babe would be ‘round yer age, I’d think,” Jor mused, eyeing them. Eret had never known their mother. Had never known a father. They had their family in the canvas tent upon the warfields and a General who loomed above and over them and that was it. They were an orphan from the capital city of Diadom. Before the war, they had nothing, and after the war, they had even less.

There was a sickly taste in their mouth.

“You have ‘er face,” added the man. “Hair’s a bit light and course, bright eyes like yers aren’t in our blood, but you’re close lookin’.”

The possibilities being laid before them made their chest ache. This little farm was too far from Diadom, though, especially for a pregnant woman to travel the distance. It was close to impossible for her to have travelled so far North… Not entirely, but close.

“My mother is dead,” they said, chest weighted by the white lie. They knew nothing of the woman who had birthed them, and certainly not of her status. Regardless, they did not want this old man upsetting himself over things that could be avoided.

Eret would always be soft.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sonny,” the man said, something wise in his eyes. “Our June sends us letters and what. She’s off in the East, tannin’ and doin’ whatever it is they do over there. Beth’s still tryin’ t’get ‘er over fer the solstice.”

Oh.

Eret had misunderstood. They had been thinking that this man was trying to draw lines to suggest they could be his lost grandchild, but they were wrong. Of course. How silly of them.

It had been impossible, anyways. Yet, their heart throbbed with a tightness they couldn’t explain.

The old man handed them the cigar. It was shorter than it had been. Eret took a long inhale and wished to melt into the rocking chair.

They finished the cigar and broke apart for the night. The bedroom Eret was guided to, with the moon high in the obscured sky, was small and quaint. A single bed with a duvet and a blanket of a mountainscape embroidered into it enticed them to sleep.

In the morning, they breakfasted with the old couple and said their goodbyes before walking back down the lane. The man sat in that wooden rocking chair in the porch and smoked another cigar as he watched them leave.

Chapter Text

Out in the unpopulated fields, the heat in the southern area of the Continent could’ve been the only thing that differentiated it from the northern countries. The grass grew in the same green and the sky shimmered the same blue. Birds chirped their usual songs and the meat they skewered over a fire tasted the same. On the quiet paths they walked, purposefully avoiding the signs that pointed to large cities and vast towns, the farming land stretched for miles. The narrow lanes and dusty paths were almost mirror images of previous paths they had walked in other countries. The shade of the trees’ leaves changed, becoming mellow with autumn’s blush, but all leaves changed colour eventually.

Eret seen few people on their journey into the southern tip, although that was mostly intentional. They had heard many things about the bustling cities of the South and were not interested in burying themself amidst the hubbub. Eret appreciated the calm of trees rustling and the peace that came from few voices. They took naps in the trees and followed rivers downstream without the worry of having to find shelter for a horse. They walked through the night, but these days, it was out of aimlessness rather than that annoyed persistence that had plagued them in the past.

That cold pressure in their chest had abated. It was not fully gone, but it no longer felt tender with each breath. The cherry-flavoured cigar and a night in a good bed had soothed something they had not been aware needed soothing. Eret walked on, persistent in their journey; no longer a complete mirage of the walking corpses that only they seen.

As they neared the Empire’s claimed piece of the Continent, the hills and beaches and small coves that bordered the ocean, Eret made an effort to pass through more villages and towns. The cities were far too daunting from a distance – all tall buildings and towering spires, but the small settlements were a joy to explore. Here, there was a vast majority of hybrids in the streets – more than Eret had ever seen. They did not need to hide their eyes, as what humans were around did not seem to mind their companions being less than human. Eret suspected most of said ‘humans’ were actually hybrids with less than noticeable traits.

They picked up coin where they could and found themself able to linger in town markets without the guilt of not being able to do more than windowshop. In one town, they came upon a bustling vineyard, with people whose eyes smiled brighter than the sun. They lingered around this town’s market, eyeing the fancy bottles of wine and the steaming pastries displayed at the stalls.

The streets were full and bustling. Usually, Eret was cowed by these sights, but here, the air felt casual and pleasant. Children ran along the cobbled paths, giggling as they weaved between merchant and customer alike. The houses that lined the streets were bright and colourful; tall and slender creations of stone and brick. Slatted rooves brokered a bridge for the birds to perch upon, with the beaming sun glistening down on the market stalls. The sheer brightness of the town seemed to make the glass windows in every building shine. Despite being a seaside town, the place was clean and the paint pristine.

“Vegetable pies,” a seller called, one voice amongst the scenery that bartered to draw their attention. There were many chalk signs dotted around the stalls, likely detailing the foodstuffs and prices, though Eret’s eyes glazed over them. Everything was new and interesting, yet nothing was so bright and bold as to be overwhelming. The beckoning voices of the sellers were simple hymns that made the market seem alive.

Eret turned to the pie seller. Their maw would only ever be satisfied with meat, though the creatures they caught on the paths were not a delicacy. Only one kind of flesh would ever truly abate Eret’s appetite, though in such populated areas they could not freely eat.

It was times like these, when they could never find something to quell their yearning, that they cursed how dense the population became in towns and villages. Everyone knew one another and someone being gutted in an alley was not easily overlooked. At least, on the days they felt more sedate, the memory of what they had eaten was enough to diminish their ravenous hunger to a state where they could settle for the bland alternatives. On those days where their hunger gaped endlessly and seemed to engulf them, nothing could tame the ache in their stomach.

Shifting their attention away from their usual dreary thoughts, Eret surveyed the pie seller’s wares. There were a few different looking ones. They pointed to the closest one.

“What’s in this?”

“Leak and onion. All my pies are vegetarian, no meat whatsoever!” Chirped the sprightly woman on the other side of the wooden stall. There was a painted banner along the table’s edge; her shop logo stretching leisurely over the linen sheet in a myriad of twists and swirls. “That’d be three cops.”

Three copper coins for a pie that would fit in their hand. Eret wasn’t sure that was a brilliant deal, but they handed over the money nonetheless. They were itching for something without the acrid taste of the wrong meat in it.

“Thank you for your purchase, dear,” the woman said, handing over the pie wrapped in a small square of waxen parchment. This paper wrap was not something they would’ve seen in most Northern towns and villages, yet they had seen it in almost every settlement in the South. It was a refined material, something not many countries could easily create without wealth. Waxen food wraps, whilst a seemingly insignificant detail, was a sign of a prosperous land. When a product like this was available in abundance in small villages and towns, it spoke of great fortitude and wealth.

These towns and villages were bolstered by the Antarctic Empire’s rule. What had once been entire countries along the southern tip of the Continent were now all owned by the Empire; they all flew their flag, the guards on the streets wore the Imperial soldier’s uniforms and the people abided by the Empire’s laws. Despite being deep into the Empire already, the Empire’s heart, the capital, sat far off on the distant land mass furthest south. It was rumoured there was a grand palace there, build out of stone and ice, where the Emperors sat with their heads held high, one hand dipped in a mountain of coins as their other clutched a weapon. The Antarctic Empire was a warring force – unafraid to set its troops along an antagonistic country’s borders. Even now, as they breathed, there were a few small skirmishes along the Western borders, where the Empire seemed adamant on taking the nearest country, in part or entirely after some political mishap or another. Thankfully, the route Eret had taken meant they’d avoided that zone. Travelling through warzones and areas with high tensions was difficult, usually because of their heightened awareness of strangers.

Regardless of the Antarctic Empire’s ‘head’ being separated by sea from its main body of land, it was the most immense and comprehensive authority. They were the only empire in the entire world and from what Eret had heard over the years, when a country wished for a strong alliance, they turned to the Empire, in spite of distance or language barriers. A war with the Empire would crush the Continent, would crush any country or land, just like how Diadom and Squatra had fallen under its boot some five or six years ago. Swift and brutal; there would be nothing left.

Yet, even with the vast power of their Empire, the Emperors stayed hidden away in the snowy tundra, miles beyond the shores of the southernmost beaches. Their seclusion and arguably difficult locale made little sense, much like how most things in the wide world often did not seem logical. It was unheard of to prosper a nation upon snow and ice, but the Antarctic Empire had done and continued to do just that.

If an Empire could not easily stretch its hands over its land, how could it hope to properly control its people? Eret was not sure, and yet the towns they passed through seemed to be calm and content. They spotted very little crime, and in most cases, people had full purses hanging freely from their pockets. This was quite odd for Eret – they’d only ever known people to clutch their money and cast judging glances at the slightest suggestion their purse was lighter than it had been – but these people were unworried and unbothered. Where they could easily gather the coin for a good dinner, Eret did not see fit to complain. These days, Eret ate and bartered with innkeepers to their own joy.

Presently, Eret paid with their pilfered coin and took their pie. It was warm and heavy in their palm. The vendor waved them off cheerily as they moved on.

Unwrapping a small corner of the wrap, Eret was greeted with the thick aroma of warm, fresh pastry. They bit at it, relieved to find it soft and flaky. The broth was refreshing and nicely seasoned. If they had to decide, Eret would’ve put it as one of the best pies they’d ever eaten.

“Sweetest wine this side of the port!” One man cawed, waving his arms in an attempt to pull in people. On the stall next to his, another man was dressed up in a flamboyant costume of a bottle – with a hat on his head that appeared to mimic grapes. He, too, sold wine.

There was an avid market in a town so close to the seaside. Eret had walked past quite a few vineries earlier in the day, hence why there was an abundance of people flaunting bottles and the dainty curved tasting glasses. Most people shopping in this market were likely tourists, called down to the sea and the beaches. Everywhere Eret looked, there seemed to be a café or nice restaurant, always with a hotel or fancy house nearby.

With how busy it was, the sun high in the sky, it made sense for all these hawkers to be out. Eret had much preferred the area the pie seller was in – it had been much quieter.

“Our wine sees the tables of the Great Banquet Hall!” One wine seller hollered, shouting loud enough for half the market to hear. “The Emperor’s Treat, they call our wine. So delicious you’d sooner cry!”

“I don’t want a wine that makes me cry,” a passing woman called out.

The seller hurried to shout after her, “Tears of joy, m’lady! Tears of utter joy, you’d cry!”

“Is that so?” She asked, walking closer to inspect the glinting bottles.

Eret shook their head and walked on, tossing the crumpled wax wrap into a nearby wastebin. The streets were very clean, with the Empire priding themselves on keeping their market clean and the nearby habitats cleaner. On their travels from the farmer fields into civilisation, Eret had come across many groups of people who roamed the wild fields to pick up litter and kept the paths clear. It was nice to see.

They made it through the rest of the market without being bothered, ending up in the town plaza. It revolved around them in an octagon, a grand building standing on each side. Each wall that faced the plaza had a fancy carving etched into it – the largest and tallest building which grasped up towards the sky had the dainty visage of winged cherubs soothing its sharp points. Vines and the depiction of people dancing were carved into the white stone, seeming almost as though it had been made yesterday with how clean and perfect it was. This seemed to be the town church, with its bell hanging high up in the tower, the brass in the direct path of the sun and smattering shining golden rays everywhere.

“General Totem carved that,” someone behind them said. “I had the pleasure of seeing him in action. Gosh, he’s a work of art himself.”

Eret turned their head so quickly that their neck cracked. A man around their age blinked back, eyes wide. He wore a clean shirt and neat slacks. His shoes were the soft leather kind that people who’d never set foot out of a village wore.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offered a kind smile. “I’m the town guide. I offer tours to people interested in the history of our little slice of heaven.”

Seeing how there was no-one with him, Eret assumed the tours were not very popular.

“I know that look,” the stranger laughed, waving casually at them. “You don’t believe me, but I promise I’m on my break. There’s a lot of people interested in the first town the Empire saved.”

“This town is far from the Southern tip,” they noted, not wanting to mull over how easily this man had made a promise to a stranger. How a town could be saved, they didn’t know. “How was this the first to be amalgamated?”

“They say the Second Emperor was born here,” the apparent guide grinned. “Hence why this became the birthplace of the Empire – the focal point of greatness. This town gave the Empire a stronghold to push back against the anti-hybrid views that once plagued the entire Continent. Now, we can happily say that the entire South is free of that persecution.”

Eret swallowed down everything they wanted to say. The town guide chattered on, drawing their attention to the fountain in the center of the area. A tall woman stood in it, curves wondrous and full, with two large wings curling behind her.

“The Goddess is our main deity,” the guide told them. “The Second Emperor is said to be a direct descendant of her. His wings mirror what you see here.”

An avian on the throne. Eret was amused by that – from what they’d heard of avians, they were more often flighty and struggled to stay in one place. How one could spend his life out in the snowy tundra of the Empire’s capital, they had no clue. Eret themself had never been one for cold.

Instead, Eret asked, “How are there two Emperors?”

The guide beamed at them. “When they founded the Antarctic Empire, they were such great friends that they decided to lead together. They call the First Emperor that because he was the one who led the charge in battle. There was a great war here a dozen or so years ago that saved this land from the humans – that war cemented the foundations of our mighty homeland.”

The propaganda was stifling. Eret took their leave from the man and went in another direction. Hybrids rightly seen the Empire as their saviours, as the nation that had given them safety and happiness, but it was choking to have it shoved down their throat. Eret was used to acid glares and vitriol; the kind smiles on the streets and the hybrid traits most people happily flaunted felt, in a way, forbidden.

Eret walked to the beach. There was a direct road from the plaza to the seashore, which they appreciated. The shops and stalls along this path were more focussed on selling buckets and small shovels for making sandcastles. They passed a man waving a flyer for a sandcastle competition, though he was much too busy explaining the rules to a group of children to pester them.

When the town fell away, the golden shores greeted them. A myriad of blue, rippling with streaks of white and azure, frothed at the cusp of the sand. The water stretched into an endless yawn, tumbling back and forth, unending, never stopping. With the bluest of skies above their head, Eret peeled their boots off and let their bare feet settle into the sand. It was warm and fragmented under them, clutching at them like mud but without the tension. Children laughed and played down the strand, their sandcastles crumbling to frothy piles as the tide swept closer. As quickly as they fell, the children built more, giggling and patting down the wet mulch.

Here, the scent of salt seemed more mellow than it had in the town. In the plaza, it had been a heavy cloud over the ground, but with the ocean gasping before them, it seemed just right. In the distance, a small fishing boat bobbed on the waves, travelling away from the shore. From how the town and this beach were positioned, the ocean was the only thing around them – there was no snowy tundra to be seen beyond the waves, no other towering rock or house beyond this town. It felt small and quiet; a small slice of heaven indeed.

They walked along the unending beach until the sun rolled around in the sky and started to droop. Then, they traipsed back to a cobbled pier and found they’d walked so far that they were in a new town. The beach stretched around the entire coast, and they’d walked out onto a new road.

The buildings here looked the same, although a little more worn by the elements – washed out by the seaspray and salt in the air. The stone was gritty under their boots and this town’s plaza was five sided and had a towering statue standing in four of those sides. Two avians, a piglin and a large, cat-like beast whose back stood taller than they were. The Emperors and their Generals, presumably. Eret turned away and sought out a pub, which they found in a small nook down one of the roads.

It was dimly lit in the sunset, buried between larger buildings. Eret stepped in, greeted by a low scent of musk that seemed to linger in the wood near the sea. A frail set of wooden stairs led upstairs, to a selection of rooms, and the man who met them at the desk by the door made it clear they offered both food and board. Eret had no intention of remaining for anything other than a meal, and so they ordered a loaf, stew and a tankard of ale.

The room opened up behind the front desk. A bar wrapped around the end under the stairs, where a doorway vanished back into the kitchens. The rest of the room was populated by round tables and creaky wooden chairs. This was not a tourist spot; this was for the locals.

