Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grian wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The center section of his mansion was coming along nicely, the roof already looking more complete. He had been constructing his mansion all day. Flying shulkers of aquamarine bricks to the roof so they could be set in with mortar. A notification reminded Grian of the presence of his communicator on his wrist. His feathered wings stretched sorely from his shoulders as he took the chance of the message to take a break. Opening his wings, much to his discomfort from already flying all day, swooped down to his hobbit hole.

Sitting on the steps and folding his wings behind him he twisted his forearm so his communicator was facing him. It looked like a futuristic bracelet that covered from his wrist to halfway up his forearm in pure white. It was a hand's width long and didn't quite encircle his whole wrist, there was a few centimeters wide slit through the entire underside so it could be removed. Where it met his wrist the mostly square communicator ended with an inward curve for comfortable mobility of his hand. Below it, farther from his wrist, the sleek pattern morphed from the curve in an arching layer of light grey that rose slightly above the base white. The grey went from a wide band where it reached his wrist and curved slightly inward before going half the length of the communicator before curving into a bottleneck that stayed thin until it widened slightly thicker than a thumbs width at the end of the communicator closer to his elbow. At the wider part of the light grey stripe a small circle was placed right where it widened out and was colored a grey-blue.

Grian reached out and placed his middle and indent fingers here and as soon as he touched it a phantom screen sprang from the communicator above the back of his forearm. The projected screen had a ghostly blue hue and looking through his messages he saw it was from Tango.

TangoTek: Are any of you free?

Chuckling at the thought of Tango searching for guinea pigs, he typed out a reply.

Grian: Just thinking if it's a good time to replace Scar’s door, why?

Goodtimeswithscar: :o

Goodtimeswithscar: The bandit!!

Grian adjusted his position on the front steps of his starter base to be more comfortable. He snickered as he imagined Scars high pitched voice gasping at his neighbors betrayal.

TangoTek: have any of you built something beyond Zed's mountain?

Grian was confused now. Why would Tango need to know if someone had built something that way? He turned back to his communicator, trying to catch up with the conversation, scaning past Zedaph's correction that it was a cave of contraptions and a few 'no's.

TangoTek: I can see the top of a building behind the mountain

TangoTek: It kinda looks like a pillager tower but i'm sure it wasn't there before

XisumaVoid: Are you sure? It shouldn't be able to appear like that

TangoTek: Positive

ImpulseSV: A coding error?

XisumaVoid: Unlikely, i've been tracking code day and night

XisumaVoid: not impossible though, things have slipped past me before

XisumaVoid: I'll check it out here, someone should still investigate further

No future messages came from the admin

Grian: Impulse, Can you see what Tango’s talking about?

ImpulseSV: One sec

A minute passed, no future response. Why wasn't Impulse responding? A few more minutes passed without Impulse confirming Tango’s story. Grian was worried now, his brow stitching together, Impulse was in the chat a minute ago. Not being able to take it any longer, he typed another message. Sending it, it appeared on his phantom screen beside his name.

Grian: Impulse?

This time after a few seconds his communicator gave off a slight ding as an incoming message arrived. It was from Impulse;

Impulse: Sorry, I had to fly to the top of my base

Grian let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He forgot, that unlike him, his friends had to use elytras. They were much trickier to master and required a trip to the end to retrieve them. A trip which was extra perilous in the beginning of the season. The flight time was also longer. He, on the other hand, had feathered wings that sprouted from his shoulder blades. They came in handy in the early days but unlike elytras they were a part of him, they could hurt, bend and break. He didn't even remember why he had them instead.
Turning back to his communicator he saw X ask for Impulses confirmation. Impulse said he saw something over the mountain looking exactly like Tango said.
Tango asked whether they should go check it out and X warned reasonably that they didn't know what it was and if it was done through coding whoever did it could easily dispatch someone on their own.

TangoTek: We should meet up then

TangoTek: If anyone would come with me?

ImpulseSV: It's a wonder you think you can leave me behind

Impulse’s message summed up Grian’s thoughts. A mysterious tower that appeared out of nowhere that could offer a serious danger, he typed at the bottom of the ghostly screen and sent his message.

Grian: A dangerous adventure?… Count me in

While he was typing another message appeared from his neighbor, he didn't even know he was watching the conversation.

MumboJumbo: I'm coming

Tango asked for Scar and X’s response. X replied fairly quickly, he would be staying to monitor the code.

Goodtimeswithscar: …

Goodtimeswithscar: I have a door kidnapping to investigate

Tango sent a message asking if the Shopping District tomorrow would be good. It confused Grian until he looked up for a second and saw the sun bleeding into the sky magnificent colors of orange and purple. It would probably be wise to wait until tomorrow, going at night would just add a whole nother list of complications.What could have caused a tower to appear out of nowhere? If it was not built by another hermit who had? Looking back at the blue screen above his wrist he saw that everyone had agreed and they were waiting for him. He typed out a response.

Grian: Fine by me

It left Grian to wait for tomorrow and wonder what it all meant.
----
He blinked open his eyes to a dark grey-purple haze. He instantly knew he was dreaming. The way reality seemed to twist and distort around him. Time seemed to be the only thing standing still. Grian slammed his eyes shut gagging trying to hold in his nausea. A headache crowded his brain and clouded his thoughts. He forced open his eyes before quickly having to squint them shut again as the world in his vision swirled. He saw around him a collection of stone colored trees. The leaves and branches looked petrified, they even radiated the same coldness as stone. Nothing was still, the trees and landscape around him bent and distorted in a state as ever moving as a river. Even his mind couldn't pull itself straight. It seemed he was standing in a forest, everything a single shade of grey with darker shadows. The only color coming from the purple tint that seemed to come from behind his eyes. It was like a fog that crowded around him, limiting the length of his sight. With every turn of the forest Grian had to shut his eyes as he tried not to throw up.
He felt fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, his right forefinger and thumb. He didn't even remember moving them there, trying to push out the throbbing through his head. He felt the haze swarm around him pushing against him. He could feel its presence crowding him even without touch or seeing it. It thundered in his ears pressing against his eardrums like the weight of an entire ocean was above him. It filled him with claustrophobia and between him trying to keep his eyes open the land had begun to change because now all that surrounded him was the dark, blank, haze. It was like the void, seemingly endless but crowding around you. It still felt like the world was spiraling even with nothing around him to tell him so. The blankness around him was almost more menacing, behind every inch of the dark fog there seemed to be eyes that he couldn't see. The presence pushed down on him, he could feel them looking at him.
The emptiness spun faster and faster, swirling out of control, his headache cutting deeper. Grian clutched his head with both hands and with a cry fell to his knees on a floor that didn't seem to be there. Everything was spinning out of control around him, his feathered wings were limp at his sides. Eyes were looking at him from everywhere, he could feel them. His wings no longer felt a part of him, staring at him with the same hatred as the dark void around him. They were staring at him, pointing, judging. It felt as if they were blaming him. Grian felt guilt wedge itself in his throat at their gaze. It was as if something was all his fault.

Chapter Text

Grian shielded his eyes from the sun gazing up at the clear blue sky. The heat pulled a musky scent from the repulsive purple colored mycelium underneath his feet. There wasn't a single breath of wind to cool him or relieve them of the mushroom taste to the air. He stood a little apart from the small traveling group that had agreed to go with Tango. Come on, Where was Scar?
The rest of their proposed investigating team was already on the large island that made up the shopping district. His eyes were trained on the sky, the rest of the group had given up the arrival coming any time soon. To be fair, Grian hadn't expected him to be able to fly there without a few crash landings to slow him down. He saw a motion flick across the light blue sky, squinting, he turned his gaze toward it. He heard from behind him Tango pointing out what he had already noticed. Squinting he tried to block the bright glare and he saw a figure gliding elegantly across the sky coming in from over the ocean. Behind the figure Grian saw another trying to stay airborne, and clearly struggling against the wind. The second silhouette was obviously Scar. He wasn't known for his skill with an elytra was putting it nicely. But who was the one flying in front of him?

The figures were approaching fast and now the whole traveling band had their necks craned to anticipate their arrival. The first figure was almost above them now and Grian could just see the yellow glint of armor. Scar had almost caught up as they began to descend together. They looped around lazily, circling toward the ground. Touching down, the first figure, which Grian had recognized as X, landed beside the group, closer to Grian who stood slightly away from both of them.

“X, what are you doing here?” Impulse called from behind him, stepping forward slightly. By this time Scar had landed clumsily beside him, falling on his backside, his entire lower half caked with dry mud.

“Ran into Scar on the way here.”

“He actually had to help me out of a river bank.” Scar chimed in whipping some of the mud still stuck to his pants as he stayed sitting on the mycelium. Scar had apparently dropped the wizard get-up for this adventure. He instead had thrown on an Indian Jones costume, complete with a rope around his waist and a cowboy like hat perched on his hair. It was a wonder it had stayed on during his flight. Tango had ushered forward and bent down to grab Scar’s hand.

“Have you changed your mind about coming with us?” Tango asked as he dragged Scar to his feet who continued to brush himself off.

“I came to give you these.” X said, pulling something out of his inventory. It was a small figurine, just big enough to take up your palm. It glimmered in the sunlight and X turned it over in his hand revealing two gems embedded in the surface. The emeralds made up the eyes of the figurine and reflected the light. It kinda reminded Grian of the statues that were said to populate Easter Island.

“Totems of Undying.” Someone muttered in awe. Totems were mythical items that could bring someone back when they are on the verge of death. They are very powerful, especially early on when everything in the dark seemed like a death threat.

“Where did you get those?” Mumbo asked. His neighbor had been so quiet Grian had forgotten he was there. Grian also wanted to know the same thing. Totems were usually Impulses terms of business, quite often the sole provider of them in the Shopping district. Even Impulse hadn't had time to make a pillager farm this early on, only recently had everyone gotten a elytra.

“Early raid.” The helmeted admin explained as he gave out totems to the group. Lastly he handed a Totem to Grian, the gold figure heavy in his hand. Grian met his eyes behind his visor, as the totem was placed in his palm.

“Just in case.”

Xisuma stepped back as everyone tucked the golden trinkets into pockets and Scar even hooked his on his belt adding to his archaeologist aesthetic. The admin nodded at them with finality before saying,

“I best be off, Take care of yourselves.” With that X took the sky, and rapidly became a silhouette that disappeared over the horizon. And for some reason Xisuma’s last words seemed directed at him, and even though Grian hadn't seen X’s eyes through his helmet, he felt as if X was looking at him as he said them. It sounded final. Grian told himself X hadn't meant it that way but that couldn't stop a sense of dread from circling him. What had they gotten themselves into? He couldn't help thinking as X finally disappeared into the sky.

Tango’s voice drew Grian's attention back to the group. Tango clapped his hands together and broke the tense silence, speaking with enthusiasm.

“Well,” He said cheerfully, “Who wants to go on an adventure?”
---
The sea crashed far beneath his outstretched wings. Wind flicked at his feathers as he flew. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his friends following him. With wings instead of an elytra he had easily pulled ahead. He heard the sound of a rocket fire over the sound of the roaring wind. Tango had dished out rockets, the only one with a steady gunpowder supply and the group were using them for speedy travel over the ocean. Scar was lagging behind, everytime his rockets burst into a spray of sparks that hiccuped his flight. It was just Scar’s luck for him to get the only exploding rockets out of the lot of them. Though he wouldn't put it past Tango to make them especially for him. Grian heard rocket fire and saw Impulse pull ahead to be level with him. They were so high up the wind battered any progress across the sea and Impulse struggled to stay up at the front with him.

“Grian!!” He shouted over his shoulder to the man beside him before quickly having to turn to face forward as the wind tried to steal his elytra and force him out of the sky. The roaring speed whipped away his words. “W- Nee- Dow-”

“What?” Grian called back.

“Down!!” Impulse screamed again and this time the words reached Grian. And with that he tilted himself downward. Land appeared rapidly from the sea, Impulse’s base half built and hollow spearing out of the sea.

The wind was quieter now as they descended into the mountains behind Tango’s base that formed Zedaph’s cave. They were shaped into a jagged, rocky wall as they crossed the coast. The heat of the desert in front of them barely reached them at this height and they were soon over it. They landed near the top of the mountain, spiraling down. Scar’s landing was somewhat more of a crash as the rest of the group swooped down to join Grian. Mumbo was turning to Tango asking something. Tango shrugged in response.

Impulse was wandering up to the highest point, climbing up a boulder. He stood up, his arms by his side.

“Guys..” Impulse said, calling their attention. Everyone stopped and turned to him, framed by the sky on his vantage point. Impulse pointed to the horizon as the group clamored up the boulders to join him.

Beyond the mountain, half hidden by its base was a tower. It stretched to a great height, built in stone and sandstone. Elegant pillars rose around it in a shiny black stone like dewy eyes. Obsidian. The roof encased it in a crown of dark oak planks and Grian could understand how Tango could mistake it for a pillager outpost. But most interestingly of all, was that etched into the sides of the building was an unmistakable silvery streaked block of bedrock.

“That definitely wasn't there before.” Grian heard Tango say but he was too intently staring at the symbols that no player could have made. It was a broken rectangle, the corners shattered and the sides merged into L’s. It had no right being here. He couldn't stop staring at it, what it would mean. It sent fear chilling through his veins. Foreboding hung around him, around that symbol etched into a block that no player could ever get their hands on.

“Grian?” He heard someone ask concerned, clearly noticing his disrupted state.
He ignored them, focusing on what this would mean.

It was a symbol that had stolen from him once before. But he had run, from it, from everything, from what he had done. He had pushed down the crippling guilt and had found Hermitcraft. Where X had taken him in, where the others had welcomed him. He had built a home, a place for him. He had found friends in the other hermits as they pranked each other and wrapped up in plots, battles, shenanigans and a healthy dose of civil wars. He had forced himself to forget. The mountain wind buffeted his skin, chilling him to the bone as it went right through his red cardigan. It was a symbol that would send it all crashing down.

Chapter Text

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts. Grian fought the fear out of his eyes. “Grian?” a voice asked softly. Mumbo’s. Grian calmed his breathing, saying too cheerfully,

“Yeah, it just startled me!” He chuckled. Please buy it, don't question why I'm so unsettled. He met their eyes, plastering on an energetic smile. Mumbo hesitantly drew back his hand, a slight suspicion on his face. “Come on!” Grian said enthusiastically, sliding down the boulder pretending he didn't notice the concerned glance his friends shared with each other. They soon began to follow. Together they skittered down the boulders, when they came to a ledge, Grian opened his wings and glided down to the base of the mountain. He heard Scar groan just before the sound was whipped away by the distance. “More flyi-???” Grian grinned at his antics as Scar was dragged off the ledge by Impulse. Though the unsettledness still hung over him. They landed on the plains in front of the mysterious tower. Grian heard feet thud the dirt as the others landed behind.

“Wooww.'' Tango breathed, gazing up. Grian understood the emotion.

From afar, the tower seemed small and minuscule but up close it loomed. You could see all the intricate designs and grateful curves of the columns. The bedrock carvings were intricate and the stone wasn't streaked and ugly like its void barrier counterpart. It gleamed silver, it was shaded darker but still glimmered in stripes. The sandstone clashed beautifully with the grey and clay was intricately placed as swooping walls. They slowly walked toward it. The bottom floor was open faced like a gazebo, with large arches and doorways on every side. In the middle of it, stairs curved elegantly around the center point.

On the outside, carefully placed was a garden though it still sprang up wild. There was even some sugarcane rattling their leaves against one another in the wind. Impulse looked up in awe as they gathered by the tower's base.

“Is that bedrock?”

“How did they get that?” Scar muttered astonished. The rest of the group shrugged as they remarked about the brilliant architecture.

Grian said nothing, craning his neck at the carved symbol, trying to control himself and not go running back the way he came. As Impulse, Tango and Scar meandered around the pillars, chatting and laughing as they pointed out the strangeness of the building. He took a step toward the entrance way when a hand grabbed the sleeve of his sweater. He turned to see his friend with his brows tilted in concern.

“Grian?” He asked, Mumbo’s eyes surveying Grian’s face as if trying to see beneath the smile plastered over it.

“Yeah?” Grian asked, confused. With the redstoners calloused hands still gripping his wrist he continued.

“If something was wrong… You know you can tell me. Right?” Grian’s mouth fell open, his guarded grin cracking off his face for a second with the edges of his facade crumbling before he pressed his lips closed shaking his head, startled at the intimacy from his friend. “Grian?” He called his attention again and Grian realized he hadn't said anything. He nodded.
“Yeah.” And with that Mumbo reluctantly let go of his arm. He let Grian go, watching as he joined the others of their small exploration party. Mumbo soon followed, hearing the tail end of the conversation but Impulse caught him up to speed.

“We were wondering if we should go upstairs or down first.” He pointed to a darkened stairwell leading downward beneath the staircase that curled like a spring to the second floor. Mumbo hadnt even noticed the entrance to whatever laid under the tower. Grian piped up,

“I vote up.” He looked at the ominous entrance to the basement again, “At least we can delay going into that a little longer.” Scar nodded,

“I’d much rather not have to deal with creepers, or skeletons, or spiders, and zombi-” He counted off the dangerous mobs on his fingers before trailing off as the others raised eyebrows at him.

“I’d honestly prefer to go down first, better take care of the mobs down there before there are any up here when It gets dark.” Impulse started leaving Tango nodding his head in agreement.
“Sorry guys,” Mumbo looked at the two redstoners, “you make a good point but something tells me not to go down there, and I wasn't planning to be here in the dark.” He turned to Scar and Grian waiting impatiently for which way his tie breaker would sway. “I vote up.”

Mumbo pulled the gifted Totem of Undying from his belt and held it in his left hand. Looking at Grian he saw that he had pulled a diamond axe from his inventory. When he saw him looking he added,

“Just in case.” Deep in his gut Grian knew though, that if they found something in the higher floors of the tower his axe wouldn't do much about it. Scar had pulled a crossbow, fumbling a rocket into the mechanism. Turning to Impulse and Tango, Grian saw they had both drawn blue swords, sparkling with magic enchantment.

The small adventure party met each other's eyes. Grian nodded and they began to ascend the tower. Tango went first. Mumbo followed second as they climbed in circles. The bow he had slung on his back occasionally scraped across the walls adding a twang of the rattling bowstring to their footsteps. But other than that, no one dared to speak.

It was dim and musty in the staircase, sandstone walls surrounding them in sandy bronze. Tango suddenly stopped on the steps, a brighter light seeping from father ahead of them. When Mumbo made to join him on the step to take a look, Tango held out his sword, blocking the path.

“We’re almost there.” He spoke softly and everyone in the corridor behind him sucked in a collective breath, the strange and hauntingness of the whole situation coming back to them. Tango let down his sword and it made a ominous scrape echo along the walls as he returned it to his side. He stepped forward into the top floor. His figure leaving the stairwell cast a light on Mumbo and he soon followed.

On the top floor there were no walls, like the open-air entrance area. Arches curled over the fences surrounding the sunlit room. PIllars stood like sentries at intervals around the circular space. Above them, the roof was domed and the dark wood was supported by intricately carved beams. Mumbo looked around for Tango and saw him moving across the floor toward something that had missed his eye, insignificant in the face of the beautiful building.

There were chests. Twenty-four of them. Tango approached one, kneeling in front of it. He turned back to Mumbo as the rest of their group tumbled into the terrace-like room.

“They’re gifts.” They shared a glance and Mumbo surveyed the semi circle of chests. Finding one with his name he crouched down in front of it.

“Everything about this is weird.” He heard Impulse say, and Scar hummed in agreement.

“Could they be traps?” Mumbo asked, not moving his hand from resting on the lid.

“Possibly.” Tango added. Clutching his totem in his hand Mumbo took a breath before easing open the lid. Nothing happened. No pistons fired or tnt hissed. He shared a look with Tango who copied him as Mumbo peered in the box. Inside was an assortment of items. Some of it junk, like the small scattering of bamboo even though he lived under a hill of them. There was a Totem of Undying, glistening in gold and emerald. That could come in handy, he pondered, tucking the second statue into his pocket along with the first. He glanced over at the chest beside him and the name scribbled on it. It was Grian’s gift. Unsettled he scooted over toward it, Tango, Impulse and Scar carrying on a conversation in the background.

“Who would want to make a tower overnight,” Scar was saying as Mumbo dusted off the chest’s lid. “Perhaps with code, have bedrock on it,” He opened it, floating in his own world. The words from the builder drifted past his ears. “And give us gifts?” Scar mused, “It seems a little…” Mumbo pulled out the only object in the chest.

“Stupid?” Impulse tried. It was a dagger. It's blade shining metallic, its hilt wrapped in leather, stained a faint purple. Why would whoever built this want to give Grian a dagger?

“Staged.” And with Scar’s last word his personal bubble broke. He spoke, noticing something lacking in the room, his heart thundering in panic.

“Where's Grian?” The group stopped talking immediately, looking around. And it was true, the man in the red cardigan wasn't there.

Grian pulled a torch from his belt, striking a match against a stone wall and lifting it to the fuel coated cloth that surrounded the heavy stick. He had slipped away as the others went surely to the gifts in the summit of the tower. He needed to go to the basement. He needed to see if it was true.

Grian stood at the top of the shadow cast stairs, tentative. He took his axe in his other hand and huffing out a breath, he took the first step downward. It was farther down than he expected. His torch flickered in his hand, making the dark recede and race back like the tide. Suddenly the stairs opened up to a large room. It was blanketed in nightly dimness and a purple glowing haze hung around as if tainting the air.

At the far end of the room was something that made his heart stop, his fears coming true. How could he have thought he was safe here, how could he be so naive? Etched into the wall was a box of obsidian, its shiny surface gobbling the light from his fire as it reflected in the black surface. Surrounding the frame was more bedrock, cut in that age old symbol Grian had grown too used to not seeing. Too used to not remembering, of having a safety net. Oh, it was gone now and he shouldn't have familiarized with it. His body trembled without him telling it to do so. It was a portal. The flame danced in front of him, sending sparks of amber shining in his eyes mingling with the terror. They were coming.
----
The sun framed his body as he stood on the balcony. His bare back faced the glass doors thrown outward by his entrance. His tan skin fell golden in the light as he propped his hands on the railing, leaning over it. He took in the calming sound of the crashing ocean below and the sounds of the calling seabirds. He tilted his head upward, spilling in with bronze glow, marks of purple becoming live on his cheek. The wind blew his ruffled hair, playing with it against the blue sky. Behind his mind's eye he saw a flicker of flame, woolen red, and purple eyes full of trepidation. He grinned, his teeth sparkling. It wasn't a kind smile, one to be shared with a friend. It was one full of wickedness and knowing. He grabbed a cloak of vibrant purple cloth. He pulled it over his forearms, the fabric hanging loosely around his lower back. As he straightened, turning his back to the open sky. It shed brilliant light on two twin scars on his upper back, following the curve of his shoulder blades. They met the light briefly before he flung up the cloak and popped the collar. He stepped back into his quarters, the cape flowing elegantly to encompass his steps. He cracked a smile, contrasting with the dim as the glass double doors slammed shut behind him.
They were coming all right.

Chapter Text

Mumbo’s feet echoed behind him as he took the steps two at a time, his shoes scuffing the stone floor. How could I have not noticed he’s missing? He’s my best friend. He heard the clatter of Impulse, Tango and Scar quickly following close behind. They speedily reached the ground floor and Mumbo instantly knew where he went. Impulse, entering behind him, followed his gaze.

“Do you think…” He trailed off, staring at the ominous gaping hole in the floor. Impulse swallowed and Mumbo empathised with the feeling. Though he had never been afraid of the dark even as a child, but this absolute darkness looked like it would rear right up at them and steal them away, never to see the light again.

“Yes.” Mumbo answered steelily, not turning to face them as Tango and Scar joined them, all faces of distress. Who knew what would be down there? What dangers to tear out their soul? And the big question was why was Grian stubborn enough to do so alone?

“Where else where he be.” Tango sighed, pulling an unlit torch from his inventory as Scar did the same striking steel against flint and lighting both fuel coated sticks with the sparks. Returning the flint and steel to his inventory, Scar turned to Mumbo. He gestured to the haunted looking stairs.

“After you.” And Mumbo turned, knowing he’ll find his friend down there and fully planning to shake his reasoning out of him when he found him, he took the first step. It was surprisingly easy after that, just a step after another. Scar followed after, lighting the way that was not blocked by Mumbo’s shadow. When the floor leveled out he caught sight of a sputtering flame, laid on the floor and reached with the last of its strength upward. Sitting beside it and revealed in the fiery light of Scar’s torch was a red sweatered man.

“Grian!!” Mumbo called, aggravated, “What do you think you're doing?” He marched over to the sitting man. Grian’s eyes darted around confused as Mumbo dragged him to his feet.

“I-I..”

“You almost gave me a heart attack.” He scolded before pulling him into an embrace. Grian stood ridgid as Mumbo hugged him but he didn't seem to notice. They pulled apart as the rest of the explorers came tumbling down the stairs into the room. They sighed in relief as they saw Grian standing beside Mumbo. Impulse was immediately captivated by the carvings on the opposing wall. Mumbo took the chance to look around. Standing opposite the stairs was the shape of an unlit nether portal in the center of the bedrock symbol that adorned the upper parts of the tower. Impulse approached it mystified. His own torch in one hand and the other tracing the silvery bedrock, he muttered in wonder,

“What is this?”

“A portal.” It was barely audible, with a slight quiver to a whisper. Impulse half turned to the speaker.

“How do you know that?” Tango had now moved from inspecting the other walls to look at Grian. He pointed to the square of obsidian. Impulse swung his torch spilling the bedrock wall in warm light, craning his neck to see where the mysterious symbol climbed to touch the roof blanketed in darkness far above. He stared at the carvings, momentarily lost and unaware of his friends lingering behind him and drew back his hand from the stone. The fire cast shadows on his face that twisted his features into something grotesque. Bronze light sparkled his dark eyes.

“That just leaves the question of where.” Tango mummurred. Then the group drew a collective breath and the red eyed man was once again conscious that he wasn't alone. The group meandered in the room for a bit, Tango poking around.

“I wonder how you activate it” He said to no one in particular. Scar shifted on his feet by the exit on the staircase, watching as the others dive deeper into the portal room.

“Do you mind if we leave? This place is giving me the creeps.” HIs voice echoed off the walls calling back to them in the hollow silence. Mumbo nodded. Something about it was unsettling to him too. Tango, Impulse and Scar all agreed and began skipping up the stairs. Grian went after and Mumbo last. The light quickly reached them leaving the rementes of the dark and creepiness shedding off their shoulders like shadows in sunlight. When Mumbo scaled the last step, finally able to breathe again.

His wrist buzzed and Mumbo noticed the rest of the group pulling up their communicators. He walked up to Scar, reading the message on the ghostly screen over his shoulder.

“It's from Xisuma,” The builder said for everyone elses convenience before reading out loud. “He wants to know what we found.” Scar looked up at the group.

“Tell him how it's empty,” Impulse put in, “With a basement and a second floor.” Scar typed out as Impulse spoke.

“Oh!” Tango jumped to face Grian, “Would you like to see the second floor?” The winged hermit shifted on his feet, glancing at the ascending stairs.

“I’d rather not..” Impulse, behind Tando nodded, understanding with sympathy. He didn't want to spend more time here either.

“Oh,” Impulse went back to talking to Scar, “Add how the top floor had gifts for all the hermits.” Grian went rigid, his eyebrows turned up. He slowly brought the word to his tongue, his voice began a touch higher before he swallowed.

“Gifts?”

“Yeah,” Mumbo said remembering what he had taken from the chests. He moved away from the stairs that led to the basement. “I got yours for you.” He tugged at the leather pouch on his belt and pulled out Grian’s gift. Mumbo offered a half smile, slightly embarrassed at having invaded Grian’s privacy, even if he too didn't know what was in the chest. “Hope you don't mind.”

Grian watched as Mumbo pulled something from his belt. He knew it could be anything and he didn't know what to expect. They liked to play games with the ‘gifts’ they gave. But then the light fell on something glittering on his palm. The hilt was wrapped in tinted leather and the blade a pure silver without even a slight rust on it. It was a dagger.

It was the dagger.

Past hand from hand, across time and evil deeds.

From a training rack to shadowed faces in a darkened library. Faces now long lost.

Bloodied to abandoned. Then bloodied again

And now it was here. In Mumbo’s hand.

It seemed like a cruel joke. They had cleaned it, and kept it in good condition as if he should say thank you.

He couldn't stand it.

His breath came fast and the world swirled around him in his panic.

He heard himself speaking, or maybe it was Mumbo calling out his name. A hand reached to steady him on his swaying feet. He felt his heart thundering in his chest, out of sync, or maybe that was just him. He pulled away from the touch and he saw them pull back. A concerned murmur filled the air but it felt like chaos, not really there, far away and drowning him. He gasped for breath, grabbing onto one of the columns for support. Grief was evil like a coiling snake in his chest, poisonous. He saw someone reach out to steady him. Strong and reassuring words blanketing over his muffled ears. And for a second his sight became less hazy as a face came into view. Mumbo. Guilt twisted as a spear through his chest as Mumbo supportingly put his hands on his shoulders. The redstoner met his eyes, concerned and confused about what had scared grian so much. Umm- he tried to remember, what do you do if someone has a panic attack? Anxiety filled him, how could he help Grian? Have him count things? Or was that an anxiety attack? Or is he having an anxiety attack? The violet eyes of the builder bore into him. Scared, regretful. The dagger had set things in motion that couldn't be undone. Then he said something only Mumbo could hear. His eyes sollom he breathed,

“It wasn't mine to take.” Mumbo drew back, startled. Because it seemed like something deeper. More than the dagger. More than he could ever know because at that moment Grian used the time to pull himself up, and louder this time said, still like a caged animal,

“I got to go.” His words rushed and then he had escaped through the space Mumbo’s body used to be, leaping into the sky. His wings filled the boundless blue with feathers and then he was gone.
----
The wind pulled at his tears. The droplets insignificant where they fell into the ocean below. He couldn't run from it now, whatever came. Whatever was destined to come. In the past he might have hid, but it was too much now. They knew. It wasn't just another world falling in their clutches. They knew he was here. He was so foolish, so naive. To think he could escape. To think he had. He flew without knowing where to fly. He could just keep on going, till the sky reached its end. But instead, when he crossed the jungle he forced himself to land on the steps of his mansion. Had it been only yesterday that he was here, finishing the center roof and laughing with his friends? He pulled out his communicator now, activating the circlet on his wrist. He saw the conversations and messages from the day. And newest, printed at the bottom of the long train was from Mumbo asking if he was okay. He was so caught up in thought he hadn't noticed it buzzing. He ignored it, stumbling through the front door before slamming himself in his room. Grian’s communicator vibrated again and he vengefully pried his fingers through the slit in the underside and flung it off, tossing it to a pile of clothes on the floor. He knew there would be repercussions for ignoring his friends, not talking to them and causing them to worry even so Grian wouldn't worry about that now. He slammed himself onto the bed, pulling himself to sit on the edge of the mattress. Head in hands he felt tears still flowing sticking to his cheeks. He had put things in motion that couldn't be set back. He had foolishly gone through with it, how stupid he was to stand in that darkened room and think he could escape inscathed. But it wasn't just that. He had forgotten. He had wanted to forget and maybe it was better that way. But he was paying for it now, unable to free himself from the memories that dampened the air, haunting him.

Suffocating, a weight pressed against his chest and he shivered, even though he wore a thick woolen sweater. The feelings curled around him like the cold vengeful hands of the watching ghosts. He drew a shaking breath, need to calm down, his anxious mind mummurred. He wiped his tears from his eyes, unpetrifying his limbs to wrap himself up in the comforter and fleece blankets, hugging it to his chest and trying to push oxygen through the lump in his throat. Count, a trembling voice in his thoughts, spoke trying to convince the rest of his body to agree. Count he told himself again and this time it obeyed, remembering the mechanisms he used before. 5. The rippling fold of the cozy blankets around him. The blue carpet piled high and strewn with sweaters and shirts. The door handle that was shiny and silver, framed in a shining highlight from the dim sunlight through the window. His bedside clock illuminated in green digital numbers counting up. The painting on the wall in splashes of aqua marine and dandelion yellow. 5, Grian thought, 4. The cotton of his sweater with the collar rubbing against his neck. The fabric of the comforter that he was gripping under his hands. His strawberry blond hair falling against his forehead. The dry tears pressed onto his face. He continued this way, counting things his senses picked up, the salty taste on his lips, the faint swish of tree branches outside, the chorus of his pet bird in the other room, all the way until he reached 1.

