Chapter Text
He was young when he first met her. Young enough that he hadn't yet realized what he was, that he hadn't learned other people had more than one life, that he hadn't earned his wings. Young enough that he didn't realize who she was.
He collapsed into bed at sunrise after a long, long night of fighting off mobs for resources. He still had zombie blood and bone dust under his fingernails and speckled on his clothes, but he was too tired to care.
After a moment, he felt a gentle breeze on his face, and he opened his eyes.
He was floating in a void, so dark he couldn't even see his own body. If he even had one, that is. He was dreaming, he knew that, and the rules of dreams have always been strange.
Hello.
The voice was soft, curious, but it vibrated in the back of his skull, and the nothingness of the void thrummed with latent power. Whoever or whatever was speaking was something to be feared.
"... Hello," he replied cautiously.
You're very interesting.
"Am I?"
You will be.
He frowned. "I... don't think I understand."
No. You haven't been around long enough to understand. But I think you will, once you figure yourself out.
"Well, that's not foreboding at all."
Laughter, like chiming bells, like rippling water, like the crackle of fire.
What's your name?
And maybe he should have been more hesitant to share his name with a disembodied voice in a dream, but for some reason, he wasn't. "Phil."
Phil. I'll remember that.
He felt something, then, wrapping around him like a cloak or a shield. Silk, or feathers, or metal, he wasn't sure.
It's time to wake up now. We'll see each other again, Phil.
And just like that, he woke up, feeling more rested than he had in weeks, grasping for the tattered edges of the dream.
Phil saw her properly for the first time several years later.
He had forgotten the dream, for the most part; all he remembered was the void, and a voice. He couldn't remember what the voice said or what it sounded like, other than a vague image of bells. All he knew was that it had been there. Sometimes, late at night when he couldn't sleep, he tried to remember what exactly the voice had said, what exactly he'd said in return, but he never could.
In the years since the dream, he had started to wonder. He was getting old enough that he should start showing signs of aging, at least a tiny bit, but... nothing. He still looked like he had years ago. He was starting to think that maybe he wasn't entirely normal.
And then the village he lived in caught fire.
It was an accident, people said afterward; an unattended campfire, maybe, and Phil didn't have any reason to doubt them. But it was still jarring to wake up in the middle of the night to screaming and smoke.
Phil pulled the collar of his shirt up over his mouth, trying not to breathe in too much smoke, hurrying out of his house and joining the people running away from the flames licking around the buildings.
When he reached the treeline, he paused, turning to look back at the village that had been his home. It was almost completely engulfed now.
Someone came up next to him. It was a woman he'd never seen before, with long brown hair and a bittersweet expression. She was wearing all black.
"Fire is beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured, staring into the leaping flames.
"... Sometimes," Phil agreed slowly. "But it's also dangerous."
She smiled slightly. "Of course it is. That's why I'm here."
"What do you mean?"
The woman just looked at the fire, sighing sadly. "Not everyone got out. It's to be expected, with something like this, but you know. It's still sad seeing a life cut short."
There was... something. Phil had no idea what it was, but there was something in the way she stood, or the way she spoke, or the look in her eye. She seemed to take up simultaneously more and less space than she really should have.
She glanced over at him and smiled. "I'm glad you got out alright, Phil."
He opened his mouth to ask how she knew his name, then paused, the memory of bells ringing in his head.
Her smile widened. "You're starting to put it together."
"... I had a dream about you."
"Yes, you did."
"Why?"
She shrugged. "You're interesting. And you were talking to me, even if you didn't know it."
Phil hesitated, not knowing if he really wanted the answer to this question, but needing to ask it anyway. "Who are you?"
"You can call me Kristin, if you'd like."
That wasn't what he'd meant, and he got the feeling they both knew it, but it was more than he was expecting - a lot more - so he just nodded.
"It's been nice talking to you, Phil. I have to work now, unfortunately, but we'll speak again later," Kristin told him with a smile.
"When?" The question was almost automatic, more a reflex than anything.
She chuckled. "In time. Now I believe some people from your village are about to come see if you're alright."
She was right; Phil glanced over his shoulder to see some of his neighbors running over. When he looked back to say goodbye to Kristin, she was gone, leaving behind the very faint whisper of bells.
It was another decade before he saw her again.
By that time, it had become clear: Phil didn't age like a normal person. He was still the same as he had been before the fire. He had moved on, traveling from village to village, never staying in one spot for more than a year or two, never putting down roots. He didn't mind it, really. Traveling was exciting.
He learned a lot over those ten years, including how to enchant things. As soon as he figured out Mending, he constructed his first rudimentary mob farm to help repair his gear.
It was at that farm, while he was considering whether his pickaxe was fully repaired or not, that she appeared again.
"This is the first time you've built something permanent since the fire," she said quietly, walking over to examine the farm more closely.
"Careful," Phil warned her without thinking; she didn't have armor or a weapon, and the mobs could sometimes reach outside the farm.
She glanced back at him, smiling. "It's sweet of you to worry. I'll be alright, though."
"Right." She would. He knew that. How he knew it, he wasn't sure, but there was nothing here that posed a threat to her.
"Why build something permanent now?" she asked, running a hand over the stone he'd used to build it. "There's nothing special about this village, so I doubt you're planning to stay."
Phil shook his head. "There's a spawner here. I needed experience."
Kristin hummed thoughtfully, walking back over to him and holding out a hand. "May I?"
He handed her the pickaxe without hesitation.
"Ah, I see. You've put Mending on it," she noted, glancing over the runes carved into it before handing it back.
"Yeah. It seemed useful."
She nodded. "Mending is very useful. It means a tool will last as long as you take care of it, which will be handy for you."