Eret took a seat by a table against the wall. The front door was to their left and to their right, they could see through a slanted window out onto what seemed to be the docks. The glass was dirty and rattled as a wind blew over the ocean, making the flimsy boats tied around the wooden posts bob and waver in their places. When they squinted hard enough, they could see another spit of land in the distance, and assumed this town was located on a stray strand of land that broke off from the mainland. They’d have to follow it back or barter a boat ride to continue on their way south, searching for the beach they wanted to stare at everyday. Already, they’d decided they quite liked the warmth to the autumn weather here, and the fact they’d be spending winter down by the beaches went unsaid. Not that they spoke much to anyone.

Their head had been quieter, down here. It seemed even rotting corpses feared the heat.

The barmaid set their stew down. It was more potato than meat, but they didn’t mind. The bread wasn’t soft as though fresh out of the oven, but it was warm and that was good enough. Their ale felt a little cold, which was a bonus from the litres of warm ale they’d been treated to over the years. They tucked themself down and ate quickly, watching the men and women around the bar and at other tables. A couple was nattering away by a window, loudly planning their next vacation; a man by the bar was trying to sweettalk the barmaid into a free tankard; a woman was sitting with a frown on her face, large but entirely black eyes roaming over the crowd. A pair of lithe, pointed ears twitched atop her head.

Not in the habit of staring when they were truly interested in something, Eret ate their stew. The potatoes were soft and fell apart in their mouth, surely having sat for a while in the broth. It made for a good stomach filler.

More people came into the bar, some coming down the stairs from the rooms above. As the sun dragged shadows over the harbour, the barmaid went about lighting candles and the bar became a buzz of life. The tables filled out and the bar became the centre of attention, frothing with life in the same come-and-go as the tide. A man sat beside the sweet talker and laughed at his expense. The woman with wide, empty eyes watched these two most closely. She was so intent on these men that she did not notice Eret watching her, nor the man in the corner who shot straying glances her way.

Eret finished their stew and dragged the bread through what dregs remained. They peered out the window and eyed the door and tried to pretend a nagging feeling wasn’t pulling them towards the woman and her wide eyes. They felt like they knew her… Those eyes were a tell-tale sign of a mouse hybrid. There was an iron sword slung at her side, blending neatly with her brown trousers and worn boots. Her white shirt was too big on her, as though she’d slipped it off someone’s drying line.

They drank the last of their ale. The two rowdy men by the bar gave the barmaid a hearty farewell and strolled for the door. A moment after the door swung shut behind them, the woman got up and followed. Eret cleaned their mouth on the back of their hand and watched another man stand from the other end of the room; the one who’d been sat at a table, nursing a steaming slice of pie. The pie was left abandoned as he made for the door.

Sitting in the bar, they swept their gaze over who remained. No one was looking at them, all absorbed in their little worlds. The barmaid seemed unphased, the man by the desk had his back to the room at large, though he’d sat on his stool and buried his face in a newspaper.

Eret stood. No one looked at them. When that woman had gotten up, the pie man had instantly looked at her. Eret left their plates on the side of the now-quiet bar, which had the barmaid nodding her thanks. They threw her another copper. She caught it and tipped her head back in a quick nod.

Under the guise of leaning on the bar to finish their drink, Eret leaned in towards the woman. She reached forward, close under the appearance of gathering their dishes.

“Who were those two?” They asked, head slightly tilting to where the two men had sat.

“Roomin’ upstairs,” the woman murmured. She pulled the dishes close and brought out a rag to clean the bar counter. “The lass that followed was sittin’ glarin’ like a vulture gawking down at its next meal, I tell ya. Don’t let nobody tell you them prey hybrids are weak, for she had a pair o’ steel balls. Those men are no good.”

“And the man who followed her?” They asked.

The barmaid shrugged. “Not roomin’ but maybe a mate of theirs.”

Eret thanked her with another copper. She bit down on it and grinned at them. They left their tankard on the bar and strolled out slowly, listening as the bar continued on as though nothing had happened.

Outside, the salty air was heavy. These houses along this strand were all smeared with age. Paint peeled and the metal windowpanes dripped with rust. Eret took a right, walking down the road. It wasn’t empty but there were neither crowds. An old woman hobbled along the street, a woven basket between her clawed hands. She leaned it out towards them, proffering an array of colourful shells. Eret picked a blue one up and offered her a coin.

“Did you see anyone pass by?”

The old lady peered at them. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

At their indulgent nod, she smiled. “Of course you are. Go down to the warehouses by the docks, dearie.”

Without another word, she began to hobble on. She didn’t look back, but over her shoulder, she called, “Be careful.”

Eret thumbed Wrath’s hilt and walked on. They took a street down towards the lilt of the moon that had climbed into the sky and followed the curve of the shore visible between the houses. Soon, the houses began to grow bigger and wider. A scored street used to seeing horse and cart replaced the smoothened cobble. The buildings became large warehouses, with slatted rooves and no windows.

In the shadow of the street, they pulled on a cloak with a hood to hide the glow of their eyes and lurked. There were two rows of warehouses buried amidst the small, quiet houses. This side of the shore seemed to drop off into an inadmissible cliff, which explained why none of the houses bordered it and why they hadn’t seen these buildings from the beach.

By one warehouse, with a slatted roof turned green with moss and stone walls that were black with dirt, two men stood outside. They did not stand only by this warehouse, though Eret came in time to see them step out of it. The two men turned to walk down the street, careless and carefree. Though, unlike the usual guards Eret had seen in the Empiric lands – who sported dark navy shirts with a lighter teal stripe through the middle, or clothing entirely in one of these colours – these two men wore dark clothes and strolled with twin halberds over their shoulders. Eret had only ever seen Antarctic guards with halberds standing around the plazas or town centres. Ones that guarded the markets and stood by the alleys usually sported swords or daggers.

Though they waited for sign of movement, there was none. The guards vanished down the street. There were no windows for them to peer into the warehouse.

Care killed the cat. Worrying for others didn’t get them anywhere, but Eret couldn’t help but be curious.

When the guards did not seem to be turning, they stepped out of the alcove they’d crouched in and strolled up to the doors. Ted’s Wrath sat impatiently on their hip, waiting. A distorted giggle swirled around their skull as they pushed the doorknob.

Light spilled towards them. Inside, many torches had been lined up along the walls, though that did nothing to stop the shadows of the tall metal bars cast around the room. Cages lined the floor, dozens of them sitting in rows on the cool stone. Men with black outfits and weapons stood around the room.

In the middle, a man was laughing and loudly mocking someone. He was towering over two guards that held the mouse hybrid by her arms. Her head was dipped, likely unconscious. In the nearest cages, a woman with pink hair was snarling, and opposite, a man with green hair was chained. The desolate way he stared at the man suggested he did not want to be here.

None of them turned towards Eret as they entered and let the door swing shut behind them. The guards along the walls had their eyes trained on the cages, swords and lances pointed at trembling hybrids. There had to be thirty people held captive here – none younger than ten summers but some certainly pushing it. The oldest looked to be the green haired man, who seemed older than Eret but was very tired. He appeared to be a bone-deep sort of weary that Eret would’ve deeply resonated with a few weeks ago.

If there was anything Eret hated worse than making children fight, it was putting them in chains. After their short bout in the East a few winters back, human traffickers and slavers had quickly joined that list.

They drew Ted’s Wrath with a hum. Eyes turned towards them, but they strolled in and began walking down the main pathway between the cages without hindrance. There was a clear path to the middle and they took it.

“Hey, put that away,” the man, evidently the leader, waved a hand at them. Perhaps, their dark clothing had confused him into thinking they were one of his men. The man turned from sneering at the green haired man and ordered his two guards to throw the mouse hybrid into an open cell. She fell with a soulless thud. The door squeaked shut. They wrapped a thick chain around the bars.

Pulling their hood down, Eret continued walking. Nearly every eye in the warehouse darted to them, aside from the captives who ducked lower to the floor. Some were shaking, others softly sobbing into their hands. At the sight of their eyes, the leader cursed, surprise slackening his face.

“A hybrid!” He yelled, gesturing wildly. “Deal with them, boys!”

In their life, they had seen their fair share of monsters and creatures. But here, compared to human flesh, there was no worse foe. Of the men in this warehouse, not one who hefted a weapon had hybrid traits.

To a hybrid, the worst enemy was human.

Ted’s Wrath glinted in the torchlight. The visibility was perfect for them and the echo of the building told them exactly when the guards began to converge on them. Close to forty men roused and began to approach. Each and every one could be clearly seen through the cages, which had no solid walls.

None would be quick enough.

The leader drew his own blade. “Surrender now and we won’t rip you limb from limb.”

“That is not a threat for humans to make,” Eret smirked.

The two guards rushed them. Wrath swept out in a clean arc and stole the hand of one. He dropped to his knees, caterwauling. His friend looked furious as he rushed in with a lance.

Eret caught the lance and twisted it left, into the guts of the woman who’d tried to sneak up on them. She fell with a gurgle, insides torn out as she toppled. The lance did not fall with her, falling heavy into Eret’s palm. The man cried out for her, but did not need to worry for much longer as Eret twirled his own lance and drove it through his eyesocket.

Two down, Eret kicked the handless one in the jaw and forced him onto his back. With him defenceless, they plunged Ted’s Wrath through his throat. He made an interesting noise before falling limp.

The leader took a stumbling step back. “You’re a monster,” he accused.

Eret smiled.

When they did not speak, the man only looked more horrified.

Two guards rushed them. Eret sidestepped their lunge and allowed the two to stumble and turn towards them. Having an enemy to their front was always an advantage, though they always did enjoy a dance.

“You bastard!” One yelled. Eret quickly silenced him with the broad of Wrath’s blade. Blood flew into the eyes of the other, who shrieked and shied away. They followed him and he was quickly dealt with.

“Freak of nature,” another woman hollered. The rest of the armed traffickers rushed in, seeming to think that number would outweigh skill.

Eret drew Language from their subspace with a simple flick of their wrist. The crowd swelled and swayed around them. It was an immature tactic – these people were not soldiers, that much was obvious. They likely relied on the advantage of catching their prey by surprise or by threatening the more skilled into submission. Although, despite their lacking skill, their cohesion was great. What slavers remained formed a tight ring around them, in the pattern of a swordsman wedged between two lancers, repeating over and over again. Admittedly, this tactic was quite ingenuitive. Anyone not used to fighting likely would’ve fallen before getting near a sword wielder or someone they could strike at. If unskilled in fighting, glaives were difficult to deal with.

Rolling their head on their shoulders and hearing the crackle of their bones, Eret let the dogs circle before they turned for the weakest link – a man shorter than the rest. His lance was kicked to the side and as he screamed, they guided Ted’s Wrath through his chest. The two swordsmen on either side moved in on them, blades rising, but Language sunk home in the first and the second was caught flatfooted by Wrath as he was freed from the lancer’s carcass.

Before they were even off their first targets, the shock wore off and the others in the circle closed in. Eret ducked under a three-pronged attack from three lancers and slipped over to place Language between a woman’s collarbones. Her body shielded them from the blades, and the next few fell in short time.

Eret slipped into a rhythm; the sort of low, thrumming murmur only the worst heard. They stepped and twirled along to the tune, swiping their weapons through the humans and ignoring the zombies that stood where no man did. As they worked, the hybrids in the cages looked up and began clinking their shackles off the metal. The humans grew restless and desperate as more of their number fell, but Eret did not heed the begging of the final few.

Finally, there was a wreathe of bodies around them. The leader had taken the long way around the room, running behind the cages, to circle around the carnage. Now, as Eret let the final body slide off Wrath, they turned their head to see the man’s back vanish through the door. He hadn’t even tried to defend his claim.

Eret spat on the ground to cleanse it and stepped over to the cage with the mouse hybrid in it. She was still unconscious, lying slumped where they’d dropped her.

“Leave her alone!” The pink haired woman yelled at them.

A glance from the green haired man silenced her. This man, whose hands were fully enclosed in metal gloves – unlike any of the others – shuffled towards the edge of his cage. “Thank you,” he said to them, voice haggard and dry. “What you’ve done today has saved countless.”

They didn’t speak. The leader had gotten away, but if luck was on their side, this would halt their trafficking operation for a few weeks. These types always started again – like mold that wouldn’t leave – but slitting a few throats usually had decent short-term results.

They let Language fall into their inventory. Ted’s Wrath demanded to stay out, so they slipped him between the chains and the metal bars and, one-by-one, went around all the cages and opened the doors. Those brave enough to reach up with their shackles were cut free and those who cowered back were left for the pink haired woman to come along with the key she procured from one of the slaver’s bodies.

When everyone was free, some flooding out into the streets, others lingering like wraiths, the green haired man approached them. The woman had freed him from his encompassing restraints and now he stood with a slump to his back that belied more than exhaustion. Eret flicked a glance around, noting the pinkette dragging the mouse out of her cage. When she caught their gaze, the woman held it and stared back.

“Thank you, kind stranger,” the man doubled over in a bow. “We are indebted to you.”

“I only followed the mouse,” they hummed. Ted’s Wrath was dripping on the stone floor. The soft plip plip broke the silence between their words. Eret threw the blood off him with a gentle flick and slid him back into his sheathe. He felt warm against their hip, even past the layers of clothing and the leather.

“She was the only one of the squad not captured,” the man nodded, glancing back with slanted eyes. The pink haired woman, who had what seemed to be gills on the side of her neck and sharp, webbed ears, was shaking the mouse hybrid. At seeing this, the man breathed a tense but amused breath. “I had hoped she’d go to Phil, but…”

“She tracked down the traffickers and followed them here,” Eret shrugged, figuring that was what had happened. Pride was often what killed many, but in a situation where more than a few people were at risk? What the mouse hybrid had done was very stupid. Even if Eret did not know who ‘Phil’ was, it was clear they needed backup.

“And so did you,” the man breathed. He dropped into another bow. Eret let him, watching a bit awkwardly. “My name is Awesamdude, but you may call me Sam, kind stranger.”

He rose. They ignored the glint to his eyes.

“I go by Eret,” they greeted in turn. “They, them.”

“He, him,” Sam nodded. “We are lucky you were here, Eret.”

Those who remained all wore green shirts and had retrieved their weapons from the chests in the corner of the room. Eret assumed these people were soldiers of this ‘squad’. As they rooted through the slaver’s stores and dropped inventories, most tugged on matching iron chest plates with chainmail sleeves.

“General,” someone called out. This man had stark white hair and vibrant tanned skin. His shirt was a deeper green than the rest and, interestingly, he only approached when their conversation came to a lull. “We must make preparations to return.”

“I think you’re right, Ponk,” Sam agreed. Eret eyed him suspiciously. General?

Voices screamed in their ears. Eret drowned them out as the pink haired woman stepped over, seeming stern.

“Mouse’ll be fine, sir,” she aimed towards Sam. “She’s concussed, but good to walk.”

“Good,” Sam inclined his head. “You and the Lieutenant, go around and make sure everyone is fit to travel.”

The two clenched their right hands into fists and thumped them against their chests. “Yes, sir!”

Lieutenant? Whatever was going on here, it had Eret’s hairs standing on end. They shifted, nervous as the people around them began to stir and walk around. In a matter of moments, all of them wore armour and sported a weapon.

Eret looped their fingers around Wrath’s hilt. They did not expect kindness in return for their deeds and they were very familiar with some schemes gangs pulled – if these people intended to turn on them, they would draw their blade before anyone could blink.

“Eret,” Sam called, voice husky but lilted with kindness. This man was good at playing nice, if this truly was an act. With how his smile pinched his face, even his sharp yellow eyes seemed harmless. “If you have the time, please come back with us. Congratulations are in order and I wish to reward you for your time. What you did was very brave.”

“I didn’t do anything special,” they shook their head, gaze slitting around to the others. They did not need gifts from these strangers. Shared freedom was enough. “You needn’t reward curiosity.”

“If this–” the man gestured to the bodies that had yet to despawn. “Is the mark of your curiosity, you truly are something. Regardless of how you came across us, please allow me to repay you – if not for kindness but for the value of our lives.”

In a world where people could respawn, Eret did not think normal people much valued their lives. So long as someone wasn’t on their last chance, people spoke little of respawn. Although, as a man approached with a stone in his hands, they watched Sam’s expression shift.