He drew a hesitant breath, releasing his claw shaped fingers from the way they were gripping the sheets like they depended on it. He stretched his fingers out, wiggling out the cramps. At least he was more under control of his body now. Yet He laid there for another hour or so, watching the numbers on the clock morph into others. The sheets and blankets didn't seem to warm up however long he lay there, cold. He needed to turn on the heat but he couldn't yet pull himself from bed. He was too tired.

So Grian stayed until surely the sun had started to crash into the horizon. He pushed himself up, swinging his legs off the bed and shedding the blankets off him. Putting his hands on the edge of the mattress he began to stand up when his ankle bumped against something under the bed. For a moment he was confused before hitting his heel back again and feeling something hit against his achilles tendon.

He bent down and pulled the object from the community of dust bunnies settling under his bed. It was a shoe box, coated in years of dust and neglect which he brushed off with a flick of his hand. Grabbing the edge of the cover he slowly eased it open. In it was a book, taking up most of the space in the box. It had a leather cover worn out by years with discoloration which might at one point have been full lines of purple. There was an indented design in the leather which could be described as an X but only the right leaning line was complete, the one crossing it was split in two so it never touched the underlining slash.

The pages crinkled as he flipped the yellowed parchment open. He started randomly in the book. It was originally empty, filled about halfway with scribbles and messages to another. There were two colors of ink in the pages, green and purple each in a different handwriting. making it seem like the journal was passed back and forth like a note in school. It would have been so much better if that was the case.

The writing in purple was more of a scrawl than a print, taking up the pages in its messy font. The further he progressed in the book the more the writing changed. The writers had slowly transferred over to an encrypted language, the information being sent too sensitive, as if it would have made a difference. The words were made up of dashes and swoops, dots and angles. Grian was about to close the book when something caught his eye. As the pages fell off the inside cover he noticed writing on it. A dedication. It wasn't written in the same mysterious font of the later coming pages but the earlier version of the readable ones. Grian skimmed over the note. It was coming back now. Faster. Tears trickled from his eyes again, long lost details forgotten as irrelevant floated to the surface of his brain like bubbles in a pond. HIs breathing came hard again as he stared. The note was signed with a single letter dancing in his blurry vision from the tears. It was a T. A signature that would never be signed in the same scribbled handwriting again. And that wasn't the only thing in the box.

Where the book had been placed and hidden in its profile was an object. Grian slowly placed the book down beside him on the bed before tantalizingly lifting it out from the clutches of the box. They cupped in his hands perfectly, the same as always. Black band with the blue and red checkered earpieces. Only this time there was no bright eyed man to go along with them. Running his finger over the head piece a single, pained tear trickled down his cheek.

Chapter Text

The sun rose peacefully that mourning, nothing like the turmoil Mumbo was feeling. He had slept at his hobbit hole last night and had awoken early by the call of the pesky birds outside his window. So now he sat on the hill over his home in the early hours, surrounded by the gentle sway of the towering bamboo. The sunrise sparked a beautiful shade of orange on the horizon like flint did to steel. The embers lit fire to the edge of the world, growing and spreading until the face of the sun lifted above the distant hills. Even for all of its elegance, Mumbo couldn't focus on it. All his mind went to was Grian. He hadn't seen him since yesterday and he isn't answering his messages. It was all he could do not to worry.

What had upset him so much? He wondered. And then fear spiked through him as he remembered Grian's panic attack, is he okay now? What if he’s alone and has another one? His mind swiveled around the events blurring the lines of what had happened. His mind jolted, the dagger! Leaning sideways to pull open the pouch on his belt he fished for the hilt, drawing it into the soft mourning light. He rested it in his hands, tracing the curves and edges with a light touch from his finger. The rough leather wrapping the hilt, the perfectly silver blade with not a sign of use or a single speck of rust. It looked brand new. But Grian had seen it before, Mumbo thought about his reaction, enough to send him in a panic. But why? What had happened to him? What was he hiding?

Mumbo couldn't help the pit growing in his stomach. He twirled the knife a few times around his fingers, watching as the soft light spilled over it. Warmth began spreading through his face, touching his limbs in golden shine. The sun crested the horizon, raising its face like a dog did waking from a nap. He didn't know what to do. He was worried for Grian. He never had been one for asking for help. But what if he needs it? What if he wants it but he can't ask?

His stomach fluttered at the thought of his friend in pain, and isn't that what they were? His mind fell back to the tower and the strange events of yesterday. What had built it? What did they want? It couldn't be a player, with the bedrock symbols on it. And that reminded him of when Grian first saw it. It seemed like he knew it. He remembered his friend's smile and the more he looked at the memory the more he saw how the joyful expression never quite reached his eyes. Mumbo sighed, this wasn't doing anyone any good. This thinking, or at least this thinking without acting. He needed to talk to someone, someone who knew what to do. Who knew Grian as well as he did.
So with the sun rising steadily now, leaving the clutches of early mourning, he stood, glancing at the dagger in his hand one last time before returning it to his belt as he pulled out rockets, and with his elytra that he never took off, leapt into the sky.

It was a short flight, the tropical air brushing his face and the peaceful sound of shaking leaves in the giant jungle trees below him. But minuscule compared to the never ending wooden trunk of the sky scraping tree in front of him. He soared down to the entrance and went about finding his Swedish friend.

The floor inside the tree was slowly transitioning from grass to patches of planks in a job half finished around the edges. The inside was bustling with energy of ticking mechanisms, popping furnaces and the stray dancing butterfly and dragonflies that made their way inside. At first glance he didn't see Iskall anywhere. But he did hear him.

Continuing forward around the bend of the tree root he saw him. He danced about, shoving objects into chests, whistling and humming a merry tune to a song coming over the old fashioned radio. A mess was sprawled out in what Mumbo assumed was his storage area as Iskall tried to sort it all. He looked like he did everyday with his spiked and messy brown hair, a leather vest over a green hoodie with sleeves pushed up to the elbows. As he turned Mumbo saw a small hoop earring hanging from his right ear. It was metallic but not shiny and it looked bronze and almost could be described as rustic. Mumbo spotted the pin that was always visible on his vest in purple, yellow white and black. Today it read they/them so he quickly switched between pronouns for his friend. Iskall’s pronoun pin rarely changed, usually just between they/them and he/them but Mumbo had begun to notice how it became she/her on occasions which were usually Tuesdays. Their hair dripped over their forehead and they smiled when they saw Mumbo. In their hands was a broom. Mumbo noticed their hands holding the wooden handle were painted a dark color, maybe deep navy blue or just black but their middle finger was painted a dark green on each hand, standing out. He chuckled inwardly.

“Hey Mumbo!” Iskall exclaimed before turning back and lifting the rug to sweep dust under it with a broom. The redstoner in his pressed suit shifted uncomfortably,

“Are you supposed to do that?” Iskall wiped around, looking shocked like he would ask such things.

“No!” They were funny but Mumbo didn't laugh. Iskall’s face fell fast as they noticed the solemn look, “What is it?” They asked.

“Grian.” He said simply and just like that the radio was turned off, seats at the kitchen table were pulled back and they sat facing each other. Iskall spoke next with anticipation.

“What is it?” They asked somberly. Mumbo swallowed before speaking,

“You know the tower me and Grian went to check out?” Iskall nodded, they had seen it all in the messages. “Well, when we got there Grian seemed a little…. Off.” Now that Mumbo had started he couldn't stop, the words flowed from his mouth. “There were these gifts on the top floor and I got Grian’s for him and it was a dagger.” He paused, contemplating before reaching down and pulling the knife out and placed it on the table. He looked back up at Iskall who had an indescribable look of concern on his face. “But when I showed him he freaked out. I think he had a panic attack-”

“He had a panic attack?!?”

“Or an anxiety attack- I don't know.” Mumbo confessed with a stressed look in his amber eyes. Confused Iskall asked,

“Does he have Aichmophobia?”

“A fear of knives? He isn't scared of swords.” Mumbo threw his hands up exasperated, “Heck! He loves to cook. But what's so important about this knife,” He gestured at the dagger laid on the table, “That's so..” He faded out, at a loss for words

“Traumatizing” Mumbo looked up at the soft spoken word. It wasn't them offering him the word at the tip of his tongue. It was a statement. Mumbo noded.

“Now I haven't seen him since he bolted yesterday and he isn't responding to my messages.” Mumbo groaned, collapsing his head in his hands, “What am I gonna do??” It took a moment before Iskall spoke up,

“Can you tell me the whole story?” they asked calmly.

And so Mumbo did.

How fear stricken Grian was when he first saw the tower and the symbol in unbreakable rock. How they decided to explore the upper parts of it and how Grian had slipped away unnoticed even if it had been his idea to go upward first.

Iskall didn't make any noise or comments as Mumbo went through his storytelling, just bobbing their head as Mumbo finished listing his concerns for his winged friend.

“Do you think he might be at risk of having another anxiety attack? Or anything else that might cause him harm?” The redstoner shook his head, it seemed like things only happened at the tower and with the dagger. Both of which Grian was far away from now. Iskall continued, “So I dont think its time to worry yet,” Mumbo met their green eyes, “You know how easily you get wrapped up in a project for days on end after something happens?” Mumbo nodded, “So give him a couple days. If you haven't heard of him by Friday you can go check it out. You know how Grian Isn't one for sharing.” He nodded,

“Thanks iskall.” He wasn't much calmer now, knowing that he couldn't really do anything but wait, but it was nice having a cool and collected train of thoughts go through his mind besides the frantic ones. He pushed back his chair and turned to leave when his friend spoke up again.

“Mumbo?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, half turning to face them.

“Try not to worry so much, everything will be okay.” Mumbo smiled and nodded, even if he had trouble in his heart believing it.
----
Grian rolled over, pulling himself in a cocoon. Shivers ran through him. He didn't know how long he had been lying there, not awake, not asleep. It seems days had passed but the changing of the clock was slow with its counting minutes. A day had come and passed and he had barely moved. He just couldn't get himself too. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He didn't think he needed to. He wasn't hungry. All that flowed through his head was how he could have forgotten. About how he had gotten his wings, that they were still looking for him, that it was his faul- He croaked and his voice cracked as he curled up with a sob that shook his shoulders. He was no longer wearing his sweater or the white shirt under it, wrapping his wings around his bare torso as he shuddered. He tried to call comfort from the feathers hugging around himself but now it only brought pain. Tears slipped down his cheeks. What was wrong with him? Who would forget the loss of their best friend? Who would only remember when it began to affect them? He was heartless. No, he didn't deserve to have a heart, to share others hearts when he would only break it.

He hated this. The weight that pressed on his chest, his limbs unable to move either from tiredness or sleep paralysis. He needed to work. And as soon as the thought passed his mind he had to do it. Slowly though, it took him a half hour just to convince himself to sit up. He took in the mess of his room. Piles of food wrappers leaked from the barrel, spouting over its top. He glanced at the trash remains of the junk food, hardly remembering when he ate. Though he could see the wrappers for a collection of chips and chocolates suggesting he had, but he had not moved from his mattress today. Sweaters, jumpers and shirts coated the floor like a second rug and Grian could even see the blue jumper he never wore make a reappearance after years of not knowing where it went. His communicator lay abandoned from the day before. Or had it been two? A jumble of blankets lay abandoned on the floor, discarded and reclaimed with his chills and hot flashes. For ten minutes he sat frozen, unsure what to do. Anxiety rushed into him. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? Nothing could change the fact of what had happened.

He hadn't realized he had started crying again until he felt tears trickle down his cheek. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. He turned to his night table, hesitating for a moment before pulling open the drawer. He lifted from it the book from the…. night before? He shook his head before replacing it while pulling out a sketch pad from beneath. He couldn't think about that right now. He couldn't think about it ever.

He flipped through the sketch pad until he found a half full page of building designs. Most in the book never got to being used but he loved to doodle them up any way. But not now. As soon as his pencil touched paper thoughts tore his brain, angry. What did he think he was doing anyway? How could doodling in his silly notebook fix anything? It was already done. Already his fault and he could think he could just waltz in here, draw a few things and it would all be made up for? From something he had always had fun doing no longer offered any joy. It all seemed insignificant compared to what he had done and couldn't undo.

Grian shoved the book back away, not caring at the crumpling and ripping pages at the harsh action. He let out a breath, kicking off the sheets and sat at the edge of his bed for a while, head in hands. Wiping his nose, he stood. He honestly didn't know what he was doing so he wandered barefooted and shirtless to the bathroom. Pausing at the doorway, hand on the white trim before stumbling onto the cool tile without bothering to click on the lights. It was as if every little movement caused him pain. Unbearable pain that struck him in the heart and clogged his throat.

He turned on the water, running his hands under it before splashing some on his face before watching himself in the mirror. He paused, not caring when the water turned so hot as to burn him. Something in the back of his mind enjoyed the pain. He stood, catching sight of the large clay colored wings draped over his back. The feathers had a slight shine and were a purple-grey sprouting from the edge of his shoulder blades. Taking a tentative finger, Grian traced where the feathers faded into his sides at his last rib. They were fluffy under his finger tips, tinkling him slightly. He followed the path, lifting his arm above his head till he reached his shoulder blade as he pushed back the feathers.

Underneath, at the inner edge where they melded with his back, was a scar on the pale skin on his back. Grian took a breath as he observed the line of pinker skin. He quickly moved to hide it again. His image in the mirror flashed but when he looked up it was no longer him. A figure stood with messy dark brown hair. A mask cloaked his face in white porcelain, the clean color only broken by the purple symbol. The only thing that remained of Grian were the spread wings and that the figure was mirroring the position of which he stood. It was almost as if it was Grian.

Frightened, Grian leaped back, banging his elbow on the half open door. And just like that it was gone. A trick of the paranoid mind. He glanced at the wings in the mirror again. They weren't his.
He left the bathroom, the scene playing over in his head. He was going to have nightmares tonight.

Chapter Text

All was dark. Grian was enveloped in it. It was peaceful, that blankness. Till it wasn't. The endless dark shattered and a scene began to play. The wings on his back felt like they were no longer a part of him, never should be. They felt both heavy and light, pressing down on him like the ocean. He felt the judging eyes that seemed to bore into the feathers and the wings seemed to ooze a feeling of evil. Grian took off running through the void. The feelings of judgement and bile in his throat never fading as he sprinted through the hazy purple-black. Voices seemed to chase him, echoing in his eardrums, whispering lies and truths. It was like he would never pull himself from the clutches of them. From it.

He stumbled, gasping a large breath as if coming up for air. Then a figure pierced through the night. It was him. His blue shirt layered over with overalls, hair a black mess. Grian pushed himself up and started running toward the man in front of him. His arms opened ready to embrace his friend, hope soaring in his chest. It had all been just a dream, they had never tried to escape, the wings had never become his. He could have him back. He could- a dagger appeared in his chest, the hilt sticking out of his back. Taurtis gurgled, blood spilling from his mouth as the wound in his chest started seeping. It eroded his shirt with bright red and as Grian watched, blood began creeping up his hand as if from nowhere. It coated his skin in red, clinging to him as it climbed up his arm until he was covered. Fear clogged itself in his throat, chest beating rapidly and his breaths were erratic. Nausea swelled in his throat and he gagged at the metallic smell of blood. The words hissing into the darkness came into focus, hammering in his brain.

All your fault, It was all your fault, they hissed, all your fault. Grian screamed as Taurtis dropped to the floor dead, his image glitching in and out of the void that swallowed them. Grian fell down beside him. He pressed his hand to the wound to no avail. There was nothing he could do, there was too much blood. Red soaked the blue shirt, tinting his hands. He was on his knees when the air in front of him began to crackle and from it appeared a figure, wrapped in purple and tinted marks on its pale cheek. Like Tartis, its image flickered, bits of it separated and glitching as a part of the void. Unlike last night, it had no wings draped over its sides. Grian trembled, terror sparking inside of him. It croached, moving inconsistently as its very existence flickered in the dreamscape. Its hand flashed out and gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to its face. It met his eyes and its mouth morphed into a single word.

“Run” The word was spoken softly, a command, a warning, a threat. And so he did. Grian pulled himself away and ran like the coward he was. His feet pounded on the ground of the void and tears were pulled from his eyes. He heard a cackle rise behind him, crackling against the foggy air like ozone. The voices whispering from the void grew louder and louder, forbidding.

All your fault, they chorused, you can't run…

Grian blocked his ears, stumbling as he held his hands to his head but the sounds couldnt be blocked out. Instead they grew louder, forcing down on his skull. Then they morphed into familiar voices. Taurtis' voice spoke up, cold and bitter, joining the chorus.

It was you who gave me a knife in the back, the sinister version of his friend sneered.

“No, No, I'm sorry! I didn't mean this to happen, it's not my fault-” Grian cried but he was drowned out as his voice cracked. More speakers joined, coating over the hisses that curled in his brain. Some he recognized, some he did not. It became Mumbo, Iskall, Xisuma. Other hermits, old friends, foes and enemies. People he hadn't talked to in years. All condemning him. Blaming him for something he knew he did.

He sprinted on. He needed to get them out of his head. The hands gripping his head turned to claws, digging into his skull with their nails. Grian’s eyes squinted close, trying all he could to block them out, to ignore them. To not believe them. No matter how fast he ran it wasn't fast enough.
----
Away in his hobbit hole, Mumbo began preparing for the night. He pulled off the jacket of his suit, draped it over a chair and loosed his tie before adding it to the pile. His shirt was unbuttoned before he pulled on a plain t-shirt that Grian had scribbled a blocky mustache onto with a sharpie. Mumbo had later been informed it was a mock up design but he had yet to see the final product. He always figured it was an excuse to mess with his clothes. After brushing his teeth he settled into his bed and rolled over with his back to his clock. After an hour of tossing and turning he still couldn't fall asleep. He was too worried.

It had been days. He had neither seen nor heard from Grian. He hadn't responded to messages and Scar even had a meet up with him yesterday that he had ignored. They were all getting worried.

Was Iskall right? To give Grian some alone time? In any other circumstance Mumbo would have agreed. Grian was prone to disappearing to deal with personal problems but he still remained in touch, taking help when offered and cancelling his plans when he needed. But Grian never avoided them like this. Like he had completely dropped off the map. But now? No, Mumbo would have never agreed. Not when he seemed so distressed. Should I go check on Grian? the redstoner pondered. But he had promised Iskall he would give him some space to work it out on his own before he went to Grian. Mumbo groaned, he couldn't deal with this. He had trouble sleeping at night wondering if his friend was okay and couldn't focus during the day. It was surprising phantoms hadn't begun chasing with the amount of nights he had laid awake. Mumbo couldn't live like this any longer, sick with worry. But what if Iskall is right? And Grian just needed peace and quiet for a while? He sat up in bed, he couldn't wait till morning, anxiety building in his chest. His stomach was nauseated by the feeling.

Mumbo rolled over and picked up his communicator from his bedside table. He opened up his messages, the ghostly screen casting on his face a haunting blue glow. He glanced at the time printed in the corner of the screen. It informed him that it was 1:54 in the morning but he couldn't wait any longer. He opened a private message to their admin, he needed more advice.

MumboJumbo: Xisuma? Are you up?

It wasn't unusual for the admin to be up so late, so he wasn't surprised when after a while the hermit replied.

XisumaVoid: Yeah, what are you doing up so late?

MumboJumbo: Couldn't sleep. You?

XisumaVoid: Trying to figure out if someone messed with the code

MumboJumbo: The tower?

XisumaVoid: Yeah

Mumbo typed out and paused before adding,

MumboJumbo: I need your help. Can I come over?

It took a while for Xisuma to send a message, three blinking dots informing Mumbo he was typing an answer. The communicator buzzed in his hand after a while, he had been to lazy to slip it on his wrist.

XisumaVoid: Of course. You know where I live right?

Mumbo responded, admitting he only had a vague idea not yet knowing where many hermits had settled down this season except for his few neighbors. Xisuma quickly sent his cords. Mumbo was flinging off his blankets as he sent one final message that he’ll be over in ten.

Quickly as he could, Mumbo got ready. He realized he didn't need to change, leaving on his t-shirt and pants but pulled on socks and slipped his feet into shoes. He popped into the bathroom to splash water on his face to wake himself up more. He had bags under his eyes and his hair was no longer combed neatly, both victims to his currently bad sleep schedule. He slipped his communicator onto his wrist as he returned to his bedroom and grabbed his elytra, strapping it onto his shoulders. Ready, he stepped outside and followed the coordinates X had sent him.

It was surprisingly easy to find the admins home. It was deep in a jungle across the continent from him with a temporary farming area in the flat area nearby. Mumbo spotted his starter house, alight with warm light in the dark. I was made of wood, warm and homely.Shutters framed the many windows that during the day must give the iside a bright and cheery atmosphere. Smoke drifted from the chimmney from the small building showing that the admin was indeed home.

Mumbo quickly descended on the warm breeze of the jungle air. Landing on the doorstep he walked up to the house, delaying for a bit before rapping his knuckles on the wood. A few seconds later the usually bee dressed admin pulled open the door. Tonight he wore a dark grey shirt printed with a band Mumbo had never heard of. He also wore sports shorts and was wearing, like always, his visored helmet. His half hidden freckled face was full of concern as he spotted the redstoner in his tired condition and lacking his normal suit. He ushered Mumbo into his home.

The redstoner looked around, realizing this was the first time he had been inside X's house this season and had no idea what it looked like. It appeared to have an open floor plan. A kitchen was pushed into a corner by the door with cabinets and cupboards hanging off the walls. A window was above the kitchen sink which sat next to a stove.

“Tea?” Xisuma quickly offered as he clicked off the stove to an already whistling kettle.

“Yeah, but I don't think I could keep it down.” Mumbo said as Xisuma poured himself a cup and he continued to look around. Father from the entrance, taking up the middle of the floor was a living room. A sectional couch was positioned with its back to the kitchen with room for propping feet up on a low, dark wooded coffee table. At the opposing wall from the entrance was a brick fireplace with lively and crackling embers.To his left, were winding stairs that led to the next floor.

“That bad?” The admin asked as he handed him the mug. Instead of answering Mumbo just nodded. “Want to talk about it?” And the redstoner bobbed his head again. Xisuma gestured to the coach as they sat at opposite ends of it. X sat with his legs pulled up on the couch next to him. Mumbo took a sip of the tea with just the perfect amount of honey and swallowed before placing the cup on the coffee table.

After a moment he spoke.

“I don't know what to do with Grian.” He cast a glance at the admin who said nothing, encouraging him to continue. “On one hand I’m really anxious about if he's right. He’s not responding and no ones seen him. But I don't want to annoy him if he’s just taking time for himself. I-”

“Mumbo, I'm gonna stop you right there.” Xisuma said as he put down his tea. “If Grian’s really your friend he’ll understand if he realizes he’s making you worry. He’ll also understand that if you do go looking for him, even if he might not want to talk to you, that you're just doing it to see if he’s okay.”

Mumbo felt wheels churning in his head, slow to push a response from his mouth.

“Sooo,” He started, drawing out the syllable, “You're saying that I should check up on him?”

“If it's such a distress to you? Then yes.”

What Xisuma said was reasonable. Even if Grian didn't like being interrupted during these moments, he would understand and they would never stop being friends. Mumbo took another gulping sip of tea before setting it down as he stood.

“Thanks X.”

The admin stood with him and walked him to the door. It wasnt pitch black out, the sky in the weird petrified state of grey before true dawn. When Mumbo stepped into the night, Xisuma laid on him some wisdom in a commanding voice that would offer trouble if he didn't.

“And go to sleep.” And the redstoner smiled, replying,

“I’ll try.” Then he jumped up, fired a rocket and slipped into the night. Tomorrow morning he would go to Grian's mansion and see if his friend was there and check up on him. After, of course, getting a good night's sleep. It settled his stomach to actually have a plan after what seemed like weeks of worry.

He slept at his hobbit hole, passing out as his head hit the pillow. Mumbo was exhausted from his night time adventure and strangly for once his head was pleasantly empty. He hadn't even bothered to pull off his shoes. The next morning he got an early start, cooking himself a hearty breakfast of pancakes and syrup. He dressed in his normal outfit of his suit, free of all wrinkles and the thin red tie that hung from his neck. The redstoner slipped on his elytra before shooting into the sky and skipping over to his friends base. He landed after the short flight, the great stairs loomed in front of him and he scaled all fifty of them before he could take a second thought. He delayed at the door, his hand half raised to ring the doorbell. For a brief moment, thoughts of what he would find inside danced across his brain. He shook them away. And for once, Mumbo smiled to himself, he would help his friend get through whatever was thrown their way. It was going to be alright.

Chapter Text

Grian woke with a start. Sweat beaded his brow, the ghosts that plagued his dreams still hanging in the air with their memories. HIs chest constricted, and he trembled in his bed, terror making it hard to breathe. He pushed air to and from his lungs, a gasping fish. All my fault, his thoughts echoed with his shivers. He pulled the comforter tighter around him, the images ripping through his head. The blood speareding, the feeling of being too late. He had done this to him, he was as much to blame as the one who put the knife in his back. Guilt pushed through him, crowding his brain with vivid thoughts. Maybe it wasn't worth it anymore, he would never be good enough to make up for it.

He pushed himself off the bed, taking the sheets with him. Grian pulled, once again, the journal from his nightstand. He ran his fingers over the cover. It was one of the things he had left of him. He flipped to the dedication.

“To G.” It read, “Try hiding out in the dresser.” Grian skimmed over the blocky symbols. At the beginning he thought the last word was a miss up from being new to the language. It wasn't long till he found the false bottom to the draw and it started to make sense. “Be safe.” It continued and was signed with the single T. He placed the book down beside him on the bed before standing like from some external source. His feet walked on the worn part of the carpet across his room to his closet. Straightening, he lost the blankets wrapped around his shoulders, ironically, like shedding feathers. He stood on his tippy toes and reached up to a shelf above his clothes rack. His hand fished around a bit before he grasped onto something. Grian pulled out the picture frame.

Wandering back to his bed, he sat in the eye of the storm of blankets swirling around him. The glass was laminated in a thick layer of dust. Grian huffed a puff of his breath on it, tracing the simple wood frame to return to it a slight shine. It was a picture of him. But not just him. It was them. Together. Before their world turned, before the peace was broken. Before. He knew because they were smiling. Oblivious. Naive. They had just found themselves a home, Grian crafting an empire, Taurtis floating up in a balloon, playing practical jokes on each other. Happy.

Grian brushed away a smudge on the glass, running his thumb over the image of Taurtis’ face. The picture wasn't in great condition with cracks, tears and creases causing white lines to form on the image and the colors were no longer as vibrant. The breath caught in his lungs, pain exploring his face. A tear dropped down to land by his finger on the musty glass, a phrase choking him as it escaped his chapped lips.

“I miss you.”

And that phrase brought clarity. Let him think wholly for a second, spilling bright truth on his burdened shoulders. He wanted it to have never happened. He wanted his friend back. But it had happened. He was gone forever, like mist on a sunny day, never to return. Grian knew that at any moment of that night he could have turned back. Yet he didn't and somewhere in the back of his head was reason, knowing that he couldn't. Everything that had occurred had led up to that point, of them going through with it. Even if it left them to a broken pair.

He clutched the picture to his chest, rocking himself back and forth and pulling up his legs. It all reverberated. The falling, the running, the dagger. It all started with the dagger. Grian’s eyes shot open, remembering. In Mumbo’s hand, offering it to him. He called it a gift. Of course it would give him that. Salt in the wound. Grian thoughts flashed to his frozen limbs when he first set eyes on it again, Mumbo's concerned face and his flight across the sea. How long ago had that been? He wondered if Mumbo still had it. I hope not, he thought. He should burn the thing till there was nothing left.

That's when the doorbell rang.

Grian was momentarily confused, thinking it was in his own head. It fell silent and Grian resulted he was imagining it. Then the bells chimed again, ringing the tune throughout his base that Impulse had set up for him with the added benefit of being able to hear it anywhere in the mansion. His head snapped up. Someone was here. They wanted to see him and weren’t going away. Grian held his breath hoping that whoever it was would assume he wasn't there and leave. He couldn't be seen like this because then he would have to explain. Tell why he hated the feathers that sprouted off his back, why he seemed to know where the tower had come from, why he had run from a gift. Telling the truth was out of the options. Grian’s mind circled back to his nightmare. If he told them they would think he was a monster. All was calm and minutes passed and slowly Grian relaxed. They didn't know he was here. They had left. Gone off to find if he was in some other distant place. Sighing in relief he collapsed onto his bed, they would never have to know. That was when his bedroom door creaked open.

----

Mumbo stood on the doorstep, sunlight shining down on him as the ball of flame in the sky ascended to mid morning. He was going to talk to Grian, set things right between them. Not letting himself hesitate, the redstoner reached out and pressed the button beside the door. He heard the clatter of bells echo out through the mansion, progressively getting farther away as they scoured the place for life with their consistent chimes. The ringing fell silent and a minute passed then two. Mumbo hopped from one foot to another as he waited, staring into the thick wood of the door. Was he mistaken? Was Grian not here and had hid off somewhere else? A few more minutes passed and Mumbo could feel himself growing anxious. Where was he? What should he do now? After five minutes Mumbo figured that Grian wasn't coming and decided to ring the bell again. The ringing of the bells sounded shorter this time and so were the stressed minutes that came after. He wasn't here. A nagging part of Mumbo’s mind spoke up as softly as the bells on the far side of the mansion. But what if he was? What if he didn't come to the door? Was he okay?

Not thinking it would do anything, Mumbo reached for the handle. Surprising him, it turned. So Grian was here, and Mumbo down played the slightly hopeful thought. He must have just forgotten to lock his door was all. He pushed the heavy door open a crack and paused. He shouldn't be doing this. Grian might not be home and he shouldn't betray his trust like this. But then the worry over took him. He needed to be sure. He set the door wide open and stepped inside, letting it fall shut behind him.

He was instantly left in near darkness, the light from the doorway gone. The hallway Mumbo was standing in was cast in a depressive pale light and as Mumbo wandered down it he peeked into the open doors of rooms and saw that the curtains were drawn in most of them. He hadn't been inside his friend's home much since the beginning of the season so he found himself wandering around, cutting through a kitchen painted bright yellow and rustic red wood cabinets. The silence was deafening, not even a tick of a farm or machine. It was as if all the running's of the place had shut down.He continued on when he came to a door, the only one closed in the entire place. Not thinking much of it, Mumbo swung open the door.

It was Grian’s bedroom. The first thing he noted was a pile of blankets spread out on the bed with flashes of skin and feathers poking out from it. He lay face down on the mattress, arms flung to the side to hug pillows to his chest. Mumbo signed in relief, Grian was safe and he slowly took a step toward him. That's when he spotted the scar that ran down along where the feathers merged with his back. Tentatively he reached out a hand and brushed the feathers, soft and fluffy against his skin. He traced the scar gently, fingertip hovering over the skin. What had happened to him? His brow furrowed, who had done this to him? In a quick movement, Grian pushed himself up. Mumbo jerked his hand away, shocked. The builder pulled himself to the head board and faced his visitor, wings wrapping protectively around him. His mouth had parted and Mumbo swallowed, his face of concern as he took in the features of his friend. His hair was a mess, cheeks red and worn from tears and eyes puffy from crying. Grian’s face was guant and his purple eyes hollow and haunted. He was also skinnier than he last saw him. Had he not been eating? And that thought worried Mumbo more.

Mumbo took another step to the bed, arm outstretched as if to tame a wild beast and Grian shied away from the movement like a cat, compacting in on himself as he pulled his limbs tighter.

“Grian-?” Mumbo stopped moving, “Are you-”

“Go away.” The words were spoken softly. Mumbo let his arm drop, his eyes clouding in confusion, concern and hurt.

“Grian-” He tried again, speaking slowly but the builder lashed out again.

“Go away!” He snapped, “I don't want you here.” The volume of his voice petered out to a shiver.

“Your getting us all anxious-”

“No!” He slammed his eyes shut, trying to block out Mumbo’s words. If he comforted him he would want to know. That couldn’t happen.

“I was worried about you.” At that, Grian looked up. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“I-I- Leave me alone!” And he wrapped his feathers around him like a blanket. Mumbo's eyes went to his lean friend and how skinny he had gotten.

“When's the last time you've eaten?” This time Grian stayed silent, “Since you got here?” The builder shook his head, “We need to get some food in you.” And Mumbo moved to the door as if expecting Grian to follow. He looked back at his friend who had his jaw clenched and face full of stubbornness. He muttered,

“I’ll live.”