Phil ran a thumb over the enchantment runes on the pickaxe. "You've known for a while that I don't age like other people, haven't you?"
"Naturally."
"Do you know why?"
She made a face. "It's complicated, Phil. You're smart, so I'm sure you'll understand in time, but not yet."
"Like I don't understand who you are yet?" Phil asked ruefully.
"You could probably work that out right now," she admitted, "but you wouldn't believe that you had the right answer."
Phil nodded. "I assume there's a reason you can't just tell me."
"There is."
After one more glance at his pickaxe, Phil decided it was healed enough and started packing up his things.
Kristin smiled at him. "Could you give me a tour of the village?"
"You're staying?" That was even more shocking than her showing up at all.
"For a little while."
Phil hesitated, then offered her his hand with a small smile. "I'd be happy to show you around for as long as you want."
She took his hand with all the grace and dignity of a queen. "Lead on, then."
It was odd, walking with Kristin away from the farm and down the main road of the village. People's gazes almost seemed to skip over them, like they weren't there at all.
"I prefer to keep a low profile," she explained when Phil asked about it. "People don't like to acknowledge me anyway, so I just give them a little nudge. If you stay a bit away from me they'll be able to see you."
"But then I wouldn't be able to hold your hand," Phil pointed out before he could think better of it, hoping as soon as he said the words that she wouldn't be offended by them.
She laughed, giving his hand a light squeeze. "That's true! And very sweet."
"I try."
He showed Kristin around the whole village, giving her as much information as he could about everything he could think of. The blacksmith's forge, the farms, the library, the little chapel, the house where he had been staying for the past few months.
She lingered by a small patch of flowers outside his neighbor's house. "Can I give you some advice, Phil?"
"Of course."
"Don't lose track of the small things, alright?" Her expression was the same as it had been while looking at the fire. "Just because they'll be gone soon doesn't mean they aren't beautiful in the moment. It's... hard to remember that sometimes."
Feeling very much like he was toeing the line (was this allowed? Should he even be trying it?), Phil carefully picked a flower and tucked it behind her ear. "I'll remember."
Her eyes widened in surprise, and she slowly raised one hand to brush against the petals. Then the surprise melted into something like fondness, and she laughed softly. "You're bold today."
"Well, I don't know when I'll see you again," Phil reminded her. "I have to make the most of the time I've got."
"It's hard to keep track of how long it's been," she admitted quietly. "I can try to visit more often, if you want."
Phil shook his head. "Don't take time away on my account. I'm just happy you visit at all."
She brushed a finger along one petal again. "Still. I'll try, at least in dreams. Those are usually easier."
"Easier?"
"It's... difficult to appear like this when I have no reason to be here," she explained.
Phil nodded thoughtfully. That made sense; she was powerful, that much he knew, but even powerful beings had limitations. "Well, I'll be glad to see you whenever you have time."
They walked for a few more minutes, and when they reached the edge of the village, Kristin sighed. "I have to go."
"Oh." Phil fought down a wave of disappointment and let go of her hand. "Goodbye, then."
She smiled at him, and he almost thought she looked disappointed, too. "Until next time." Then he blinked, and she was gone.
Kristin kept her promise. Phil had dreams of the void every year or so, though he rarely remembered the details afterward. He started keeping a journal specifically for those dreams, writing down everything he could remember immediately after waking up.
Why do you travel? she asked him once, her voice like the rustle of wings.
"People get suspicious if I stay in one place for too long," he told her. "Besides, I like seeing new places all the time. It keeps things interesting."
Other times, he was the one to ask her questions. "Why are you so interested in me?"
I don't have as much sway over you as I do over most things. It's intriguing. And it helps that you're nice to talk to.
Phil still wasn't sure what exactly Kristin was - every interaction he had with her emphasized that she was powerful, but he was wary of trying to figure it out and getting the wrong answer - but he pieced together enough vague feelings in his journal to know what her presence felt like. Wings, and bells, and silk, and a sort of gentle darkness.
"Will you ever show me what you really look like?" he asked her.
She laughed gently. Maybe one day. I don't look all that friendly, and I don't want to scare you.
"I'm not sure you could."
That isn't true, but I appreciate that you said it.
Phil frowned. "You think I would be afraid of you?"
Oh, Phil. You already are. I don't blame you - you don't even know it's me you're afraid of - but the fear is there.
"I don't want it to be."
I know. He felt the brush of something like feathers. It may go away, it may not. Fear is tricky like that.
The years passed, with Phil still traveling, still learning as much as he could. Kristin made a few more physical appearances, though none of them lasted more than a few minutes.
Then, a few decades later, one dream in particular stood out.
I have something for you, Phil.
He blinked in surprise. "What is it?"
A promise, essentially. Look at your wrist.
He did, and saw a thin, simple bracelet made of black thread.
If you ever find yourself bored of where you are, or wanting something more, break the bracelet.
"What will happen when I do?"
I'll teach you to move between worlds.
When Phil woke up, he almost thought it was all his imagination. There was no way she had actually offered that. But when he looked at his wrist, there was the bracelet, deceptively simple for the weight of the promise it held.
He didn't really consider breaking it for a while. He still had things to learn and things to see, after all! But, eventually, as the years went on... it started becoming repetitive. Just like Kristin had predicted, he started wondering what else was out there.
After a lot of thinking, Phil finally decided that it was time. He packed up everything he cared about (not much, just a few little trinkets and his tools) and cut the bracelet with a knife.
"It's time, then?"
Phil turned to Kristin, who was standing behind him like she'd been there the entire time (and who knew, maybe she had), and nodded. "Yeah."
She smiled and held out her hand. "Come on, then."
And because he trusted this powerful being who had, for some reason, taken an interest in him, he smiled back and took her hand.
Time for a new adventure.