“Found it in a crack, sir,” the soldier said, gently handing it over. Eret caught a glimpse of the smooth surface; a small gem-like grey stone that seemed to faintly shine due to the purple rune carved into it.

“This is a spawn disturber,” Sam caught their gaze, though they did not know how, and held the stone out towards them. They peered at it, able to hear the faint hum of magic from the small pebble. “And this is exactly why your intervention was so important. With this active, if any of us died, we would not have respawned.”

Their blood ran cold. They hadn’t felt anything amiss when they entered the building but to find out that…

“It was connected to the shackle cuffs,” Sam explained. “A stone so small cannot affect an area – only items. With these,” the man lifted a cracked open shackle to reveal a smaller rune of the same shape engraved on their insides, “the slavers had the upper hand.”

“Snapped the cuffs on before we knew what was happening,” the soldier who’d found the stone huffed. At realising he’d been heard by both Eret and Sam, he folded into a bow and apologised for his interruption. Eret watched this curiously, but Sam only waved the man off.

With that, Sam dropped the stone. It thudded on the ground but was quickly crushed to dust under the man’s boot. As he was still clutching the shackle, the disappearance of the similar rune was noticeable.

Eret had not known runes like the Galactic enchantments could be used in such a manner. Throughout their journeying, they had never seen anything like this. They said as much, “Are these runes commonplace?”

“No, thankfully,” Sam shook his head. “They seem to have popped up in the Empire in the past few months. We’re not sure who began crafting them, but we’re looking into it.”

Slavers were already dangerous enough. If those slavers had the advantage of surprise and cursed shackles, they would be near impossible for non-fighters to deal with. Although Eret didn’t know if these soldiers were adept fighters, their armour suggested a higher level of skill than the street riffraff, and yet they had still been captured.

A flash of green behind the man caught their eye. With her white shirt discarded for a rumpled green one, the mouse hybrid – incidentally called Mouse – approached them. Her head was ducked and she fidgeted on her walk over. Eret thought she would collapse before getting close, though she shambled her way over and dropped to both knees before Sam. Her bones loudly thunked off the stone at the impact.

“I’m sorry, General Creeper,” she exclaimed, tears running down her cheeks in a flurry. “I was idiotic and put the lives of the entire squad at risk. All because I was too stubborn to go for help! I accept my punishment and, if you see fit, will accept my demotion to the General Forces.”

Sam reached down for her. Eret watched his hand wrap around the woman’s head, but all Sam did was ruffle her hair. His smile was benign and soft.

“At least you know what you should’ve done,” he answered. “Thank you for your efforts, Mouse. Everything turned out fine, so please don’t worry about silly things like being demoted.”

Mouse sniffled and sobbed, reaching up to clutch the man’s hand. Unnerved by the sight, Eret looked away and noticed the pink-haired woman – Niki – standing off to the side, watching the scene with sharp eyes. Her hands were clenched into tight fists.

“Like demotion would be the worst fate,” someone snickered behind them. The sound of someone being thwacked echoed in the room, but it seemed the General either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care to address that comment.

On the other hand, Eret was very interested. Their mind clawed at the straws they’d been given. A General with a squad of troops; a soldier who worried about being demoted to ‘general forces’, which Eret assumed was an army or a lower group; and a fate worse than being taken from what was likely a prestigious position.

The only thing they feared was death. That, by far, was the worst fate.

And judging from how Mouse sobbed into her General’s hand, Eret took the liberty to assume it was not a demotion the woman had feared. Then, was it the rune she worried about or something else?

They bit their tongue so hard it went numb. When Sam turned back to them, they inclined their head.

“I’ll be on my way,” they said.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, leaving Mouse on her knees to step towards them. Eret did not yield nor give up ground by habit, so when the General approached, they met in an uncomfortable stalemate that only Eret seemed to mind. Sam was too busy smiling at them. “Please think about coming back with us. Someone of your skill would be cherished in the Empire.”

Something clicked; all the dots lined up. Eret blinked and searched his face for any resemblance to the statues they’d seen earlier that day. This man – he was a General of the Antarctic Empire.

A General— they hadn’t expected to see any of the higher ups in the Southern Continent. Weren’t the leaders supposed to stay in the capital? In the land beyond the sea, safely ensconced from the mayhem of the Continent.

Eret’s heart thundered in their ears.

They were not sure they could disagree. Was it better to accept this reward and leave, or to reject their kindness and invoke animosity?

“I do not stay in one place for long,” they said in preamble. “But if you wish for an escort back to your home, I could extend my sword for the journey.”

Sam grinned widely at them. His canines and first molars were sharp. “Wonderful,” he agreed, then turned to his Lieutenant. “What’s the situation?”

“All twenty ready for mobilisation, sir,” Ponk said. He kept his gaze down, and Eret quickly noticed that most of the soldiers copied. There was a distinct power imbalance here that seemed to leave static in their skin. Niki was the only one who did not respectfully avert her eyes from the General. She stared at Eret instead.

“Good, we’ll leave now.”

With that, the warehouse was turned upside-down and the men marched out in orderly file. Most of the captured had been the General’s men and those who weren’t and had lingered were escorted to the ealdorman’s office, who stumbled out of bed in his robes and hurried to offer refreshments and warm quarters for the General and his men. To Eret, who had grown accustomed to the gentle lull of these small seaside towns, the sudden clamour was nearly overwhelming.

It was clear meeting a General was no small feat. Despite the man’s kindness and gentle nature, the manner in which his own troops did not meet his eyes was indication enough.

Very suddenly, Eret realised they did not know enough about the Antarctic Empire.

Chapter Text

Sam refused the ealdorman’s board and hospitality. He told the man to see that the rescued hybrids were allowed comfortable rest and returned to their homes in the morning.

“It is paramount you see to this,” Sam said, and just like that the other man stooped into a bow deep enough to kiss his feet.

“Of course, General Creeper,” the ealdorman agreed. “I will do everything in my power to ensure these people are cared for. Any who do not have homes will soon have one, sir. Please, continue to prosper and gift the mighty Empire with your knowledge.”

Eret, standing beside the General at the man’s own request, observed all this in silence. Sam turned away from the man’s assurances and praise as though it was nothing he hadn’t heard before.

The General left the ealdorman bowing in his own home and walked out the door with little fanfare. Outside, his troops parted for his path like a tide drawing back from the sands. They remained parted when Eret did not follow him.

Sam paused at the mouth of the divide. He looked back to them, waiting. Eret stared for a moment before strolling after, stepping out onto the street without a glance back. They passed the quiet soldiers with little urgency. The ealdorman trailed after them and recreated his deep bow by his front door, clutching his night robes as though a cold breeze had gnawed into his bones.

A few steps behind Eret, Sam’s squad began to follow, the jingling of their chainmail and the thud of their in-sync steps the only noise they made. Niki and Ponk stood side by side, ahead of the main group but still after Eret. Whatever hierarchy this squad went by, Eret had been placed near the top – most likely due to Sam’s gratitude towards them.

“Usually, we’d take a ship to the Empire,” Sam began to speak, leading the way. He headed away from the direction of the warehouses and went towards where this strand of land came to a point, where the ealdorman had previously indicated. The streets they passed through were quiet and empty, eyes watching from dark windows and behind pulled curtains. It was late and a short procession of soldiers passing through any town was sure to draw curious eyes.

As they walked, Eret came up to walk beside him, testing the proverbial waters, but the man only smiled at them. Saving his ass had earned them some brownie points, it seemed. A General of the much-revered Empire being fouled by slavers was not something any loyal citizen wanted to hear, and the man himself seemed very grateful for their intervention.

With them close, he continued to talk in a quieter voice. “Unfortunately, none of the commercial ferries are running at this hour – even for a General’s squad.”

Not having been aware of any ferries or boats travelling between the capital and the southern Continent, Eret remained silent. It made sense, considering how the capital’s main suppler was likely these small towns and villages and any nearby cities. They remembered the wine seller from earlier in the day, in that other town, who claimed to serve the very tables in the Banquet Hall. How much of that was true?

“Thankfully,” Sam perked up. “We have an alternate means of travel.”

There was no nation advanced enough for travel other than by horse and cart or boat. Eret raised a brow and caught sight of the General’s excited expression. In the low light of a world that was greeting the moon, his eyes seemed to shine.

“Truthfully, Eret, we were not here to investigate the slavers or the runes. Our meeting with them was very much coincidental,” he explained. “My squad and I have been travelling over the southern tip and exploring the seaside towns and villages. In each one, we’ve tested a new invention of mine.”

They reached the shore after a few short minutes. Sam wasted no time in tapping at his inventory. He pulled out two oblong cylinders. Dark in colour, almost twinkling in the twilight that came after dusk, the pillars seemed to be of a great weight, as Sam passed one carefully off to two soldiers, who grunted under the effort. Two more took the second and these pairs worked together to carry the odd creations over to the shoreline – interestingly, stopping just shy of where the tide rushed up to lick at the sand. This beach they’d stopped at was small, no wider than a horse was long, but it seemed adequate for whatever was happening.

“Oh,” Sam hummed, as though he’d just realised something. “Please, don’t be afraid – we’ve tested this countless times. Currently, we’re testing its range. We’ve done a similar distance before, so the bridge should be more than stable.”

“Bridge?” They echoed, glancing back over to the four soldiers as they placed the heavy beams in a straight line opposite one another. One of each pair steadied themself above the cylinders and pushed them a few inches into the loose sand before stepping back. How they did not instantly topple, Eret didn’t know.

Most pressingly, there was no bridge within sight. This town was truly on an isolated strand of land. A harbour sat to their right, though a decent few kilometres away, and to both their right and ahead, there was nothing but blue water.

“We call this the Highway.” Sam made a motion and pulled out a communicator before tapping away at his invisible his-eyes-only screen. It wasn’t a surprise for a General to have a comm, although its existence made Eret wonder if the General had already called for help. Unless…

Most people could not willingly draw items from their inventory unless they could do a few motions. Many had to visualise their ‘hotbar’ and make the appropriate gestures to ‘pull’ an item out of their subspace. If Sam had his comm in his inventory and couldn’t access it because of his odd shackles, then maybe Eret had truly been their final hope. Keeping a comm inside an inventory was an odd habit, as a majority of people used their comms to view their subspace.

How a General could be so unprepared was not something for Eret to question. In truth, if the man wanted to store his communicator in his inventory and be caught out in such situations, that was his own choice. Eret did not care what he did. All they knew was that the small bracelet that wrapped around their wrist – the form their own communicator took in its downsized form – would never be taken off in rain, hale or shine. It had remained on them ever since they’d gotten it, persisting alongside them on their travels. Their comm would be around their wrist until they died.

A sudden clicking drew their attention towards the pillars, which seemed to shiver before their glossy surfaces rippled and elongated. It seemed… clunky, in a way. The smooth walls shuddered and seemed to break into rectangles, whilst still being connected. It looked like armour sliding together, like chainmail links interlinking and wobbling in a smooth wave as someone moved. It looked unearthly.

Both pillars grew to the height of Eret before they stopped moving. Sam grinned down at his unseen comm screen and not a second later, a rippling tide of white rushed towards the pillars from somewhere in the far distance.

The air in their lungs was stolen as they forgot to breathe. Eret stared at the rippling surface of light that linked the two pillars and stretched off beyond the waves. It looked like silk unravelled and spread out over a table, except the ocean was the table and the silk did not budge even as the waves licked up towards it and a salty wind kicked along the beach.

Most disturbing of all, the General and his squad did not seem the least bit surprised. Sam was grinning at the silken road as though it greatly pleased him, brimming with pride. A quick glance behind them, to the troops who waited in mute obedience, found them watching sedately.

“The Highway is a complex, high-functioning bridge that can link any two places where the Posts are placed. What you see here is directly linked to the Empire’s capital land, Antarctica.”

Eret could not speak. Sam gleefully rubbed his hands and dropped his communicator back into his inventory without much ceremony, but as he stepped towards the bridge, he beckoned them close. They did not move until he set a boot on the sparkling ribbon. If a road was glossy and twinkled like a bright star-filled sky of silver, then this was a road. However, as no road Eret had ever seen looked anything like this, they were understandably apprehensive.

“Capable of supporting the entire army tenfold and – much due to the speed and distance enhancers embedded into it – able of transporting them in close to an hour, the Highway is likely the fastest transport you’ll see over such a long distance.”

No… No, they couldn’t believe this. There was no way this shimmering stream was connected to the Empire’s capital. A land so distant that it was invisible to their keen eyes.

“It’s…” They lost the words before they’d even found them.

“Safe and secure,” Sam offered up. “Extremely fast and sturdy, with failsafes built in, in case of unlikely failure. Worse case scenario, we take a little dip. Best case, we get to the Empire in sixty minutes. The boat journey takes six days.”

His grin was not one that could be faked. Eret had known this man for only a short time, but they could tell Sam was not one for manipulations and deceit. If he trusted this ‘bridge’ enough to put his own feet on it and have it take him across the waters, then Eret supposed it wouldn’t much matter if they protested. A death at sea would be horrific – they’d heard drowning was a terrible way to go – but they had spawn points set up along numerous inns all over the Continent. Some of their set points were so well hidden that they doubted anyone would find them for years to come and their body would reform at the closest one.

So long as Eret had a spawn point, they would return while they still had lives. In this unsure jurisdiction, where the Empire likely governed how many set lives their spawn points could give, they did not know how many chances they would have. The SMP had three chances for each player, as their magical leylines had not been as weak as some other countries’. From what they knew, most countries allowed their people a few chances minimum.

Regardless of what Sam claimed, Eret would die if the bridge failed because they could not swim.

They knew better than to divulge a weakness. Eret curled their hand around Wrath’s hilt to have that mental boost and stepped forwards. The bridge was study and did not falter or waver under their feet. It remained strong and unmoving. Standing atop it was no different than walking on soft dirt.

“Cool, isn’t it?” Sam beamed. It was clear he was emotionally embroiled with this device, as his earlier calm had all but dissipated for the face of a man looking upon his greatest creation.

“How does this offer faster travel?” Eret asked, slowly taking a few steps out. Sam kept pace with them wordlessly, seemingly content to allow them to set the initial pace. However, as they walked, Eret noticed the land dropping further and further back, before, all of four steps in, they were entirely surrounded by water.

The only constant was the long, unending expanse of the Highway. They shot Sam a glance to find him watching them with a smile.

“Some magic, some redstone,” he made an odd gesture, as if to say ‘half and half’. Eret had little knowledge on what this man’s definition of magic was, only familiar with leylines and the inherent forces around respawning, although they had practiced with redstone before. “It’s a joint project, really, but I like to think of this as mostly my baby.”

As they walked, the troops bringing up the rear, Eret gazed out at the unending abyss. The water became choppy and desperate as the winds grew heavier, ruffling their hair and sending their already loose braid into tangles. Still, the bridge did not move; it floated a few feet above the water, though Eret noticed that where the water did rush up, it seemed to stop before making contact.

“There’s a lot of speed magic in this,” Sam divulged. “Although, there’s also movement of the bridge itself. If you’ll stop…”

They came to a halt. Sam stopped with them. As the troops behind also paused, Eret noticed there was a slow pull towards the distance. It was like the ground under them was shifting and moving, though it did not make them fall.

“Like a conveyor belt,” Sam explained, though Eret didn’t understand. It seemed the Empire’s capital was more technologically advanced than the Continent, even if some places like the SMP had been fairly impressive in terms of widespread communicator usage and food storage methods. “If we just sat down and let the Highway move us, we’d probably get to the Empire in close to two or three hours. This is much faster than it seems.”

They nodded, watching the abyss of blue minutely shift. With the ocean surrounding them, the motion was only really visible thanks to the too-fast movement of the clouds above. The sky was bright but shaded in areas, though the navigating stars were clear to see. Eret could imagine how useful this bridge would be for heavy items that most men could not carry.