"You haven't eaten in three days, Grian!" Mumbo exclaimed, "And you think i'm just going to leave?!?" He was unable to see how his friend would think this is healthy, to think he would leave him alone after seeing how he wasn't taking care of himself.

Grian’s face reddened with fury. He didn't need to be taken care of, and if Mumbo hung around more he would come to see how he didn't deserve it either. Why couldn't he understand! Why didn't he just leave him alone? Mumbo, he would never understand this feeling, this burning guilt. And always knowing that it was his damn fault no matter what he told himself, tried to force himself to believe.

"You don't know what it feels like!!!!" Grian screamed, pressure pounding in his ears. "You'll never know what it feels like!!! For it to be all my fault!! " He roared. Mumbo, across from him clenched his jaw his red tie loose around his neck and his collar ruffled.

"No! No I won't! Cause you wont tell me!" Grian seemed momentarily stunned as he processed Mumbo’s words. He was shocked back to anger as Mumbo stormed away and slammed the door. Grian’s breaths came harsh as he stood there, eyes boring into the wood of the door. Tears leaked down his cheeks without him knowing why. His molars grinded against each other as he clenched and unclenched his fists. That's fine, let him run away. You don't need him.

Chapter Text

As Mumbo slammed the door he instantly regretted it. It was all stupid. The fighting, the anger. Why couldn't Grian just take care of himself? It hurt him to see his friend like that. Why did he have to be the bad guy? He tried to ignore the fact that he had made Grian cry. Guilt rose up into his throat and he pushed it down. He could have just told you, Mumbo justified to himself, it wasn't your fault. Though somewhere deep in him it echoed that it was. He debated turning around and going back to apologize. No, Grian was the one who had caused this, not eating, or telling him the problem and expecting him to understand. He could do just fine without him anyway. He clenched his jaw, he just needed to show Grian that.

It was fine, he would do what he would normally do. He went on with his day as Mumbo took to the sky, rocketing away from Grian’s roof, leaving him in the past. He had plans from day one of the season that he had never put to use and now was as good a time as any to build it. He was just wondering where to put it. It wasn't going to last long anyway, depending on the hermits and he shouldn't put it where it could harm anyone when it did rust away like any other good redstone machine. Then it hit him, pausing him mid flight. The nether! It was going to be reset anyway for the hermits to get their hands on the new materials. It would allow for less clean up and as a bonus he could position it so none of the hermits missed it. It was perfect!

Mumbo sped up, spearing through the clouds toward the shopping district, he was going to need some things.

Three hours later, with his feet sore from walking and his enderchest stuff full of materials, he made his way to the portal that led to the nether roof. Not many shops had popped up yet but considerably more than the last time he was here so he had to make do with buying individual components to make the needed pieces of circuitry. He was weary and worn, his wallet lighter than it ever should and the muscles in his back tender from having to craft hundreds of redstone supplies. Mumbo’s fingers still stung from the bowstring in the dispensers and he had been buzzed by electricity at least six times. He desperately wanted a break. Maybe to hang out with Iskall or visit the beach to swim in the ocean but he couldn't. There was no way he was going to stop and he tried to tell himself it was because he was just excited about seeing his project brought to life and not the worry of what would happen if he let himself think for a second. So instead of doing any of those things, he swung his red shulker, packed neatly of new items, over his shoulder and ducked head first into the purple pool that led to hell.

His eyes took time to adjust to the expanse of red. Bedrock stretched for endless miles under his feet as he stepped off the obsidian ring of the portal. Mumbo glanced at the rock. How had he never noticed the thin lines of silver veins sparkling through the black and grey? It almost made it pretty. Almost. The air was harder to breathe up here, fog encroaching on all his senses. Red tinted his vision, normal for the nether. Heat caressed his skin. Not enough to be burning but causing sweat to trickle down his brow and cause annoyance. Used to the thin air and blank existence up here, Mumbo started taking strides across the hellish desert, following trails of color and flickering torches to his destination. He had a moment of panic when the portal to his base disappeared behind him, leaving him to the clutches of nothingness and the choking void. He kept on walking, stumbling along. He let out a breath of relief when hazy shapes began to form and morph on the horizon. The walk wasn't that long, the space in view of no portal took only about thirty seconds to cross but it seemed so much longer to his tired feet.

A collection of portals appeared in front of him, the nether hub. Setting down boxes and bags of materials he picked a spot near the shopping district community portal and got to work.

Hours passed as he worked, carefully placing blocks. Time passed without showing and he never stopped. If he stopped his mind would surely return to Grian. How he had made it worse. He couldn't deal with that and so he didn't.

He took a step back. Mumbo had been building all day and he was finally happy with the design. It matched the sketches and blueprints he had drawn. It was brilliant. His soreness washed away as he smiled, his friend forgotten. The machine in front of him was grey and blocky, a progress bar of redstone lamps was lit up, marked by a rainbow of blocks above it. It kind of looked like a cyclops but once you got over that it looked alright. He was proud of himself.

Checking his watch, he stared at it as he read the time. Two days? How was it already mourning? He must have worked all night. Mumbo shook off his surprise, at least he had something to show for it.

He picked up his materials, tidying up. When he flung his redstone pack over his shoulder and reached down to pick up a shulker box he felt something bang against his hip. He looked down and pulled from his belt the dagger. Its blade reflected in a red tinted light, giving it an evil feel in his hand. He involuntarily thought back to Grian and cringed, thinking back to how stupid he had been. No, this wasn't his fault, there was nothing he could have done. This is why he needed to work. He looked down at the blade in his hand once more. Grian didn't want it and he sure as hell didn't. Gripping it by the hilt, he lifted it above his head and threw it. Chucking it like a skipping stone into the burning void around him as far as he could. It was one problem he could fix.

----

Xisuma wandered through his living room, heading to the kitchen, a nearly empty and cold cup of tea in his hands. He dumped the rest down the drain. What a waste he thought. As he washed the mug by hand in the sink, he glanced up when he heard a patter as rain started to fall from the sky. The droplets stuck to the kitchen window like flies, tracing downward on the glass. He set the mug down, preparing to return to his study to, well... study. He still hadn't found anything amiss in the code. Nothing showed that anyone had tampered with it or even that anyone had been here. He had promised he would keep looking. X turned back and started walking to the staircase to the upper floor when he saw something. On the coffee table was a mug of long cooled tea, left there by Mumbo. Xisuma’s face pulled into a grimace.He picked up the mug and walked it over to the sink, thinking as he cleaned.

He hadn't seen Mumbo since he came over for some midnight advice a few days ago when he told him to go make up with Grian. He wondered what had happened there, probably something bad if he hadn't heard any news. He should go check on Mumbo and Grian and see if they were alright. X was worried. Sure they had had fights before but not like this. They always tried to understand the others point of view. Always made up in a couple days. But this time was different, with too many feelings and things that even X did not understand. And he never would unless Grian or Mumbo told him because it wasn't his place to.

X sighed. It had been a week since the strange tower had been found and from what Mumbo told him, Grian seemed to have a strange connection to it. But that was one of the rules here. You never asked about others' pasts. They never had to tell you. Xisuma looked back at when he had met Grian, appearing as if through a tear in the fabric of space. He had pulled the shell shocked builder up and asked him his name and told him his. He remembered being momentarily shocked when he saw the feathered wings on his back; he had never seen anyone else with them. Of course not many hermits knew of his wings. He preferred to keep them hidden, the magic that came with them making that easy. He placed the mug down, letting out a breath as a slight green mist clustered around his hands and his wings appeared by his sides.

They were feathered, glowing green. Every feather appeared to be white with a sparkling lime green edge almost like a lightsaber. It had been a long time since he saw them or anyone else did for that matter. Probably only one or two currently active hermits knew about them and there came that rule again. Never ask about the past.

Xisuma turned away from the splattering rain against the window glass and retreated back upstairs. He sat down at his desk, the phantom screens projected in front of him waking up to show lines of flowing code cascading down the screen. X stretched his back out, leaning against his chair witch rolled it away from the desk. He had forgotten how uncomfortable wings could be.

Xisuma slipped off his communicator and grabbed the edge of the table to pull himself forward. Using the slit that ran through the underside he situated it on a small rectangular stand. Leaning across the desk he placed two of his fingers on the royal blue circle and watched as the screen popped up.

Using his finger to navigate the ghostly touch screen the admin opened data logs that were only available on his communicator, marked by the darker blue circle and black band across it instead of grey. Xisuma settled himself down, it was going to be a long night.

After countless hours of searching he never saw anything amiss, no altered code, updated game rules. Nothing. Not even a hint of someone sneaking in. And for the umpteenth time that week he wondered where the tower could have come from, who could have built it. X scrolled through logs, his eyes tired. He really was a hypocrite, telling Mumbo to sleep like that when he needed it just as much. He should go to bed. He was about to flick off the screens when he spotted something. Printed in the corner by the dates correlating with the events in the log. It was off. Just by a few seconds but it was enough. That shouldn't be there, Xisuma’s mind questioned as he moved his hand away from the off button. A mere few seconds were missing from the log meaning someone could have changed something in that time and the proof of it would never show up here. It also occurred around the time Tango noticed the tower. Surely that wouldn't be enough time to do much, he thought. But he was tired of never finding anything and it was a lead.

He worked through the hours of the night, the rain getting harder outside, beating on the roof like bullets as it poured. X had taken down countless firewalls and imputed multiple override codes. Whoever had done this had hid their tracks well. With every barrier removed Xisuma was more energized. All the protection to hide the few missing seconds was evidence that he would eventually find it. And there it was. It wasn't a lot but it was enough, the only fragment of the log that hadn't been noticed and removed by careful eyes. What did it mean? Xisuma read the line over again.

>> SolidarityGaming Joined the Game

Chapter Text

Mumbo stepped through the portal, stumbling disoriented for a second while his hobbit hole came into focus around him. The symbols on his watch face told him to go to bed but he was too energized. He had to keep working. He dropped his materials to the floor relieving himself of their weight. He danced around his base, pulling tidbits from shelves and chests. He was determined to start this project before the idea slipped his mind. Mumbo rolled out the blueprint paper, pulling a pencil from a pocket where he had placed it early. Using a ruler in some places he began to sketch. At some point rain had began assaulting his large circular window that was showing the river outside. He continued on. The weather was something he hardly noticed anyway.

He doodled in different views, carefully constructing lines in silver across the blue. At points he chewed the tip of the pencil before a solution struck him and he rushed his cramped fingers to put it down. He scratched his chin, finding stubble there and for a moment he would be confused before realizing he hadn’t shaved in a few days. An indefinite time later, with the sky paling showing it was a few hours to dawn, Mumbo sat back. The eraser of his pencil rested on his lips as he took in his plans. There was nothing he could add. It was complete. He smiled. See? He didn't need Grian to be happy. He got just enough of that by himself. He was proud of all that he had accomplished. Or that's what he had forced himself to believe. Now only came the problem of constructing it.

Since it had only been today that he had finished constructing the button minigame on the nether rooftop he believed he had the necessary amount of supplies left over. So he got to work. He crafted sheets of metal, screwing them together and when parts couldn't be added later, weaved wires through segments before he welded the metal together. He didn’t pause when his fingers began to tire or his mouth parched. Not even when his stomach growled. He didn't need to eat. He needed to prove that no matter what Grian did or expected from him he was his own person. Or maybe he was just trying to prove that to himself.

He swore as bits of metal scraped his fingers and when wires tangled themselves in a knot but Mumbo worked on anyways. After many mistakes and troubleshoots he picked up the robot’s screen and attached wires that strung through the limp body of metal to the back of it. Twisting the wires to retreat back into the currently hollow shell, he aligned the screen on the tv head before screwing it in place. He attached an antenna, a red bulb hanging on the end that should glow when it is awake. Mumbo honestly didn't know why had decided to build a robot. I had no purpose and the could he had already set up was for simple thingings like speaking and thinking. Nothing to orient the job of it. HIm, Mumbo corrected, it was going to be a him.

Mumbo went along with the final touches. He attached the metal plate to his chest, buttons poking out of it. He fiddled with it until it was flush with the metal of his torso. Mumbo stepped back and took in his creation that he had made all by himself. Grinning, for he was happy, he reached and picked up two wires. These would later go to the button to power this little guy off and on. When he was about to touch them together like hotwiring a car a sound from outside disrupted his thoughts. A moment passed and he shook his head returning to his work. BUt then the howling wind paused for a second so he could clearly hear the voice ringing from downstairs and the pound of a fist against his front door. He was only momentarily shocked that the presence of his door had actually stayed that way. Mumbo dropped the wires, waiting. And when it came agian he scurried downstairs. Jumping off the ladder he turned to the door and saw through the tinted window someone behind it. He marched over and flung it open, inviting the storm in.

He was surprised by what he found there. It was X, wearing, like the last time he saw him, simple clothes but this time he sported sweat pants instead. A tiredness and worry hung in his face, pooled with anxiety in his eyes. Rain mattered his brown hair, keeping it tacked to his forehead. Something over all was different about his appearance and it took Mumbo a minute to realize that it was because he could see his face. His cheeks were speckled in freckles and his eyes a green matching his original armor. HIs mind went over the possibilities that would warrant the admin showing up on his doorstep, in a rainstorm no less.

Mumbo bumbled,

“X! What are you doing here?” It took a moment for Xisuma to reply as his piercing gaze met Mumbos, startling him with its intensity.

“I need to talk to you.”

----

A half hour later they were both sopping wet, dribbling puddles on the floor as X led the way to his office. Xisuma sat in his swivel chair, Mumbo peering over his shoulder as X rebooted his screens. He navigated till he came to a stop at a log from earlier that week. It was a chart Mumbo didn't recognize so he figured it was the admin pages Xisuma had access to.

“Here it is.” Xisuma said, rolling out of the way so Mumbo could see. The mustached man squinted as he surveyed the data on the blue screens. Everything seemed normal until Mumbo read-

“Whose Solidarity?” He asked as he leaned back, taking a hand off the back of X’s chair.

“I don't know.” X rolled forward so he could reach the touch screen. “I’ve been doing some research on him,” He talked as he pulled up another set of data. It showed in lines all the info and backgrounds of the active hermits, most of which Mumbo couldn't understand. At the bottom was a new line, marked by the name SolidarityGaming. Pointing, the admin said,”if you look here it shows that he was only on the serve for a few seconds, no more than a minute. Also around the time Tango pointed out the new tower.”

“So, you think whoever Solidarity is built the tower?”

“More or less?” X said before answering curtly, “Yes.”
“But how could they have built something so quick? Not even you can create blocks out of thin air.”

“Well, whoever did it covered their tracks well. It took me a while to get this much.” He gestured to the logs and the image of Solidarity joining the game. “It could have been done with code but it would have taken longer. Some sort of virus might also have caused it, messing with the code to make the tower appear. It also could have just been built somewhere else and misplaced here.” X listed his theories, “ I honestly don't know.” They fell to silence, both as clueless as the other. Something caught his eye and he leaned forward to see it.

“X?”

“Hmm?” The admin hummed.

“What's this?” Xisuma followed where he was pointing. It was a column of information, blank for most people on the server. Mumbo was questioning the space besides Grian’s name. Without thinking X replied,

“That tells how Grian has wings.” Mumbo nodded, he had seen his friend’s feathers many times and knew not to question why he had them unlike everyone else. It had just always been that way. Normal.

“But doesnt that mean this Solidarity person has them too?” Xisuma looked for what the redstoner was talking about. And sure enough, under the stranger's name were the symbols marking him as one of few people to have wings. That was strange. Why would someone join the game for not enough time to do anything, disappear and leave the tower in their place? And why would they have wings?

Then some words came back to him from earlier. Scar, and two out of the three Zit team members had met up with X after they had explored the tower. The gifts they had mentioned, the strange activity in the basement. All things that nagged at the back of his head, trying to pull thoughts free from the clutches of time. A symbol they had told him about. Carved in bedrock. Unbreakable. A broken rectangle. And it all came back, fresh in his mind. Xisuma looked back at his logs. Solidarity had wings, the same color as Grian. Purple-grey. The one thing they couldn't cover up about themselves. His eyes sparked in knowing and a feeling that couldn't be placed. Fear, awe, anticipation or maybe even wonder. His mouth parted in a strange tongue. A swear slipped his lips as it all fell into place. Or at least enough to see his part of the picture.

“⍊𝙹╎↸,” He muttered under his breath, staring at the new name glowing on his screen, “ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ||'∷ᒷ ᔑ ⍑⚍リℸ ̣ ᒷ∷.”

“What?” Mumbo asked as X momentarily forgot of his presence, apparently hearing the words carried on his breath. Xisuma jolted back to reality, his bubble of thought broken. He repeated, this time in English.
“They're a hunter.”

“A hunter?” Mumbo asked, raising an eyebrow at the strange term, wondering if X made it up.

“Yes.” X said, facing the redstoner before he stood. He walked over to his old bookcase, skimming his finger along the spines and pulling some of the dusty novels out halfway before returning them. He continued on with Mumbo's lesson, interrupted by a small ‘ahh!’ when he located the book he was looking for. “Like Watchers, they are an ancient race-”

“Wait-” Mumbo interjected, “Watchers? They’re real? Like the legends?” X took the old book he had removed from the shelves and placed it on the table.

“Legends were always meant to be believed-” Xisuma puffed his breath against the cover of the book, sending up a cloud of dust, “We just forgot the truth about them.” He folded open the cover. Mumbo hesitantly walked over, standing beside X as he gazed upon the book.

“Long ago,” X started like any good storyteller. And if Mumbo knew the admin, that was what he was. “There were three races that ruled over the worlds.” He spoke, his words crafting realities. Turning the pages in the book as old as time “and they lived in harmony when the hunters, Vile and bold decided they wanted it all. They took over, destroying the race of Watchers. But that wasn't enough. They wanted to become watchers, stronger, lawful, more powerful. They use the symbol that had forever marked the real watchers. The one thing they couldn't change was the color of their wings and magic. They became watchers and turned the word into something to fear.”

Mumbo was captivated. Why hadn’t he known this before? He had heard of watchers. Terrible creatures who saw everything you ever did. A bedtime story to scare him into behaving. He watched as X ran his fingers over the page, a symbol drawn in ink rippling against the white. “They stole our name.”

Mumbo tracked Xisuma’s downward turned face. Watching his expression. Never ask about the past, they had said. Or it will come back to haunt. But the question he knew he shouldn't ask had already escaped his lips. It was something that would shine brilliant light on them, before returning them to the shadows. With the answer would come understanding. Understanding brought heartbreak. But he asked anyway.

“Our?”

Xisuma looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes sparkled like the emeralds on the golden second life still tucked in Mumbo’s pocket. What past had he hidden? He seemed to be contemplating something, face serious.

“Mumbo,” He said. “I think I have something to show you.”

As the redstoner watched, glowing green mist began coating his hands, reaching up his wrists. The freckles on his face turned to green glitter. Then in an extravagant burst of strengthening light wings appeared at his sides. They shone lime green, reflecting his eyes and the color that had shimmered on his cheeks which was now fading like the glow of embers. Mumbo took a step back, surprised. Wheels churned in his head, processing what X had told him. Wings. Solidarity and Grian. Hunters. Symbols.

“But that means..” Mumbo started, looking the admin up and down. X smiled and finished for him.

“I’m a watcher.”

Chapter Text

Tea was poured. Mixed around with metal spoons clicking the glass as X offered it to Mumbo. The redstoner took the mug, cupping it in his hands and soaking in the warmth. He took a sip, the warm liquid the perfect temperature as to not burn his tongue. Swallowing the throb of his headache faded and he vaguely wondered when he had last drinken. Xisuma turned back around to pour himself a cup. His wings were still in view, folded across his back. The logical part of his brain wondered how he had hidden them. Mumbo took the opportunity to get a better look. After first glance he realized they weren't really glowing. The contrasting hint of white in each feather with the lime green around it only made it seem like it was emitting light.

Mumbo slurped more of the bittersweet goodness. His eye tacking the admin he thought he had known well, wondering.

“So,” He elongated his syllables, seeing if he had gotten this right, “You’re a watcher?” HE started right off the bat.

“Yes.” X said as he turned around, hoping up onto the counter behind him to sit.

“And this other race, Hunters, took over and stole your race’s reputation and name.”

“Yes.”

Mumbo slowly nodded, overcome by the strangeness of it. How could myths be true?
“They're not myths, Mumbo.” The redstoner was taken aback as X read his expression. It sounded like half lunacy. He had always been the intelligent type but redstone changed its laws too and he believed in that. How was this any different?

“What you're asking me to believe is myths, legends! Fairy Tales for children!” X’s face remained grave. He knew it would take the redstone a while to come to terms that something he had grown up on, did in fact exist. And not even that, existed in a way he had never heard before. It was like telling your grown up children the tooth fairy was real but gave you bills instead of money.

“Fact. History. Truth.” He corrected. Xisuma placed his palms to the cold granite counter beneath him, fingers curled around the edge of the table top. He looked Mumbo in the eye. “What would it take you to believe faster?”

Mumbo had a wary look in his eye, almost as if he wanted to believe his friend. So he thought for a moment before saying,

“Proof.” Surely Xisuma could do something that could show that what he said was true?

“What did the ‘watchers’ in your old stories do?” Mumbo was slow to answer, it was pretty obvious.

“Watch.” He said with a chill up his spine, remembering himself as a scared child. “They saw everything.” X nodded.

“And these ‘watchers’ did do that. Within some limits, I suppose.” The vigor in his eyes sparked, his tone making it seem like Mumbo had the answer deep inside him. Xisuma cocked his head. “But we could also do this.”

And Xisuma raised his hand, the green fire curling around it and Mumbo was shocked back into a memory. But it was more of a slideshow, fragments. Someone flipping through a story book and staring at the images. He saw Xisuma and almost didn't recognize him. The admin was so much younger, his face unhidden by his helmet and his wings out in the open. He was bowing in front of three figures, each in a different color cloak, Red, Purple and green. Mumbo looked again and saw X also wore one of these but his was lime green, matching his wings and one of the figures on the thrones. Mumbo couldn't see much of the rooms, the memory focused on X and what Mumbo assumed were leaders. They each had feathered wings and stood at least seven feet tall. They seemed like gods.

The image started to change, the figure dressed in red fading into blood colored mist, disappearing. Then the rest of the colors in the scene morphed, forming a new memory. The one in green lay on the ground of a broken battle field, blood coating them and their face, wings bent at a weird angle. The one in purple stood above them, face covered in a porcelain mask, hands coated in magic, its mouth a menacing smile. They were all he could see in the memory, a spotlight against endless black and nothingness. They were the fish in the tank and he was the one looking in. Then the green cloaked one , the watcher, spoke. Brave, snottily.

“They’ll never believe who you say you are.” The one from his childish fears, the one X called a hunter, leaned down, placing his face close to the Watcher’s and sneered in an evil coldness, almost a purr,

“No one will be around to say otherwise.” And that sent fear chasing up his spine. The purple fire around the hunter’s hands spread into strands escaping his palm till it disappeared. A rip in time seemed to form behind the gods. Spreading. Big enough to pull them both to hell. It was a portal. “I’ll take over this world. Then the next. And you won't be around to stop me.” The hunter's teeth glinted, gripping the front of the Watcher’s cloak and lifting them up. Then the true watcher whispered, causing Mumbo to have to lean in to hear.

“Not if I can help it.”

Then there was an explosion of green light.

Mumbo was for a short time blinded by its brightness as the Hunter was thrown away by the blast and the Watcher, propelled by their own final reckoning, disappeared into the portal forever.

The redstoner blinked open his eyes, stunned and confused. Xisuma was still where he was, a knowing look and grin on his face.

“Believe me now?” Mumbo nodded frantically.

“What was that? I- How? Who-?”

“A true Watcher never gained knowledge from spying. We know. We see. In a different way. We understand. The past, the reasoning behind actions.” Mumbo nodded, furrowing his eyebrows, if it was true-

“What about Grian?” He asked, “Where does he come into play?” X shook his head,

“I dont know.”

“But you just said-”

“It's like a sixth sense, Mumbo.” Xisuma interrupted, knowing where the redstoner was going. “Like being colorblind, I don't get to choose what memories, colors, I see. Most of them are mine, and when they're not, it's not my place to know. Though normal watchers, like me, are much weaker than what our leaders could do.” Mumbo bobbed his head, placing his tea down on the island in front of him. He guessed that made sense. He fiddled his thumbs as his hands cupped around his mug for warmth, watching the visibly rising heat. “I think he might be a hunter. What occurred in his past to make him so, I don't know.” X eyed Mumbo up and down, concerned in his face, noticing for the first time something. “What happened with Grian anyway?”

“Why?” Mumbo jumped.

“Well you wouldn't be looking like this,” He gestured to Mumbo with the bags under his eyes, uncombed hair and stubble of a growing beard. He also hadn’t changed his clothes in a few days, wearing the plain white shirt that had gone with his suit. “If something hadn’t gone wrong between you too. And you also wouldn't have been working at 4 in the morning.”

Mumbo sighed. He would have eventually had to tell him anyway so as the sun began to rise and warm their world, Mumbo spoke. About their fight. About how he was worried and only wanted Grian to take care of himself. X listened solemnly in silence. He even mentioned how he had overworked to keep his mind off it, realizing how hypocritical it seemed. Then X interrupted him.

“Shushh. “ He snapped mid sentence and Mumbo was more shocked then angry. Their admin never told anyone to be quiet. He listened to their problems and helped them out.

“What-?”

“Be quiet.” Mumbo shook his head, stunned, opening his mouth preparing to say more. Then Xisuma's words drew sense into him. Sixth sense, they whispered. Then something fell into place within Mumbo. The ability to see. Understand pasts. Would that somehow be like seeing the existence of the rising slope of the roller coaster, not seeing beyond its summit, but knowing at some point it must drop down? Could you then, in some way, predict- Mumbo’s thought was cut short.

“Something bad’s about to happen.” X looked up slowly to meet his eyes once again.
He seemed to look straight into his soul, his words floating on warm air but all Mumbo could feel were chills. “And all I know is that it involves you.”

----

Grian wandered alone. He had pulled on a large sweater, tucking his wings tightly around him. He couldn't stand the cold anymore. Goosebumps pricked his skin under the red jumper that he huddled in. Every fragment of his being was shivering but the air in his mansion wasn't cold. The rooms were stuffy and the halls carried with them hot and damp air. The weather outside, even though he was on a mountain peak, was warm as more so than not a tropical breeze would swoop through the nearby jungle but still It felt as if an icy hand was gripping his neck and pushing down on his heart. No, it wasn't the weather.

There were no tears trickling down his face but his gut still lurched in that heart wrenching way that JUST WON'T STOP. All he could think about was Mumbo. The slamming door. The pain in his face. He couldn't lie to himself anymore. It was all his fault. He had driven his friend away. Had caused him to worry and Grian felt a stab of guilt, lodging itself in his throat. He had fought with him. Water threatened to break the dams in his eyes. He had burdened him, and nothing could change that. He was such a waste. Mumbo shouldn't have to carry such a weight on his shoulders. He had said he could never understand. And what was there to understand? He hadn’t done anything, stood by and watched his friend die. And you know what? He had escaped. He had taken the loss of his friend and had moved on. But maybe this wasn't worth it anymore. Maybe he wasn't worth it. Grian would never be good enough to make up for his mistakes. Maybe he shouldn't and just say he tried. But he would know.

He wasn't angry with the watchers. If only he had stayed. Not gone through with it. He would still be here today wouldn't he? Some pinprick of light flickered in the back of his mind, barely able to be heard. But what would be left? It whispered and it made some sense, but not enough. He drowned it out in darkness again. If he could have listened to those winged freaks from the start. Better to conform than to face the consequences, right? But deep in his heart there was something that said he could have changed anything, no matter what he had done. His past self would always would have chosen to do it. He would always end up here.

Poetic, wasn't it? To desperately want to have changed the outcome of the past but knowing that you then would have always stayed on the same path, done the same things? But to Grian, it was torture. He didn't deserve what was given to him in that moment. The mercy he had been shown. Maybe it was a good thing he drove Mumbo away. He didn't deserve to have something like that. To have true friendships. To call it true friendship when he had forgotten about his best friend.

He thought about it. Pictured it in his head. It would be glorious, to give it all up in the same way it had been given to him. Grian wrapped his arms around him, delving deeper into the halls of his mansion. And when he came to a ladder he began to climb.

Up and up and up he went. The more he climbed the more sure he was, the more broken inside.
He thought of Mumbo, his brilliant smile and mustache spiced in glittery scarlet redstone. He smiled, small and sadly, never reaching the dark violet pools in his eyes. Mumbo didn't deserve to have this burden on him. And so the builder reached the top.

He flung open a trapdoor, a hatch onto the roof. Dark prismarine bricks spread around him. How had it been only a week since he had placed these here? Years could have passed in that time. The bricks were wet with a rainstorm long passed. The sky bled into the clouds, the same as it did every day. The air was warming up, the sky gesturing that it was late mourning. Maybe ten. Grian didn't know. He didn't need to keep track. He hadn't even eaten breakfast that morning.

Grian swallowed. There was no going back. There was nothing to go back to. He pulled his sweater off, over his head, his feathered wings draping free. The wind eagerly attached his flesh, coating it in the blood soaking cold of such a height. He glanced to the blue sky, his eyes grim determination. He walked to the edge. The ground was far below, making him realize just how much his base loomed. Tears finally filled his eyes, or perhaps they were just watering, pulled out but the harsh wind. He wasn't worth it. All that he caused in his wake. His thoughts spoke sadly but hope lasted the words in foolish dreams of meeting again, I'm sorry Taurtis.

So he whispered his final goodbyes on that roof before he closed his wings and hurled himself off.

Chapter Text

It involves you. Something bad’s going to happen and all I know is that it involves you. Not going to happen to you, not caused by you. But with you. It made no sense. What did X mean? He was tempted to ask for more than that but Mumbo knew the admin would have told him already. What else could it be? Then he realized, a stop in his breath, unease curling in his stomach at his thought. He tentatively drew his eyes up and looked at the fearful expression on Xisuma’s face. It involves you. Dread piled on his chest with foreboding as he softly spoke a single word that could destroy his world.

“Grian.”

Panic flashed in his eyes. He saw that X seemed to realize it as he did. Something was wrong. He needed to find his friend. He bolted to the door, flinging on his still damp elytra. He strapped it on reaching for the door handle and saw X had followed. They met each other's eyes, amber meeting emerald. The admin placed a hand on the redstoners shoulder, stopping his frantic state from moving. He spoke,

“Fly.” A command. A burden of hope. And so Mumbo did. Flung open the door without a second look behind him as he flung himself into the boundless sky. He began his race against time. He was glad the sky was clear today, bright and cheerful, easy to cut through on fabric wings. Though its golden mood implied the opposite, especially with the pit in his stomach. It was as if it was hiding the shadows. Happy blanketing the sad. But Mumbo flew through it anyways.

Where would Grian be? The panic started to set in. Would he have left the mansion? Visiting the shopping district? In his barge? Off galavanting somewhere? Trapped in the fiery pit of the nether? He couldn't search the whole world for him but he would if he had to. He had to find him. He looked back on the last time he saw him. Screaming at him. Crying. Broken. Haven't left his room for days. So Mumbo changed his course and shot off towards the last place he saw him, hoping against hope he was still there.

The contient seemed too big. Never ending. The wind pushed against him. Perhaps to deter him, perhaps to warn him. If it was, he didn't heed it. Too much of his life was at risk. He fired rocket after rocket, reaching the jungle, swooping over his base without a second thought. The mansion came into view. Its blue-green roof, stretching grey walls. He saw no signs of the builder. Until he spotted something amiss. Sole and alone on the brick roof, barely more than a shadow. A figure. It was standing a silent buffer against the wind. That couldn't be Grian could it? Could it? What was he doing up there?

Something stirred in his gut, deep understanding and weighty apprehension. The sunlight was blinding here above the treeline, the wind stopping his progress, pushing him back and his body screamed against the invisible barrier. Rockets slipped out of his hands, their tails put out by gale. Mumbo took a breath, fear clutching his lungs. He wasn't going to make it in time. He watched, caged, as Grian approached the edge, his wings open. That image tried to calm the redstoner, he would just fly away! But something was wrong and he knew it. The builder’s posture was bent, his arms clutched to his chest. Mumbo shot forward, finally gaining ground but still miles away, Grian jumped.

----

He jumped. And he fell.

This was it. This was the end, there was nothing beneath him but air. I’ll see you soon, Taurtis. His thoughts spoke nostalgically, I'm sorry. He flipped backward, the wind bombarding him as his wings weighed him down, heavy as wet clay. The breeze toyed with his feathers and blonde hair, pushing his wings up until they cupped his sides. They flared like purple fire up above him, coating him in their feathers. Nothingness roared in his ears. Maybe he could make up for all of it in his death. Make his life worth it. Make his death worth it. Make their deaths worth it. His eyes slipped closed.

Under his bed was a shoebox. In it a pair of red and blue checkered headphones. He had tucked in it a note. They would find it. Eventually. They would find it and understand about his wasted mercy of a life. The headphones were old and unused for years, coated in dust and it was all his fault.

Falling seemed to take forever. Or at least long enough for Grian to dream. Or, more accurately, remember.

The day was an early one in summer. Not too hot to beat you up and sap you of your strength but pleasant, more like a spring day. They were racing. It was ages ago. Before they found their way, trapped in a world of hate. Before they had to grow up. And he was there. His wild eyes and untamed black hair. They sprinted side by side, Grian saw himself pull ahead, pumping his legs, determined to reach the tree they had decided as their finish line. Grian reached it, outstretching his hand to press it to the gravely bark.

“I won!” He had cheered but falling Grian knew what was going to happen as Taurtis caught up, in a streak of blue, using his moment to scale the tree to the first branch far above Grian’s head.

“Not now you don't!” His friend called down in good fun. Grian called out an indignant, ‘hey!’ before scrambling up the tree after him. When he caught up he saw Taurtis sitting with his legs hanging down from a branch, staring off peacefully into the distance. Young Grian pulled himself up next to something and they sat there in silence, content with just each others company. Then he had remembered something. Pulled it from his inventory. It was a box.

“I got something for you.” He had said, offering it to Taurtis. He opened it. It was the headphones. The ones that stood for their friendship. The once that Grian had gifted him. The ones he had never taken off. Until now. The image of the strangers melted away.

Grian was once again left to the clutches of the wind. And it was for the better. The ground reached up to catch him, rearing like a monstrous snake. A blur of green and brown. Some animal instinct in him made him flounder when he saw the ground. Made him realize there would be pain. He didn't want the pain. He wanted it to be over.

He hit something. A hand gripped his, arms wrapping around him. He mumbled his confessions to the wind, eyes sealed shut.

“I’m horrible.” And he was caught. The builder was confused as his body, instead of falling down, jolted upward, weightless. He only understood what happened when a voice spoke above him, chest rumbling under his head, full of breathless relief.

“I got you.” Mumbo sighed, He turned to see Grian’s face struck by the smaller man’s comment. How could he think he was horrible when Mum- everyone saw him otherwise, “No, no you’re not. You care for people. Your kind. You're excellent at building. You can make everyone laugh on a crappy day and you’re a great friend.”

Then Grian whispered, still out of it,

“I killed him.” The redstoner was shocked back, recovering quickly before his friend could notice. What did he mean? It didn't matter now as Mumbo holding Grian bridal style his head pressed against his chest as he flew them both up to land on the mansion roof. He eased Grian to his own feet, supporting him as he held him in a hug. Mumbo swayed back and forth. What had made Grian so upset to want to lose it all? To leave them? He didn't want to ask. If he wanted to, Grian would tell. So Mumbo just stood there, holding his friends as he cried into his chest, whispering sweet nothingnesses into his hair. Mumbo wondered what had made him so set on protecting Grian from any harm. They had even had a pretty bad fight a few days before. But he was his friend. It broke his heart to see him this way. Believing the worthlessness in himself. They broke apart, Grian sniffling and wiping his nose. The bare chested man shivered in the cold, wrapping his wings tighter around him. Mumbo placed a hand on the crook of the builder's neck, pulling them together in another embrace, Grian’s forehead pressed against his chest, Mumbo’s face buried in his hair.

“It's okay.” He murmured, “Whatever the problem is, it's okay. I'm here for you, okay? I'm here.” Now Mumbo felt tears trickling down his own cheeks. Because he had seen it. Seen a glimpse of what it would be like if he hadn't made it in time. If he had lost his friend. They might have stood there for hours, the strong comforting the broken. Mumbo refused to let go until Grian nodded that he was alright. “You know you can tell me anything? Right?” Grian nodded, pain on his face.

Then both their communicators went off. They met each other's eyes and Mumbo glanced at his wrist before opening his messages on the pale blue screen. It was from Impulse.

Impulse: In the shopping district. There's something you might want to see.
Impulse: It's like the basement of the tower

Mumbo didn't read this out loud, Grian already following along on the screen.

Impulse: Its a portal
Impulse: But this time it's lit.

The builder sucked in a breath of panic as Mumbo read these words. His heart pounded in his chest. Horror buzzed through him. He couldn't go back. He couldn't-

“They’re coming for me.” Grian paced back and forth, hysteria building in him. Mumbo tried desperately to soothe him. Confusion sparked in his face. He reached out a hand to grab Grian’s forearm, stopping his walking mid step. His collectedness a breath of cool air for the builder.

“Whose they?” Mumbo asked but part of him already knew the answer. Grian's eyes bore into his.

“The watchers.” Mumbo sucked in a breath. So he did know them, his mind tracing the history lesson X had given him. Watchers. The redstoner's eyes traced the grey-violet feathers at his sides. Hunters. Then to the memory he had given him. Evil.

Grian started walking back and forth again, unable to contain his anxiety and panic. His eyes were frightful.

“No. No, they'll come for my friends.” He paused and looked back up at Mumbo, a weird electric fear shot down his body. “They’ll come for you.” Another step. “Just like Taurtis.” The name came out a sob and Grian started to cry, his chest bent forward, his breathing shuddered. Mumbo rushed to his side, rubbing circles into his back.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He soothed. The shivering stopped, tears drying up on his cheeks. Mumbo took Grian’s hand and asked softly, “Whatever did happen to Taurtis?”

Chapter Text

“I-I can’t.” Grian croaked out, pushing Mumbo away. Not because he didn't want, or didn't remember which parts of his nightmares were true, not even for the fact that they were nightmares. Telling would mean he would have to believe it. Believe there was no hope. That his friend was gone, no more than dust coated relics under his bed. Mumbo nodded understanding. Sometimes, he too, didn't want to face the past. Sometimes it was better just to move on and forget. That reminded the redstoner how Grian no longer had that option, twisting a feeling in his gut. He also couldn't help as Grian’s panicked words stabbed his side. They’ll come for you. Fear laced him. He couldn't help it. They were meant to be feared.

A message shook his wrist with its buzz. Mumbo quickly looked again. It was from the admin first directed at Impulse then as an order to the whole server.

XisumaVoid: Don't go near it
XisumaVoid: Meet me there

“Do you want to go?” Mumbo asked, looking at Grian. The builder replied, the tone of his voice indescribable, hopelessness and determination or a mix of any other thing.

“Do I have a choice?” It was asked with the answer already set in steel. It saddened Mumbo because if what he knew was true, none of them did. Mumbo’s eyes hardened,

“Let’s go then.” And so they did. Grian pulled on his sweater, allowing his wings to poke out of the back if he was going to be flying and al- Mumbo sweeped Grian off his feet, pulling him into a bridal style hold. He grabbed his rockets and prepared them for flight. He pulled the builder tighter. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

He leapt off the building, lifting Grian as the wind did to him, letting the wings of his elytra fall open as Grian clutched the redstoner tighter with a bird-like squawk escaping his mouth as he was pushed into empty air. For the first minute or so he held Mumbo tightly, slowly relaxing his grip as he got used to the calming flight after he overcame his terror. It might have been kinda nice, flying in the redstoner's arms if Grian didn't know that they were traveling to their demise. The closer they got to the Shopping district the more anxiety welled up in his chest. Fear seized his body, stopping him from moving and he would have drowned in the air if Mumbo didn't coo softly,

“Breathe.” And so he did, not for himself, but for him. Strangely the words of their fight came back to him as the breeze whipped at his hair. Emotions clawed at him. He had said that Mumbo would never understand and Mumbo replied because he never told him. He had wanted to know. Wanted to help but Grian had pushed him away. Made things worse. If the Watchers were here he didn't want to leave it without apologizing.

“Mumbo-”

“No, It's my fault. Stop blaming yourself. I shouldn't have let it go so far without helping you.”

“I-”

“I want you to know you’re my best friend. You know that right?” Grian craned to see Mumbo’s face who peered down at him. The redstoner smiled. He suddenly felt very awkward being held. He shifted around.

“Why do you say that?” He asked looking down at his hands, telling himself it wasn't to hide the heat rising to his cheeks. Mumbo bobbed his head, gesturing with his chin to the land mass in front of him.

“Because we’re here.”

The purpley grassed mushroom island floated on the sea. The buildings appeared, same as always. The mayor building that Grian had helped construct at the beginning of the month stood solitary guard to the island. But above it, they saw something different. Floating over the domed roof of the building was a rectangle of shining obsidian. Surrounding it was the same silvery bedrock in the shattered symbol of the watchers. It hovered alone and like Impulse said, this time the ring was full of the purple shimmer that cut through time and space. It was lit.

Grian swallowed. This was it. He would face whatever would climb through that purple sheen or he would be consumed by it.

“You okay?” Mumbo asked and the builder nodded. It wasn't if anything would change if he said no. The redstoner spotted a small group of hermits clustered a ways away from the stairs of the mayoral building. He began swooping strides that softly deposited them to the ground, Mumbo landing on his feet as he lifted Grian’s to his.

They saw that about nine hermits had already arrived, including Impulse who gave them what was both a quizzical and knowing glance and XIsuma who rushed over them as they touched down.

“Are you good?” The admin rushed the words from his mouth, concerned. His wings were no longer in the open, Mumbo assumed he didn't want to do the extra explaining yet and his visor was returned to his head, hiding his expression. “What happened?”

Mumbo looked at Grian. If he wanted to elaborate he would, Mumbo would keep quiet.

“I'm good,” The builder smiled, almost forced in good humor, “You try flying in a sweater.” X looked to the redstoner for clarification, clearly wanting to know what had happened. Mumbo only shook his head slightly and Xisuma took that as an answer, dropping it for now. Together they turned to face the levitating portal.

It seemed to take forever as Grian stared with a watchful eye and anyone else might have missed it. The portal shimmered. And through the cascading sheen that normally would lead to the nether stepped two figures. Grian’s breath caught in his throat as the rest of the hermits fell silent. He felt Mumbo move closer to him, protectively.

They were dressed in purple cloaks, swathing their bodies in velvet. Their faces were covered by twin porcelain masks, each carved with the same symbol and just like Grian they both had grey-violet feathered wings draping down their backs. At least it wasn't here. Locked away, the only good thing that came with Grian's wings. Grian shivered in the harsh heat. They were here. And his friends, they were right in front of them. If they attacked there would be nothing he could do, nothing, they would be gone. Gone and forgotten, locked in dust and abandoned. Just like his best friend. Just like Taurtis. It couldn't happen again, not with the hermits, not with Mumbo. That night reflected in his mind, magnifying tenfold. His deed that had sent it all crashing down, that will break it all. His feathers shuffled. What they had came for. His heart rate sped up like a progressing drum beat, sweat trickled down his forehead, drenching his palms. The menacing faces of the watchers slowly turned. Looking. Searching. Hunters, Mumbo corrected himself, watching the telltale violet of their wings and clothes and the symbol etched into their masks that marked the predecessors of their new title.

Their blank white faces found Grian. His wings curled tighter on his back and he wished they were hidden. He should have never taken them. But they would have recognized him anyway. He knew what they wanted. If he gave it to them, maybe they would leave his friends alone. Or have a better chance to do so. He took a step forward, the watchers following his every movement with their cold, terrifying gaze.

“Grian?” He heard Mumbo ask from behind him, bewildered. He swallowed, turning his unwavering gaze to the wicked gods above them.

“What do you want??” He forced himself to say, his head cockily filling in the answers. To torture me? Kill my friends to make me regret it? The shorter watcher spoke in a voice that tickled the back of Grian's memory, Harsh and unforgiving,

“You already know the answer to that.” Grian wouldn't give in. Not like last time. Even if it meant the death of him.

“And why should I do that?” He spoke arrogantly. He didn't have anything to lose. They had taken everything from him. A voice warned from behind him,

“Grian…?” Mumbo said cautiously, reaching out a hand as if he could restrain his friend by only touching the air. “What are you doing?”

Then the watcher that had spoken before grinned, unnerving the builder to the bone. A single breath could escape his mouth when a cry came from behind him. Grian whipped around. Mumbo had fallen to his knees, screaming bloody murder as his hands gripped his head. He stood stunned as Xisuma and False rushed to the redstoners side, trying to pull his hands from his temple and him to his feet. Grian closed his eyes, hands pressed to his ears, trying to force the awful noise from his mind. The builder recalled he had everything to lose.

“FINE! FINE! I’ll do it!” Tears slipped down his cheeks from his sealed eyes as he added to the chaos of noise. He didn't realize he had been screaming until Mumbo’s pained noises stopped. Grian forced his hands from his ears as the watchers cackled from where they stood on an invisible ledge framed by the glowing of the portal. He looked definitely to the self proposed rulers above him, anger flooding his eyes. He gritted his teeth, “I’ll do it.”

Mumbo was helped to his feet as questions of it ran around the group. Xisuma supported the redstoner by his elbow but Mumbo pushed him away, frantic. He pulled Grian to face him. He spoke, arms gripping the fabric of his sweater at the forearms, trying to shake the answers out of his friend. Panic was electric in his eyes.

“What do you mean? You’ll do wh-” Grian grabbed the others elbows and they stood like that at an arm's length embrace. The builder felt more tears fall as he saw the redstoner's face change from panic to confusion and disbelief. Grian spoke to him, so quiet that only he could hear.

“I'm sorry.” Then he took another step toward the portal but this time he was elevated on a step made of air. He met the faces of the monsters waiting for him, ascending the invisible staircase put there by magic. He heard Mumbo screaming behind him, pounding on the magic barrier that stopped him from chasing up the steps after Grian. He called his friend's name over and over again but still he didn't look back. It was better that way. Better for Mumbo to remember him from before, not whatever would be left on these steps when he was gone. I'm doing it for you, he pledged to himself. I'm doing it all for you. Once more he thought to the note he had left when he had hoped Mumbo would understand why he had thrown himself off that roof just how he hoped Mumbo understood why he had to go. What it would cost him if he didn't. Grian looked up, finding the motionless masked faces of the watchers now looming right in front of him.

“I’ll go.” The watcher to his right, the one that had spoken before with short golden hair falling over it’s forehead, smiled. Its white teeth sparkled in the cold grin dripping in malice. The second watcher lifted his hand and gestured to the shimmering purple wall. The builder let out a breath. Something wrenched in his chest. And he once again thought his final goodbyes only now to a different friend.

He felt a heavy hand clasp down on his shoulder as he watched the swirling motions in front of him.
“Welcome back, It’s good to see you again.” It was cold and controlling, both the voice and the touch. It came out more of a sinister sneer. “You made the right choice.” The personality that edged the evil tone left him trying to place it from his past. He came up empty. The nails dug into his shoulder, re-pressingly. It reminded him painfully that he was in the watchers clutches and that he would never see his friends again. Unless he looked back. Right now, looked back and gave his friends something, anything, of why he was doing this. But he didn't. He restrained the emotions on his face and he stepped through the portal.

Chapter Text

Darkness enveloped him. Nothing cast light to let him see by, a vast black expanse of the void. He saw anyway.

His wings floated around him, suspended on emptiness, his limbs tangled through air the same way. The feathers surrounding him seemed to glow, sparkling like his own halo. The air was thin and caught his his throat as he breathed in its chilliness that made it seem like there was no air there at all. Yet he breathed.

His heart beat fast, shattering as he imagined the look on his friend's face who thought he had betrayed him. Thought he had chosen this over him. His heart was broken. Still he lived.

His thoughts came back to him, one by one. The portal. Void between worlds. Escape. For his own good. Cold. Dark. Alone. It seemed to last ages, moving through the blackness as an astronaut in space. Floating in an abyss of no stars with no sense of direction. It was peaceful, devoid of any sound as if he had gone simultaneously blind and deaf. Seconds passed. Color sparked and another figure entered the vacant stage. It walked, a swirl of purple fabric encasing it, masking an unaltered sheen. It grabbed him by the collar roughly, pulling him up and dragging his face closer to his, golden hair rooted in bronze falling over the top of his mask. He flashed a vile grin, white and shining as good as any star except more haunting. Still grasping onto his shirt so hard it almost choked him, he pushed him backwards, through the void and out the other side.

There was light. There was air. Color, smell, touch, heartbreak.

Grian was standing alone on a grassed hill, stirring in the wind. A grove of trees stood mere meters away, stretching to the sky line in its densely packed life. Sun filtered down. There was no hellfire. No screaming. No torture. But Grian knew where he was. The portal stood behind him, a simple obsidian field of purple that lacked the bedrock symbol that surrounded it. No one was around. The two watchers had yet to arrive through the empty void between existence. He stood there stunned for the few moments before the calm shattered. He looked to the sun, opposite the tumble of growing trees when someone gripped his hand. Grian whipped around to look, thinking it was the watchers but he was already being pulled deep into the shadow depths of the vast forest against his will. He heard footsteps crack behind him, his captures reentering through the portal along with their confused and vicious shouts. His breath came fast, aware of the danger of punishment and he looked to the one who was leading him, not getting a good look at their face as they moved quickly. They ducked under branches, a good distance from the portal out of the watchers view and hearing range. His rescuer, or capture, slammed him against a tree trunk, revealing for once the features of their face.

Brown hair fell down scraggly to her shoulders, her face that he remembered had always shone in that glow was scuffed and scared, sleepless nights marked under her eyes and every part of her showing the signs of torture and the struggle for survival. Her hair was tangled with more than a few leaves and twigs and her skin was coated in dirt and sand. She was thin, looking half starved. He might have been afraid of her, if she wasn't an old friend. He caught memories, fragments, fishing out of the air like a wordless montage of moments. A home wavering on the tops of the trees. A smile cracked and laughter through jokes and pranks. A wedding held in summertime. It was her.

Netty released her grip, though still held him there. Her honey brown eyes filled with urgency.

“They wanted a way out.” She spoke gravely. A light caught in Grian’s gaze, already tracking why she was here. What there was to warn. “And you didn't give them one.”

“No..” He barely more than breathed. Understanding cascading down his face.

“Be careful Grian.” She gripped his shirt speaking in his ear as she stared deep into his horror struck eyes weightily. She hissed, “They see everything.” Then a branch was cracked under a boot nearby and Netty gave him one last frantic look before turning in one fluid motion and disappeared into the trees that used to contain her home Grian watched as she dissipated like mist into the shadows of the forest, the new information turning wheels in his head as he couldn't yet believe it. They wouldn't have would they? You didn't give them one. They only had one option left. They would have taken it even if it meant they were no longer his friends. They weren't anyway. He had left them. A hand slammed down on his shoulder, jolting him and electrocuting his veins with fear as he slowly craned his neck to look behind him. The blonde haired watcher stood above him, digging nails into his skin. When Grian’s fear filled face turned to face him he smiled and Grian shiver deep within him.

“There you are.” He said pleased, sounding like a possessed person in a horror movie. For all Grian knew that was what he was in. That's when something fell into place in his mind. The voice that brought up some distant memory, tucked in the back of his brain. The face that, too, reminded him of something. Someone. Grian looked at the shorter watcher clutching him, pulling an axe from his belt. The blonde hair with brown roots, how the other watcher was taller than him. The purple wings that hund at his sides, so different then when he last saw him. Recognition pooled in his face, his mouth falling open a crack as a name was pulled out from the distant reaches of the past. The watcher's facial expression changed when he saw Grian’s look. He raised the axe,

“Finally figured it out, didn't ya?” Solidarity sneered before he clubbed Grian over the head.

When Grian woke up, he was being dragged. His knees occasionally bumped the hard ground, his feet trailed in the dirt, the laced section of his shoes sliding across the floor. His hands were tied by the wrists and it was rubbing his skin red and raw. His wings had been treated the same way, pinned to his sides by rope. The feathers were ruffled and uncomfortable, some bent the wrong way. The two watchers each held him in the air, roughly carrying him at the elbows. His head was limp, chin bouncing on his chest echoing with a pounding headache splitting through it. He felt something wet and sticky trickling down his brow, knowing at once it was blood. Neither of his kidnappers had realized he was awake so he made his body limp. It wasn't worth getting hit on the head again and maybe he could learn something of value. But the watchers never spoke, lugging his slacked body around. Grian’s thoughts went to the watcher gripping his left arm. Solidarity. He remembered what he had discovered before he was knocked out. The new wings that were sprouting at his friend’s sides. What had made him give in to the watchers? Join their side? Netty’s words came back to him. If what they implied was true, there was oh so much more to come. Dust kicked up into his face and he coughed. Grian froze, tensing his muscles. There was no point now. They knew he was awake and would probably hit him over the head again. What used to be his friend hacked a laugh. He twisted the arm in his grip, making Grian cry out as pain erupted in his shoulder. Solidarity dropped the arm he was holding as the second watcher gripped Grian where his wrists met, using its other hand to push against his back and force him to kneel. His shins grinded into the pebbly dust that was split by scraggly weeds. The monster of his friend undid the axe from his belt, lifting it and taking the diamond blade and holding it out under Grian’s chin. He gulped, quivering.

“Look who's finally awake.” Grian’s eyes darted to Solidarity’s masked face. The watcher pressed the axe harder against his neck.The builder lifted his head to avoid the sharp blade that drew a small red line of blood on his neck. Crouching down in front of the builder on the soles of his feet, Solidarity put them at almost even eye level though Grian was pushed down a whole head shorter than him. The whole thing made him confused. What had he done to make Solidarity hate him? What had made him so evil? Grian let out a breath as the cold touch of the weapon was removed from his skin, letting his head fall forward, limp. Solidarity’s hand flashed out quick as a snake and seized his chin unceremoniously forcing it upward to make Grian face him. Solidarity spit with bile, “Recognize where we are yet, or should I give you a moment for that too?” He mocked. Grian gazed around. They were surrounded by peaks and hills, grassed over with the land around them wild. Though the path they walked on was flat. On the ground, coated in dust as dry as bones and fallen into disrepair was steel lines inter-crossing with long ago rotten supports. It was a railway. It was his railway. His face fell. He knew where they were going. It was a surprise he would even for a moment think the watchers would just dump him here, take his wings and call it a day. Of course he would end up back there. Back to it.

“Ahhh, there it is.” Solidarity jived, mocking the look on Grian’s face. He let go of his chin, rising to his feet. Together the watchers pulled Grian roughly to his feet, not caring for the pain he caused in his twisted shoulder. Solidarity picked up his axe, returning it to his belt and saw Grian follow it with his gaze. “Oh. I’m not going to knock you out again. I want to see your face when we get there.”

The watchers took their positions at his arms again, lifting him up and continuing, new red blood slowly trickling like tear drops from the slice like a collar on Grian’s neck. The hills thinned as the path beneath them turned to gravel. Then they turned, the hills to their right reaching an end and they turned, exiting the safety of the valleys. Grian was hit full force by the ocean. The sound of crashing waves on ice and sand, the smell of salt assaulting his senses and the cry of seagulls piercing the blue sky. Grian looked across the ocean. It was his old base. But it hadn't been that way for a long time.

The sea crashed against a building standing solitude in the deep navy of the waves. Where his empire had once stood was an elegant palace. It had soaring towers and balconies, pillars carved in silver, unbreakable stone. Clay clashed and accented golden sandstone. It sparkled in the salty air and glinted with crystal clear water. It rose right out of the sea, black rocks surrounding its base like a starless sky had crumbled and the castle had fallen down with it. And the symbol. The symbol was everywhere. It stared back at him, formed around high windows and doors. He looked and saw nothing. It looked back and saw everything, right down deep into his soul. An involuntary shiver shook him. He was back. He was here. Grian hyperventilated, unable to calm himself. Unsure if he even wanted to. Terror clutched his chest and pain erupted there. They would torture him, kill him. They had already taken everything from him. Heartache ripped through him. All hope vanished. His friends, they were gone, fled like time. A familiar smile looked down at him through memory. Gone. Lost. No way back. He was here. Gods, he was here.

----

The watcher paced. Its cloak rippled around him like drops in a pond. His face was covered with his mask, heavy porcelain with the sides by his ear dripping into points that jagged like teeth down the sides of his cheek. Then an image rippled in its mind’s eye like its own memory. It played, the scenes dancing on the inside of his mask. It saw it all. The figure, trembling through the portal on the hill that he long ago disappeared into. It saw the flash of red that were his clothes and the purple-grey feathers of his wings. It observed as the scene played out. The extraction of him from its view in an attempt of escape. When it's soldiers found him again and a zap of amusement and pleasure ran through it as he was captured and knocked out. It watched the progression of its watchers across the landscape, dragging the limp body of him along. Then he saw them, as they were now, standing on the railroad gazing across the sea. Its eyes fell on the wings tied to his sides. It focused on the bent feathers. They would be returned to it soon. It just had to wait. The watcher saw the crestfallen expression on its captive. Void of hope and pooled in despair. And it smiled.

Chapter Text

They pulled him up again, rough with their movements. Grian staggered to his feet, a prick of pain stinging from his neck, finding it hard to balance without the use of his hands. He would always find his way back here wouldn't he? And with an uncountable dread filling his stomach he was barely able to hear Solidarity’s words before he felt a hit club him in the back of the head again.

“Sorry Gri, But I'm really not.” The last Grian felt was his body falling to the ground and eyes slipping closed.

It was black nothingness. Till he dreamed.

The scenes were blurry as he was sucked into them. He saw Mumbo. And he was in Grian’s room. It looked so realistic, the light spilling through the cracks in his half covered window looked so real it gave a false hint to the dream. Grian watched, looking in as if through a window as Mumbo moved through the land of the living. The redstoner picked up Grian's sketchbook still on the nightstand coated in dust even though Grian had used it a few days prior. Mumbo ran his fingers over different pages and sketches as he sat on the bed, flipping through it. Was this a memory or was it happening now? And if it was a memory, where was Grian? He observed as Mumbo put down the book on the sheets beside him, picking up an old framed photo that stood next to his clock. It was of Grian. In a tree, sitting next to Mumbo on a branch. Grian remembered the picture but it was supposed to be Taurtis next to him, that big sloppy grin on his face after Grian had given him the present that went on to define him. Mumbo ran his finger over the frame. He sniffled and Grian realized he was crying. Why would he-? Then his friend spoke, interrupting the thought, his voice sorrowful.

“I miss you.” What? This couldn't have happened in the past because Grian would have been there. But he wasn't now. Then a second voice spoke, surprising Grian as much as it seemed to Mumbo.

“I do too.” Mumbo looked up, wiping his wet eyes. He breathed air out his nose like a small, joyless laugh, trying to clear the sadness from his face. Together, both Mumbo and Grian trapped out of his own twisted reality, glanced toward the now occupied doorway. The builder almost broke down into tears right then and there. He looked exactly how he had left him. Same black hair a ruffled mess, blue t-shirt and black overalls with the same shade of pants. The only thing missing from Taurtis was the goofy smile that no longer stuck to his face like a sicker. No. This can't be real. Mumbo had never met Taurtis, never had the chance to. Taurtis was dead. Not him. Not Grian. He was just… Gone.

The last word of his thoughts reverberated, fading. Disappearing into the void just like what it had meant for him. And he went with it. The scene folded in on itself, a headache pounding through his skull as the colors of reality pulled father away as Grian was pushed back away from it into blackness. He woke up.

Grian shot upward on a bed, blankets falling off him to the floor. A bed? Was it all just a dream? But when he looked around the room his hope fell rapidly. The floors were cold wood and the walls a stony grey. Part of one wall was a large window, overlooking the sea and showering his quarters in light. From the ceiling violet curtains were draped, sparkling with gold accents. Pushed against the other wall was a dresser of the same dark wood and above it was a small version of the watchers symbol. Grian quivered at the looming sight of it. The symbols always gave him the feeling that he was being watched.

He glanced up and down himself again. He still wore his sweater and his wings and hands were free of their bounds. It surprised him that he still had his wings. Why wouldn't they have just taken them back? The only thing he saw missing though was his communicator, a small red imprint of it left on his forearm. The sight made him anxious. He knew they would take it but it was just solidifying the fact that, he indeed, was trapped here. No way out. No way home. The images of his friends a distant memory. At least they were safe. There was no hope for him anyway.

Grian flung himself off the small bed pushed into the corner. He got to his feet and walked to the silver mirror tacked to the wall and took in the image of himself. His hair was a mess and his clothes were splotched with dirt and dust. There was a line of blood still dripping on his neck and smudge of red on his brow and he noticed the pain in his head had dulled to a slight throb. He walked to the bathroom. He knew they would call for him soon. They always did and there was no point in looking weak. The builder washed away the dried blood wincing at the sting. It caused some of his cut to start bleeding again so he held a towel to it and watched as it slowly turned red as the bleeding stopped. He splashed water into his face just as he heard a knock at his door. He froze, suddenly aware of the visibility of his face. He was with the watchers now and it worried him how he had not been returned to his status. His cloak was missing along with his mask. Not wearing the mask was a sign of betrayal, you could say. Though it was a death sentence if you were lucky. He unlocked his limbs and went to the door. One way or another he was going to be punished, it was best not to keep the watchers waiting.

He opened it, even though it was unlocked. The watchers didn't care about privacy and asking for entrance was only a formality. They could force you to go anywhere anyway it was just a way of showing you the freedom you were missing. What he found on the other side of the door startled him. He was expecting it to be Solidarity or it. There to take him away, tear the wings from his body and leave him dead. But it wasn't. Her hair was a silvery brown, shimmering and fell down past her shoulders. Her face was covered by a mask, hiding her bright blue eyes but he’d know her anywhere. Maybe it wasn't all hopeless; he could still get back, if he had her help.

“Pearl.” He spoke her name breathless and confused. Why was she here? Did that mean the rest of the evoers had joined the watchers too? She tensed at the name, her jaw clenching as if in fear and that he would jeopardize her.

“Xelqua.” She said cold and pointedly. Xelqua? Why was she using his watcher name? They had only given it to him so he had a name that could be spoken in Galactic. And why did she know it anyway? It had been given to him long before she became a watcher after he left. The only other one that had heard it before was Taurtis when they were watcher together and he was-

His thoughts broke off, grief clutching at his heart, almost stopping it but it still broke. He allowed himself one word, slipping so much pain and loss into it. So much sadness and longing. If thoughts could sound like they carry emotions, this one would crack and come out as a sob.

Gone.

And that was it. That silly word again. So final. Because it was.

Grian shook himself out of it. It was one thing to be bleeding in front of the shark-like watchers. It was another to let oneself cry in front of them. A part of him wanted him to let go and crumble. That this was just Pearl. She was his friend. But the matching wings at her side and the broken rectangle of porcelain on her mask told otherwise. The feathers showed that she had risen to a status to be trusted with them. That she was now considered a watcher. And even if she was his friend, they would still see him. See him through the masks that they saw everything with. The reminder of their fraud and propaganda that they were all powerful brought forth a bubble of rage. It dissipated easily. Even if half of what they said was false the other half wasn't. They still saw everything and that in itself made them all powerful.

Grian couldn’t force himself to be as cold as Pearl. Even if it would be smarter to hide all emotions he couldn't just give up on a friend like that.

“What are you doing here?” It wasn't the formal way of saying it. They way he should be but maybe he did it just to spite these watchers. Show that they were not powerful enough to control him. Even though he did it he couldn't stop the spark of fear from rolling through him because if he did send such a message he wouldn't have the ability to do it twice.

“You are requested to report to the throne room immediately.” Her face showed no emotion. Requested. The word was faulty. There was no choice. It oddly, or maybe it was too accurate, that it reminded him of an execution. He swallowed and nodded. Then he remembered about his mask. Or rather the absence of it.

“Pearl? What about my mask?”
“You are to receive your mask and cloak shortly.” Grian nodded, feeling eerie about how Pearl was acting. She remembered him, surely? But why would she want to make it seem like she didn't? Her words and tone made it feel fake and somewhere deep inside him he wondered what the watchers had done to her to make her feel the need to act that way. Unease ran through him as he nodded and Pearl turned around, cloak moving like waves around her feet as Grian exited his room to follow.

Their footsteps clicked against the hard marble floors and echoed down the stone halls. It was much grander and imposing than he remembered. The roof reached sky high above them, arched with pillars and intricate supports. Windows lined one side of the hallway, high above their heads, closer to the curved ceiling, casting slanted columns of light across the corridor. It was massive compared to his normal sized quarters. The width of the hall was the length of a large room and they walked in the middle of it. They fell into silence as Grian, or, to the watchers, Xelqua, tagged behind his guide.