“What about the Posts?” Eret asked, using the term the General had mentioned earlier to describe the dark cylinders his soldiers had pushed into the sand. “Do they remain on that beach?”

Though they hadn’t been around most of the southern tip, they would’ve thought the existence of these bridges would’ve been widely spoken of. However, it seemed the Empire’s knowledge had also been kept quiet. Whatever they had that could create this Highway was years beyond anything Eret had seen before.

“They’ll vanish once we turn the Highway off on the Empire’s side,” Sam told them. “It’s an unfortunate loss of resources. We’re doing so much testing to try and find something that will let us reuse the Posts, or even make them permanent.”

Eret nodded along, then noticed something they hadn’t really thought of. They all moved forwards, in one direction. “Is the Highway only for travel in one direction?”

“Oh,” Sam brightened, as though he hadn’t expected them to ask. As he spoke, they began to walk again, and their seemingly slow but expedited travel began anew. “We’re working on that, too. We tried to run two Highways beside each other, going in different directions, but that’s a lot of resources.”

“If you have two Posts,” Eret mulled. “Could you link a smaller Highway to each, one going forward and the other back?”

Sam shook his head. “We can’t alter the size so easily. The only stable form we could get was this one.”

They fell into a quiet lull, simply walking along. The General seemed overjoyed by their questions, so they felt comfortable with not speaking as he talked their ear off, spouting logistics and talking about the Highway in great detail.

As they walked, Eret wondered how their night would’ve gone had they not noticed Mouse in the pub. Would this squad have ended up dead, with the Antarctic Empire knocking on doors? What a furious Empire would look like, Eret did not want to know. They were sure the Emperors would not take the loss of a General lightly.

The wind ruffled their cloak as they pushed on. Close to half an hour into the journey, a distant speck of white appeared on the horizon. It seemed too tall to be a building – likely a mountain’s summit, although it was a relief to know they were actually walking towards something.

“I find it hard to believe the slavers managed to surprise you all,” they commented when it seemed Sam had ran out of words about his bridge. “Twenty soldiers and a General caught. Were you sleeping?”

“There were…” Sam hesitated, turning to them with a glint in his eyes. The rebound in his mood was evident, but they maintained his gaze to no consequences. “Extenuating circumstances.”

Behind them, the troops seemed to stiffen. Eret tipped their head in interest.

Thankfully, Sam indulged them without making them pry further. “We were met with much the same threats you were when you first entered. With a few already shackled, we couldn’t risk the losses.”

Thinking back to the threats – the usual run of the mill insults and curses – Eret decided the most poignant threat would either be outright death or mutilation. Loss of limb and flesh was always jarring for the naïve to hear spoken as promise. Due to their inexperience with respawn, Eret wasn’t sure if limbs lost prior to respawn would be replaced after death, or if that rune would’ve resulted in worse consequences, but they didn’t care enough to ask.

What they understood was that the General had been forced to surrender. How bitter for him.

Perhaps, more interesting was the fact the General had yielded to prevent the death of his men. Or maybe, only his own? Either way, it took a certain type of person to be able to surrender.

Eret would sooner die than yield. They had learned this through blood and fear – there was no chance for weakness on the battlefield, no matter what it looked like. Those who knelt to the enemy did not escape their vengeful blades.

Squatra had not taken prisoners. Neither had Diadom.

“They say to be a good leader, you must be able to make the difficult decisions,” they offered, clearly able to see how the man was vexed. If they were a General of a prideful squad, as evidenced by Mouse’s oversight in not calling for assistance from an outside source, they too would’ve been peeved at having been so easily subdued.

For someone supposed to be revered as legend, someone who was revered as legend in the small Imperial towns they had left behind them, Eret did not think Sam was weak. This likely made the situation worse.

A powerful man subdued by humans. The thought made their throat taste like acid. Days where hybrids fell to humans hands were sad days indeed.

Sam inclined his head. They spoke little for the remainder of the journey.

That was, until giant pillars of white appeared upon an ashen land. There was a tumbling mountainside to be seen to the left, but right in front of where the Highway ended, white seemed to sprout and never stop.

Eret did not speak, but the soldiers behind them seemed relieved at the sight. There was no way this was the Antarctic Empire.

When they came to a point where there was a towering perimeter wall clearly visible but they were not upon the gate yet, Eret could see both the wall and what lay beyond – a mighty palace of looming ice and glacial white walls. Shaped like a thick stalagmite with the sharp points and sheer sides of an icicle that had formed on the ceiling of a cave over centuries, the palace seemed to rise from nothing, towering up in vast and innumerable obelisks, columns and spires that rose in organised layers, all culminating in the sky – so far that Eret could not see the tip. It was sharp, neat and deadly.

And around this powerful centerpiece, white towers flocked. They stood almost as tall as the palace, which disappeared into the cloudy sky before Eret seen its top. Round and wide, the towers were interconnected by strands of white that bridged between them and made their formation seem circular. From their position, there were easily twenty towers and likely many more behind the Palace. They were studded around in the same curve of the wall, surrounding the Palace in its entirety but not crowding it.

All this, contained within walls ten times taller than Eret, was overwhelming. Eret had never seen anything so tall, had not known such could be done so smoothly. They’d thought their twelve-foot wall had been impressive – one of the white towers had to be close to six hundred feet. And still, the Palace was taller.

“Welcome to the Antarctic Empire,” Sam said as they stepped off the Highway. The Posts of this side were rooted deep into the ice and stone of the land that stood before the perimeter walls. Directly to their side, the ice parted in two for ships and boats to enter, where the water curled around the side of the wall and disappeared off left.

When Sam’s squad all stepped off the Highway, a bell knolled. Eret’s back tingled as the bridge seemed to blink out of existence. With it, the Posts vanished. They left an empty stretch of land where the ice fell away to a steep cliff that the no-doubt freezing ocean water lapped frantically against. There were no beaches here.

Swallowing, Eret turned back to the General, who was heading towards the large gate in the side of the wall. As they stepped after him, they peered at the gate, at the wall, at the ground. Below their boots, ice and grey stone seemed to lattice together in intricate and non-slippery slabs. The wall was a staunch, almost matte expanse of white stone – close to marble but seeming to hum with life – and the gate itself seemed to be a dark wintry wood, though frost did not penetrate it, as it already looked to glimmer with warmth. Large metal brackets shaped like flames were bolted to its sides and as it swung open, the hinges were deathly quiet. Eret did not miss the crest of a globe speared between two swords: the mark of the Antarctic Empire.

As Eret walked through, they noticed with awe how wide the wall was – they could’ve laid down three times, boots touching where their head ended, and still would not have been able to make up the thickness. Above, brief movement caught their eye as soldiers with lances and bows shifted on what was likely a wall-walk between the smooth parapets. A series of towers were perched along the wall, offering a higher vantage point over the land beyond the wall. Eret did not know what enemies would be sieging such a vast wall or even attempting to launch an attack on an icy spit of land beside a canal. The wall itself was half the thickness of the wall, surely impenetrable to any weapon.

The large gate opened directly to a path that trailed off between countless buildings. Flocking both sides of the grey stone pathway, these small houses stood under the weight of snow and frost. Rooftops of all colours sat pert, most windows dulled for the night. As they stepped in, Eret cast their gaze in all directions, noting a distant light that lit up the far wall more than the ten foot poles with their rocking lanterns lit up the rest of the area. The shipbuilders’ quarters likely – shift workers worked all hours. They could see the tall main masts of a multitude of ships moored along the walls, their wooden beams taller than any house but not above the walls.

Between the admittedly large houses that lined the interior in rows, little pathways swerved – likely leading along markets and ending near or along the harbours. The sky-scraping Towers dominated the skyline like stanchions, unmoving and unyielding despite the howling gale that slipped over the walls. One round wall of these Towers was bigger than eight houses put side-to-side, though they were still only a fraction in width to the mighty Palace that lorded a chief spot in the middle of this vast land. The Towers were the height of ten walls stacked atop each other, which were already ten times taller than Eret, and that was only a vague guess because Eret could sort of see where they ended. The Palace stretched on, unending, and vanished into the very clouds themselves, which brewed heavy and thick above the capital. At a few points, they could see the white ribbons connecting the Palace’s main body to the Towers nearest, much like how the Towers were interlinked.

Calling this place a capital felt like a mockery. This was closer to a citadel; a fortress made of ice and built to withstand the centuries. Nowhere had buildings or walls like these, no country in the Continent was capable of crafting such a thing. Yet the supposedly ten-year-old Antarctic Empire had.

Had this been smaller, tinier, it might’ve been charming. As it was, the walls were high, the Towers daunting and the Palace was domineering. The Empire was exactly that – an unyielding empire. The cold bit at them and sent a tremulous shiver down their back. There was no way hybrids or humans could’ve built this, which left only the tales of the Goddess and the deities the Empire worshipped. Was that quiet rumour of God himself kneeling and allowing them to till their fields true after all?

“Walking from here to the Palace doors could take hours,” Sam said, casual as though discussing the weather. Eret cast their wary gaze towards the beacon of light that was the heart of this land. It was so large that it felt like it was breathing down their neck, but in truth, the path twisted and warped away from their eyes and all they could see was the rise of the building. There were no doors to be seen, nor any specific details. Just how far away was it?

Considering this, Eret did not, for one second, doubt Sam’s words. If anything, they were sure it could take longer.

They pretended their voice did not quiver when they dragged it from their throat. “How far is it from here?”

“Some twenty kilometres?” Sam answered, though sounded questioning himself. The words made them breathless; the walk to the Palace was a hike they’d made to travel across entire countries before. Small countries, but still countries. “Maybe closer to fifteen. It depends on how busy the streets are and what routes you take, but in a straight line, it’s likely fifteen kilometres. There’s a few more checkpoints and interior walls along the main path, but what you’re standing on right now does actually lead right up to the main doors.”

Considering their eyes could not see much of the citadel aside from the spewed houses, which were normal sized if not bigger than most they’d seen in towns, Eret wondered how large the Palace doors would be.

“Asking people to walk that every day would have everyone tired,” Sam chuckled, like he was joking. However, Eret understood what went unsaid. People bathed in luxury would revolt if forced to walk such a distance to the Palace. “Which is why we mostly use sigils or runes to get about. They act as our public transport system – kind of like a magicky version of horse and carts, except its instant and you don’t have to pay the driver.”

The man motioned behind them, where Eret turned to find a softly glowing green design etched onto the wall. The large thing was the size of… Eret didn’t even know. The wall had to be close to sixty meters tall – some two-hundred feet, because it dwarfed the little wall they’d made tenfold – and they could barely see the guards atop it. This rune was much larger than their hand, but no longer than Wrath’s blade. It certainly stood out, pulsing rhythmically.

“Transportation runes were some of the first we created,” Sam told them. “Right after we got the space ones working – there’s a lot of buildings here with them. They make the interiors bigger than what you see outside. Those help greatly with the Towers.”

At his gesture, they looked back to the yearning pillars. “We have twenty-four Towers, each with over a hundred floors. On every floor, enough people to form a small town can live happily.”

Eret did the rough math. There were more people living here than they could meet in one day, or even see standing in a line. In one tower alone there had to be hundreds of thousands. The look they gave Sam must’ve been telling, as he offered an awkward grin.

“Not that that’s something to worry about right now,” he said and quickly turned to his squad.

The soldiers stood at attention, waiting on his words. Despite the late hour, they had not made to leave.

“Complete your reports promptly,” Sam demanded. There was a big tone difference between his speech to Eret and his orders for his people; expression harder and colder towards the armoured group. “Debrief promptly after breakfast. If there are any issues, keep them until then. Anyone injured, go to the healers. Understood?”

The entire squad dropped to a knee, heads bowed, right hands clenched tight to their chest. All except Niki, who stood tersely to the side. “Yes, General!”

Eret did not understand the significance of this, but Sam seemed mollified.

“If I get any reports of you collapsing because you didn’t go to the healers, you will be on latrine duty – whether you room in the barracks or not.”

The soldiers gave another respectful exclamation. Sam dismissed them with a wave but they all remained in place.

When Sam turned back to Eret, he seemed calmer and offered them that same smile. “We’ll head to the Palace first. Phil’s getting antsy.”

Eret nodded along, not sure a disagreement from them would even matter. They didn’t question the second comment – communiques sent to comms could be seen whether or not the person’s comm was in their inventory. Someone had once shown Eret how to modify their own comm to make it speak the messages aloud, only for their ears, though no one messaged them anyways.

“Hold onto my arm,” Sam told them. “Transportation runes are easier if you go with someone the first time.”

They studied the man, but he seemed truthful. Eret curled their hand around his bicep, not comfortable enough to clutch the hand he offered them. Graciously, Sam accepted their choice with ease and reached towards the glowing etching.

Before his fingers made contact with the rune, the General slid a glance over to Niki. “You, come with us.”

“Yes, sir,” she said and reached out to touch the sigil.

The world blinked. For a moment, Eret’s muscles were loose, before something shifted and they tensed tighter than a bowstring. Gritting their teeth, they rolled out their shoulders under Sam’s watchful gaze.

“Are you dizzy? Nauseas?” He asked. “Can you hear a woman singing?”

Eret screwed their eyes shut and shook their head. When they opened them again, everything was fine. Their back felt stiff, but they had none of the symptoms the General listed. Elaina was whispering by their right ear, but they didn’t see fit to mention that. Her murmured taunts were nothing new.

“Just tense,” they informed him. Sam nodded and let them break away from him.

They’d teleported to the middle of a room. Ahead of them, large silver doors stretched up. Eret had to crane their neck back to see where they ended – taller than the perimeter walls and carved of a white wood more intricate than the dark gate’s. They quickly figured they were staring at the main doors of the Palace.

A slow burbling drew their attention. Eret revolved on their heel to find a large foyer stretching out around them. The air smelt like damp grass and as they stared at the yawning greenery, they fast understood why. The foyer was no foyer at all – the first floor of the Palace was a gargantuan garden, with soft pebbled pathways linking between green grass beds that frothed with life. Flowers, large trees and hedges all grew in orderly fashions, flocked by a small winding river that speared through the room. The walls of the Palace in the distance assured them they were inside, though the scene before them made them doubt it.

“This is the Greeting Garden,” Sam told them, already walking down the main path. As seemed to be a common theme in the pathways, there was a middle route that speared right through the core of the room. An arched doorway stood, the tip of it reaching up like the point of a lance. There was no door, and even from afar they could see it was a small room that glowed with golden light.

“Is it common to have gardens indoors?”

Sam nodded. “The weather’s often brutal here. We get more blizzards than you could count in a month, alongside snowstorms and harsh winds. Most of the plants you see here couldn’t grow outdoors, so there’s many indoor gardens here and in the Towers. Some of the people living on the ground like to use runes to grow their own gardens to show them off, but there’s too much difficulty involved for the Empire to try that when we can just make rooms like these.”

Eret nodded along, glancing over the scenery. Despite the late hour, there were a few groups of people lingering: some soldiers posted along the walls, who straightened with salutes when they seen Sam; a few people wearing robes were huddled together on a bench overlooking the burbling water, speaking quickly but quietly; an older man with pruning shears was snipping idly away at a hedge, whistling away to a bird perched in a tree opposite him that was tweeting back.

“Can you grow food like this?” With how many people lived in the citadel, the ships wouldn’t be able to bring enough to keep them for a few days.

Sam grinned. “Underground farms are our main food source. I can show you them later.”

The gardens took up more space beyond the small doorway in the middle of the room. Sam stepped into this doorway first, which appeared to simply be a small booth. He offered them his arm again and hovered his hand above the pedestal that had another gleaming green stone on it.

“I didn’t want to teleport you too far the first time,” he explained casually. “So we have to go up a few more floors to meet Phil. Niki should already be up there.”

“Oh,” Eret stammered, then cleared their throat. “I appreciate you thinking of me.”

Sam just smiled. They grabbed his bicep again and the world shifted.

Both of them reappeared in a large room that could only be described as an atrium. The walls sloped in smooth semi-circles, everything round and gentle – in stark contrast to the tense figure of Niki, who was waiting stiffly a few steps away from them. Marble reached along the walls, carved into delicate pillars and serene faces. Between these posts, smaller archways like the one they’d just walked through curved delicately, each framing a large and bold banner of the Antartcic Empire’s full flag – blazing streaks of blue and cream cradling a globe and the twin blades. Under these high-flying, golden-outlined brocades, the walls bent inwards for small alcoves where velvet stools and smaller marble busts rested. Nestled in every other alcove, as though they belonged there, stood a soldier wearing gleaming iron armour, clutching a polished but sharp glaive. Under each blade, a blue ribbon was looped, unmoving in testament to the soldiers’ stillness.

Above them, a glass ceiling rippled in the pattern of a tumultuous ocean with stained glass in various hues. Light from an impossible source gleamed through this, illuminating the sleek marble stairwell and its golden balustrades that seemed smooth and curled into dainty leaves at the ends. There were a hundred or so steps that led upwards, to a higher area that was cordoned off by more stained glass, though this one posed the picture of a white orb hanging over a mountain of blue ice. There was no door in the opening arch.

From this gape, a man appeared.

“Sam!” He called, hurrying down the stairs and sending his long blue robes flaring around his knees. He was an avian and the black crow-like wings he sported were held stiff and tight to his body as he rushed down towards them. Face taut with worry, the blond hopped down the stairwell with a reckless speed that likely was abated by the presence of his wings.

This man was at Sam’s side in an instant. When he was close enough, the man reached out for Sam with taloned hands, clutching the much taller man’s face with reverence. The way Sam bent down towards him to allow this might’ve been funny, if not for the desperate expression on the man’s face. “Oh, Sam, you have no idea how worried we were.”

Sam smiled back. The two stared into each other’s eyes, seeming to become entwined in a mesmerising manner. “I’m sorry, Phil. I made it back in one piece though, didn’t I?”

“Just barely,” the man huffed, appearing to release him with great reluctance. “I’m adding a dozen warriors to your squad effective immediately. It’s clear none of your people are good enough fighters.”

“My people are engineers and arcane consultants,” Sam shook his head. “We’re not fighters.”

“Which is exactly why you’ll be receiving some. It seems one was not enough,” Philza frowned, sharp gaze turning to the pink haired woman lingering to the side. She stiffened like a statue upon the scrutiny.

“Nemesis— Niki,” the man snarled, seeming to revoke some sort of title as he spat her name. He did not look pleased in the slightest. The dark wings upon his back flared out, almost thrice his height. In all of a second, the warmth he’d regarded the General with was gone, replaced by a tone that made Eret’s pulse race. “Do you have any shame for your actions?”

“With all my respect, Philza—”

The man cut her off. His eyes were thin, black slits. “It is Emperor Philza to you, soldier.”

Niki’s gulp was audible. Eret wasn’t sure who to stare at, gaze pinging between the two. This was the best entertainment they’d witnessed in months.

“Your Heavenly Sovereign,” Niki began again, once she’d scraped a breath in through gritted teeth. It seemed each moment pained her. “I deeply apologise for what happened and I assure you, it will not happen again.”

“You’re right,” the Emperor agreed, suddenly leisurely. “It won’t. Because you will never set foot outside this Empire again on a mission. You will not look at my General, you will not breathe near my General and you will certainly not become one.”

The silence that left in the room was almost static enough to cut. Eret eyed Niki as she shook, trembling from head to toe, and finally knelt in a motion that seemed more like a collapse than anything else. She clenched her fist to her chest and ducked her head nearly entirely into her chest.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she managed, voice remarkably steady for a woman whose life was evidently falling apart. “I understand and accept your decision.”

Emperor Philza released a sharp breath and said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he turned to Eret. His pupils had thickened to a bright blue and a relieved grin spread over his lips.

“Thank you very much, Eret. Your actions have made this Empire indebted to you,” he declared. His wings shifted, tucking back in, seeming more relaxed. “What you did out there ensured that Sam was able to come home. For that, we will give you whatever you desire.”

Eret stared at him. They slid their gaze to the side, to eye Sam, who seemed remarkably at ease despite what the Emperor had said.

They inclined their head, unsure if it was right for them to salute. They were not a soldier, after all. “I did not come for payment or gifts. I merely wished to ensure Sam made it back to his home safely.”

“And a blessing that was,” Philza smiled at them. “Your actions saved his life, Eret. Do you want a portion of the treasury? Or a house in Port-aux-Francais? Perhaps, you’d like to head one of the Towers – it’s become highly sought after to be a Chancellor for one of the Sky Bastions.”

Eret shook their head. “I need nothing, Phil.”

The man blinked and broke out into a grin. Sam was smirking wide. Eret wondered what they’d done, and re-ran their conversation in their head.

Oh. They’d just called the Emperor by his first name.

Before they could open their mouth to apologise or say anything, Phil clapped his hands together.

“Then, how about a free admission into the Tournament? It’s a yearly event we hold to test the skills of our warriors. The top five are gifted with a villa in our territory in the Southern Continent, allowed the chance to kick back and relax.”

Deciding to consider themself lucky the man was not as harsh as he had been with Niki – maybe he just greatly disliked her, or Eret’s brownie points had saved their own ass – Eret mulled over their new option. They did not want to have themself possibly in debt to the Empire by having their treasury or be in a position of power here, but a tournament? Something to work off the tension they’d been carrying for the past few months?

“No strings attached,” Phil added. “If you win, you win. You’d owe us nothing – though the same goes for accepting a gift from us.”

Seeing how they’d made a journey that would ordinarily take several days by boat and how none of those boats were currently operating, Eret toted up their options. One of the Emperors was offering them a chance to partake in an Imperial event, so this surely meant their presence wouldn’t be minded here.

“If you’d allow me to participate,” they said. “I’d love to.”

“Great,” Phil agreed, in much the same tone as Sam had used earlier to decide they were travelling back with him. The man turned a glare towards the still-kneeling woman. “Niki, you’ll provide Eret with food and a bed. I know you have the room.”

It was not a suggestion. Eret stood silently as Niki bent closer to the floor and breathed, “Yes, Your Highness.”

Phil’s smile returned when he looked back to them. Then, softly, he asked, “May I ask why you intervened, Eret?”

Sam’s gaze felt heavy on them. It was as though the Emperor was asking his questions for him.

“There is nothing I hate more than a cruel human standing over a hybrid,” they truthfully said. It was a fair bet to assume that this Empire was not full of pro-humans, as everyone in this room appeared to be a hybrid of some sort. “Worst of all is a slaver doing the same.”

The Emperor smiled wide, obviously thrilled. Their assumption had been correct, though even if it had not been, Eret would’ve stood by it. This citadel may have shaken them, but they were not naïve. In the Continent, hybrids were not exactly in the minority, but they were treated worse than dirt. Weaker ‘prey’ hybrids – like rabbits, sheep and mice – often faced the worst violence, whilst the ‘hostile’ ones – zombies, spiders and golems – usually saw isolation and vicious animosity. Eret had faced it all.

“Thank you for your honesty,” the Emperor said.

He gave them a regal nod and turned on his heel, trusting enough to turn his back to them. The way he turned from Niki was likely more mocking than anything.

Sam made to follow his Emperor, though he turned to look fondly at them first. “I’ll see if I can clear my schedule to give you a tour tomorrow, Eret. For now, please rest well.”

Eret inclined their head. “You as well, Sam.”

The General and Emperor retreated to the room above the stairs. With them gone, Niki got shakily to her feet and heaved a shaky breath. Eret didn’t speak, allowing her to compose herself.

“Follow me,” she muttered suddenly, and turned away. There was a heavy door behind them, which Niki barely pushed open enough for herself to slip through.

The guard beside it reached out and pulled the door open for them. Eret thanked him and didn’t bother asking why he hadn’t done the same for Niki.

Chapter Text

Niki walked briskly, like a woman with a price on her head. Judging from the glares that came from the guards they passed, Eret wondered if there was one. Word spread fast in the Palace and she appeared to have made quite an enemy of herself.

Eret wasn’t sure of the details, but ineptitude could be the worst crime of all.

Regardless, this woman was to house them for the night and they felt sufficiently weary to follow her along the weaving hallways and up the countless flights of stairs without posing too many questions. She seemed to be taking them along the servant routes, as the paths were darker and more cramped than what they’d seen already. For a Palace so big, Eret thought that where the Emperors and Generals frequented would not look so shabby – especially considering how much emphasis Sam had put on the usefulness of runes and magic. The very fact they could do so much with those sigils was impressive. How the Continent did not have this at their fingertips, Eret was unsure but simultaneously glad.

What felt like an hour after they’d left the fancy atrium and the watchful gazes of Sam and Philza, Niki brought them up a flight of stairs and they stepped out of an alcove into a landing – a wide area of marble flooring and soft lights. The sight confirmed what they’d suspected about the servant’s routes, though Eret couldn’t decide on if that had been for Niki’s benefit or a way for her to get back at them by making them stare at the boring stone for so long.

The landing was quite odd, because the sealed walls of the Palace suddenly broke apart in the middle and opened out into a long, wide bridge. This, thankfully, appeared to be a normal bridge – even if it was suspended much higher than any Continental bridge and seemed to have a roof. There must’ve been some sort of buffer around it, as there were two neat rows, one on each side of the walkway, toting soil that allowed rows of plants to grow on the floor. They could hear the wind in their ears, but could not feel it on their skin.

Niki did not speak as she went straight for the bridge. She didn’t even glance at the two guards who stood on duty by the entrance. These two armoured soldiers gave a curt nod to Eret. Word truly did travel fast.

Considering this, Eret pieced together what information they had and ran with the assumption that Niki had been in trial to become a General – based off Phil’s scathing denial – and because of their capture, she had been kicked to the curb. Recalling what Sam had mentioned, about ‘extenuating circumstances’, Eret wondered if Niki had been one of the first the slavers grabbed. Being held hostage and used to make a General surrender would surely warrant this level of hostility. Either that, or the simple fact that she was apparently supposed to be a fighter yet had still been subdued and put the General’s life in peril alongside his squad had done it. This seemed like an unfair decision – even the best fighters would struggle against the numbers the traffickers had – so Eret narrowed the reason down to one of the others: lack of skill or her becoming a hostage.

Fierce loyalty was nice to see. Eret was pleased Sam had so many strangers looking out for him, even if some of those people probably should’ve been assigned to his squad sooner to stave off any opportunistic slavers.

They followed Niki across the bridge but found their feet stopping not halfway across. Directly down, they could see the citadel in almost its entirety. The grand perimeter wall seemed small from here – halfway up the Palace, on the very ‘ribbon’ that had connected its middle to a Tower. The gentle flow of houses was a soothing pattern, and Eret cleanly traced the smaller houses to a large bubble around the vast pits of the shipyard. There were both dry and wet docks, although a few of the other large Towers blocked most of their view of them. There had to be a dozen ships waiting, all of them large beasts.

Closer into the citadel, it was clear that the other walls Sam had talked about were just as grand as the perimeter wall. Checkpoints littered these sculpted waves, cutting clean circles around houses that changed in style and size. The closer to the Palace, the fancier the rooves got and the larger the houses grew. It seemed there was a monetary structure here – the rich had big houses and the poor had the docks and these Towers. Although, as they glanced over to the large Tower Niki had already vanished into, Eret wondered if living in a secluded bubble would be better.

Sam claimed there were gardens galore, here. For something so big, Eret did not doubt it. The Empire’s runes seemed to be in great use, as shown by the Greeting Garden, although the Palace itself was certainly large enough to hold such a space without needing magic to alter it.

Past the white roof over the bridge, the moon peered down at them through the heavy cloud cover. It glistened brightly, almost blinding.

The sight made them yawn. They hadn’t slept for a few days prior to this incident, so they were ready for a nap. Having a bed would be nice – though they would not be surprised if Niki irately informed them that she could only give them a spot on her floor. Anywhere they could lie down and not have to worry about being stabbed in the dark would be just fine for them.

Shaking off the tiredness, at least until they could find somewhere to settle, Eret crossed over to the other side of the bridge. The landing here looked much the same as the Palace’s side, though the stairwells that stretched to either side were both narrower and had metal railings curving alongside them.

Niki was nowhere to be seen. Eret looked to either side.

There were two guards standing. One moved, catching their eye. Eret turned and looked in the direction the woman pointed. Upwards.

“Thank you,” they nodded, and set to climbing the stairs. They were just about sick of the endless steps when they caught a brief flicker of pink around the curve of the Tower. Eret was not about to let Niki lose them so easily, mostly because if she abandoned them, they likely would end up falling asleep on the stairs. They took the steps in twos and threes until they were right behind her.

She flicked a scathing glance back at them, face sour. Not glad to see them, that was for sure.

“This is the Eleventh Tower,” she spoke up out of nowhere. “They call it Pandora, because its mostly foreigners who live here.”

Eret struggled to understand that. They echoed, “Foreigners?”

Niki sighed loudly. “People who aren’t Empire-born,” she explained, as though it was common sense. “There are millions of people here – most are born in these Towers, grow old in them and die in them without ever seeing the world beyond. Did you think everyone here was from the Continent?”

“The Continent is under the belief that the Empire is no more than a decade old,” Eret said instead, mostly because they didn’t care to argue with her. She’d lost everything in one night and they felt a bit pitying.

“Lies,” Niki simply answered. “When they took the Southern countries, the Empire planted their people to spread their bullshit propaganda. Just enough people migrated over to keep the peace, to have a majority in the councils and governing bodies. Just enough to enforce the cold, iron-bound rules these people have been abiding by for centuries.”

Okay, that’s a lot, someone chirped in their ear. Eret didn’t need to glance around, because the voice did not echo in the stairwell and so they knew it was only in their own ears.

“If you hate this place so much, why don’t you leave?”

Niki stopped climbing the stairs so suddenly that Eret almost slammed into her. They paused on a step below her, about to step up beside her when she whirled on them. Her eyes were bright, glassy with unshed tears.

“You think I have anything? The Continent chewed us up and spat us out – the Empire was supposed to save us, but one mistake, one slip and I’ve lost everything!” She did not cry, but she gripped their shirt and shook them fitfully. “You must think it’s great, coming in and being able to call the Second Emperor by his first name and having them both smile at you like that, but trust me, you’ll get old real quick.”

She let go of them so suddenly it almost hurt more than if she’d pushed them. Eret wiped her spittle off their face and began following after her as she stormed away. The things they had to do for a nap…

Admittedly, Eret was quite lucky that the Emperor was so pleased with them having saved his General that he’d overlooked them forgetting to address him properly. In their defence, they weren’t used to formalities – they’d never interacted with anyone greater than an ealdorman, or an admin, as some called them. Dream had preferred Admin, while…. yeah. Eret didn’t really want to think about that, because it opened up a few too many wounds.

Niki led them along the spiralling stairs. They curved with the roundness of the building, occasionally levelling out to a platform with a large door before continuing on. Eret assumed these were the entrances to other floors, although as they passed more and more doors and their legs began to ache, they wondered which floor Niki lived on. Who had the stamina to go up and down these stairs every day? It had to have been more than an hour already.

Finally, Niki stopped at a door. The stairs stretched on further but Eret’s thighs were burning so much they were glad for the break. That was, until Niki pushed open the door and stepped on through. Eret stepped in after her, jaw falling slack at the sight.

There was a dark sky above them, glistening with the dots of distant stars. This floor of the Tower was a wide expanse of land. It looked like a village plaza – green grass welled up between pressed dirt paths, an old well sitting in the middle of the area. There were small picnic tables dotted around, cleared for the night. A stoned firepit sat off to the right, where numerous logs and fabric chairs sat. To the side, a long row of brick sat – houses. They were tightly pressed together in rows, though they had no rooftops, as their tops seemed to just… stop when they touched the stars. There were numerous rows of these houses, all of them doubled up and racing off into the far corner of the floor.