Pearl led him through the twisting hallways, just as lavishing as the first. Then they came to the throne room. The figure that symbolized his past stood in front of the mountainous doors as they creaked open by some unseen force. Together, Grian fearing what was to come, they stepped forward into the throne room. It was just as he remembered it. And he remembered it more than most of the castle. He had spent many days standing before the watchers, lying and twisting words and alligences. All to stay alive. All to keep others alive. He shuddered at the time when he wouldn't corporate. Wouldn't join their forces and offers by free will. So they had dragged Taurtis into it to make him. Why they needed him on their side instead of against it, he still didn't know. Living with the watchers was a game of manipulation. And still was. The room was oval, the walls on either side full of glass pouring in light and draped in the same airy fabric of his room. The ceiling was arched, matching the hallway with the same extra windows lining the place where the wall met the ceiling. At the far end of the room curved with walls made entirely of frosted glass segmented with dark wood. Before it was a small stage, on it a throne of pure silvery bedrock, gleaming in the golden light that in itself looked frosted and seen through a filter like a dream. The great throne was carved intricately, set in with purple stones and swooping designs. And on it sat the watcher. Its head tilted upward in a superior fashion, legs crossed across the armrest, porcelain mask a brilliant clean shade of white, and on its skyward turned right cheek was a few markings peeking out from under the mask. Three pale violet-grey lines, blurred with his skin tone like a faded tattoo. The only thing that lacked from the scene before him and his memory were the wings. The imposing figure on the throne had no wings. Grian’s shoulder twitched self consciously, like his back had an itch. It felt as if the watcher’s eyes were boring into him.

They weren’t alone. The long walls were lined with people. With watchers. With Evolutionists. Grian caught sight of a few of his past friends. Salem. Tom. They all had that drawn up expression on their face. Emotionless. Uncaring. By the throne stood two watchers. None of his past friends, members of the race that had arrived one day and threw the whole world into upheaval. One had a crown lopsided on their head and the other, a thick braid that ran down their back. At the right hand of the throne was Solidarity. At least he wasn't blank faced like the rest of the winged Evolutionists, the visible part of his face twisted up in a sick humor of happiness as if he knew that Grian was to suffer and that he would enjoy every moment of it. That was enough to make the builder sickened and shivering.

Grian scanned the faces, stomach lurching as he noticed a few missing. Netty. Out surviving in the wilderness somewhere, evading the clutches of the watchers. And Martyn. IntheLittleWood wasn't there.

“Martyn.” He tasted the name on his lips softly and Pearl besides him tensed at the whisper. “Why isn't Martyn here?” He turned to her. A weight seemed to put itself on her shoulders and Pearl didn't answer. Grian’s world filled with despair and foreboding as he understood the heaviness to the silence. He was shoved into the room. Grabbed by two watchers that stood by the door that he had never seen before. Showed up after he left. He was forced to the front of the room before being roughly pushed to his knees in front of the throne. His head was shoved down and Grian grinded his teeth as the hands forced him to respect. To repent. The builder stopped struggling against the watchers as the one on the throne rose, put its legs down and stood, its cloak swooping elegantly. It stalked toward the builder. Its feet leaving slight sounds across the hard floor that dug into Grian’s limbs. The watchers that had forced him here moved back but he stayed bowing. It walked closer and closer, Grian more aware of the wings at his sides. The wings that had the magic to let him move between worlds. The magic the watcher wanted. The monster stood before him, its hand reached out and placed a finger under Grian’s chin. The touch gave the builder worms in his veins as he raised his head to avoid it. The masked face was right above his as vile and wicked as he last saw it. The watcher tilted its head, almost scary in the curious movement.

“Back again so soon are we, Grian.” The words slithered from its mouth, the last one coated in bile as if it implied that it wasn't his real name. It scared him that it had used his real name. Not the one they had given him. It meant he wasn't to be welcomed here. He would have to work his way up to his status. He struggled to think about the horrible things they would do to him before he got there. His face remained steel, defiant as he looked up at the watcher. Yeah? What will you do about it? Grian thought snottily. I won't be part of your little games. He spoke the watcher’s name in the same tone. He didn't care for his own being anymore and they couldn't hurt him because they had taken Grian in return. And maybe he should pay for his actions and the more he pissed them off the more he would.

“Xelena.” He said almost civilly but his tone was snarky. The watcher leaned in as Xelena growled into the builder’s ear. It made Grian tremble and goosebumps rise from his skin.

“I'm going to take those wings of mine back then you’ll never be able to stop me.” Grian gaze was unwavering as he was face to face with the smooth mask, their faces almost touching so he could see all its teeth. With a fierce look in his eyes, he replied,

“I’m not scared of you.” Xelena drew back, its hand leaving the builder's chin.

“You should be.” Its voice was edged with threat and menace. The wingless watcher straightened, “Take him away.” It commanded as Pearl moved from her spot at the end of the line in a precise fashion and Grian stood as he was led out of the throne room. He was unnerved by the encounter. Why didn't they just take his wings? Severe them from his body then and there? Why make a spectacle? Why wait?

Chills rippled through him. They wanted him to be afraid. It was part of a bigger manipulation just to beguile him. Cause him pain. He needed to get out of here. Leave this horrible place before they stole from him again. But he was here to stop them from that but they would break that deal a thousand times over, he knew. They arrived at Grian’s quarters quickly, Pearl stopping at the door and Grian turned to thank her but she was already briskly walking in the other direction. He scolded himself. He needed to blend in here. He couldn't just walk around and pretend that there would be no repercussions. So he turned himself to steel. Told himself it was better this way as he turned down his emotions or fear, loss and loneliness. The builder entered his quarters like he did thousands of times in the past. And like thousands of times, he didn't look back at all he had left behind.

The room was the same as he left it but that didn't mean someone had been in it. And he immediately spotted a folded cloak on the dresser and laid on top was his mask. Grian sighed in relief. So they still considered him a watcher then. He pulled the cloak on over his sweater, clipping it at his neck so it hung over him. He gave a glance toward the mask, shivers climbing up his spine. They still gave him the creeps. That same feeling of being watched like he knew they were seeing through it. He waited for them to call him again. Take what was theirs. Make a spectacle of him and beat him for his rudeness toward Xelena. But they never did. Still Grian couldn't force himself to relax, continually pacing. Then a knock sounded at his door. The builder rushed and secured his mask around his face. It was best not to be seen without the “honor” the watchers had offered him. He opened the door half expecting it to be Pearl, there to lead him to his demise. But instead, It was Solidarity. Blood coated his knuckles that Grian was sure wasn't his and a sinister look of pleasure was visible on the lower half of his face. The builder felt fear spear him chillingly through the heart as the monster that had taken over his friend spoke.

“You are to report to training.” Then he smiled.

Chapter Text

Mumbo slammed the door to his hobbit hole. He kicked the entrance closed with his foot, jostling the materials in his arms as he caught the parts before they could fall to the ground. He merrily hurried to his work table, full of half complete circuits and metal appendages. Opening his arms the things from his trip to the shopping district fell with a clatter onto the wood. There was a wild sleepless look in the redstoner's eye and his hair was ungroomed. Must work, his brain commanded as it turned its full attention to the problems and hot-fixes that needed to be done. How to solve this, make this fit. No time to focus on anything else. He screwed metal plates onto the half built robotic boy, crumpled lifelessly on his desk. There was a smaller robot left sitting and complete on the floor, waiting to be booted up. He had built it last time that... Last time. Since then he had altered the face a bit, adding hair instead of just the lights that, when on, projected a glowing mustache.

Mumbo worked tirelessly on the metal shell of the head, filling it with AI and knowledge. Colored wires tangled together as he connected the screen of the droid and, eyes darting around for the screwdriver, screwed it in. Mumbo brushed off his hands, taking a step back. He didn't think he had ever been able to build something this fast before. For a second he lowered the wall between his mind and emotions, it trickled in happiness and Mumbo allowed himself to be proud of himself. That's when he saw the robot's face. Mumbo's expression fell.

The sturdy wall he had been meticulously building, at first, harmlessly prevented nightmares from stalking him, at least in his waking hours. He only ever had those now anyway. But now it had thickened, not letting in a slight amount of joy, happiness, pride. And he thought it had been better that way. It had kept the sadness out too. He took pride in his mental contraption, now he could control what he felt! He would only feel if he wanted himself too and it had none of that bad stuff too. It had become unbreakable. His head was empty now, except for the complicated equations and solutions floating about it. But his wall had cracked at the robotic face he had created and Mumbo realized just how much was piled up in the flood behind it. Then his dam burst.

Tears eroded at his eyes, overflowing down his cheeks. His chest became unbearably heavy, hard to breathe under the weight of it all. He had been fine. It all had been fine. He had moved on. He didn't need him. He had even found a way to prevent himself from ever needing anyone again. Why was it all going wrong now?

The face of his cyborg. Mustached like the smaller, or younger, robot on the floor with metal hair imprinted on their screens. Hair he had added to both on a whim, with his eyes not really seeing. Now they did. And he saw what reminded him too much of what was lost. What was never coming back. What had abandoned him.

With a jolt realized the dam wasn't just to keep his feelings out, it was to hang onto the last bits of false hope that he had lied to himself had a right to be there. It was gone now, as he drowned in the flood. All that was left was a feeling of emptiness hollowing out his chest and gut. It was all hopeless. It all wasn't fine. He dropped his screwdriver and turned to climb to the second floor, not having been up there for days. He walked into the bamboo infested room planted there by Iskall as an invitation to challenges. He had ignored it. He wasn't in the mood to yell hermit challenges at the top of his lungs and he was afraid that he would take off and leave Iskall in the dust without turning back as he flew away like always. He was afraid of what that not looking would remind him of. The mess that usually had been pushed between the stalks had been moved. Mumbo knew where he moved it.

The redstoner walked to his nether portal, not in it but through it. His heart was broken so hard he couldn't think as he entered the room crafted to look like it was outside. Crafted so well done it could only have been made by one person. A second hobbit hole poked through the opposing wall and on the grass, pushed frantically through the portal in a way to move and forget was a metal cart. Mumbo walked over to it and peered inside, the only object small and stuck to the bottom. He reached down and pulled out the book. The first page had a happy greeting, sarcastically passive aggressive notes of who had the better hobbit hole. Small things. Things that most wouldn't notice or care about. The small smiley faces he had drawn, how he had let Mumbo win at his game of knots and crosses. The way his cheeks creased with dimples when he was truly happy and didn't when he wasn't. The small frowns he did that Mumbo could tell were fake that he giggled at at the others' antics till they were both laughing as he tried to get the redstoner to be serious. The way he could always brighten a room with his laugh, his ability to make Mumbo smile. Make anyone do so. His amazing builds that Mumbo could only dream of constructing and how he was somehow still humble. How he listened to Mumbo drone on about redstone even though he didn't have a clue or a care about it. He cared because Mumbo cared and it made him happy. So happy. But not anymore. Mumbo ran his finger down the spine of the journal they had passed back and forth through the tunnel. He cried silently. A question arose, floating from the draining flood, the only thing left behind. Why did you leave?

----

Grian fell to the floor with a small cry, blood splattering from his nose as he spit it out onto the floor. He pushed himself up from his elbows, stunned by the blow. He heard the clatter of Solidarity’s feet as he walked teasing circles around the downed watcher.

“Can't stand the sight of a little blood?” He taunted as Grian wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at the splash of red, his eyes hardening into defiance. He raised himself to his knees, his back to Solidarity as he lifted himself to his feet. He dropped his hands from his mouth, tasting the metallic blood that seeped from the small cut. The builder also felt a drip run down from his nose that was pressed uncomfortably against his mask.

They stood in the training room. It was relatively empty, nothing to hit your falling body on and was smaller than the rest of the extravagant castle, the ceiling only a third higher than a normal one. One wall faced the courtyard with tall, lean windows that tapered at the top. Sunlight poured fruitfully through the glass but unlike the rest of the castle the walls were free of the curtains, and strangely, there was no big, imposing symbol etched into the wall even though they seemed to be everywhere. It was, like most things, the same as he remembered. There were, even, the old wooden chests under the windows that held knives, staffs and other weapons for ‘training.’ But if Grian knew the watchers it was just another way to keep them in line. To show their power over them.

He looked away from the windows and turned to face Solidarity staring Grian down with his head cocked in a wicked grin. Grian came at him, trying to surprise him to gain the upper hand. Solidarity just stepped out of the way of his hit, seizing his fist and twisting his arm around and bending it as Grian screamed at the painful strain. He pushed the builder into the floor again and he was slower to rise this time, his sore limbs protesting at what was his foolishness. But still he stood again. He wasn't going to give in.

The watchers, before long, will have infected his brain with the vile strands of magic he felt as if were seeping into his brain through the mask over his face. That if he kept it on long enough he would become like them. Heartless. And there was plenty of evidence to prove it. The mask tinted his vision and he hated it. Hated what it stood for. That he had willingly joined them again and would watch the world burn if they made him. He would be too powerless, too cowardly to stop them. He remembered the endless months of their horrible treatment. How they wanted him to join them. That it would be better for him to accept fate and the position and the wings. He learned much later that they were right. If he had the wings he would have been able to escape with the magic to move through worlds that they lent him. But he also knew that if he had joined them, he would be their puppet, much like he would become now.

But now he had something to stand for. Something to hold on to and he brought good memories into his mind to force the magic out, lending strength to his limbs. Because now he had hope. He would find his way back. The watchers thought they had taken everything from him and he realized that now. Yes they could harm him, beat him up. But he would know that somewhere out there was his home. His mind struggled at the strange word. Home. Even in Evo he hadn't felt like this. Resolve burned like fire in him. And he would get back to it. It would be his redemption and if this is what it took, so be it.

“Oh, you just won't give up, will you?” Solidarity sighed in sarcastic tiredness of exasperation. Then he punched Grian in the gut before he could see it coming. Grian doubled over to protect his abdomen while Solidarity shoved his elbow down on his back, hard. The wind tumbled out of him, fleeting like hope as he collapsed once again to the floor. And The builder let out a cough, blood splattering onto his lip. He closed his eyes a second, trying to count all the many places that ached painfully. He finally croaked out as he lifted himself to his palms staring at the red speckled marble floor not meeting Solidarity’s eyes.

“Why do you hate me?” The last bit came out a wheeze. Solidarity kicked him in the side, screaming.

“Because you ruined it all!!!” Grian slumped back down, barely able to keep track of the blows that assaulted him. His gut, his chest, his back. Kick after kick. “YOU LEFT!! YOU FORCED US TO JOIN THE WATCHERS!!”

“I didn't-” Then Netty’s words came back to him from a few days before. He didn't give them a choice. They wanted out. To get out they needed wings or to go through the portal with someone who did. Someone like him.

“Marytn would still be alive if it wasn't for YOU!!” Grian remembered the meeting from the day before, pieces falling into place. The missing member. Another failed escape. Another best friend lost. Solidarity’s hits stopped for a moment as the watcher fell silent. Grian looked up his form, lost in rage. The builder spoke softly.

“I’m sorry” Solidarity whipped back around to look at his broken form, his face a marred mess of blood and his nose most likely broken from the kicks.

“You're not allowed to be sorry” He sneered. He grabbed Grian hastily by the hair, wrenching at the roots. “But you know what?” He continued quieter, “I’m glad you made it out. It means I can make you suffer now.” And with that menace hanging in the air he dropped Grian’s head to the hard floor and walked away, the too real threat shivering down Grian’s spine.

The builder lay crumpled on the cold floor, hoping it would seep the life from his limbs. His mind jolted back at the small spreading pool of red before him. The feeling of depression pressed down again on his lungs, the want to be weightless. Maybe he deserved all the wounds and cuts that currently spotted his skin. His leaving had caused more than just his death. It had caused Martyn’s too. He regretted that he couldn't go back. Save all his friends from the same fate he had faced. Maybe that's why the evolutionists were still here. They were afraid. Words that weren't quite his slivered into his thoughts.

They should be.

In that moment, Grian distantly heard footsteps through his eardrums, clogged with dry blood. Dissociating he felt a hand push and roll him over to his back, his body no longer tethered to his thoughts and feelings swirling through his mind. His mind no longer attached to the pain that rippled through every inch of his body as if it had happened to someone else. The builder’s mind barely comprehended the silvery brown hair and pale skin of the watcher that laid his bloodied head in her lap, whispering words that didn't quite reach his brain but it seemed like she was here to take care of him. At least she wasn't causing him more injuries. She carefully took a glass bottle from her inventory, shimmering with an amber liquid. The cork was pooped off and Grian’s head tilted as Pearl raised the potion to his lips.

His mind was blurry, unable to disconcert if the liquid would harm or heal, if she was friend or enemy. Death was so close anyway, he could feel it. Did it matter if he risked it? It was stalking him. It was in the blood that spilled from his many injuries onto the floor. It was in the ache of his limbs. It was in the smile of his long lost friend. He took his best guess. He swallowed.

Life came back to him.

It poured into his veins, putting back what he had lost. Closing the cuts and fusing the broken bones. The bruises disappeared and so did the scars. His body and face was still a mess of red but he was alive, for better or for worse, and for some reason Grian started laughing. It hurt his chest that had recently hosted more than a couple broken ribs. Though his body was healed his brain was still fragmented from the trauma (and maybe from a few days ago when he had been knocked out twice in the course of an hour.) He was hysterical and Pearl shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to take his reaction.

“Funny isn't it?” He cackled, delirious, sitting up, “Heal me up just so I can die again tomorrow?” Pearl seized up, rising gracefully to her feet.

“Be quiet.” Her face remained untouched by emotions as she scolded Grian’s actions. She did seem a little frightful, like she was too used of being.... Hurt for such words. Such opinions. Such openness. The builder slowly came back to his senses and the reality of the danger with the words as she helped him to his feet. But the thoughts still clung to him. Because they were true and he knew it. They knew it. And the feelings in itself were proof that he was still human, still in control, in some way, of his life. Not yet tied up with puppet strings held by the watchers.

Grian dusted himself off and Pearl led him through the imposing halls back to his quarters. He wanted out of this place. The longer he stayed the longer the watchers could beat him, break him down, turn him into something he wasn't. But it was somehow safer to stay, to live with the abuse than to risk it all. To relive that part of his life. That great regret. But he couldn't stay here and the longer he waited the more likely the watchers were to take back his wings and his chance would be gone. He would have lost the magic that had let get recaptured, the magic that was to lead him home. Grian sighed, safe in his room he slipped off his mask, hand on the symbol over his face when he moved to close the door and saw Pearl still standing outside in the hallway. Her back was to him, her wings that were awarded to her in his view. Then she said something and it broke all the cold walls she had surrendered Grian and herself in. It sounded human and he realized she was facing away so the watchers surely supervising through her mask couldn't see him and since they couldn't hear from it they were momentarily as safe as they could be in that castle.

“You’re not the only one.” And then she walked away. Pearl had read his mind, or at least she knew him well enough. Maybe he wasn't alone, his thoughts filling in the rest.

You’re not the only one that wants to escape.

Chapter Text

Days passed. Grian suffered more of Solidarity’s ‘training’ sessions though none as life threatening as the first. The frequent beatings gave him a plethora of wounds and even a small scar was forming on his right jaw bone, jutting down into the soft skin under his chin. The only explanation needed for that particular day was the unlocked weapons chest under the window. Pearl made no reappearance or healing to his wounds. He wondered what had happened to her with each missed appearance. Had she been punished? As the days wore by Grian forgot to look for her, maybe she had found a way to escape and had left him here. Abandoned him. What a stab of karma would that be? Without her healing potions, god knows where she got it, he resorted to healing himself the old fashioned way. By the end of the week he had patches of bandages in multiple places, thick wraps of gauze like stripes on his skin. With each passing moment Grian grew more and more anxious as the watchers made no further move to limit his freedom and take his wings back. He wondered what they were waiting for, what schemes they were formulating. That enough would raise the hairs on the back of the builder’s neck if not also for the fact that he hadn't seen them in days. No callings to meetings or dragging to bow at the foot of a monster. Silence. Unwavering, unnerving, silence. Until he was called to the war room.

He was no longer led by a chaperon as he made his way through the hallways, crafting his face into an emotionless wall. The war room was hidden in the depths of the castle, a windowless box that was rarely used. The room was bland, it had no adornments and like all the other rooms in the palace it held the broken bedrock symbol. Its silver surface still sent tingles up Grian’s spine. But it made up for that in a different way. It held inside its grip, flush against the wall, a frame of blackened obsidian. An unlit portal that held Grian’s whole weight of existence away from emotional collapse. Gave him hope. He had found it one day, wandering through the castle, looking over his shoulder every second. First a hallway that was new to him, a door carved in a display of raging war, fire, explosions and death all wrapping around the warped broken rectangle in the wood.

Back before when he had first stolen the feathers that decorated his back he didn't know of it or the power needed to turn it into an escape. Had he known, maybe he wouldn't have lost everything. He told himself that he wouldn't have been able to activate it even if he had. Even so, he was still tormented by the guilt and the images of ghosts in his sleep. But now? It was freedom. A glimmer of past and a bright future.

Grian stepped through the august door and he saw the watcher’s face. His reverence for the hidden portal was torn away from him, like a sibling tugging away your favorite toy, at the look of pure malice. There were no friends here, no Evolutionists, no Pearl. Only Xelena, the wingless watcher and Grian felt dread well up inside of him. His eyes involuntarily flickered to the watcher’s hand at its sides. All he could imagine was them coated in red as fear jolted his heart beat irregularly. He didn't know what was to be done, only that someone would suffer from it. Hope drained from within him as what was to come dawned as bright as the fires of hell. He should have left, before now, before this. He had the chance, why didn't he take it? But they knew he would stay. They knew he wouldn't have the guts and wouldn't leave now that he saw what was done to the Evolutionists. What had happened when you abandoned.

They always knew; and he was always a step behind.

“Hello Xelqua.” Xelena said and the simple greeting from it sickened Grian to the core. Purple rose around them, a blur of magic brought to flickering life by the upward turned hands. The watcher smirked and Grian was flooded in a wave of violet as he tipped through the void. It was peaceful, floating there with nothing. Then he was spit out again.

Out onto a new world. A new canvas. A new victim. They spawned together, the watcher and him, on a hill. In its height it was more of a mountain, blanketed in thick mist. There was an old abandoned church of cobblestone crumbling at its summit, multiple rundown buildings connected to it and each other by snaking gravel paths. Over the edge of the precipice, disappearing into fog, was a vast expanse of shadowy trees.The atmosphere brought by the hanging branches was heavy, full of magic that the people here had discovered. It gave Grian a feeling of haunting, the shadowy woods. As if every haze covered trunk hid a monstrous beast. Then the fog was pierced with blinding sunlight as the hours of predawn melted away and the grey in the air lifted. Grian gasped as what before was hidden was revealed. It was an expansive kingdom, far away on the horizon. High stone walls rose around it, hiding the medieval peaked rooftops and joyous calls of the city. A castle stood, half embedded in the defensive wall rising high above the surrounding buildings. Mountains surrounded the kingdom, splitting the ramparts in its natural protection and seeping high into the air, jagged mounds of rock and weeds. It looked to be a world of magic, monsters and mystery. The kind of world where you would lay your weary feet, sore from traveling, on a wooden table in a tavern. And you would have a drink while listening to the bouncing steps of a string filled bard. It was a world to find friends and adventure in. A world of harsh kings and assassins, ninjas, dwarves and quests, of the common beast and powerful weapons. A world of life. And Grian stood on the hill, Xelena behind him, two watchers just like the ones that appeared in Evo those years ago. The ones that looked at him and saw something powerful. The ones that ruined everything. The world in front of him was endless, one he had a strong wanderlust for, to scavenge for its secrets and those who might be his friends. He wanted it. It was free. Too free. And Grian was here to destroy it.

As he looked out over the landscape he swallowed, his throat bobbing. He should run, join a band of friends who were crazy and weird on strange adventures and quests. Maybe someone with a monstrous craving for carrots or someone who was as loud as thunder and called themselves a ninja. But he couldn't. He wouldn't get far. The watchers would tear him right back out of that hapless existence. It was foolish to even dream he could. But Grian also couldn't go through with that. He couldn't snap his fingers and destroy a whole world from existence and live with that the rest of his life. Grian could hardly even live with himself for what happened to Taurtis. But it had been different with his friend. At least he had known him, been friends with him for years. Those years left them both many chances to turn away, change fate. But neither did. They had stayed with each other through what had seemed like lifetimes and that left both of them at fault when it ended. Or at least a little bit. But here, Grian was a stranger. He had come with the very intent to destroy and no one down in that faraway kingdom knew it. No one down there deserved it. No one did. But Grian did what was expected of him, he lifted his hand, purple fire dancing across it. He hesitated, palm open, flickering in power that could swallow a world and a pained expression formed itself on his face.

“Skeptical, Are we?” It’s voice crawled up him, cold on his spine and causing gooseflesh to prick on his skin. “Lets see if this will help-” Then he felt an intense pain flare up through him, gripping his forearm and cramping the nerves, forcing the joints in his fingers to involuntarily curl slightly. He fought against the draw of his puppet strings, gritting his teeth. The magic flowed through him, usurping his control of his own body. Agony rippled through his nerves as he tried to force his hand open as the watcher slowly gained leverage over his curving fingers, slowly pushing them together more and more. Grian gasped, the strength in his legs weakening and he nearly fell to the ground as his arm remained suspended by the outside force from the grinning watcher. It released its grip and Grian panted as the pain evaporated. “Any second thoughts now?” It sneered.

“N-no..” He shoved the bile coated words from the mouth and his constricted lungs.

“No?” Xelena inquired.

“No-... S-ire” Grian choked the harsh word out, coating his expression with carelessness. But he couldn't hide the rage that sparked in his eyes. That monster did not deserve such a title. Grian took a breath. Poured into his eyes his sorrow, an apology. It couldn't be heart to heart as he did not know the bright souls that wandered the land so he drafted it to someone else. Someone he did know, who had had a chance and had stayed with him instead. Then to another he found himself speaking to, who he, like Taurtis, had decided to leave. And then he closed his hand into a fist. Purple speared into the very fabric of this peaceful land of courage, blanketing the world in its vishous magic. A man who had constructed empires and cities from scratch sent out the world eating flames and what was once a builder destroyed.

It was gone. That whole world, full of color, and light, souls and laughter. All gone. He swallowed harshly, feeling the sadness grip him as he tried to shake away the tears that threatened his eyes. What had he done? Then he was floating in the void. An expanse of nothingness where there once was everything.

This needed to end. This pain, the suffering he had caused. It needed to end. He needed a way out. And this time there would be no mistakes, there would be no one left behind and no more blood coated hands on the hilt of a dagger. No more of that dagger that had carved wings from one to move to another. But there would still be regret. Guilt burned through him and he forced himself not to fall victim to the welcoming and strangling hands of tears that would douse it. He used it as fuel. He let it burn.

Xelena only spoke once more before they returned to the castle, the cage. It was spoken in the void, in a place that was once so full of life beneath them now growing into a graveyard in the back of Grian’s head.

“Good job, Xelqua.” And then he was forced back into a world of broken dreams and idiotic hope as Grian was conveniently dispensed back into his quarters. He needed to talk with her. False hope or not. Alone there was nothing, an illuminated wall of fake reality with nothing more to believe but meager shadows. But together, together meant everything. It meant the belief was not lost. It meant there was someone there to tell him that there was more and that one day he would be able to see his way through. To exit his chains, and revel in the sunlight kept from him. Then an idea struck him. A book that was his downfall. But now he knew that it was indeed a trilogy and one was already being kept far away under his bed in a different world. That left two. One in a dresser of a separate room and another yet to be found. Another that had once been spied through but now there was none to do so through. If he could find it.

He leapt from his bed, entwined in faith. Whether that feeling was folly or not was yet to be seen. Grian, in a swoosh of fabric exited his quarters and made his way to an old worn door. Depicted on it were three symbols, two of which he recognized. Their lines were tangled and overlapping. One was the broken rectangle that adorned the castle lavishly and egotistical and the other was the x that looked like it was interwoven with itself, the right leaning line shattered to let the other pass through. The third consisted of three spirals curling outward from the same point and seemed to be coated in a very faded red. Looking closely he saw the others were also colored and that's what surprised him. The watchers wore purple and were symbolized by it because their magic was so but the symbol that adorned the watchers was instead dusted with chafing purple paint leaving unscathed beneath it a glowing lime green. The x symbol beside it was fully purple as if it had overflown into the broken green rectangle covering over the original owner. Grian had no time to ponder it as he pushed open the heavy dust coated door. It creaked open with a squeal of hinges as he stepped inside. It was like the last time he saw it, except it wasn't coated in black and no one was peaking through the door like the last time he saw him.

The library was probably the largest room in the castle. Its walls stretched lengths upward, meeting in a dome of pure glass. It was two stories, the second a balcony swooping around the edges of the room. Windows covered most of the walls surrounded by deep colored wood, spilling the room in natural light. On three of the walls was a section between the wood colored faintly. On the far side it was purple and the left and right held red and green. Bookshelves stood in rows against the walls, hanging in an abandoned dusty state. Grian stepped toward the nearest to his right. His eyes skimmed over the titles on the leather bindings. His finger traced over the spines and time and time again he would pull out a book half way before returning it to the shelf. He was barely done with the first row when he realized this wasn't going to work. There was a countless amount of reading material on this shelf alone, not even counting the books on the balcony. He didn't even know what he was looking for! The builder looked around, taking in every detail of the sun speckled room. Then something above the only door caught his eye. It was the mixture of symbols, tangled in the same way they did on the door. Grian tilted his head, surveying the walls. Red, Green and purple. Just like the painted shapes on the door and like the single symbol indented in the leather cover of a book eons away. Three books, one with a worn out ex that faded any writing in it to lime green and the returning messages from the other book, always coming in purple. Where had Taurtis found the books anyway? Where would the third have been kept after it had been used to sabotage them before they knew there was a third?

Something captivated him as Grian stretched his wings before flinging himself into the air. He landed gracefully on the balcony, right in front of the red painted wall. It was surrounded in dark oak trim with wood paneling taking up the rest of the wall. He placed his hand to the painted surface. Could there be something here? Why would the wall be marked then? Grian pulled at the siding, kicking the wood like some savage animal. He needed that book. He paused, his ears pricking. He kicked at it again, looking curiously to where his toe connected. The thump sounded hollow. With a hopeful look Grian raised his hand and let the almost tangible looking build up of magic form on his palm. Then he slammed it against the wood. It melted away revealing a compartment. An almost empty compartment. If not for the leather bound book on its bottom. Grian couldn't believe his luck. It had been right there, under his nose. Coughing at the plume of dirt and grime he reached in and pulled out the journal. Sure enough, sunk into the cover was the same swirling symbol he had seen on the door in red. He pulled open the pages. It was months upon months of writing between friends. Simple complaints and true feelings of situations back and forth in green and purple. Then it reached the point of planning. An escape written in the only place they thought was safe. All the words were conscripted in strange symbols and code. When penned in English the book morphed the ink into the mysterious language. A language they thought they couldn't read. His breath stirred the yellowed pages. These messages were all that remained of his friend, save for an old photograph and gift given in a tree. Grian let out a sob, tears pouring down his mask covered face. He was gone, gone, gone and Grian was alone again. He drowned in loneliness and hopelessness. Something choked at his throat as he hugged the book to his face, letting reality pull him into it again. He wasn't strong enough. He would never get out. He would never see his friends again. It was hopeless. If he couldn't do it once, what made him think he could do it again? He was a terrible person, he had not left just one person but two. Left them to die. He pulled in a sniffle. Would he even miss him? Was he worth being missed? Then from a memory the phantom feeling of arms in an embrace surrounded him. You can tell me anything. They said, It's okay. Grian wiped down his tears. How had he gone from excitement at finding a way out to this? This not believing he deserved a way out. He had left Pearl here. Left Solidarity to lose a friend and Martyn to die. He had left Netty to always be on the run for her life. They had once trusted him and he had left them. Gone, gone, gone. He shook his head as he could almost hear a familiar voice scold him. The redstoner's voice speaking comfortingly and commandingly. Don't think like that. It wasn't your fault and stop believing it is. It was the watchers. You needed a way out and you found it. And you’re going to find it again, because you know what? You deserve it. You deserve it.