Not one for conversation, Niki took a left off the path. There were houses lined up on both sides of the wide greenery, which Eret could see distantly stretched into a long and flower-filled field.

The pink haired woman marched her way down one of the rows. Houses sat on both sides, curtains pinched shut over dark windows. All the little ‘buildings’ were identical if not for different slathers of paint over their brick walls and wooden doors. There was a myriad of paint on some and nothing on others – leaving a smattering of houses with rainbow-like doors right beside stale brown wood and red brick houses.

Here, the dirt path was pressed down more firmly, almost rock hard. Soft little lanterns floated at the height of where the gutters would be. Eret noticed there were no sleek poles for the lanterns to cling to, like there had been out on the ground outside. Maybe those outdoors ones needed the structural support.

But, it was quiet. For so many houses all in close proximity, the street was idle and asleep. The sky glittered overhead, though this close Eret could see how the mirage seemed to loom just inches above where the house walls ended. It was possible the ceiling itself was enchanted, and the houses touched that ceiling to save space.

Stopping outside a house with a white-painted door, Niki fumbled a key out of her inventory and pushed the door open quietly. Eret stepped in after her and closed the door to her cold stare. They’d walked right into a lounge room of some sort. A low coffee table sat between two ratty couches, with a window that had to be fake (because there was a house right behind this one) appearing to look out over a lush, grassy field that sparkled with fireflies. There was an old, red-coloured carpet with a fading pattern stretched over the planked floor. A stubby table competed for space behind one of the couches, dinner chairs pulled up tight to it. To their immediate right, the room bent into a nook for a kitchen, and to their left an open door peered into a hallway. Directly beside the door, a small wooden rack gave a step for shoes to rest on.

Niki toed her boots off and tossed them lopsidedly onto this step. Eret stood on the welcoming mat and tugged their own laces undone. They set their boots into their inventory, under the woman’s weighty gaze.

When they stood again, Niki pushed by them to lock the door. It could be locked and unlocked from the inside by a twisting mechanism, no key needed. Eret had never seen anything like it before.

“Be quiet,” she muttered. “My brother will be sleeping.”

She took them into the hallway, where four doors stood. One had a crooked sign scribbled in looping font done in black and white paint, the one beside it was done in brown. On the other side of the hall, a door with a pink sign stood staunchly beside an unmarked door.

Niki pointed down to the brown sign. “Sleep in there. Do not move anything.”

Eret nodded.

She stared at them like she didn’t trust them. Finally, after a long moment, she turned her finger to the unmarked door. “That’s the bathroom.”

Then, Niki opened her door and stepped in, leaving them in the dimly lit hallway. Eret turned the knob for the room they’d been given and entered a neat room with a perfectly made bed. The blankets and pillows were free of dust and a woollen green rug crawled underneath the wooden frame. A chest of drawers sat to the side, acting as a table for a number of trinkets. There were a few daintily painted models of bugs and intricate frames for photos, though no pictures remained.

There was a window in the room. It overlooked the same green field as the living room’s had. Eret tugged the curtains shut and checked the bed for bugs before sitting on it. The sheets smelt fresh – recently washed. Considering the house had to be only around ten foot tall, the size of this room was impressive. It was enough for them to stretch out in but not big enough for a double-sized mattress. The interior was certainly bigger than the exterior, so there was probably a rune nearby that had enhanced the size of the space.

Eyes drooping, exhausted, Eret stripped down to their briefs and set Ted’s Wrath at an angle against the bed. After a long moment of silence, where they stood unseeing in the quiet room, they climbed into the bed and were half-asleep before their head hit the pillow. They fell into a quiet doze, occasionally peeling an eye open to glance around the room. Fitful sleep was not unusual for them, and they were used to sleeping light to make sure they didn’t fall out of trees, but Eret slipped into a fuller sleep at some point. They slept peacefully.

When they woke, the window gleamed with light, pushing sun beams through the thin curtain. The house was quiet and their limbs were loose. Eret shifted and immediately cracked their jaw on a long yawn. They stretched, pulling muscles taut to feel the white-hot burn through them for a satisfying moment, before they sagged back against the mattress and blinked groggily up at the ceiling.

For once, they weren’t cold, they weren’t wet, they weren’t smelling of smoke or having to bat away nosy birds. Eret was lying in a real bed, content and cosy.

They flicked their wrist, which brought up the screen of their comm. It showed a little diagram of the sun rising – they’d slept a lot longer than they usually did. It was closer to lunch time than anything else.

Sitting up, Eret tilted their head to listen. The house was eerily quiet. They wondered what Niki would be like today, after everything had sank in. It felt surreal to think she’d probably lost everything in just an evening.

Eret rolled out of bed and made quick work of dressing themself. A clean pair of trousers, a decently good henley and a sweater. Sam had said he’d try to give them a tour, though they planned to walk around the Empire regardless. They left their boots in their inventory, not wanting to push dirt into the floors, and took a moment to gather their breath before entering the hallway.

It was quiet. The door at the end was closed, but light streamed in from under the crack. All four doors had a strip of light below them, suggesting the curtains had been opened. They tapped at the bathroom door and it swung open, empty.

A bathroom wasn’t something normal people had in their homes. Farmers certainly didn’t have them – they had holes dug out in the ground outside, with some flimsy wood propped out in the shape of an outhouse. Only city people had things like plumbing and basin-toilets and basin-sinks. Here, there were both. A square dip in the corner of the floor, cordoned off by a waterproof curtain that crinkled when they poked it, had a wide faucet bolted at head-height. Eret had never seen a ‘shower’ but they knew enough about city infrastructure to take a guess at what it was.

The Empire truly was ahead of its time. Magic that made rooms bigger, let grass grow indoors and allowed the air to taste fresh and clean. They had showers and plumbing and entire Towers taller than any mountain where dozens and dozens of houses lined up in tight rows, each a cradle to more than a few people. How had this all been kept secret? Was it the six-day boat journey that could only be made if the skipper knew the way? Even travelling on the magical Highway, they hadn’t been able to see the daunting figures until they were sufficiently close. To the world beyond, the Palace and its citadel were hidden.

Eret did not linger. It was nice to not have to piss outside. They washed their face, brushed their teeth and managed to get a brush through their hair. When it was somewhat detangled, they sectioned it off and rebraided it. Done, it fell to their mid-thigh, bumping against Wrath’s sheathe when they turned their head.

Wrath stayed with them at all times. None of the guards had mentioned any weapon policies, nor had the General or the Emperor, so Eret decided that he’d stay out until someone said otherwise. Having him heavy on their hip was too much of a relief for them to give that up so easily.

With little haste, they walked out into the hallway and entered the lounge. There was a gangly boy hunched over the dining table, possibly only a few years older than Tommy had been. When they stepped into the room, the boy flinched and stared at them with wide eyes.

Niki was nowhere to be seen. It was possible she was still sleeping.

The room living room was small but filled with colourful blankets and patchworks. Knitteries were flopped over the old couches and the coffee table was cluttered with cups and plates.

“Hello,” the boy squeaked, standing up so quickly that he bumped into the table and fell back into his chair. The entire table wobbled and he flushed a bright green before fumbling to slide out of his chair. There wasn’t enough space for him to push the chair back, so it was an awkward moment. “Sorry— sorry, I’m sorry, please, wait—”

The boy managed to free himself. His skin was a patchwork of pale skin with flecks of black crawling along his cheeks. One eye was green, the other a deep hue of magenta. He fumbled with himself, scrubbing a shaky hand through his brown hair before he drew himself up to a height above Eret.

“My name’s— I’m Ranboo,” he stuttered. “Niki’s my sister… she’s not here right now. She got called out on wall patrol.”

Active duty so soon from returning from a mission? Either the Empire’s troops were spread thin or they were trying to punish her.

Eret nodded. The boy fidgeted, seeming unsure.

“Um, if you want something to eat…” he stumbled over to the small kitchenette and began to open the cupboards. “Uh, we have some oats. Oats and milk... no, well, oats and water?”

Following the boy over, Eret frowned at the empty shelves. Each door Ranboo opened showed off empty stores. Their cool cupboard – which let out a gust of frosty air, blue runes pulsing inside – had a bowl of frozen water.

“O— Or, there’s apples,” Ranboo seemed embarrassed by the selection. His shaking hands reached for a bowl sitting beside the sink basin, showing Eret a small, shrivelled orange and a wrinkly apple inside.

Ranboo seen this and squeaked aloud. Eret washed away their frown and flicked their gaze down to their own inventory.

“I have some bread,” they hummed, pulling out half a small loaf. They had some trail mix and some dry provisions, but nothing that was pulling their eye. Walking through the seaside markets during the past week had spoiled them for choice – there had been fresh produce everywhere.

Ranboo’s stomach growled. He hid his face in his hands. “Sorry.”

“Do you have butter?” Eret asked.

The boy shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” They sighed. They took their bread over to the dining table, where they noticed the boy had been hunched over a flat roll of parchment. A quill sat beside it. Squiggles on the page suggested he’d been writing something. The looping structure looked different from the more square letters they’d gotten used to seeing in the Continent.

“I—” the boy trailed off. He shambled after them and fluttered his hands over the parchment. “Is my homework in the way? I—”

Eret set down the bread and pulled a small dagger from their inventory. They cut two thick slices off for the boy and one single slice for themself. Ranboo collapsed into his chair and stared at the bread like it was gold.

“I didn’t see a school,” they noted.

“Oh,” Ranboo blinked. He watched as they pulled a small jar out of their inventory and nodded when they tilted it in question. “Did Niki bring you in via the stairs?”

They nodded, unscrewing the jar and tapping out some strawberry jam onto the slices. Ranboo leaned closer. He was too thin.

“All the amenities, like the school and shops, are over to the left corner,” Ranboo told them.

“You go to school?” They questioned, handing him over the sandwich.

He took it with a wobbling lip. “Yes, I—Thank you. Thank you very much.”

They left the loaf on the table and sat down on the chair opposite to chew through their own slice.

In the silence, Ranboo shifted. “Niki said you saved everyone.”

The quiet dragged on. When he didn’t continue, Eret looked at him and nodded.

In that time, the boy’s eyes had reddened. He sniffed. “Thank you. Niki… she’s all we have left. Our younger brother left a while ago and now it’s just me and her.”

Eret watched him take small bites of bread. “Does Niki get paid for being a soldier?”

Ranboo blinked. “Yeah, she gets a monthly wage.”

“If she died, what would happen?”

The boy gulped but cleared his throat. “Well… I, um… there’s a retirement scheme – so, they’d probably give us what she’s worked up so far.”

Leaning back in their chair, Eret surveyed the house. It didn’t look like the house of someone who made a lot of money. “Are all the houses in the Towers like this?”

Seeming jarred by each conversational shift, Ranboo took longer and longer to answer. “In Pandora? Yeah, probably… Most of us here weren’t born in the Empire.”

“That changes things?”

“Yeah, Niki says it does, at least.” Ranboo nodded. “Recently, we got a new Chancellor. He’s one of the rich guys, Empire-born. The people who’ve been here for generations think they’re better than us. Well, some of them.”

“What about the Towers with the Empire-borns?” Eret asked. “What are they like?”

Ranboo shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t really leave this floor; you don’t have to. There’s everything here. And this? This alone is better than the Continent. Niki gets stir crazy sometimes but I’m just glad we have somewhere to live.”

Eret let the silence lapse. Ranboo went back to eating his sandwich as they licked the stickiness from their fingers. Having a home was one thing, being able to fill it was another. How deeply did a Chancellor’s reign extend? Was Niki’s discontentment with the Empire an isolated case or were there others like her, who felt they’d been given the wrong end of the stick just for being born somewhere else?

The world would never be simple. In a land of ice and great towers, Eret supposed that rule still existed.

A knock at the door pulled both their heads. Ranboo, having finished his food, clambered to his feet and rushed over.

A soldier in gleaming armour stood in the doorway. He stood with his shoulders pressed back, arms folded behind him. The glance he gave Ranboo wasn’t anything special, but when he spotted Eret sitting at the table his head seemed to raise and his back went even straighter. The slow salute he gave – gauntleted hand slamming off his chestplate – was respectful and firm.

“General Creeper requests your presence, Honoured One.”

“‘Honoured One’?” Eret echoed.

The soldier said nothing. He stood, waiting.

Ranboo stepped away from the door, already looking at them. “You saved the General and his squad,” the boy explained. “The Empire and its people are in your debt. It’s because of General Creeper’s close work with the runes that we can have hot showers and live so comfortably in the Towers.”

Sure enough, Eret wasn’t cold. The Tower, despite its size, had a nice ambient temperature, and the obvious work of the runes were clear for all to see. Eret stood, leaving the rest of the bread for the boy, and followed the guard out.

The man led the way in the same manner a dog led its owner towards an interesting bone; glancing back every few seconds, as though to check they were still following. His presence had the people on the street clearing a path, heads bowed respectfully. Oddly, Eret noticed the people seemed to bend into full-bodied bows when they seen them following.

“If I may…” the soldier spoke up, glancing back. “Thank you kindly. My wife is an arcane consultant.”

“She was on the squad?” Eret guessed.

The man dipped his head. “Yes, it’s thanks to you that she’s alive. If you need anything, I will gladly offer my services.”

Eret didn’t speak, somewhat surprised. The offer felt so sudden, but then… they thought about how they might’ve felt if someone had saved Scot or Jameskii and considered that this was a respectful response.

“Could you answer some of my questions as we walk?”

The guard quickly nodded and Eret noticed he was taking them towards the door to the stairs. They weren’t exactly ready to brace the stairwell again, though going down would be easier than climbing up them again.

At this time of day, the streets were filled with milling people and children. Even the young ones stopped at the sight of the soldier, though Eret noticed a few more glinting chestplates off in the distance – likely at the street with the shops. Above them, the stars had been replaced by a glimmering sun and a soft, summer breeze flowed through the air. It was amazing what runes could do. There was no hint of cold snow.

“I’ll do my best to answer, yes.”

“Are you Empire-born?”

The man shook his head. “I come from the West, originally. My mother – she brought us over here when she was with my little brother. I am forever thankful for the sacrifices she made for us.”

“Hm,” Eret wondered suddenly if they’d run into anyone from the Diadom-Squatra war. They’d heard rumours that in the aftermath, the Empire had taken a few in. There seemed to be no rules against foreigners becoming soldiers and there was nothing a child soldier knew better than war. “Do you live in a Tower?”

“Yes. My wife and I are on a middle tier in Elysia. That’s Tower Six. We’re trying to save for a house on an upper level and thanks to you, we still can,” the man brought them over to the door. There was a short line of people waiting to touch a rune on the side of the wall. Eret hadn’t noticed it last night, though they’d been so eager for rest that they’d ignored Niki’s not-so-quiet breakdown on the stairs.

“Are the upper levels better than this?” They’d thought this floor was pretty high up.

“Ah,” the man hesitated. “This is Pandora.”

Eret didn’t understand what that meant. The queue quickly vanished and moments later, the soldier was next in line. They stepped over and, same as they’d done with Sam, set their hand on the man’s arm as he reached out for the rune.

They reappeared by the bridge. Eret blinked to adjust to the increase in light, ignoring the flush to the guard’s cheeks as they glanced around. It seemed brighter out here; the sun was bold and the flowers lining the walkway seemed to flourish in its rays. Children raced along the path, chasing each other and smiling. Some people came off the stairs and nodded deeply at the sight of them.

The two guards on this side of the bridge nodded to them. Eret didn’t recognise them – the one who’d pointed them in the direction of an irate Niki must’ve been moved on a shift change. A Niki who’d been irate enough to walk up the stairs… when she could’ve tapped the rune hidden in the wall of the bridge’s landing and teleported them up to her floor. Eret’s legs had suffered for naught.