Grian shook himself out. He was going to do this. He quickly used his magic to mend the hole in the wood before skipping down the stairs and out the double doors. He had slipped the book into his cloak, best not to be seen, as he hurried through the too big halls back to his quarters. He immediately flipped the book open to the last clean page, scanning the last thing he had written. He quickly moved on from the page, not your fault he thought before he allowed himself to cry again. The builder picked up a pen and paused with the tip to the page. This wouldn't work if Pearl didn't have the other book. It was still hidden somewhere in Taurtis’ dresser. He had hoped that since Pearl had been given his room she might have found it. Maybe it was best just to try and see. So he wrote. Not a greeting or his name. He wrote down a location.

∴ᔑ∷ ∷𝙹𝙹ᒲ

The ink faded to a blood colored red and Grian shivered at the comparison. He waited a minute and a minute more. Anxiety rising. What if Pearl had never found the book? Then came purple fading into existence on the page in regal handwriting. All it said was, ||ᒷᓭ, then fading in a second later after a hesitating pause was ╎ᒲ ᓭ𝙹∷∷||, and he didn't need to ask what for. He missed that messy scribble.

Grian closed the book, tucking it back into the hidden draw to his dresser that Taurtis had made. He didn't care if the watchers knew if it was there or not, it was better than nothing. Next, he peeled open his door carefully, peeking both ways before slipping through the castle on tippy toes, aware that at any moment he could be seen. He made his way to the war room, sneaking through the old door, carved with disturbing images and since that mourning the scenes made sense. When he got there he paced, getting more and more sure that she wasn't coming. She could be reporting him to Solidarity and Xelena right at this moment. Why had he even trusted her in the first place? He could just throw magic at the portal and hope he was strong enough and disappear inside just like he did before. But then he thought of all the evolutionists who used to be his friends. Who, with his abandonment, had been forced to work their way to become of watcher status to gain their wings to escape. Who had to live with Martyn’s death too scared to try it themselves. All because of him. He would make this right. He would have to. And that was when the door was pushed open and the ever regal Pearl stepping in, her face a cold slate. Beside her stood another figure, winged and masked with straight black hair. Tension rose through Grian’s skin. Fear spiked shivering through him. She betrayed him. She was never on his side. They were here to take him to Xelena, drag him to be beaten. Panic jolted in his chest and the world swam around him. It was over, he was caught. Chills raced down his arms as his heart raced. He gasped for breath, it was over. He could numbly hear Pearl speaking, the words blurring together. She removed her mask, placing it gently to the floor, forcing her movements to be slow. She stepped toward him, hand out as if to calm a wild animal. She touched his crossed arm, some of her words seeping through his panic.

“It’s okay. It’s just Salem.” Grian’s eyes flickered over the figure in the doorway again. Salem. Just Salem. Memories came back. “Breathe.” And Grian did. He followed her eyes, breathing in and out with her exaggerated movements. Slowly his breathing returned to normal, some sort of calm rippling through his body. “Okay?” She asked when he was calmer and the builder nodded as he took in her unmasked face. The shimmering hair with stray hairs falling over her forehead, the sparkling blue eyes like crystal water. The face of a friend.

Pearl gestured for Salem to walk more into the room as she too pulled down her mask and Grian did the same.

“Salem wants out too.” Pearl explained as the mentioned bobbed her head.

“Who else do you think is trustworthy?” Grian asked, shaking out the last bits of his attack. Salem and Pearl shared a glance.

“I trust Tom, and BigB.” Salem nodded in agreement,

“I think all of us want to leave.” she added

“What about Netty?” The builder asked. “We need a way to contact her when we are leaving. She can't get out any other way without us.”

“Once we get everyone together, the watchers will be onto us, we should go get her first then.” Pearl contemplated out loud.

“You and me then.” Grian decided, “We can go get Netty while Salem rounds up the rest of the evolutionists.” They nodded together.

“We just need a way to light this portal.” Salem jutted in, “Do you think together we would be powerful enough?” Then something nagged at the back of Grian’s brain,

“How did Martyn get it lit?”

“He didn't.” Pearl said solemnly, “He went for the portal in town, he didn't make it far.”

“And Solidarity thinks it's all my fault.” Pearl seized up at that, clearly remembering something and wondering what Grian’s motives of saying such a thing were. “Well, it was my fault but I'm going to make up for it and get all of you out of here.” Pearl just nodded curtly, accepting that.

“When?” Salem asked with maybe a little actuation in her voice. Grian’s hardened eyes met Pearl’s, like a promise.

“Tomorrow. There’s a meeting tomorrow. Meet me here after it. We’ll make our escape” And Pearl took that promise. Hope is better than nothing. They all knew that. They all knew what it meant to have nothing and some of them knew what it meant to have everything and lost all of it. So they agreed. They agreed in the name of hope.

“Tomorrow.” They nodded.

“Tomorrow.”

Maybe they shouldn't have.

----

He saw them leaving. Disappearing from the vacant hallways leading up to the war room and its door set ajar. Or maybe not quite so vacant. Solidarity slunked from the shadows with blood in his eyes. He had heard of the plan. To come from the meeting tomorrow. But, oh they wouldn't get away with it. Down the hall he went silently, creeping through the door. His eye caught on something abandoned on the floor. A mask, faced downward as not to see. He bent and with grace eased it into his clawed grip. The teeth in his sneer glinted ominously. Draped in purple fabric he moved with ease to the portal. To the symbol of hope caged within the bedrock symbol of despair. And like the poet he was, tucked their downfall behind the obsidian ring. Straightening, he smiled. Complete in his work with the mask hidden he swooped back through the door to the war room. Tomorrow then. Tomorrow and they would see. They saw everything

Chapter Text

The night passed faster than Grian thought it should have. Maybe that was just because he was dreading what would happen tomorrow. But no matter what happened, he would make sure someone was walking through that portal. It would be redemption, or something close to it.

It wasn't a surprise that he had dreamed, or rather that he had remembered. It was the same thing he had seen over and over. The message sent through the leather bound book, ink melting to symbols. The library door creaking open and his face peeking through. Fully in view without the mask that had been worn constantly in what had been months. The dagger stolen from an unlocked chest in the training room pressed into Grian’s hand, slipped from Taurtis’ cloak. They slinked, unnoticed, through shadowed halls of a castle perched over an empire. Grian followed Taurtis as he led the way down the hall, to the door behind the throne. The other man kneeled to fiddle the lock on the door with lock picks. He turned the handle like he did all those nights in Grian’s dreams. He stepped aside and Grian entered. And Grian did what he did every night since then, he went forward, knowing what was happening yet completely oblivious like he was then. The bloodied dagger, the wings now his, the weapon dropped to the floor. The run, the escape. To a lit portal of freedom far away in a town they used to live. The voice behind them, pulling them away from the too close reaches of hope. Taurtis grabbed and his wrist twisted, the cry of pain that speared dread and heartbreak through the builder. And then finally the symbols. The symbols crafted in the form of a signaling hand. The symbols that he should have followed in the first place. But now it changed. He spoke what he hadn't then. What he had always regretted he hadn't.

“Take me instead.” And Xelena grinned and his whole vision became a swooping of purple silk and magic. 

“Gladly.” Grian felt pain ripple through him, tearing the nerves from his body. The last thing he saw was the disappearing figure of his friend through a portal, feathers trailing behind him in a way that only made sense in the land of dreams and a dagger plunging through Grian’s own chest.

Bloodied to abandoned. Then bloodied again.

A complete cycle. And somewhere in the back of Grian’s fading mind he wondered if Taurtis would miss him. He wondered if he was worthy of that.

He woke in a cold sweat and to a fist pounding on his bedroom door. He hurried and placed his mask over his face as it melded with his features, resting cold and weightily against his skin. He didn't pause to think why the porcelain was free of all the scuffs and small scratches he was accustomed to. Grian rose, robes uncurling around him and a cocoon of blankets falling to the floor as he walked to the door. It was a watcher, none he recognized, just with sparkling pale violet dots like freckles trailing down their chin and neck. It was a mark that this watcher was of the race, not of status, like the Evolutionists with their gifted wings. 

“You will report to the throne room immediately.” Their cold voice slithered and Xelqua just nodded. Anxiety threatened to expand from its coiling around his lungs, burning with foreboding. The watcher led the way and Grian moved to follow, both stiff with unfeeling. Or in Grian’s case coated over feelings. His stomach was wriggling with nerves and he couldn't help the clamminess that seeked out his palms. With the way the watcher stood hovering by him he felt like they were more of a warden, making sure he entered stage right after his cue so he could properly arrive for his demise. It sent involuntary shivers down the builder’s body.

They soon made their way to the throne room, his guide flinging open the heavy set doors to rows of masked watchers lined up by the walls. The Evolutionists stood frozen and Grian hoped Pearl hadn't informed them of the plan yet. If they wanted out they would run no matter what but if they were to betray at least they would be as clueless as the rest. Grian strided briskly to his place in the line, like soldiers called to attention. Pearl stood beside him and he sensed her posture shift out of the corner of his eye. Xelena sat on it’s throne, regal and arrogant as always, seemingly waiting for something. Like it knew something they did not as Grian tilted his head respectively, as he was taught, to the floor, not meeting its gaze. What was it waiting for? What were they here to be shown? He couldn't keep the cold sweat from collecting on his hands or his heart from speeding up.

Then the door fell open again and Grian’s thoughts turned confused. Who was missing? Trepidation climbed up within him like bile and it was impossible not to be afraid. What plan had it raveled them up in now? What had they missed? Then they stepped through the door, two watchers in the swathes of silk that made up their robes. And they were pulling something between them. The builder felt Pearl tense as she saw what was hanging limp in their arms, the one thing they hadn't thought would go sour. Horror filled Grian, his heart stopping for a moment as he drew in a sharp breath. They had manipulated him again. How did they always know? Grian’s hand brushed Pearl’s and he grabbed it as her nails dug into his skin with her tightening grip. He gave a squeeze back, silent comfort. Because being dragged into the throne room was Netty.

She struggled slightly in their grip, her body obviously tired as she was caught as last. She had evaded their grasp for so long, lived far away in the woods and never gave in to join the watchers. Netty had warned him. That he would be alone in this castle, that they would all have turned to, and been scorched by, the burden of wings. Deep down something plucked his heart cord, a feeling of meaningfulness without thought. Maybe her words had implied just the opposite. That Grian was no longer alone because they were all trapped in the watcher’s clutches. Because they all burned with the embers of hope. With enough ashes you had the heat for a spark but it only took a spark to blow up the world. The embers washed down the drain as the watchers dragged the defeated and bedraggled Netty towards a door, the ploy clearer. It stood to one side of the throne, a matching set on the opposing wall. One of the doors Grian had gone through, on a night where the air burned with ambition. The room with the sleeping Xelena. Another scheme. One that led to scars in the place of wings and magic in the eye of a builder. But that was the other door. The one that led to harmless quarters. Her beaten, broken and dirt stained form was being led to a door carved in eloquent designs of wrapping chains. Grian tightened his grip on Pearl’s hand as he realized, clenching his jaw. The dungeons. Xelena sure did know how to put on a show. It was meant to terrify them, to show that even the best of them could be caught, that they would play the game and follow nobody's rules. Pearl and Grian watched side by side as their plan faded like mist on the mountain tops that weaved through the forest of a magical world that was now only darkness. How were they to save Netty from the dungeons and still get out in time themselves? The watchers shoved Netty through the door when something peculiar happened. The builder watched as one of her guards pulled their face close to hers and whispered words Grian was so sure only he could hear, the rest of the watchers' attention turned and fixed on Xelena who was speaking and rising from its throne. But Grian heard. Maybe because it was meant to be heard. It was spoken in a language Grian had learned through late nights and flickering candles as he watched black ink become purple and characters become symbols. A language he had learned the hard way wasn't just between the two people who had spoken it. 

“ᔑᓭ ᒲᔑリ|| ᔑᓭ ||𝙹⚍ ᓵᔑリ..” They hissed, edged with command and snarl. Then Netty was slammed in and all three disappeared inside. Grian’s mind churned with puzzlement. What did it mean? It was gibberish. Was it another way to twist his mind and manipulate him? But no, he didn't think it was that. It seemed to be a mistake that he had ever heard at all. He wasn't meant to. But the watchers never made such mistakes.

----

The meeting ended, the spectacle with Netty weighing on their minds. Outside the throne room, Pearl met Grian’s porcelain coated face. She mouthed words in their separate language.

ᒲ|| ∷𝙹𝙹ᒲ

 He nodded and they went briskly across the marble floors. They disappeared down separate hallways as they each made their way to their place of rendezvous. The builder first went to Pearl’s quarters. He wondered what she wanted for him to get from here. Then his confusion cleared. He hurriedly ripped open a draw to his dresser, words written in Taurtis’ unworldly scrawl coming to mind. He opened the false bottom and pulled out the object that was left. He thanked the gods for Pearl. Someone would have had to bury his friend and she had hid what was left of it. He pulled out Taurtis’ makeshift lock picks and he smiled. Once again Grian made it to the war room first but it was barely a minute before Pearl peaked her head in again, followed by Salem. His mask was already tucked into the folds of his cloak as Pearl and Salem did the same. Grian let out a sigh of relief and exasperation, letting his emotions of hopelessness finally escape and be shoved in that breath. What were they going to do? Pearl grabbed Grian’s shoulders, meeting his violet eyes with her cold blue. His gaze was panicked and discouraged as she spoke. Hopelessness or not, all they needed was an ember. A simple ember and they would be free to fly on their own terms. 

“It goes on.” Her expression was steeled with confidence, boring into Grian with a fire. “We go on.” And the way she said it made him believe it. He nodded, taking from her faith. They would go on. Pearl whipped around to Salem. “Bring them all.” It reminded Grian eerily of the words the watchers had spoken to Netty earlier. He wanted to tell them about it and get their views on the command but something stopped him. Maybe it was the same reason he had ran instead of speaking out that night. His mouth fell open, pondering the right thing to do but Salem was already fleeing through the door. Pearl turned back to the builder, her face full of conviction. “Come with me.” She spoke with strength, eyes meeting eyes, “Let’s get our friend back.”

Their feet went almost silently through empty corridors, silk trailing behind them. At some points they had to pause at corners to peer around them and wait for watchers to pass through. Their faces were free of their masks, it was best not to be followed by the eyes seeing out of them. Soon they made their way to the door of the throne room. The heavy wooden doors were sealed shut and there was no way of knowing if anyone was inside. Pearl looked at him, the meaning on her face obvious. Are you ready? And Grian was close to laughing inwardly, but his face remained serious. His mind flashed to scenes of collapsing figures and blood speared chests from the night before. He knew what would become of them if they were not lucky. He would never be ready, not for that. She opened the door anyway. 

Luck seemed to be on their side. Or at least something was. The room was empty. And so was the throne. Early mourning light poured through the stillness of the throne room, adding a haunting feeling to it. Or maybe that was just the silence. 

“Come on.” Pearl’s hushed voice called with her hand waving them onward. Grian’s nerves peaked even though it was going well. It was going too well. They should have been stopped by now. Should have been caught and killed for treason but there was nothing. So they approached the entrance to the dungeons and Grian got chills as he observed the depictions in the wooden surface. Chains coiled and an indent in an organic, circular shape. The builder realized with a jolt it was supposed to be a speckled pool of blood. He shivered as Pearl opened the door, surprisingly unlocked. The creak of the hinge spookily reminded him of a drawn out scream. Steps immediately descended after the threshold, swirling with the complete darkness. Cobblestone made up the walls as they descended into the cool depths. The stone dripped with dew, coated in the dank dampness with countless strands of spider webs clustering the corners. Grian vaguely wondered how Salem was doing and how with each Evolutionist sent to the war room they were becoming more and more likely to be caught. The minutes ticked faster and faster with each of Grian’s rasping breath. They had to hurry.

Pearl led the way down the descending steps, their footfalls echoing and fading off the cold walls. The ground leveled out to a floor far beneath the castle. The air was frigid and stale, smelling of sweat and waste.  At intervals between the cells were flickering and dulled torches mounted to the walls, barely giving off enough light for them to observe their surroundings with. At some point Pearl had illuminated her palm with the purple light seeping from the flickering fire in her hand, giving them more of the much needed light. Dark bars lined both walls from floor to ceiling with rooms carved behind it. Chains draped off the walls of cells and hay littered the hard stone floor. Grian glanced into one of the cells and saw a dark stain discoloring the grey brick wall. He swallowed, trying to hold down nausea, he didn't want to know what that was. They continued briskly past the empty dungeons. Where was Netty? Grian thought of the Evolutionists running through the halls. Too visible. Too noisy. They needed to go.

That's when they heard a rough cough. It was more of a wheeze of someone choking on dust. The rescuers met each other's eyes, cast in a mystifying mix of amber and violet light, highlighting the edges of their features. It could only be one person. They rushed to the noise.

Shackled by her hands, sealed behind bars was the figure of someone who was uncatchable. Someone who was caught. She was slumped in her posture and had a bruise forming on her right cheek with many more dried cuts and scrapes marking her skin but she was alive.

“Netty.” Grian let out a sigh of relief. He quickly moved to the locks on the prison door. He fumbled the metal lock picks from his robe and he slid them in the lock before fiddling them around. Netty’s head lifted at the sound and then she spotted Pearl before tracing her gaze down to Grian who had gotten the lock to click and fall open. He stood and moved to one of the chains clasping her wrist. 

“It looks like my gifts have come in handy.” She spoke as her limb was released and the builder moved to the next.

“Your gifts?” Grian questioned. He thought Pearl was the one who had gotten the lock picks. She was the one who had told him where to get them. 

“Netty’s the one that….” Pearl trailed off, leaving the rest verbally unfinished. He filled in the rest in his mind anyway. The tone sounded snarky, even though he knew Pearl wasn't blaming him. Took care of your friend after you left. It sent something like bile through his veins. Mostly because it was true. He had left. With that, the final shackle cracked open, freeing Netty as Grian slipped the lock picks into his cloak. His eyes were harden and his mouth drawn into a line,

“Let’s go.” He spoke coldly.

“Grian..” Pearl sighed, clearly picking up on his fouled mood, starting as if she was going to explain or apologize that she didn't mean it like that.

“Stop.” He said with a bite in his words as he pushed his way through the entrance to the cell.

“He was a great person.” The builder froze at the softened tone from behind him. “Funny, goofy grin. He liked you most.” Grian felt his eyes break, the feeling of sadness without the tears. He let out a harsh breath, his posture slumping as his hand rested against the cold, metal doorframe.

“He was my best friend.” He murmured softly, eyebrows furrowing. Pearl spoke again,

“So let's go make it up to him.” With a nod Grian took a step out the door and they began their race against time.

The halls of the palace seemed to take forever to navigate this time. Each ticking second sent Grian farther into a downward spiral. What if they had already found them? What if they were walking into a trap? The thought aided his feet to walk faster.

They reached the war room, the door sealed shut. This was it. Grian looked again at the images of destruction in the wood and couldn't help but believe that he might soon be on the other end of it. He didn't allow himself to think. He opened the door. A knife was instantly pressed against his neck the second his foot strayed over the threshold. Grian’s heart hammered in his chest and fear flooded through him. All of his coherent thoughts vanished before he heard a shout and the blade was drawn down. He looked at its wielder standing guard in front of him. It was Mini. He was wearing a green shirt that was buttoned down with a strap of leather crossing from his right shoulder to his waist and a skeptical gleam in his eye. His mask was nowhere to be seen. It also seemed he had lost the cloak like most of the others in the room. The one who had shouted was Salem as Mini stepped back, still wary as he glanced the purple robed Grian up and down. The builder forced himself to be calm. Mini wouldn't have actually killed him; Though Grian still gave him a stare as he walked pointedly past him to Salem. 

The small room was crowded, Salem had seemed to have brought all the Evolutionists. The only ones that seemed to be missing from their original group was Solidarity. The builder felt a pang in his chest remembering Martyn and Taurtis. Two failed escapes. Two lost lives. Well, he was here to make up for that.

“Good,” Salem grabbed Grian’s arm, pulling him into the war room followed by Pearl and Netty. “Now that you're here we can get this going.”

“Do you even know how to light the portal?” Pearl asked from behind him.

“Not yet.” Salem spoke fast, “We’re still figuring it out but I think our combined magic will be enough to do so.” 

“Then let's try it.” Grian said, unable to stop the hope from sparking in his heart. They were going to make it out, and the watchers couldn't stop them. He looked around at all the faces of past friends, burdened with countless months and years of trauma and hopelessness in the hands of the watchers. Now their eyes shined. They had become embers and they were here to make sure this world burned down.

Grian was the first. He faced his palm up and let fire dance. The purple glowed, a tangible thing. Somehow it looked both like it was burning in the air and mist twisting. Something in his violet eyes began to glow with the power of it as the magic began twirling into strands. They floated, suspended in the air a moment before they warped, leading to the obsidian ring of the empty portal before him. The black stone reflected the twisting image of Grian pouring out his soul, glowing in hazy light and Grian watched as more and more tangles of fire joined the air. The evolutionists joining him. He felt the heat burning in his gut as he growled in effort. He closed his eyes and pictured the lit portal in his mind as his freckles sparkled like gemstones on his cheeks. His wings swirled in the magical dust like a tornado that he couldn't see as the other Evolutionists watched with curiosity and shock. The magic flickered out of their hands as they watched Grian glow like a fallen star. The builder had never done anything like this. He had always thought of his magic as something to scorn, something that was never meant to be his and carried his greatest shame in its flaring violet surface. So he had blocked it out. Never used his burden, what they had called a gift. It showed him the many ways he could have stopped Xelena. Stopped the dagger from plunging into his friend's chest. He used to be Xelqua, hanging onto regrets, wanting desperately to change the past. He used to be the scared, silly version of him that had lost everything. But now he burned with the power. He let it in. All the years of scars and tears and sleepless nights. All of it. And he let it flow. Let it flow like the magic from his hands because now it was more than an apology he offered. It was Redemption, a way to be forgiven by the clustering of ghosts around him. His brow furrowed in pain as he strengthened his efforts. The magic whipped around him, faster and faster, an unbreakable storm. It roared in his ears and he heard them. He heard him. In the room, in the past, in his mind. Words that he had never spoken mixed with words that he had. Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself, he said over the roaring wind. He whispered even though it was impossible to hear words over the storm around him. The storm in him. He heard anyway. And he forgave. Grian forgave. He let it go. He knew it would still haunt him for many more nights, he knew that it would never completely go away, that guilt, but it was a step. He wanted to forgive himself. He became Grian. He became fueled by the past and he changed the future. In an explosion of purple light the bystanders shielded their eyes from the ferocity of it. And he roared, his wings flaring as the magic burst outward with power around him. 

He took his first shuddering breath in the silence. He had emptied himself. He had torn himself piece from piece and had seen his heart. He had seen his heart and had decided it deserved a rest. That he deserved a rest. He took another breath. And another. And He put himself back together. Piece by piece. He opened his eyes. A field of purple flickered between edges of dark stone in front of him. And what he saw before him, in that wavering image, was hope. He had been the embers, the spark and now they burned together like a funeral pyre. They had a way out. 

Grian sighed, weary and tired. He turned to the evolutionists behind him, they had done it. He saw their faces, awestruck, eyes tinted with a dream to get out. He realized something. The power that had bled from his hands, the field of color filling the portal. He had done it. He met the evolutionists eyes and smiled.

“Who wants to go first?”

----

In the end they decided to send them through in pairs, just like how they had traveled that first time between worlds. Grian paired Mini with BigB, telling them to line up in front of the portal. Mini with his knife, gods knows where he got it, should be able to handle himself if things went sour on the other side and BigB would prevent Mini from making things go sour. Then he spoke in their ears as he patted them on the back. The end location. Grian just hoped they would be able to handle ten or so refugees showing up on their doorstep. Both nodded before stepping into the film. The builder rushed to pair up the rest of the evolutionists. He felt time slipping through his fingers and each second spent on this side of the portal increased their chances of being caught. Pair after pair slipped through the portal, everything going smoothly until Grian heard a pound on the other side of the door and he turned to Netty and Salem on the rim of the portal, the last pair to go through except Pearl and Grian himself. Then he noticed a flash of white hidden behind the portal frame. He took a step closer. Pure porcelain. It dawned on him. That's when hell fell loose. The door cracked open, splitters pouring into the room. They had been found. Watched, like the watchers did through the only mask left in the room. His thoughts flashed back. A mask put on the floor from a meeting the day before. A mask he placed on his face that morning, his fingers finding a smooth surface where there would usually be scratches. A difference he didn't notice. A difference he should have. What was hidden calculatingly behind the portal was his mask. His mask that had caused the watchers to see everything.

His nightmares flooded into the room in a blazing of purple silk. 

“GO!!” He shouted to Netty and Salem, magic building around him like static. They didn't waste their time, jumping into the next world. He shoved a blast at a watcher that stepped into the room. The one with the purple freckles trailing down their neck and had led him to the throne room that morning. They were shocked back as more of them poured through the doorway. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pearl do the same to the watcher that had taken their place.

“You too! Get out of here.” He threw another ball of violet fire.

“No!” She screamed, slamming another watcher away. They were quickly becoming overwhelmed. Grian threw the fire with all his might, buying them a few seconds. With that precious time he met her eyes. 

“Go.” She shook her head but backed up slightly toward the portal. She continued to fight but there were just too many. The builder tired and the sea of cloaks seemed endless. His guard fell down for a second and he felt a hand roughly grab him. Then there was another and his hands were pinned. He tried to fan his wings to shake his attackers off but that barely did anything except turn their attention to pushing his feathers against his sides. He was pulled back into the swathes of watchers as they tried to surround Pearl who stood on the portal’s rim. Solidarity stalking toward her.

“GO!” He screamed again and her scared eyes fluttered down to meet his. As she threw her last bit of weaponized magic and fell through the portal he issued his final command, staring her crystal eyes down. “Find Mumbo.” And then she was gone, Solidarity lunging after her with his clawed fist catching nothing but air as the portal blinked to black.

The builder felt his body pummeled in countless wounds, hope draining from his body. Everything fell into a haze, almost trance like. Not real as if a dream. How could everything go so bad so quickly? He saw Solidarity turn to him, grabbing him as the other watchers worked feverishly to tie his hands and wings. He felt a sharp blade slash at his shoulder and thoughts flickered through his delirious mind as he gave in. Bloodied and broken. That was what he was. Solidarity’s masked face passed in front of him for a second. Then he met the evolutionist’s eyes as he towered over him, Grian being forced to the floor on his knees. The man that had used to be his friend had betrayed him. Broken his trust. His mind babbled hysterically. Bloodied and broken. Weakness is strength. Grian opened his mouth, blood leaking from the corner of it, and spoke words that only Solidarity could hear.  It was none of the questions floating around in his head. Not ‘Why?’ or ‘What made you do it?’ or even ‘You’re a traitor.’ But something Grian might have wanted to hear all those years ago when he had fallen through a portal leaving his friend behind just like Pearl did him. He poured into his eyes a sincerity and understatement because weren't they just a little the same? And he murmured quietly, voice cracking, 

“I forgive you.” He saw Solidarity jerk back slightly in surprise, his mouth falling open. Grian didn't even know why he did it. Maybe because Solidarity was just as broken as he was. He had lost a friend and had decided the best way to move on, to survive, was to give in. He couldn't escape so he joined them and worked for them, building his reputation and way up. He had given up friendship for some sort of twisted freedom but what did it matter anyway? His friend was already gone and he needed someone to blame. Grian was just easier than himself. 

He watched as the Evolutionist’s shell shocked and awestruck face was forced into emotionlessness but Grian knew something had struck him. Or maybe that was just a wish. He wondered how stories on opposite sides of history could be so similar. Solidarity’s face returned to his  sneer but Grian held his stare as his whole world faded to black as he fell into unconsciousness, one thing echoing in his mind before everything fled leaving him stranded in a thoughtless void.

They had escaped. Pearl would find Mumbo and they would return for him and the watchers' rein would end, blown to smithereens by a single spark. Until then, all Grian had to do was hope.

Chapter Text

The man woke. He didn't know if this was a dream or reality. All he knew that he was shivering in his skin, body piercingly cold. All he saw was blurry darkness, and at first, he heard speaking. Too faint to make out. The mummers broke through the void surrounding him but not enough to pull him out of it. He was engulfed by nothingness, there was nothing to feel, nothing to think. Endless black and stretching time.There wasn't a lot in this version of the world and so he gave up on it. He let go and fell into unconsciousness again.

He came to. Days could have passed in his dreamlessness or maybe it had been months or mere minutes. He would never know. He remembered floating in the darkness before and he felt an itch in the back of his mind. His muscles twitched and this time he rolled over. He could feel his back aching and sore, muscles and mind weary. A light seeped in around him, spreading like ink through the black. It slowly encroached on the darkened vacuum around him as it was broken, shattered like dawn. The light swallowed him. It was like the void but golden with a fuzzy brightness. Hazy, yellowed gleam that filtered around him, coating him in a fantastical state. He felt a warmth touch his skin as gently as a kiss, his face basked in it. Peaceful. It was silent, almost to a point where it dully roared in his ears. Deafening. Somehow he knew that if he opened his mouth to speak his words would never escape his mouth as they were devoured by it. Then he realized he could see. There was still nothing around him, his mind floating aimlessly through space, but he could catch sight of flashes of his body coming into view. The end of his pant leg. A glint of light off his elbow. The man reached up his hand, staring as the golden rays flickered through his fingers. Light like golden rings adorning him. The movement was slow and uncontrolled as if he was fighting both gravity and the lack of it. He could see himself! He could move! He noticed the skin on his arm was bare and realized he was shirtless. He wondered why.

Was this reality? This bright, holy, nothingness? Him alone in the world? The man’s eyes fluttered and he fell tired with the calming darkness that took over his closed eyelids. He forced them open again. He didn't want to fall into that cold blackness as he dragged himself back to the illuminated void. He stretched out his body, flexing his muscles in an attempt to stay in this half awake state of glowing paradise. Something was off, he felt it, as if an object was wrapped around him but he saw nothing. A phantom touch of fabric. He moved and then something curled around him, another limb. It flashed in the corner of his eye and he turned to face it, moving it more into his view, still dragging against the emptiness. They were wings. The feathers white and shedding into the void like ash, drifting around him. They looked bald and sickly, dying. It was getting harder and harder to hold his eyes open, his body fighting the weariness that deposited him into the unfriendlier blackness. He watched through a squint as one of the torn off feathers slowly disappeared into dust. That wasn't right . His incoherent mind barely got the words out before he fell back into darkness.

The rumbling of speech filled his ears. Again, all he saw was black, but he still felt cloth around him like before. He was no longer cold as he felt his bare skin rub against something that felt like fleece. He turned his blank mind to the words floating around and drifting through his ears.

“..It’s set.. just have to wait-” The tone was cold, only half of its words loud enough to be deciphered in the man’s unhinged mind. He felt his thoughts cloud in puzzlement.

“..Will he wake up?” Another voice, the rest of the conversation lost and blurred in his mind. “..Do with him?”

“He can't escape n̷̝͂̅ơ̷̞̺̓͐̀͌̇̓̅̔̐͒͝͝w̶̢̘̯̗̺͉͈̼̄̄̐̈́̾́̔̔͝͝. … No hope..-f̶̡̘̭͎̖͍̏͆̂ǫ̵̜̥̹̞̠̫̦̻̣̬͙̀̃̿ṙ̴̢̛͚̺̲̞͕̰͈͋͊͗̈͐͊̓́͠͠ͅ him… Good as dead”

“What if..?

“Then w̵̤̮͍̠̪̹̣̓̄̎͐̈́͐̒͆̀̚͜͝e̸̅̈́̄̿̎̽̋̐͘͝ͅ'̶̧̮̭̯̥̇̊̃͑̏͌̎͊́̌̾͋̆l̷̡͕̦̩̩̠̺̮̜̠̫̘̝̙̲̍͛͊̔͒͗́̉̚̕̕͝ḻ̶͔̬̻͂͑̇͌̀̅͐̽̚̕͝..”

The number of their words getting lost to the static increased, making the man more and more confused. Who were they? What were they talking about? Then the original voice spoke, more of a snarl, only one word fully untouched, not lost to time.