Their guide stood by their side for a moment before beginning to walk along the bridge. Eret hoped they wouldn’t see the staff corridors again.

“What’s different about Pandora?” Eret pushed, watching the soldier’s composed face twitch. Some children scuttled by them without a care in the world, eyes big and bright. They looked well fed, which was more than they could ask for.

“It’s not the best place to live,” the guard quietly mumbled. Eret wouldn’t have heard him if not for their hearing.

Persecution existed everywhere. Here, instead of humans versus hybrids, it seemed to be natives versus immigrants. Rich v. poor?

Eret gazed over the land below as they walked. In the sunshine, the frost glinted and the walls seemed all-consuming. The Towers cast mighty shadows over the houses on the ground. With the light, Eret could see how some houses seemed to stretch endlessly, others sitting stout with large bushels of green growing by their side – the gardens Sam had mentioned were a sport to grow.

The guard had stopped a few steps away. Eret hadn’t even realise they’d ceased walking, but they were glad the man had too. They didn’t want a redo of running after Niki.

A child toddled over to them. Eret peered down at her.

The little girl offered a bright flower up to them. Something in Eret’s chest dissolved and they took it from her with gentle hands.

“Thank you,” they murmured to her, crouching down in front of her. The little girl beamed, and seemed more than pleased when Eret threaded the little flower behind her ear. With her new statement piece, the child skittered away, over to a group of children busy patting down the fresh soil in an empty planter. They welcomed her with happy grins.

Eret stood.

You should leave, Jameskii whispered into their ear. Before you ruin this place, too.

Chapter Text

The guard took them across the other side of the bridge and stopped in the landing. He didn’t seem as flustered when Eret put their hand on his arm for the next teleportation, which was good, as they appeared in the atrium again.

A blistering sun glinted above the stained glass and the air smelt like freshly cut grass. The guards in the alcoves stood unmoving, though Eret saw their gazes flick to them.

Their guard saluted them and stepped back, withdrawing entirely out of the room. Seeing how their guide had abandoned them without another word, Eret hoped there would be someone nearby.

Thankfully, there was a flicker of green at the top of the stairs. Sam appeared in the open doorway of the glass partition and beckoned them up with a wide grin.

“Eret!” He beamed, “Come up, come up! It’s good to see you. Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” they nodded. “And you?”

“Yep,” Sam sniggered. “Couldn’t get out of the nest until midday. They get so protective.”

Eret assumed he was talking about the Emperors. They knew from general knowledge that avian hybrids tended to nest, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities that Sam’s near-death-experience had prompted the Emperor to allow his General into his nest. It spoke to a strong relationship. One Eret was relying on the strength of, since their only proving factor was the fact they’d saved Sam’s life.

Regardless, they hummed along and got to the top of the stairs. Here, they could see how the doorway shielded a cosy nook from the world. Two low but long couches sat, velvet fabricked and golden legged, with a matching coffee table between them. Shelves curled around the walls, countless books that looked older than them sitting in perfect order. A fancy chandelier hung above them, in the middle of the room, bringing it all together.

Sam brought them into this little room, which seemed very small for having such a grand walkway up to it. There was a doorway in the corner, rimmed with marble busts, that Eret supposed led deeper into the Palace.

All in all, it was a nice area. Soft and secluded; peaceful. Sam gestured for them to sit down, taking a seat opposite. When Eret did, they almost sank into the chair.

“Would you like some tea?” Sam hummed, gesturing.

A maid appeared out of nowhere. Eret blinked at her and allowed a cup to be set in front of them on the low table. The teacups and the kettle were a dark obsidian, laced with golden tendrils that matched the gold in the room. It looked very expensive. A matching circular, layered dish appeared with her, housing a litany of treats and small buns on its tiers. Suddenly, they were very peckish.

“Thank you,” they said to the maid, who poured their cup full and bowed away. She did the same for Sam, who watched them without a word. The maid stepped back, where Eret noticed she was still in the room but seemed to impossibly blend in with the bookcase. Another effect of a rune?

“I hope Niki wasn’t too hard to handle,” Sam began, picking up his own cup and adding a few sugars from a little pot. He stirred it and set his golden teaspoon on the side of his saucer. “Phil was so annoyed with her that he assigned her to the early morning wall patrol.”

Eret denied any bother, because they weren’t interested in pursuing the downfall of someone who’d already lost so much. They tapped the side of their own cup to test its heat before picking it up to sip at it. Tea wasn’t something they were big on, but it was good enough. There was a little tingle of flavour to it, which they appreciated, though didn’t know if that was anything special.

The two of them sat quietly, sipping at their tea. Sam encouraged them to take their pick of the treats. Diligently, Eret picked out the ones with jam in them and ate away. Sam just smiled at them.

“We were thinking,” Sam said eventually. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

“Dinner?” They blinked.

“Yes,” Sam set his teacup down and crossed a leg over his knee. Leaning back the way he was, he seemed a bit too confident. “Usually we’d eat with the soldiers, but we were thinking something more private tonight. I’d really like to thank you.”

“I already told you, it’s not a big deal,” Eret waved him off.

“It is to me,” the man stated. His serious tone made them pause. “If it weren’t for you, Eret, I’d probably be dead right now. That, or being sold off to the highest bidder.”

They grimaced.

Sam stared at them, beseeching. “Please, Eret.”

“Dinner,” they agreed. It would be rude to turn down a free meal.

“And dessert?” Sam grinned.

“I suppose.” They inclined their head, then bit into a jam tart. It crunched nicely and the sweet filling was just perfect. Eret almost died on the spot.

“I’ll make sure there’s jam tarts,” Sam chuckled, seeming nothing rude by it. Eret was too busy eating to respond but the way they practically inhaled the treat might’ve been telling enough.

A loud bang made them flinch. Eret turned to the doorway, the one beyond the stairs, where one guard had entered and slammed the hilt of his glaive on the floor. Whatever way the floor was, they could clearly see the ground below when they stood – Eret had jumped to their feet, hand on Wrath’s hilt. Sam frowned slightly and stood up much slower.

“It’s alright,” he murmured to them, tone soft like he was speaking to a startled colt. “Just a solider.”

The General turned to frown at the man. The armoured figure stood a bit straighter and saluted deeply.

“Chancellor Marcil of Tower Eighteen requests an audience, Your Highness,” the guard announced. He didn’t shout, but his voice carried in the room.

“Oh,” Sam glanced over to them, then back at the guard, then back at Eret. “This should be quick… Macie doesn’t usually take too long – you should hear the rambling the Twentieth Chancellor can get into. She could talk anyone’s ears off.”

Eret got their heart out of their throat and lingered. “I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

Sam was a General – here, General was the second highest rank, just below Emperor. Eret took that to mean he was, in some way, running the Empire. It was clear Sam alone had contributed greatly to their magical achievements. Yet, here was Eret, sitting drinking tea with him.

The man gave them a soft smile. “You couldn’t.”

He turned to the guard. “Let him in.”

With that, Sam sat down. Eret copied him and a figure in a tasselled white and baby blue cloak appeared. Fashioned of a shimmering silk, the cloak trailed behind the Chancellor as he bounced up the stairs. The man beamed at them, gait naturally stopping where the marble stairs smoothened out into the flat landing. Eret noted how he paused just before the doorway of glass.

“General Creeper,” the man stooped into a grand bow. His teal hair glimmered like water in the false sunlight. Before raising, the man shifted towards Eret and bowed again. “Our Honoured Saviour. Greetings to you both.”

Eret blinked. First honoured one, now our honoured saviour. What was with all these random names?

Sam didn’t mention the name, as though he didn’t find it odd. He simply watched the young man rise from his bow and flatten out his clothes. Under the cloak, the man wore a neat white shirt and a firm pair of trousers. Everything looked expensive – least of all the sparkling opal gem that hung from his ear on a silver chain. He had a silver stud through his eyebrow and another long chain linked the top of his ear to the lobe on the other side. His smile was bright, giddily so.

“Chancellor Macie,” Sam greeted, kind and offering a soft smile. “We don’t often see you outside of the Council meetings.”

“I try not to be a bother. Thank you for having me, General Creeper,” the man said. His almost silver eyes flickered back to Eret twice before he bowed again. “If I may, thank you very much for your heroic acts. It is thanks to you the wonderful Empire may continue to grow and flourish.”

The Chancellor lifted his head to peek at them. Eret tried to flatten out their expression, not sure how all this was showing on their face. Sam was watching, apparently unbothered.

“I am Chancellor Marcil of the Eighteenth Sky Bastion, Tower Heliosa.” The man continued, giving a little curtsey that made his cloak wobble around his legs. “You may call me Macie, Gifted One.”

“Gifted One,” Eret echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean any offense,” Macie spluttered, misreading their confusion. “Please forgive me. Though, if you must speak ill of me, I ask that you use he/him and she/her pronouns.”

Eret paused and thought about that. They weren’t too interested in whatever conclusions the man had jumped to – rather, his pronouns caught their ear. They’d been under the impression that people could only use one set. Having thought this, Eret had settled with they/them and not given it much more attention. This whole time they’d been allowed to mix and match?

Deciding to put that discovery away for later, Eret refocussed on the Chancellor. The man, older than them but not younger than Sam, seemed to be fidgeting quite nervously. Conversely, Sam sipped at his tea, unspeaking and unworried.

“Oh,” they breathed when they realised the silence was for them to speak. The people here were too polite – they hadn’t been talked over once. “I don’t need those titles – I wouldn’t speak rudely about you for that.”

Macie seemed unsure. She pulled a face before straightening at Sam’s gesture.

“Eret’s kind, Macie,” he said out of nowhere. “Don’t test their patience. Or ours.”

The Chancellor dove right back into that bow. His hands curled around his trousers, knuckles white. “Yes, General Creeper, Brightest Star of the Mighty Antarctic Empire. I promise to never make such a mistake!”

They didn’t know what to do. Figuring this was some Empire posturing thing, they turned away from the conversation and lifted their teacup…. their suddenly full teacup. Eret tried not to gawk before motion at the side of their eye reminded them of the maid. She was rather attentive.

Chancellor Macie did not ask to sit, nor did Sam move for him to. Eret sat where they were and took another jam treat – this one had fresh cream whipped to a point atop it and a soft sponge base, with smooth strawberry jam between the layers.

“Speak,” Sam beckoned.

“Thank you, General. The runes on our recreational floor appear to have…. stopped working.”

Sam’s face changed. A sudden exhaustion pulled at his frown.

The Chancellor seen this and clutched her robes. “The light runes, to be exact, sir. Floor’s completely dark.”

“The rules are clear,” Sam said, as though reminding her of something. His voice did not seem very loud or very threatening, but it seemed to choke the Chancellor all the same. Her eyes shot wide and she gulped nervously. “No one is to touch the runes. No one, Chancellor. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, General,” the man bent double. Eret finished off their treat and sipped at their tea, observing Sam’s quiet irritation. He was only chastising, yet the Chancellor was acting like their death warrant had been signed. Eret got comfortable on their chair and held out their teacup for the maid to refill it.

“Please, sir,” the Chancellor began again, quivering. Eret glanced back to him and saw a lamb pleading for its life. From what they’d seen this morning, Sam was gentle and kind. The prior night, yes, he had been a bit colder – though he had just walked away from a life-threatening experience. “The children were playing with a ball and hit the wall – that’s the only time it’s ever been touched.”

“A ball?” Repeated the man, incredulous. “A ball couldn’t affect the runes, Chancellor. They’re inside the wall.”

“Please, General Creeper,” the Chancellor got to his knees, hands griped in prayer. “Please, believe we had no insidious part in this.”

Sam sighed, doing his best ‘disappointed dad’ impression. Eret was having the time of their life watching, but when his gaze flickered to them, he seemed to reel himself in. A small, tired smile replaced his frown and he gestured for the Chancellor to stand before standing himself.

“I’ll look into it.” He promised, much to the Chancellor’s teary relief. “But be warned, if I find signs of tampering…”

The words trailed off, an obvious threat. Even weary, a General’s word was a General’s word. The Chancellor bowed again and fumbled his words, “Of course, General. I understand— thank you— please be safe— you’re too kind, Your Highness.”

Eret watched the man to see if he’d collapse, but he seemed steady on his feet. What a shame. Sam turned to them with a mellow offer.

“Would you like to accompany me, Eret?” He gave them a hint of a truer, more mellow smile. “Afterwards, we can get to that tour I promised.”

Setting their tea down, Eret agreed, “Sounds good.”

Sam tried not to pinch himself as he finished up the brief tour. He’d shown Eret nearly everything from the lower meeting rooms, the throne room where audiences with civilians were held and most of the important rooms below and around the middle of the Palace. Quite ingeniously, when they’d built the grand sprawling hub that were their pillaring spires and bastions of ice and obsidian, he and Foolish had separated everything out into three tiers.

One – the ground tier – held everything up from the Greeting Gardens up to the base of the small tea room he’d hosted Eret in. The civilians mostly had access around these floors, able to seek an audience with the Emperors or visit the numerous other gardens scattered around the levels. Ancillary staff lived on the lower floors, usually sequestered away in the side-towers that made up the bulk of the Palace’s width (not to be confused with the Towers that spiralled around the Palace itself); out of sight, out of mind. Foolish hated people running underfoot unless they were getting him something, so that had been a very specific design choice he’d pushed for. There was a reason the ballrooms, main and subsidiary dining rooms and the kitchens had been put so low down and with so many sound-nullifying runes around them. None of them were fond of unnecessary noise.

The second tier – the middle of the Palace – was both wider and larger. The lowest floor of it was connected to the lower region by the marble staircase Phil had insisted they needed leading up to the library door, before he’d thrown a fit over the large plateau they’d built at the top of it and demanded on a small parlour room. For security reasons, this tea room was the only visible route to ascend the Palace floors – others including the hidden away servants routes and the little secret pathways Technoblade had insisted be built into some walls (paranoia was a bitch when they were trying to design stable structures).

Beyond the marble doorway with a few too many titties on it for Sam’s taste (Foolish’s way of getting back at Phil for being a pain in the ass), the library stretched for almost a hundred meters. Multiple balconies, mezzanines, and hidden passageways interloped with multi-storey bookshelves so tall that ladders were needed to scale a fifth of their height resulted in a somewhat labyrinthine design that could awe even the most boring of people. They had blamed Techno’s excessive book collection, but in truth there was an equally as large selection of Sam’s and Foolish’s books.

The unspoken side-effects of living for much longer than the average mortal were the vast stores of collectables and nicknacks one ended up storing away. Philza had contributed his oldest tombs only after Sam had perfected the anti-fire, anti-water runes and ensured that there was complete protection over the library. It was an understandable fear, but nothing that couldn’t be alleviated with a few runes.

Above the library, a few more ‘important’ meeting rooms stretched, interspersed within the subsidiary armouries and a few extra training yards, although the main ones – put into use when the snow blocked off the true courtyard the soldiers used to train – were located throughout the first section of the Palace. The rooms along this higher point were the ones with the nicer views. The litany of dauntingly fancy parlours and rooms were reserved for if they had anyone they wanted to soften up (read: no one – everyone yielded to the Empire or didn’t leave, it was simple as that). Most were jaunty sitting rooms and there was a smattering of bedrooms for more important guests, like musicians or someone Phil liked (because Techno liked no one other than them and Sam and Foolish weren’t in the habit of bringing people back… until now.)

Eret had been assigned to Niki’s care as a way to jab back at Niki. Sam had been worried the woman would try to pull something, but then he’d recalled the calm way Eret had cut down the slavers and figured that wouldn’t be an issue. The ringleader had called them a few names and only just escaped with his life. Niki may have not been skilled enough to avoid her own untimely demise, but she wasn’t stupid.

Anyways, the only truly important rooms below the top level were probably the war room and the long, never-ending hallway that Foolish had taken to displaying his statues in. Beyond that, their offices and workspaces – a few floors were dedicated to the inspection of runes, although their testing labs were deep under the Antarctic ice, just in case something blew up – made the topmost floors of the so-called middle section. It was a wonder all the paperwork contained within a few rooms hadn’t made the Palace topple from the weight.

The third and final top tier of the Palace took up near one hundred floors. This seemed like a lot in hindsight, though considering how the Palace was close to a thousand meters tall and had some six hundred floors (on occasion, Foolish liked to cut a ballroom up by adding another floor above it which was fine because they didn’t use the ballrooms much), this section was actually quite small. Being so high up, where the towers became spires and slimmed to sharp points, this area actually was much smaller than the rest of the Empire, space runes not included.

This sector was their private zone. The hot spring baths, a cosy parlour, a few rooms solely for their knickknacks and then a few more for all the clothes they’d collected, and finally, at the highest point in the entire Empire, the nest. Philza had a big thing for being up high, being able to look down and see the world, and at a height where clouds were lower, the nest was safe and secure; the best vantage point anyone could ask for. In the nest, Sam felt the safest.

With all the travelling of the southern territories he’d been doing, Sam had really missed the nest. The big mattress, the fortress of blankets and pillows, getting to lie in the others’ arms. It was a shame Foolish had left to hunt down the trafficking ring, or else the nest would’ve been complete.

Though, as Sam brought Eret to an observation tower, one built into the side of the Palace, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d like to see another someone added to their cuddlepiles.

It was just a shame he couldn’t show them the topmost floors. Thankfully, Eret had seemed more than interested in the five hundred other floors he’d done his best to show them.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft over there,” Foolish’s voice cut through the hush. Eret was peering down at the buildings below, so far down that they were little dots in the distance, eyes not wide but close enough.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Sam fired back.

The mental link held between the two Emperors and two Generals wasn’t something Sam had breached the topic of. It wasn’t something they usually told just anyone, and even then, very few of their own people knew of its existence. A bond forged from a long-dead practice, their minds had been connected, leaving a stray thought of one to be shared three-fold.

It allowed them to quietly and quickly discuss plans – of all topics, including but not limited to: war, leisure and love – and was the most effective tool they had. Unfortunately, it also meant that Foolish could bother Sam whenever he wanted, from wherever he wanted. Usually the totem sent mental images of his latest builds, teasing Sam with the visible product of his efforts, whilst most of Sam’s hard work went hidden behind walls.

“Yeah right,” Foolish mentally flapped at him. It was an unusual feeling that couldn’t be described in words other than a mental image of him waving his hand in a brushing-off gesture – like sweeping a tabletop clean. “Can you pretend to not be melting? If I hear any more pinning I might keel over.”

“You couldn’t keel over if your life depended on it,” Philza chipped in, amused.

Foolish scoffed. “Rude. I could.”

Having paused to think up a comeback, barely a second later Sam said, “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Me?” Foolish gasped. “I’m working very hard, I’ll have you know. It’s difficult trying to wipe your ass from so far away, but I’m managing.”

“Gee, thanks,” Sam huffed aloud. Eret’s silver gaze flicked over to him. They tilted their head in the direction of the door, thinking he was cold in the open-window design of the viewpoint. His breath had fogged up the air, though Sam ran hot enough that he wasn’t really bothered by external temperatures.

He must’ve broadcast the image, because the link simultaneously closed in and wavered around him. It flooded with warmth.

“Aww,” Philza cooed. Technoblade, as was typical of him, was silent aside from a pulse of interest. “Their nose is red.”

“Button nose,” Foolish added, then mentally shifted. “I’m still not convinced someone like that beat up so many guys. Are you sure they weren’t hopped up on potions? They’re thinner than my arm.”

“Not everyone’s the size of your biceps, Foolish,” Sam mentally tutted. He turned and led Eret back inside, noticing that their nose truly was very red. Maybe they were the cold one… now he felt a bit bad.

Foolish gave a big shrug, sending a glimpse of him flexing his arms. It was hard to tell if it was a memory or not, because Foolish was always showing off and all his boastful memories were tinted with a choking sense of pride, like most of his unfiltered thoughts. “My point still stands.”

In response, Sam sent the bundle of memories through the link again. A cloaked figure stepping into the warehouse; the hood dropping to reveal two eyes like stars; the purple blade that glinted; the person taking down one man, then two, then six and countless more; a ring of bodies lying, blood pooling on the dirty floor; the same person sliding their blade through the shackles of his people and freeing them with naught a boastful word. Then, that image he held close to his chest, the one where Eret stepped close to him and introduced themself, blood dripping down their sharp jaw, eyes bright and beautiful, lips soft and—

“Yeah, we get it,” Foolish complained, though Sam knew he was closely inspecting the memories with a relieved air. “Kissable lips and long hair; just your type.”

“Should I be worried?” Phil joked, the only one of their group that had short hair, like Sam.

If Eret hadn’t shown up when they did – seemingly by pure chance – then Sam likely would’ve ended up dead or worse. The thought sent a pang through the link that jarred him for a moment.

In the present, Eret walked by his side, gaze flicking over everything. Their sword hung neatly on their hip. When things interested them, they set their hand on the hilt. He had yet to see them irritated or bored, although he was having a lot of fun trying to dissect all their micro-expressions. Eret’s blank expression seemed to be their default – until one noticed the small eyebrow twitches and the way their lips tilted. Sometimes their entire head tilted, or their fingers curled, or their stance changed. It was all very interesting.

“Can you stop showing me all this,” Foolish loudly sighed inside Sam’s skull. “I told you, I’m busy. I don’t have time to be seeing your new infatuation walking – they don’t even walk nicely.”

“They walk like a soldier,” Technoblade grunted; the first thing he’d said in the bond in hours.

With his attention drawn to it, Sam watched the way Eret took sweeping steps. Their gait didn’t waver and their head was held high, at an angle that likely gave them a full overview of everything around them. They stretched one leg out, tipped ever so slightly (unnoticeable, honestly) and then pushed out the other leg. If the others hadn’t mentioned it, he never would’ve caught on.

Phil hummed inquisitively. “Scar on the hip, I’d say. Old injury, maybe a fracture.”

“Hm,” Techno agreed. “If it had been broken, they wouldn’t be walking in this cold.”

“Like most can survive a broken hip,” Foolish snorted. “Potions, medicine – whatever they want to call it, the Continent is centuries behind us. How they’re still alive is a wonder.”

Sam wasn’t a fighter like his partners were. He was used to standing back and offering tactical solutions and methods on how to push back the enemy with magic or reinforcing walls and buildings. Looking at someone and evaluating their past injuries was not on his rota of skills. A sudden lance of worry wormed through him. “Should I take them somewhere warm? I don’t want them to miss dinner because they’re sore.”

“I think they’d sit regardless, mate,” Phil offered up. The link hummed with agreement, tingling in the different vibrations of the others. Even Foolish chipped in, though his assent reverberated with something amused.

“Eyes on the prize, big boy,” Foolish chortled, brimming with gaudy intentions that made Sam want to roll his eyes. “A sore hip won’t stop—”

His comm chiming gave him the perfect excuse to squash the link. Foolish’s shrilly amused voice vanished with a squeak as Sam turned his attention to grabbing his communicator out of his inventory.

“Oh,” he said aloud, pausing in the hallway they were in. Eret stopped too, watching him. “They can’t fix the rune.”

When Chancellor Marcil had requested an audience, he’d nearly ruined Sam’s entire day. Years ago, they’d had countless issues with civilians digging around with the rune matrixes when they shouldn’t have been. Sam had been getting called out to deal with issues nearly every day. Finally, he’d gotten so sick of it that he’d pouted his way to Phil – who’d agreed to pass the new law: meddling with runes was just a way to fast-track getting unpaid work on the farms below the Palace. Not many wanted to work down there, and the automation runes allowed for meant not many had to, but it was a wonderful punishment, because messing up down there usually resulted in death sentences. There was nothing Sam was if not spiteful.

Thankfully, the light runes that powered the illusion ceilings were relatively simple to work on. That meant, Sam could still give Eret that tour he’d been looking forward to (he loved showing off the product of his work) and he could outsource the issue to someone under his lead. The squad who followed him across the territories to test the Highway were only a small sliver of the people he had working under him – the majority of his arcane consultants stayed within the labs, with a smaller but still large subset reserved for rune maintenance. A group of his own and Foolish’s people worked together to maintain the walls and the construction side of things.

The good thing about having people to delegate the annoying work to was that, under normal circumstances, those people were usually quite good at their jobs. Today, it seemed that even simple light runes were too much for his people to fix. Forgetting the current issues they had with the Highway, such as being unable to make the Posts permanent or producing more than four at a time, now his people were incompetent.

It's spreading, he thought and was almost rendered breathless at the terror. Almost immediately after, he felt like laughing. He was tired – so tired that spending a few hours napping in the Nest sounded very good right now.

“I can find my way back to Tower Eleven, if you need to go,” Eret offered.

Sam didn’t really want them walking there alone… that, and he didn’t want to risk them getting to somewhere nice and warm and risk Eret deciding that they hated him because he’d dragged them through most of the Palace and hadn’t even asked if they were cold. If they had old injuries like the others suspected, the cold was likely hurting them. Was he a terrible person?

“No, no,” Sam shook his head and tried to summon some of the easy charm Foolish always had on hand. “You haven’t seen much of the Towers, right? Would you like to come with me?”

Eret’s lip moved – thoughtful. “Are they not all like Pandora?”

He almost laughed at that. The question was so innocently posed, yet it was just so… wrong.

It was no secret that Pandora was the worst Tower to live in – it was where the people who couldn’t afford to live went. The ones who had little to offer the Empire. Sam had nothing much against them, although the Chancellor was annoying. Techno didn’t like the guy’s voice.

He almost laughed and then he realised.

“Philza!” He yelped down the bond. Everyone jumped. “Phil, we put Eret in Tower Eleven!”

The surprise shifted. Foolish was amused, Phil seemed a tad horrified, Technoblade was non-plussed.

“I thought Niki lived in Eight?” Phil returned.

“So did I,” Sam could’ve cried. They’d wanted Eret to have a nice bedroom in Niki’s house – not a bare bed in the poorest Tower. What sort of impression had they left on their guest?

“I told you to put them in a guest room,” Techno chuffed, thinking of said bedrooms above the library. “The closer, the better.”

A low simmer of discontent stewed in the bond.

“They definitely won’t fuck you now,” Foolish chimed.

“Shut up,” Sam pouted. He wasn’t even thinking of that. Besides, if one of them fucked anyone, that someone would have to be liked by them all. Their relationship was not inherently open, although they were open to the possibility of adding to their group. A warm nest was warmer when more bodies were in it.

Taking a deep, calming mental breath, Sam responded to Eret as though he hadn’t just spent the last ten seconds staring at the wall behind them. They’d even glanced behind them, as though the blank wall would help them explain Sam’s weirdness. With a heavy heart, Sam realised they probably did think he was weird. His emotions had been all over the place as he tried to come to terms with the fact he’d nearly died, he’d already been snappier in their presence than he had been in the past decade. Last night alone, his squad had looked at him like he’d been breathing fire.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat and tried to play it off cool. Sam was only good at multitasking with runes, nothing else. Hopefully they thought he’d got a comm message or something, because he couldn’t lie to save his own life. Unless under great duress. “Um, what was your question?”

Eret gave him a slightly unimpressed blink. It felt like a dagger to the gut. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

Sam almost collapsed. Eret was not the type of person who repeated themself, it seemed. “Oh, well. I’d like you to come with me, if that’s… if you’d like that. It’s nearly dinner, so we can just take a quick detour.”

Thankfully, Eret seemed accepting of this plan. They nodded, and didn’t speak as Sam led them to a teleport rune.

“Only the Eleventh and Twenty-Third Towers are linked to the Palace by the main bridges,” he told them on the way to said rune. There wasn’t one in every hallway, which now seemed like an issue. “But all twenty-four are linked to the two on either side. We could walk out and take those bridges, but it’s far faster to teleport to the signpost runes.”

“Signpost?” Eret repeated, obviously seeking an explanation.

He would never turn down a chance to explain his runes.

“Signpost runes are the main runes that act as an anchor to jump to places – like the one by the room we had tea in today. I’m sure you seen the large rune by Pandora’s bridge – that’s their signpost.”

Eret nodded along. Good, that meant Niki had used the runes instead of walking. Although the Towers all had stairwells that went from the top to the bottom, those were only really meant to be used to go down from one floor to the next, not for whole-Tower travel, as the Towers were six hundred metres tall. That was far too many steps for one journey. The stairs were really just for evacuations and for use when the elevator runes were too busy.

They made it to the teleportation rune before Sam could dig an awkward grave for himself. Eret curled their hand around his bicep again, seemingly without a second thought, and Sam took the liberty to activate the rune. If they weren’t in a rush to teleport alone, Sam wasn’t about to make them.

It didn’t matter that only partners or families used the teleport runes together… nope, not at all.

Tower Eighteen appeared in front of them. All the signpost runes faced towards the Palace, so on the Towers that didn’t have the inner bridge, another set of guards were posted at their signposts. These guards saluted and stood a little firmer when they seen them.

Long used to the constant presence of armoured soldiers, Sam walked past them and led Eret around the Tower, towards the main doors. The level where the signposts opened into was usually that Tower’s main market. In the middle, like with all the other floors, the elevator runes sat. As they needed to go up a few floors, to Heliosa’s recreational floor, which was really mostly a huge football field, they needed the lift. Sam was not about to walk up that many stairs if he didn’t have to.

Eret was quiet but evidently interested by the ongoings as they passed more guards to enter. Heliosa’s marketplace floor was lively and bustling; a classic unending sprawl of shops and stores, with numerous clothing outlets, grocery stores and entertainment facilities. This one wasn’t as expansive as other Towers’ but Eret seemed breathless.

“All Towers have a marketplace floor,” he told them, just in case they didn’t know. He hoped Niki had given them the rundown, but he wouldn’t put it past them both to have taken an early night. It had been a long day. “If you get some of the Imperial currency, you can buy whatever you’d like.”

People bustled about, toting shopping bags and children alike. Nearly all of them bowed or nodded to Sam, with quite a few showing respect to Eret as well. News travelled faster than light in the Empire, and the fact that Eret had saved him was well-known. They were to be an honoured guest. It was nice to see people bow to them.

“Where can I change coin?” Eret asked, tipping their head back. It was such an easy, suave move that Sam had to blink or else steam would’ve started rising from his ears.

“There’s usually a bank in every Tower on these floors,” he answered. “That, or you can go straight to the treasury people on the eightieth floor of the Palace and they’ll swap it out for you.”

Sam guided them both over to the middle of the floor. Here, there was a wide circle of stone to mark the area – a change in the slatted pattern of the rest of the walkway. Eret peered down at the elevator rune with interested eyes.

Watching them for a moment, Sam questioned, “Did you use one of these last night?”

Eret shook their head.

Maybe Sam should’ve sent some guards with them.

The next question he asked felt painful. “How did you get to Niki’s floor?”

The look he received was tense – as though Eret feared they’d become the butt of a joke. “We walked.”

He didn’t divulge this information to the bond, but it was a very close thing. The others sent inquiring pulses to him, feeling what he was broadcasting. “To the ninetieth floor?”

Eret looked startled. “Oh,” they hummed. “It was a long walk.”

Yeah, he… didn’t know what to say to that. How spiteful did Niki have to be to make Eret and herself walk that far?

“Well,” Sam cleared his throat for fear his voice would break. “This is an elevator rune. You stand in it and think of the floor number you want to go to and it takes you, so long as there’s no one standing where you want to go.”

He received a blank nod. Sam had the feeling most of the magic that was commonplace here was very overwhelming for Eret. The Continent was centuries behind, after all.

So, he stepped into the rune and offered Eret his arm again. They followed and clasped onto him, hand warm around his bicep.

The recreational floor opened up before them in a blink of green.