“Ȓ̶̖̞̞͓̟͋̄̒̽ě̶̛̠̺̻̪̭̤͙̜̺̬̥̏̋̅̓͗̂̏̎͆͘͘m̷̞͔̹̺͈͈̟̭̯͎̫̥̙͐̅̅̓͘ḯ̷̢̧̨̗͉̥̬̬̮͔̤̠͈͗̇̆̃̂̋͆̎̒͘ͅn̵͈̎̅͑͊̅̐̌̒̉̕͘͝͠d̵̨̤͉͖̙͍͚͓̐͂̽̃̒̑̂̾͊̿̃͜͜ ̶̡̜̙̥̫̄͆̂̏̾h̸̳̰̯͆̌im - happ̸̙̖̭̱͎̟̬͎̳̟̈ḙ̸̛̟̫̰̘̱̭͎͇̯͕̦͗͗͂̆͒̉̐̃̐̉̓ņ̵͈̻͚̪̟̙̈́̔̊̇͌͋͌̅̐͋̕͝͝ë̴̢̢͚̹̯͇̘̜̼͎̬́̋̒͆̑̐̇̈́͆̅̏̽͒̈́̚d̵̨̛̟̩͙̥͖̀̈́̂̆͑̊ ̷͕̥̳̱͈͍̙͂̈́̑͠ţ̴̩̬̠̺̼̗̓̅̎̇o̶̥̝͎͈̝̖͗̆̾̔̔̄̋.. Taurtis.”

The name was like a slap in the face. How did he know it? Who was it? He felt the knowledge locked away in some hidden crevice in his mind but he couldn’t  dig it out. Then he was shocked with another revelation: who was he? Words that were spoken and edged with tears came to mind. Was it from someone else's memories or his own? You care for people . The kind and scratchy voice spoke. So familiar to him, to.. whoever he was. You’re kind. You're excellent at building. You can make everyone laugh on a crappy day and you’re a great friend. He could almost hear more to it. When this was said in the past, there was a phrase that seemed to be cut off of the sentence. Words never spoken. You’re my friend. But who had said it? Who hadn’t? The man fell further into the void. It's cruel, freezing and trembling hands of pure midnight wrapped around him, strangling him. He felt himself tip sideways, disoriented. He saw ash rain around him, shedding from him before settling in his hair and dusting his shoulders. He felt and he fell into a dream. He fell into his hope.

It looked awfully like a stone grey forest. The trees looked petrified and a purple hung in the air like he was looking through sunglasses. Even the sky matched the deadened monotone. It looked exactly like… Where was that again? His brows furrowed. What had happened to his memory? The scene bugged something in the back of his head. He knew it looked like somewhere he had been before but now it was.. Off. It was different but somehow still the same. Like I'm seeing it upside down… He pondered.

The man wandered around, watching as the trees and images seemed to glitch right in front of his eyes. They appeared in one place before jumping to another as it all fit into this illusion. His wings, was it normal to have those?, trailed behind him. The feathers fell to the ground, looking just like the trees with their pale white and grey shadows. They landed among the grass, looking like snow as the ones still stubbornly clinging to his weakening appendages rippled in the wind and flaked into ash. He walked on. Then his eyes caught onto something, up in a tree. It was bright blue, hazy as if not quite part of this world. He sat in a tree, his back to him. The man approached, following the only slash of color in this silvery world. He cast a wide berth around the treed man, hoping to approach from the front. The man weaved through the trees, leaving behind progressively more of himself the more he walked. He barely noticed anymore.

The person in the tree had his feet hanging over the edge of the high branch on which he perched. His hair was black and ruffled, matching the overalls that strapped over his shirt. The blue of the fabric was so saturated, adapting an almost glowing quality, the air around it being bled the same color. He was looking down at something in his hands, cupped in his lap. The blue shirted man looked up, revealing his face and the thing balanced on his knee. Headphones. Red and blue checkered with a black band. Headphones that were gifted in a tree just like this one and that the winged one had pulled from a dead man's hair. The sun spilled across the raven haired man’s face, clearly in view and it made the other’s heart stop for a second. An overheard conversation spilled into his head with a growl. Taurtis. The image glitched before him, as if the true scene was coated over and someone had torn its mask away. Someone ripping out the smiling friend from the fabric of the world. The man saw a great blackness beneath it, the edges of the scene glitching and morphing. In it was Taurtis, the one in the tree, floating in darkness. He watched as his vision filled with static as a knife plunged right through Taurtis’ chest. He gasped in shock and horror as blood pooled in the blue shirt at an alarming rate. This was before Taurtis’ mouth bubbled, spitting red, and he collapsed forward, dead. The man was thrown into darkness and he didn't even realize he was screaming.

He was falling. Faster and faster. Wind ripped around, pulling at his seams as the blackness acted as a gaping mouth, swallowing him whole. Fear coated him, his heart pounding his ribs so hard he was afraid it might kill him. He felt pain but he didn't know where it was coming from. Burning, biting pain. Gravity swirled about him, offering him to any gods he failed to believe in. Sacrificing him for repent. Not one answered. Even the gods didn't care about him. The void offered nothing. He grasped at it anyways. He was surprised when he caught something.

He looked up shaky. There was a man in a fine pressed suit, his tie clashing lavishly with the endless black. The splash of color glowed just like Taurtis’ shirt. He observed his mustached face full of something he couldn't describe. The falling man’s eyes were blurry and confused. His face told that he was lost. He looked upon his rescuer, his savior, the safety rail that stood between him and the crippling judging eyes of the void and he asked. He asked something that had haunted him, something with much more to the words.

“Who am I?” And his voice croaked, full of puzzlement and wonder. The man that was his life thread smiled down at him kindly, speaking an answer as if it were just a piece to the puzzle and that he already knew the answer deep down in his heart.

“You’re Grian.”

You’re Grian.

Grian.

Grian.

He saw a mansion with a blue tailored roof. He saw a masked man with white feathers and hands full of eggs. He saw an ocean through the glass of a bottle and a small clearing littered with sacred cookies and bamboo. He saw joyful faces. A friend with a blue cyborg eye and a man with a floppy hat, his smiling voice imitating that of Indian Jones. A purpled visored man who had offered his gloved hand down to a red jumpered man on a beach. He saw wars and pranks. He saw a bird resting on his shoulder and dancing parrots. He saw a laughing swede with a black and purple mask over his face, singing a bouncing tune. He saw a minecart, ringing with a persistent bell and the journal inside. Then he saw him. Not who he had expected but him all the same. A man dressed formally with a goofy grin on his face, his mustache and hair dusted with red sparkling particles. He remembered words spoken mid air after a close fall as he was held close. He remembered tears in his eyes and a phrase that had hung in the air, never truly spoken except in his heart. You’re my friend.

He was Grian.

He was Grian and he knew what that meant

The blackness shattered and the builder truly woke up. He woke up to a bedrock symbol on the wall and a mask on the nightstand beside him. To an empty room and an even emptier castle. Blankets wrapped around his shirtless body as he sat himself up on his bed. Shivering he tried to draw his wings around him and that was when he noticed something. Like in a trance, Grian slowly reached his hand up his back. He thought he would feel something at the revelation. Some hopelessness at the lack of a way out but he felt nothing. He was numb. He would have to hope against hope that Pearl would find Mumbo. He was the smartest person Grian knew, surely he could get him out of this. Because in the place of feathers his hand traced twin scars curved around his shoulder blades. They had taken his wings back.

 ----

He couldn't sleep.

His body was sore and he couldn't get comfortable. His limbs were so tired they longed to stretch, kicking against his blanket. It was pulled off him, bundled at Mumbo’s feet and he jolted to pull it up to his neck again at the cold. After many hours of this twisting and turning, hoping a position would come that he could sleep in, he could take no more of it. The redstoner glanced at the clock. 2:34. He sighed, frustratedly pushing the covers off him one last time. He got up in the dark, pulling on a jacket as he moved through the night.

Out of his room he clicked on the light, blocking his eyes at the unfamiliar brightness. He went to his kitchen counter that was pressed against the wall opposing his storage. The stove and cabinets stood in front of the large glass window. He remembered when the glass was smudged with lumpy paint in the shape of a face. It had long ago been washed off. He flicked on the light over the stone counter, leaving a trail of illuminated lights through his home like breadcrumbs. Mumbo stared at the only object on it. The journal. Their journal. He ran his fingers over the worn cover. Pressing his lips together he made a decision and picked it up before sliding down the ladder to the first floor. Another light turned on, a book thumped to the worn wood of his work table as he pulled up a chair. He took a whispering breath as he steeled himself. He slowly pulled the cover off the first page. His fingers ran over the pages. Page after page. The redstoner didn't notice his wet cheeks as he sat there for hours. A man hunched over a desk, over a book, a mere shadow under the only light in a lonely home. He remembered when he had first found the book after Grian had left. How broken he had felt. Now it was just discouragement. He knew Grian was gone. He knew he wasn't coming back. But he still wondered. He still wanted to know. What made him do it? What was it like there? And somewhere in the back of his head, some silly question.

Does he like it better without me?

----

Xisuma sighed. Multiple glowing screens stood in front of him as he leaned back in his chair, sending it rolling slightly against the floor. They drilled blue light into his tired eyes in their ghostly hue, looking as if an invisible projector was shining its pictures on the collecting dust in the air. He rubbed his temple. He had only slept once in the past week and that was when Keralis had made his weekly check in on the admin. The city goer almost had to force X to sleep when he heard of X’s week without doing so. He was too busy. Ever since Grian had stepped through that portal Xisuma had been set on finding where it went, if he was okay. Mumbo had also disappeared and X had heard that he had rarely been seen since a trip to the shopping district a while ago. He replayed the scene in his mind. The bedrock symbol in the sky, the ‘watchers’ stepping through the field of purple. Mumbo roaring in agony. And then Grian was gone. He knew why the builder did it. The cost of seeing a friend in pain, the burden of your presence. A watcher always knew. Some called that a gift, Xisuma just thought it was a burden.

He decided it might be time for breakfast, to at least try and make do of the promise to take care of himself he had given Keralis. That's when he heard a buzz from his communicator propped on a stand and acting as another monitor. His eyes flashed to the bottom of the log, widening in surprise.

>> Mini Muka joined the game

Then another quickly followed, the names blurring together. Seven in all and in the column printed in Galactic told Xisuma that they all had wings. And X understood. ‘Watchers’. Hunters. He smiled to himself, shaking his head back and forth, pleased. Well done, Grian, his thoughts said monotonously, Well done.

With that, he flung himself from his chair, pulling on his elytra and leaping into the morning air, he had messengers to find. He flew through golden sunlight, fabric wings cutting through it like a tangible thing. Xisuma headed to spawn. They should show up on the starter island like the test of them. He needed to get there before a hermit, or one of the newcomers decided to cause problems. He was halfway there when he paused. A tower and a trio come to inform him of it. An attic full of gifts and a basement of darkness. He closed his wings and dropped as he changed his course. The name of a Hunter there to build a tower, appearing at the bottom of a screen. Why a tower when there was a symbol floating over town hall? Why a tower at all? For a back door. X flew to it.

He touched down on the plain, just like he had landed on the purple mycelium weeks before. He quickly fished a totem of undying of his own from his inventory. The words he spoke to Grian filtered through his head again. Just in case . He quickly tore off his elytra, green mist dusting his palm as he let his wings fall into view. He couldn't practice magic when they were hidden away and he felt it was more fair that way but he might need them now. X wouldn't look forward to a six-v-one without them; especially with any weapons the newcomers might have. He stepped into the tower, not pausing to look at the adornments of bedrock. X whipped out an unlit torch, its tip igniting with green magic and then real fire as it flickered to life. He stepped toward the descending staircase, swooshing his light onto the steps. He saw faces, sparkling eyes staring up at him.

The person in front of him whipped out a knife, pressing it to the admin’s neck before he could react. Maybe Keralis was right, he did need a break. Xisuma took a shuddering breath as the cold blade pricked his skin. Tilting his chin up he observed the man that held him with the premise of death less than a second away. He wore a green shirt strapped with leather with purple wings flowing in feathers down his sides.

“Who are you?” He inquired roughly, shoving Xisuma's neck with shining steel, “Where are we?” X felt a sliver of fear shake up him and he clutched his golden figurine tighter, fingertips pressing against the engraving, leaving little red marks on his skin. He took a breath. A builder that had left them, looking more and more selfish to others as the days wore on. More and more like betrayal. He had returned to those that conquered worlds, to the monsters that enslaved and killed people. He had no reason to trust these people, like he had no reason to trust the hunter that had stepped through that portal. They could be ‘watchers’ like any other, here to take over their freedom, he couldn't even prove that Grian had sent them. But they looked so defensive, not like they were the ones making the blows but the ones receiving them. He knew he should be wary, he knew of the ‘watchers' manipulations but he had something they didn't. Words spoken to a redstoner, drenched from a storm and tired from sleeplessness and worry came to mind. Sixth sense . He decided to trust them. Even the wisest among us make mistakes.

He needed a way to prove who he was, that he was trustworthy so Xisuma held out his arm, white and black communicator strapped to his forearm,

“Press it.” He said calmly as if a way to soothe their nerves. The man eyed him warily, looking the yellowed armoured admin up and down. He turned to the dark skinned man behind him, wrapped in an expensive looking, polished blue suit, and nodded to X’s wrist. He complied, shifting over the other’s shoulder to activate the communicator so the one with the knife could still hold it against X’s skin. The phantom screen zapped into existence. The two men read it together. They learned Xisuma’s name and his admin status, pausing when they came to the row that told of his wings. And they saw that it was written in green.

“What does this mean??” He asked, thrusting his knife at the glowing screen. X slowly raised his hands to show his empty palms and that he meant no harm.

“It means I'm not the watchers.” He lowered his knife slowly though the admin’s body stayed tense. X offered his hand to the man on the steps beneath him. Just like he had years ago, to a man in a red sweater, dusted with sand, and wings X had passed off for something of the past. A man who X had pretended not to see throw a disk of heavy porcelain into the waves around him. And X said the same words he did then,

“I’m Xisuma, welcome to hermitcraft….?”

“Mini.” He said after a small hesitation, fully dropping the knife to his side. Mini looked up and he took X’s hand as the admin pulled the man into the sunlight of the bottom floor of the tower. As he pulled refugees away from the same thing his friend was running from then.

They clustered together on the sandstone floor, X rubbing his temple as reality set in. What were they going to do with these people? They were traumatized and they needed food and shelter. X was going to just leave them out here in the rain and wilderness. He pulled out his messages on his communicator and messaged the three closest people to the tower. It was only a short while until someone in a black shirt descended to the grass outside. Impulse rushed to the anxious admin.

“X? What's going on? Who are these people?”

“You know how Grian left?” Impulse nodded, “It seems he sent us a little present.”

“Is Grian here?” The redtoner asked, an excited and hopeful edge to his voice. His face quickly fell as X shook his head sadly. A rocket jarred them out of their thoughts as they both turned to the noise. Tango, with Zedaph in his arms bridal style as they landed. Zed hopped out of Tango’s arms with a goofy smile like an excited child and a ‘thanks for the ride’. Tango walked to the admin,

“Did you bring it?” Tango bobbed his head, pulling out stacks of wooden bowls, soon to be full with different kinds of stew. “Okay, good.”

Impulse pulled on X’s arm as Tango went to hand out bowls and Zed added mysterios spices to the containers of food. The look on Impulse’s face knocked him out of his critical state. The one he went to when things needed to be done. When he needed to take care of people, when he saw them in need.

“I need more of an explanation.” X opened his mouth, sighing. He knew they deserved to know the reason.

“They were watchers.” He spoke the word even though he knew it was the wrong one, but it was the one Impulse would understand, “They needed a way out and Grian gave it to them.”

“You mean- they saw Grian? He’s okay?” Xisuma nodded.

“Impulse, Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Impulse said with a solemn hint of concern. Maybe because he looked overworked.

“Can you get started on making these people a place to stay? Get as much help as you need, I know buildings not your thing but it can be simple until we can figure something out.” Impulse nodded, beginning to walk away with a purposeful bounce in his step. He was headed to the mountainside that was making up the mountain behind Zedaph’s cave. X smiled and shook his head, lord knows this server didn't need another hobbit hole. In the time of X’s and Impulse’s conversation, Tango had come up behind them, turning to Xisuma.

“Hey X, there’s something you need to hear.” The red eyed man stepped aside, gesturing to a purple cloaked hunter with silvery brown hair. “She's asking for Mumbo”

X was slightly shocked, how did she know about the redstoner? He knew there was always the option of Grian talking about him but the builder wasn't normally one to share such things. A chill went down his spine as he remembered Mumbo’s scared face as he whispered the builder's name before X had commanded him to fly. It always had to do with flight, didn't it? Falling wasn't an option with the ‘watchers’. Giving up and letting gravity win was as good as death. The admin looked to Tango, their faces mirroring each other. What could this be about?

X spoke, noticing how much weight Tango’s words had, carried from her lips. He looked to the cave dweller who wasn't doing much anyway, he was currently bugging Mini and who Xisuma had learned was Bigb, secretly writing notes for some scientific experiment at each of their reactions. The admin huffed a half laugh out his nose, or he would have, but he spoke gravely, staring into the fiery pits of Tango’s eyes. It had to do with his friend, with their friend. He had told him to fly, now he told them to fly to him,

“Send Zed.”

----

Mumbo lifted his head, a noticeably crick in his neck. Squinting from just waking, he lifted his hand to the back of his neck to massage it as he pulled his face from the desk that had apparently acted as a pillow that night. He half groaned with a scratchy sigh. He lifted his wrist to check his watch, 10:54 in the morning.  What had happened? His hair was matted from the hard sleeping surface and papers and blueprints were spread out across his desk, messed and crinkled. He remembered flipping through Grian and his’ journal last night but not much that came after that.

Thinking of that, he noticed the leather bound book opened on a page with a mess of doodles. He slammed it closed, not before noticing a few drops of water stains on the parchment. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the sticky and dry trails down his cheek. The redstoner slowly raised his stiff body from his wooden chair as he wondered how he could have fallen asleep here. He was in desperate need of tea or maybe this was one of the circumstances where he needed a heavily caffeinated cup of coffee. He stumbled tiredly to the kitchen, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. While he waited he returned to his work desk and stacked the papers around more neatly. He began to walk away when he stopped and hesitantly turned to the book and picked it up. It was a nice weight in his hands when he heard his kettle whistling upstairs. He turned to place the book back on the table but decided against it before he scaled the ladder. He was just pulling out a mug and tea bag when he heard a knock at his door. Sighing and muttering to himself he lowered himself to the first floor to let his visitor in. They could at least wait until he had his tea? Mumbo pulled the door open. It was Zedaph.

He let out a small noise of surprise at Mumbo’s bedraggled state. Mumbo lolled his head, he was too tired for this.

“What do you want, Zed?” He sighed. Zed coughed into his hand, covering his comments he surely wanted to ask Mumbo in his somehow always bouncing and energetic state. If he asked Mumbo’s answers would surely end up in a medical journal somewhere.

“You gotta come with me.” The cave dweller said as Mumbo stared his tired eyes at the man on his doorstep. Was that what he came here for? To tell him something happened? Mumbo just wanted to be alone right now, couldn't anyone understand that? And not even for the fact that he was far from presentable. Zed reached out a hand, fast as a snake to grab Mumbo’s arm trying to drag him over the threshold. He began to close the door, saying,

“Come back when you have more.” He was too caught up in what he had lost to be nice with his blunt tone. Zedaph flashed out a hand, stopping the door from closing all the way. His brown eyes met Mumbo’s amber ones. He took a sharp breath before he poured out words in a soft tone.

“It’s about Grian.” Mumbo froze, his inhale cutting short. It had been weeks. Weeks since he saw his best friend disappear forever. Since he had left because he couldn't stop the pain in Mumbo’s head. Mumbo had spent days trying to figure out why, blaming himself, blaming the world, the universe for being this way. Scorning the gods and whatever those hunters called themselves for taking his friend away. He thought he would never see him again. He had grieved because Grian was as good as gone. His friend that always made him feel like he was flying, that made him crack up like no one else could, who he wanted to spend every waking moment with. But now, Zedaph was here, on his doorstep, telling him there was news that all hope had not been lost. The redstoner turned to Zedaph, not quite believing it. “Come on.”

Apparently Xisuma was sending out messages as soon as whatever that was happening had occurred. Mumbo still hadn't got much information on it and it seemed like no one had. Zed had gone to get him, thinking he would like to know what was going on. And Mumbo, of course, had left his communicator on his nightstand, which was not where he had slept last night.

It took about ten minutes for Zedaph to return. Beside him was a bedraggled Mumbo. He was missing his jacket and the red tie that usually hung so neatly was loose and twisted. He looked horrible. They walked up to the admin, the redstoner rubbing his tired eyes. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he strided briskly up to the bee themed admin. The redstoner noticed that his green wings were hidden again. It was probably easier for him if the hermits didn't have a reason to ask questions. Mumbo stumbled in his steps. Above him was the watcher tower, or rather hunter, as X had told him. Breath shoved through his mouth as he drew in a weighted breath. His mind flashed back to another time when he had stood on this field, knowing nothing more than what he saw before him. Words spoken, words lost. A glint of silver disappearing into the burning red skies of hell. How naive. This was where it had all started. Or more accurately where the end started. Mumbo felt something prick his eye, emotions sitting on his chest and feeling as if they were choking him. He shook himself out but the admin didn't miss the slip. He let it pass though.

“Xisuma? What's going on??” Mumbo demanded, his worried eyes skittering over the bustly activity on the plain. Impulse stood, a mere silhouette across the field with about four others closer to the base of the mountain, gesturing and pointing as if planning something out. Tango was serving stew as a few hermits helped him stockpile ingredients as Stress stood beside him over the campfire, baking something. There was a cluster of mismatched people Mumbo hadn't seen before, some wearing normal clothes and others draped in the silk that the restoner had seen the ‘watchers’ appear in. He couldn't help the hope foolishly fueled his voice and the excited, sparkling tint to the amber in his eyes. “Is Grian here?” X chewed his lip before meeting the redstoners eyes. Mumbo knew the admin would lay the information down for him straight, he never wasted words on coating truth for people's feelings. Or at least not in situations like this. He shook his head and something in Mumbo cracked. All this and his friend wasn't here. Why did missing him have to hurt so much?

“There’s someone here who wants to see you.” Xisuma said soberly, his green eyes looked right into Mumbo, “I think it’s a message from Grian.” Mumbo’s expression fell in a different way this time. It was if the words had speared him through the heart, more like an icicle, sending freezing shivers rippling through his body. It struck him like thunder. Grian. A friend, a flight, a loss, a life. His life. He went numb, mind not quite tethered to his body, X led Mumbo to one of the refugees still wearing purple. The admin taped her on the shoulder from where she sat around a campfire False had set up along with a few sideways logs. Mumbo didn't hear the words they spoke together, his eyes barely catching flashes of the gestures they made but he did notice her face when she recognized him. Or rather, realized who he was. She was on her feet in an instant. She walked up to him, not pausing as she threw her arms around the redstoner. His mind seized back as he lifted his arms around tentatively as she hung off his neck. HIs heart skipped a beat at the outward show of affection. When was the last time he received a hug? How long ago had he given one? Then a darker thought struck him, when was the last time he let someone? Mumbo felt a tear slip down his cheek with his startled breaths. She whispered in his ear, her head tucked in his neck, voice soft and shattered all at once.

“I’m sorry.” And he realized she was crying too. She let out a sniffle, trying to coat over her tears with a smile, releasing their hug a bit. She wiped her wet cheeks, shaking away her sadness. “You smell like cinnamon.” The redstoner chuckled, Grian always had told him the same thing. The winged girl in front of him shook herself out, fixing on a regal and cool way to hold herself.

“Did Grian…” Mumbo trailed off, realizing he didn't know where to start. Seem okay? Get hurt? Then another one, from a selfish part of him that croaked into the void, Did Grian miss me? She seemed to understand.

“He- he got left behind. He wanted me to find you… Do you know why?” Mumbo shook his head. Grian asked for him ? Why would he do that? Did he just think because Mumbo would do anything to save him? Save him. They had to go back and get him. Before they might not have stood a chance but now they had insiders. Those who knew their way around. They had to go, as soon as possible before something bad happened to him. He spotted X loitering and talking with a few other hermits in the corner of his eye.

“Excuse me.” he said politely to her before approaching the admin. He was just finishing a conversation with Iskall, their vest currently adorned with two pins, one just a circular cut out of a grey, white and blue flag with the color running on both sides of the white in the middle, surrounded by the greys on the other sides. Mumbo gestured and X nodded as they moved away from the sight of the group to talk. 

“We have to get Grian back.” The redstoner spoke frantically but the admin was already shaking his head. “Think about it! We have more people now and they know their way around. We can get him back!” X was singing, moving away the hopeful redstoner. Mumbo grabbed his arm. “Let’s go now! Before the hunters do something to him- before-”

“Mumbo! Enough!” X snapped, pulling his arm away. “We can't go back for him, the risk is too great!”

“But-”

“I faced these monsters first hand, I watched them kill my brother in front of me!” The admin paused, casting his gaze sideways, light spilling across his face. Across his cheek bone was his scar, crossing over the bridge of his nose with the other, forming an X on his face in pale skin. Mumbo had never seen the admin this angry before but he hadn't paused to think where his scars had come from before either. X swallowed, taking a deep breath before tracing over the lines on his skin with a finger. “They gave this to me. Gave this instead of killing me. You- you’ll never understand their version of mercy. They know it hurts more to live than die sometimes.” Hurts to live more than it does to die. A friend throwing himself off a building, wings purposefully shoved to his sides. You’ll never understand. But he did. He had to. He had offered that kind of mercy himself but in his case it was more mercy to himself. That kind of thing could not be undone. Xisuma sighed, perhaps realizing how he had scared Mumbo. He shook his head, shoulders slumping. He rubbed his temple, forcing himself to calmly meet Mumbo’s eyes again. “I’m sorry. We can't help him now. He just has to find a way out himself.”

Somewhere in Mumbo he wondered if Grian had the ability to do that or if he had lost his friend forever.

Chapter Text

The void still clung to him in a way. It stuck to the surfaces in his room, invisible tendrils of black that curled around everything. It made him cold. The air was frigid, and he hunched, shirtless, in his shivering skin. He wandered aimlessly the lengths of his room, pausing in the grey toned light that spilled through the singular, large, glass window. The light offered no warmth so he had made a habit of draping his blankets over his shoulders and carrying them around like a cape. They would come for him, he knew. He clung to this hope, the only thing that stopped him from succumbing to the chilliness. All he had to do was wait. So he paced. He hardly noticed time. He wasn’t himself anymore. The beasts that he knew existed behind his doors made no appearance though the prospect of them doing so scared him into his bones. Perhaps they knew he was of no harm. He couldn't be. They had already taken all that he had. His thoughts slipped and he wondered if they had forgotten him, here in this prison. This cell disguised as a luxurious room. And he found himself pondering if it was better that way because who, after all this time that seemed like years, would remember him? He found himself staring off to space, loneliness creeping up on him as it always had. Alone. Misplaced. Forgotten. He wondered if he were to lay down right here how long it would take before the void swallowed him and frostbite slowly ate away at his flesh. Somewhere in him he knew that the cold was in his head but he still couldn't force himself to do that. He couldn give up hope. They were depending on him to hope. He looked time and time again at the door keeping him in. It wasn't locked. He knew that. He knew because he understood the things that kept him in here. He found himself staring at the painted over wood. A way out. It taunted him, shouted in his face that he could have freedom if he just walked up to it. But he didn't. That wouldn't be freedom, there would just be another door outside of it. One he couldn't walk through anymore. One that he had watched everyone else leave him through. The door to his room was false freedom. A small win like a battle but there was a war outside. 

Deep in him he was concerned. Of what his wardens were doing, if they were hunting them right this minute. They were too smart for that. They had wanted him and his wings and they had gotten that. What was the point of catching more? But they wanted power. Wanted control. To rule over every world in this universe and he had just led them to another one. There was some safety in that, they never did their dirty work. But they would come. It was inevitable. They were already caught.

His mind kept returning to those he had left behind. Those who had left him behind. His back felt empty and even if it wasn't his to begin with, it had become a part of him. Almost like a parasite he didn't want, but a part no less. He should leave this room. He wanted to. They would let him. He offered no harm. Had no magic, no key. Did he even have a reason to go out there? Empty halls and monsters. Then he remembered what a friend had said. Or rather, hadn't. Someone had to take care of his friend after he left. He had this thought, this destination but it still took days before Grian left his room.

He didn't wear the cloak. Or the mask. He didn't need to. He wasn't one of them anymore. He had thrown on his sweater over his bare back, slipping his limbs into the too big cotton fabric. He walked through the long halls slowly. Grian was no longer burdened by time frames, he could get there when he wanted. The castle was large and extravagant but he paid it no mind, too drawn up in his own thoughts and slow shuffling feet. He could almost see the dark worming shapes of the void slowly but surely releasing their grip on him one by one. His body still shivered but it did him good to be walking again. Able to stretch his limbs. His mind had been fevered, seeing black shapes in the corner of his eyes. Endless midnight threatening to pull him back under into his dreams. Like he had thought, no one stopped him and he saw no one. The castle was empty and hollow like the space in his chest. He felt it like a lump in the back of his throat, the beginning of encroaching feelings, pushed back and hidden away from his shivering cold being. He soon made it to where he wanted to be. A grand door, stretching high to the far away ceiling. It was black wood, ashen iron bonding it in steel supports. Carved in it was the symbol that was dotted around the castle like lost ducklings looking for their mother that stood before Grian.

He pressed his palm to the ridge where the double doors met. It would usually sweep open with magic but his hand was already in place by the time he realized. No magic, no escape. He let out a long breath facing his palm to the air. He remembered the power that had thrummed through him only days before. He had looked like the sun. He had given them a way out and he had lost his own. Grian gritted his teeth, pulling at anything of his magic that still might remain there. Had Xelena been this powerless when he had taken away its wings? Nothing happened. His hope was wasted. He was dropping his hands and closing his fist when something sparkled across his life line on his palm.  Grian squinted. Was that what he thought it was? Drawing a breath he placed his hand against the massive door and closed his eyes. When he was lighting the portal they had said it would take their power combined but Grian had been able to do it himself. If a normal watcher lost all of their power when their wings were taken away would his amplified power have a glimmer that remained? His hope sparked at this. It wouldn't be enough to relight the portal and he wouldn't even have his wings to be able to get through it, but it might be enough to open this door and that was a start. Eyes closed he focused. He tried to force the power from his fingertips, to feel the light and fire that he had basked in when it was here. Maybe that was why he was constantly cold. The power had been his warmth, his spark, his fire. And now it was gone. He stood like that for a while as his mind began to drift. It went where it always did. A library, a door by a throne. It skipped to that scene on the hill in sight of escape, of all the things he could have done to prevent it with his new found power. His face. Always his face. But then it changed. To a newer one. More serious but at the same time entirely goofy. A man in a pressed suit with the same raven black hair only his was combed and dusted in red. He hoped he could see that again one day. He felt a flicker in his heart. The same hollowed place in his chest. It sparked only for a second just like hope and maybe the two were closer to the same. They burned and sparked and danced with bright ferocity. It filled the same place in you with warmth. But maybe that was just his poetic side, the side they all had that liked to think the universe worked in beautiful ways but that was just a dream. It was plenty horrible too. He poured the sliver of power into his fingertips, hoping against hope. Then he heard a distant creak. Grian’s eyes flashed open and he took a step back as the great hinges of the door were put under pressure as the entrance slowly opened outward. It was only about three feet apart when Grian's heart jumped for joy and suddenly they began to move closed again at the break in concentration. The burning purple faded away again, a shadow of its past self, barely there. Hurriedly he slipped through before they hit together with a small muffled boom. 

And he was outside. The air was salty and the breeze unchained. The sea crashed and curbed with bubbly white foam on the coal colored rocks. Grian took a few steps, taking in the air, the spray on his face that tasted like tears on his lips. He knew the watchers still saw him, even though he was now out of the castle, he felt it. He always did. It had become a law in his world, something he was never without. He expected to feel like he was being stalked by judging eyes. 

Grian crossed the slippery, jagged rocks, making a trip he did many times before to a cobblestone platform hovering above the ocean. It ran right straight into the cliff under the watchers home which made it seem like the rock had bitten off the end of the structure. The shards of black stone looked like teeth of the mouth that had swallowed it. The grey building merged with the black as if being eroded by it, cutting out across the stormy blue water, not really above it anymore with waves slapping it. It was a bridge. The builder stepped onto the slick cobblestone that was split in half by a rotten path of wood and rusted steel. A train track. He stepped between the wooden slats and slowly followed it toward land. This was how he had escaped the first time, racing along above the sea. He could hear the water smacking the submerged supports that held up the track. Seagulls cried overhead, filling the air with their rough call and a builder, a watcher, an explorer, a man who had lost more than a part of himself, traced the path that had led to his destruction.

He followed that track for what seemed like hours. Mid morning went from noon to early afternoon as the sun trekked across the sky like he did on the earth. He envisioned what it would feel like up in the great blue, with the wind caressing your face and dragging tears from your eyes. It was a symbol of freedom and for the grounded man it was freedom. He crossed hills and through valleys and tunnels that glowed with lava. Then he was there. Back where it all started. He sucked in a sharp breath at what he saw. The village they had lived in, the train station and the police headquarters. The shops and houses and the buildings that peaked over the far away hills that formed the downtown area were all in disrepair. The wooden ones were tinted with ash and charred, covered in ivy and overgrown with weeds. The sandstone platform that marked spawn had a huge crack running through it and he remembered when he had jumped through it and the watchers had snatched him away to the end. He didn't cooperate so they brought him here. They took his friend and invaded his home just so he could see all the bad they did to force him. He didn't know why they did it. Took him in the first place to be a watcher beside them. Some elaborate plan. And when he had joined them by instead stealing the wings and the power, they had let him go. For a price. It was always for a price. 

The forest on the nearby hill blanketed it in such thickness that long shadows clustered under the green canopy. It was where he had first come back to this world and first left it so he made his way into the trees. Though it was not before he notes the few planks of rotten and burned wood tangled in the branches that had once had been a haven of a home. Grian didn't know where he was going so he wandered. His feet led him as his thoughts drifted away like birds on the wind from his mind. His feet knew the path as they climbed a small rise, no longer surrounded by trees and he didn't realize until the obsidian appeared in front of him. In it was still a purple field. He knew that it wouldn't work but he found himself walking up to it anyway. The builder stretched out a hand, hesitantly reaching to the morphing plane of color. His hand searched for anything that showed there was life beyond his own. Anything. A world beyond this one. A way out.  A hope. That his magic stretched beyond that faint glimmer that was only useful to open doors. His fingertips found nothing. His palm rested against the portal as if it were solid. The murmuring whir of the magic filled his ears, its opaque shimmer of violet dancing under the touch of his skin. Grian dropped his eyes from its intriguing shapes, pulling his hand back with a sigh. There was nothing. He was trapped here. He half turned away from the portal, something in the edge of his vision catching his eye. Then he remembered his purpose for setting out from the palace that morning. Someone had to take care of him after you were gone. He turned to the tree at the base of the slope. It was a large oak with outstretched limbs that was familiar to him for some reason. His vision glitched, not like his dreams where things actually turned to static or moved, but as if the tree was layered, two versions of itself overlapping in Grian’s memories and he was seeing both at the same time. Treading across the overgrown grass he moved toward it. It was the tree that a raven haired boy had sat in, a beacon against the grey monotone. The builder’s eyes met the patch of grass a few steps away from the roots, out of the large overcasting shade of the oak. It was too green. It shouldn't look like that- it was.. Too unfair. It should be stained. It was stained. Red with blood. What had happened to that? It should be marked, by his tears, by trampled weeds, by- by anything . Why should it get to move on? His memory- it couldn't be lost like that. Grian would never forget, he wouldn't. Taurtis deserved better than this. He deserved better than Grian. More than an unmarked grave. Crescent moons of fingernails dug into his palm as the builder realized his fists were clenched, hurting himself. He- he was angry. At himself. He should have done what it took. He sighed, a huff of air escaping his lungs. He would do what it takes to remember his friend. He did, but he could feel the memories and happy times slipping through his fingers, faster and faster. Scenes replayed a millions times over in perfect clarity became blurred and the harder he tried to pick out details, remember the characteristics of his friends face, the more they seemed to fade away. Grian was losing him all over again. And it was just as much his fault.

He fell to his knees on the ground. He missed him. He missed him and he blamed himself. He was the one with the broken heart and mind but he was still alive. Taurtis had bled out. Had bled on the inside. Grian wondered what it felt like to take your final breath and see your only friend, your only hope, the only way out disappear right in front of you. The builders' fingers ran through the grass. The breeze rippled across the green and his golden hair like waves. The wind rippled, moving a splash of yellow of a nearby dandelion. Grian got up. An unmarked grave. He could do something about that. His fingers probed the edges of the cheerful weed’s roots as he cupped it in his hands, pulling it from its home. The flower rested in his hand along with chunks of dirt as he moved back to the patch of grass that was forever seared in his memory. How was it that that image stayed when he wanted it gone? He dug in the dirt as he laid the flower down. It was all he could do. Too late. A single flower that held so much misery, a last gift. 

It wasn't mine to take. He found himself thinking. Words spoken to Mumbo, misunderstood. It wasn't just the wings but the life he had left behind. The lives tailored to it. Taurtis, and then he added with dread, Marytn. All the worlds that lay fallen by his hands and his magic. A thing he had taken that wasn't his that had caused all this. He wondered, at the end of this, how many more names would be added to that list. If this would ever end. He found himself thinking back to his friend. Back to Mumbo. Maybe that was a bad idea, a horrible thought, but he did it anyway. He thought of words whispered, lost now. Disgraced. They weren't coming. He knew that. He wasn't worth it. A man whose only friend’s blood was on his hands? A man who left his friends? Who had killed worlds with no remorse? If they haven't come yet, they never would. Because for one nothing of a man, who would risk it all? But he had said, hugging Grian tight with his suit tinted with the scent of cinnamon that he would stay. That he would always be there for him. Little that did now, Grian thought as a strange mixture of hopelessness and anger drew him in its whipping tides. Words meant nothing. 

The builder collapsed in the grass, thinking, mind wandering. Did Mumbo miss him this much? Was it all one sided? All their friendship, all the years and jokes, was Grian the only one laughing? Was the friendship ever there at all?  Freezing hands wrapped around him again and he shuddered at the chill. Sometimes he imagined the cold as phantoms that hung off his back, prickling his spine and coating his shoulder blades with chill. But, that again, was only in his head. The space in his chest was hollow, ripped to shreds. It hurt. If it was never there, why did it hurt? His mind screamed. Why did he have to feel this way? A waste of space and feelings. He didn't deserve anything, not comfort or even the bliss and ignorance of a fake friend. His heart tore at itself, he wasn't worth it. Wasn't worth such a promise of protection and friendship. Words, it all came back to words didn't it? A murmured promise only to be broken. A pledge of love torn to pieces. His mind went dull, anything and everything floating away from it. That's when he heard someone speak a phrase he had forgotten about. ᔑᓭ ᒲᔑリ|| ᔑᓭ ||𝙹⚍ ᓵᔑリ..” As many as you can. He translated, flipping it over in his head. What did it mean? Grian saw Netty get dragged off, over and over again. Nothing changed. It still meant nothing, a slip of a confused watcher. But watchers never make such mistakes. Something fell into place, it clicked. It was someone who he had trusted to bury his friend. Trusted because she had cared for his friend. Someone who lacked wings and had managed to evade the watchers' grasp for so long that it seemed impossible. Lock picks gifted to Pearl who would make sure they ended up in Grian’s hands given from a friend who shouldn't even know Taurtis had them in the first place. Someone who needed them to escape. It was all another manipulation. Carefully planned out. Words that were whispered when she was dragged off to a dungeon. A dungeon rarely used because who that ruthless would use it instead of death and torture? Words meant not to be heard. Words he was meant to hear. As many as you can. And a wingless evolutionist disappearing into a portal that led to Grian’s friends. His family. He had doomed them all. Guilt speared through him, his stomach twisting. It was all his fault.

Bring back as many as you can.

A command.

Words meant everything.

----

Mumbo scratched his head, running his fingers through his black hair. He stepped out of one of the new buildings that had been constructed in the past days. The meeting hall stood behind him, full with a long table and an off shooting office that X was currently using. Houses dotted the landscape, clustered together and acted as temporary homes for the Evolutionist that had shown up. They were basic starter houses, or at least as basic as you can get with Bdubs and Keralis building. The watcher, or rather, hunter tower, stood away in the distance, only its roof visible because of the curve of the grassy plains. The redstoner's mind drifted back to what X had said a few days before. He couldn't give up like that. It was his friend. His family. His life. And now he was gone forever. Mumbo couldn't stand it. He spent more time alone when he wasn't here helping out to make temporary farms and he needed that now. It was just too much. How could one person that had always been there never be coming back? He found himself getting frustrated and angry at random things. When redstone didn't work or when iskall playfully punched him in the arm to challenge him to- well- challenges. Like everything was normal, was okay. Every once in a while though, his Swedish friend calmed down from their need for distraction. Iskall disappeared for a day after loitering around and clearly mopping. It reminded Mumbo that Grian just wasn't his friend and that others cared for and wanted him back too. Strangely, Mumbo never got angry at the Admin even though it was his idea not to go back for Grian. It made practical sense and Mumbo couldn't argue against that even though something in him wanted to yell his head off at Xisuma. He knew it wasn't his fault and going after him would result in even more loss. He wandered across the fields of grass on the outskirts of the small new settlement. It reminded him a little bit of Hermitville from last season. He smiled at the memory, a slight joy touching his lips until he realized he couldn't think about that without thinking about him. 

The redstoner sighed, plopping himself randomly among the tall grass near the top of a rise, watching the beautiful sky melt as it prepared to lay its bright head down to sleep. He knew his heart beat but it was too broken for him to feel it. The redstoner was empty. It wasn't just him he missed, it was the feeling of being with him. How easy it was to smile, how he made him so happy they laughed till it hurt. He missed the person he was when Grian was around. The happy person. Grian was gone forever and maybe that version of himself was too. No part of him remained unscarred. Though no one could see them. He couldn't describe it except for the pain. Pain he shouldn't be feeling because there was no wound bleeding out and killing him but he was dying anyway. His insides were torn open by a knife. The hurt contorted through him, drawing tears from his eyes. It reminded him of a time when he was tossing and turning in the morning light, trapped in sleep but awake for snippets of time between the dark of his closed eyelids. No matter how many times he turned and faced the clock, he still remained paralyzed in a dream. Mumbo did not remember what it was of but the feeling of judgment, of doing something wrong, of disappointing someone. He had rolled in the comforting touch of fleece blankets waking with tears pouring from his eyes, soaking into his pillowcase as his shoulders bent, half asleep with caged sobs. He thought that was the most pain he would ever have to face. He was wrong. This was worse. The gaping hole that couldn't be filled, the only thing that could heal it gone forever. He sat there for who knows how long, breathing in and out, a gentle and quiet breeze brushing his face. He couldn't stop it when his mind unlocked, just like the dam of emotions he had built when Grian had left him before. His memories trickled in. He didn't stop it, didn't try. There was something peaceful about it, knowing that he was forever gone. It stabbed him in the chest as he reminisced. Happy times and the unsure ones. Wars and pranks. Then the sad and heart stopping ones too. Mumbo’s sharp intake of breath could be heard as he once again saw the heart pounding moment of his friend deciding that this world was too much for him. A winged silhouette choosing not to fly. Is this how he felt, he wondered, when he made the choice that what was in this world, his friends, his family, home, pets, memories, laughter, sunrises and sunsets, wasn't enough to keep him here? That Mumbo wasn't enough to keep him here? A tear trickled down his face as his days-long state of anger faded away. He let himself be sad. He barely heard the footsteps behind him, crunching through the swishing grass.

“I miss him too.” Her voice murmured to the air softly. Mumbo froze, not moving as he paused the shake of his shoulders. She seemed to be asking a silent question so Mumbo nodded and she walked up to his side and eased herself down into the grass beside him. The winged woman, whose name Mumbo had learned was Pearl, crossed her legs under herself. She no longer wore the mask that had covered her face, revealing pale features and crystal blue eyes that sparkled like the waves of a river. He had slowly watched as she warmed up to the Hermits and the life here. Her regalness and cold expression of the way she held herself disappeared. It was still there in places, a shield against the truth and emotions. Mumbo let out a half-laugh merged with a huff, shaking his head as he did so.

“He was a good person.” He said simply.

“A good friend.” She amended, glancing sideways at him as he did at her. He looked away first, quickly. All he could do was press his lips together and nod in agreement. They faced again toward the horizon, basking in the stretching silence before Pearl filled it again. “”He wanted me to find you, you know.” Mumbo's eyes widened at this, a little shocked. He didn't know. X had said she had a message for him but he had assumed and was told that it was just that Grian was okay. Pearl continued. “I’m not sure why. I think he believed you would do anything to get him out. And if he couldn’t get out, he believed you were the only one who could do it.” Grian thought Mumbo could rescue him? He could barely survive fighting off two creepers at once and he would have to go up against multiple ‘watchers’. The redstoner was sure his face showed his misgivings and confusion as he saw Pearl turn to face him out of the corner of his eye. “He believed in you.” Again, he said nothing, his eyes tracing the endless blue and wavering swathes of green grass. It was a moment before he murmured quietly,

“I believe in him.” It almost didn't make sense. But the way he spoke it, it did. Pearl nodded. Mumbo wanted him back, Grian had left him, abandoned him. He believed in hope. He believed Grian still wanted to be with him. 

“Its okay to feel alone.” Mumbo looked half at her, “Just don't hide it for too long. You deserve better than that.” Pearl began to stand when a communicator that Xisuma had gifted to her buzzed. She opened it and read, closing before relaying it out loud. “Xisuma wants a meeting. He might finally explain some details to the rest of the Hermits.” She looked down at Mumbo who stared longingly toward the horizon. “Just don't be too long, okay?” The redstoner nodded and she disappeared the way she came. It was a few minutes before he sighed, stood, and traced his way across the hill back to the meeting hall.

When he pulled open the door he was met with a chorus of noise. Over the ruckus he heard X’s voice calmly trying to make sense of the argument. As Mumbo stepped through the threshold the silence was deafening and immediate. All eyes turned to him. The redstoner swallowed and nodded before moving toward the only empty chair. At least it wasn't a booster seat he seemed to be always stuck with before when everyone else had thrones. He winced at the thought as a pang of longing shot through him. No one noticed his slight discomfort as he sat down and talking erupted again. Pearl sat next to him, not inputting in the chaos of words in the air. Netty sat across, by Joe and False. There were demands to know why they were here from someone Mumbo couldn't differentiate. Why they should trust these near strangers and why they wasted resources and time on this. On them. Most he could hear were from Doc. Mumbo had a hard time keeping up with all the accusations at the Admin and those standing up for him. Keralis stood by the helmeted man as silent support. All the while the Evolutionists' winced at each insult that they were untrustworthy. It surprised Mumbo that it took so long for this issue to turn up. They had already put some much time into making the Evolutionists a home and food for them to wonder if they were to be trusted here. Though they had built it because X told them it needed to be done and they trusted him. Now was the problem if they deserved the same trust they gave to the Admin. Joe stood, pushing back his chair and the room folded into near silence before he let himself speak.

“What I think my friends are trying to say is what do we gain from helping these folks today? I think we deserve a reason to believe if these people are not to deceive.” Doc began to smile at this with smugness, thinking he had won as Joe had joined his side. “But-” The cyborg’s face fell quickly. “These people here also trusted us to be of assistance. It would be in our best interest to see that through with persistence because how can we turn them down on words of honesty if we can't do so comparably.” The Tennessean nodded and sat again in the stretching silence. Xisuma bobbed his head in acknowledgement,

“Thank you Joe.” His voice turned stern, “We will trust these people because they are running from something whose actions cannot not be justified. They need protection and we will give it to them.”

“What if they led this danger here? These watchers?” Jevin spoke and Mumbo had to once again remind himself that they did not know the full story. X rubbed his temple, or at least as close to it as he could with a helmet on. 

“They would have already been able to get here.” Fear trembled through Mumbo. He knew that was logic, they had magic and there were portals already but he never thought of it, it was morbid. His back of his mind sparked with excitement. It the watchers came through Mumbo could use them to travel through worlds, either by pushing them in with him or stealing wings. He didn't like the latter option, it was a morbid thought. Wels spoke up, the knight dressed in shining armor, every once in a while murmuring under his breath to himself. Mumbo heard there was something about an evil clone but he didn't know. 

“So when they come?”

“A captain always goes done with the ship.” The Admin’s words sent shivers up the redstoner's spine. The hermits shared glances. They knew it meant there was nothing they could do to save their world. Chaos erupted again in overlapping noise that split the air as they argued. What they could do, how they could do it. X shot down each idea with a shake of his head. At some point Keralis placed a comforting hand on the Admin’s shoulder. Mumbo and Pearl sat, an island of silence and peace in the midst of the storm. Maybe that's why, through the flurry of movement of more than thirty people in a small room, he saw Netty stand. His heart beat in his chest. A steady thump, thump, like a war drum. Maybe that analogy was more accurate than he would have thought. Loud voices blurred into the background, overpowering and deafening silence like the waves of the ocean. Maybe he saw before everyone else her hands turn to be coated with purple fire and his mind didn't even pause to think why the only wingless evolutionist had magic. He sat stunned as if the world was moving half speed as it unfolded and Netty reached forward and grabbed the nearest Hermit. Joe. The one who had said they should trust them. Give them a chance. How wrong was he? 

Mumbo felt nothing, floating in the void of his mind like everything in front of him was on a movie screen. He dissociated, all the stimulation and turmoil around him adding to that. A gaping whole in space seemed to tear open right behind Netty, a field of purple and black as color began to creep like tendrils around the poet, wrapping around him and pulling him back into the portal. There was more mayhem. Joe disappeared. The redstoner barely saw as she reached for someone else, an evolutionist Mumbo had yet to learn their name. Her friend. Who should have been her friend. Her other hand clasped around Iskall. The room erupted into movement, trying to stop her but it was too late. His friend. Why was it always his friend? The boisterous Swedish human whose laugh could make you smile even if it was at the end of the world. Too bad they weren't laughing now, Mumbo could use some joy. He watched frozen at the shocked and scared face of his friend being overtaken by violet magic as they were thrown back away from him. He met their eyes, afraid, with maybe something else. The redstoner's heart wrenched, why were all of his friends doomed? Why did his life have to bring with it tragedy? Netty’s eyes found him as False ran toward her, wielding a sword along with Doc whose metallic hand was wielding a trident. A smile twisted on her face at Mumbo’s expression. So evil all his mind could scream was why?  

She didn't even fight as they shoved her hands behind her back, sealing her wrists together. They shoved her in a chair, securing her limbs to it with more rope and the occasional lead. At Xisuma’s word, Tango and Impulse dragged the traitor off to the next room that X had used as his office. The door was locked as soon as False and Doc followed them inside, some of their best PvP-ers. The meeting was silent, dread and fear written onto everyone's faces. Cleo was looking to her left at the empty chair that her friend had filled only seconds before. Mumbo looked at X’s half hidden face, his expression trying to scream all his worry and pain and confusion. What did Netty gain from that? To send three people back to Evo? Tears threatened his cheeks and tore out his eyes. It happened so fast. Another friend lost. Did they deserve that? His friends. Was being his friend worth this? He didn't believe that. Words the Admin had spoken came back to him. They want you to fear. Their version of mercy. They know it hurts more to live than die sometimes. Hurts to survive than be the lost one sometimes. All the time. He found himself thinking X was right. Power and twisted mercy. There was no hope. They couldn't fight ‘watcher’s on their own turf, who thought they could stage a rescue mission? No chance of getting them back. They wanted to break him. They already had.

Chapter Text

The meeting had dispersed. Xisuma had given them an hour, maybe for Mumbo especially. He was numb. His heart felt torn from his chest, beating without purpose, eerily still. He returned to the wavering fields of grass outside, breathing in the air. He walked without reason. How did it always go wrong? Grian. Iskall. Being his friend seemed like a death wish. Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling him he wasn't worth it. Sighing, he collapsed into the grass. It was like nothing had happened, he had ended up the way he had been before all of this chaos. He sat there like he did prior to the meeting, only then he was fighting off loneliness. Now he welcomed it. He had earned it. But like earlier, a figure stalked up to him again on near silent feet.

“Why do you always follow me? Why do you want to know me?” Mumbo demanded before she could speak.

“Maybe because you’re worth knowing.” Pearl countered, implying weight to the words.

“No.” The redstoner shot down quickly. “I’m not. I bring tragedy everywhere I go.”

“You really believe this is your fault?” It was a simple question. One he should be able to answer. Yes or no. Say yes or no.

“I-” The words caught in his throat as it closed up with emotions. He sensed her shift her footing behind him. She sat down beside him again, like before, the movement in the corner of his eye slightly familiar. An arm wrapped around his shoulders as he squinted his eyes shut, tears against the dams of his eyelids. He let out a small breath through his mouth. How could Iskall be gone? Just like that? Were they gone forever like Grian or would there be a way to get them back? Would they let him go after them? To take them back? Silence fell between them before Pearl spoke softly.

“Tell me about them.” Mumbo’s breath sucked in. Them. Iskall. The one who could make you smile at the end of the world. Make you lose your breath laughing with a simple ‘hmmm’. Who doubled over with a hearty wheeze at everything. Who could craft a complicated redstone farm in a single day and loved swimming. Who looked good in everything and even made Mumbo jealous how they could pull off a dress. Mumbo almost smiled when he remembered the bundle of bamboo slipped back to him in a chest like an IOU after he had given it in exchange for bones. Or the way they could perfectly recite sea shanties or how they could so direly underrate their own building. The way they had chuckled when Mumbo had tried to speak Swedish with them, failing miserably before they spent hours teaching and learning the language, cackling at every slip up of words. Iskall. Who was his friend. Iskall, who was gone.

“They-” He stumbled before trying again. “Once, they put me up to a challenge.” The words started as a trickle then to a flood. Couldn't stop them. He wanted to talk about them. So he went on, story after story. The tale of a parrot made a chicken and a time of an infinite looking room or a small chair that shot through the roof of a meeting room like a rocket. The sadness faded away as Mumbo began to blabber about all of his memories, Iskall or not. Some of Grian, some of himself. Stories of a superhero that brought a smile to his face and of upside down villagers in a fox (and later, dragon) infested village far from spawn. She jumped in with an evil smirk that she might steal that idea for a prank, calling them pesky Australians. They burst out laughing, and for once in a long while, things were fine again. Grian still hung out with him and the burden Mumbo had sensed on him was long gone. Iskall would still be seated and trying to keep the peace between fits of jokes and laughter when he walked back in that meeting room. But he wouldn't be. He might never be again. The redstoner seized up, his nearly teary eyed, breathless chuckled stopped abruptly, dread settling back in. He might never see them again. A second later Pearl noticed she was the only one still giggling. Mumbo's breath stalled with guilt shoving down on his chest, forcing life out of him. A tear split his cheek in half, no longer from joy. For a minute he had forgotten. About the pain and the suffering. How could he, even for a minute, forget about his friends? They had become his life and he had just moved on. It had only taken a couple weeks for Grian and a mere hour for Iskall. How could he forget about it all and move on from his Swedish friend in a day? Like they were never there at all? Meaningless. If it had taken an hour for a few precious seconds of oblivion, of moving on, then seconds could turn into minutes, into hours, into days. All it took was time. Maybe he could move on from his friends if Xisuma didn't let him go after them. He had to though. X couldn't just leave them all there, trapped. Could he?

“Do you want to go?” Pearl asked softly. The redstoner opened his mouth to reply before pressing together his lips and nodding curtly. It was another minute until they stood. Another minute ticking down that would lead to his forgetfulness. He didn't want to forget. He didn't want the ability to forget. The meeting would begin shortly so they walked slowly back to the clusters of buildings far away. Side by side their strides were nearly matched and Mumbo almost stumbled when she fell a step behind, the flicker of her movements in the corner of his eye that had led him, throwing him off. “I never told you any of my stories, did I?” Mumbo glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head. So they walked, across the plains, back through time with each word crafted from her mouth. Tales of worlds she had visited, though Pearl skimmed over the fact of however briefly. Of a woolen squid, angry and back for revenge. Pranks and tales she told her friends then. The crazy things they would believe and the confusion at her giggling laughter. The redstoners heart grew just a little bit lighter. Maybe forgetting wasn't the moving on he wanted. Maybe that way was even impossible. Pearl had changed so much since he had met her, even though it was barely only coming to a week. From that emotion filled hug, stiff with her words. She had held herself so.. Coldly. Mumbo thought back to Zed knocking at his door. The tired way he had treated him. Maybe she had to act that way, for survival. Against the Hunters. A wrench ripped at his heart at his stream of thoughts. He needed it for protection. Maybe even against himself.

When they stepped through the door to the meeting hall, it was silent again. Xisuma stood at the head of the table, mouth open as if in the middle of speaking. The hermits shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Mumbo eyed the room, they had stopped mid discussion. They had started without him. Clenching his jaw, anger seeping into his eye he made a purposeful stride to two empty chairs next to each other. He sat down, feeling all eyes on him. Pearl slowly followed after him.

“So, X, it seems like we need to be caught up?” The admin cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Um- yes Mumbo.” He started, eyes casting around the room, his gaze falling toward his hands resting on the table around logs and papers stacked neatly and strewn around before meeting Mumbo’s. “We were just talking about the best way to raid Evo. Bigb knows that it's best to go through the portal in the watcher tower as it will bring us right into the castle. The only problem now is how we’re figuring out how to light the portal.”

Anger sparked in the redstoner. Frustration. They were going to Evo? Even after all what X had said? That they would end up dead? That it wasn't worth it? When it was only Grian? Only his friend? He stood, his chair shoving backward.

“Evo, X?!?” His fury whipped, words flinging from his lip, “Even after it's not worth it? Not for one person but now that there are more?? You want to go? Risk all of our lives just for four more?” Xisuma’s eyes sparked, breath huffing out of his mouth.

“We are all at risk! They will come for us! For all of us!” The room was tense silence, the air almost so tangible it could be cut with a knife. Xisuma sighed, anger and fire fading. “Come with me.” He gestured to Mumbo who followed him to one of the rooms off shooting the building. As soon as they were in the confines of the small room Xisuma let out a breath, pacing as Mumbo stood by the closed door. He knew Mumbo was right, it wasn't fair of him to say to leave Grian behind and go back on that just because more were there. Mumbo also knew X was being fair, though spite still tangled around him. He had thought the watchers would be content with the one. With the sacrifice of his friend. But now they knew that was not the case. They wanted them all. For them to suffer. They wanted this world. They wanted to rule it all. Suddenly he turned to Mumbo, “I need to show you something.” Green began to dimple the fabric of the gloves on his hands. It swirled around his hands before the wings X had showed him before came into view again. The admin took a step toward the redstoner. Green light flooded his vision and Mumbo once again fell into memories that were not quite his own. It was the warring lands from before. Earlier he had been confused by this image as it didn't seem to be Xisuma’s memory, the storm of green and purple of the leaders fighting for power. The wise and fair against the power thirsty. It seemed to be before the watcher leader was disarmed and the hunter had prepared to kill them before they were injured in the green explosion as the Watcher was pushed back into the void. He saw the entire thing from a bird's eye view. It was from a balcony, the sky a deep grey, swirling with purple and green like the portal back from the end dimension. The void. The deep end. The beginning place of all things, where watchers and hunters had ruled in castles, at peace with each other. Mumbo remembered the red cloaked figure on a throne beside the other two. He wondered what their race was called. Looking across the battlefield he saw there was a lack of red, besides the gore that bled into the ground from discarded bodies. A hand snatched his shoulder and that is when he realized he was a material thing in this world. He whipped around, catching sight of a sneer beneath a mask. His hand flashed out to defend himself but the hunter caught it, twisting his gloved hand against its natural way. When he saw green armor and fabric coating his arm his mind jolted, he was Xisuma. Something tugged at his insides, telling him what to do, like an instinct. He shoved out his left hand, palm open. It connected with the hunter’s chest, green exploding around them. How had he done that? He didn't know how to do magic. It was as if he was being led through the memory, a doll in the hands of a child who had acted him out on this quest many a times. With the hunter stunned, he turned to the door of the balcony, where they had come from. He strided through it. They needed him out there. They were losing. As he passed, he refused to look at the hunter he had struck down. Bile eroded his stomach, he refused to accept that he had killed them. He didn't want to see if it was true. Muscle memory led him through the castle, once lavished in large banners in rows of red, purple, green hanging at intervals down the halls. Now most of the tapestries that had been embroidered with shining silver thread into symbols were crumbled to the floor, torn, beaten and burned to ash. It was eerie, here deep inside the palace walls. No echo of the sounds from the battle reached him, even though he knew just outside people were dying by the minute. For some reason Mumbo knew where he was going, all part of this past reality, and he knew the exit to the battle would be through the throne room, behind that door, down the hall and through the courtyard. He was nearing the center of the throne room, feet clicking against the cold floor when he heard a voice speak behind him. A voice he knew. A voice present in none of Mumbo’s memories but tickled his mind with familiarity and dread. It was scratchy and hoarse but not lacking any of its usual confidence and charm.

“Brother.” The tone was regal, not in any way reflecting the direness of the situation as he, Mumbo, Xisuma, turned around. He was dressed in the same armor, tinted red. His cloak that hung from his shoulders a bloodied scarlet. He was the only one of them left behind. When the rest of them had fled, he had stayed. He was here for him, his brother. For what X had stood for. His face was the same as ever, in those last moments, and he knew instantly to soak it all up. The crisscrossing scars that dressed his face, poking over his nose and slashing through his right eyebrow. His hair did not match Xisuma’s, unlike most of their features. It was starch white, long, and pulled into a tight ponytail, hair dripping down around his ears. His eyes were dark, like burning embers and matching the metaphor, always sparkled with the fire in them. Freckles dotted his cheeks like X’s, a sprinkle like stars across his skin. The only thing different this time was the blade pointed at his back, held above his gut, ready to impale him. It was held by a hunter, cloaked in purple, its mask holding the symbol that had once belonged to him, to his race. Now it only stood for blood. Time seemed to stop like the breath caught in his throat. His mind reeled faster and faster, thinking through all the things he could do. To stop this. Kill the hunter before they killed his brother. The sword was close to him, if he could just blast the hunter with his magic before- but the hunter stood in Alex’s shadow. How would he make sure to hit them or he could fire a bow or throw a knife, or, or-

“ ‘Suma” X looked up, catching Alex’s eyes at the nickname. He knew him too well, that the look meant it was hopeless. Fear built him at the tension, racing his heart. No, no, no. His mind pounded, that couldn't be true. His brother spoke softly again, a sadness in his rose tinted eyes. There was acceptance. There shouldn't be acceptance. No regret. That is what he had always said. His daredevil twin, and him, the goody two shoes who was too slow to think of a way to save the only family he had left. “There’s nothing you can do.” The words barely slipped through his lips before the sword plunged through his gut. No regret. There will always be regret.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. His brother- No, more than that. HIs twin, his friend, his only family, the one who had taught him to live a little. To take a risk. Who wore a tattoo on the crook of his neck against their parents will. Who got his ear pierced just to get yelled at. Who always got in trouble but still stood by his side. Who always had a burning light in his eyes. The person who had become an extension of himself. Gone. Bleeding. Dead. The light went out. Alex slipped off the sword, scarlet blood sparkling across the steel. The hunter whisked toward him, sending out a swirl of purple that knocked the wind out of him. Mumbo’s vision went dark, speckled behind his eyelids with red as pain pierced his face. Mumbo, but not Mumbo, someone that he realized was himself, let out a scream. All he heard before the memory faded away was a haunting sneer murmured tauntingly and seductively into his ear.

“So you never forget.”

Mumbo woke up. He gasped, choking, as if coming up for air. The redstoner stumbled, grabbing onto the nearest thing which happened to be the edge of a desk. Xisuma rushed toward him to help but Mumbo held up his hand to show he was okay. He was fine, it wasn't really him living through it but he could still feel the pain of guilt and regret thudding through him like blood through veins. He shouldn't have thought that, the image of red pools reentering his mind. It made him gag. He felt sick. When he caught hold of his breathing, he slowly looked up. Xisuma was standing a few feet away, inches apart if Mumbo were to reach for him. He twitched, concerned on the Admin’s face. His wings had also disappeared. Mumbo remembered X tracing his scars with his finger before, now he understood. The hunters had made him look like his brother. A mark of all that went wrong. He met his green eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He understood X’s false hope that the hunters would now leave them alone and he also knew that X was right, they would come and ruin them all. If they didn't go and kill the hunters, there would be nothing left to save. Then he spoke words he had taken like a pickpocket from X’s, his, mind in the memory. “No regret.” X nodded, sucking breath through his lips before pursuing them. He held out his gloved hand to Mumbo who took it and used it to push himself up from the desk supporting his weight. They turned and exited the small room. The meeting room was still chocked full of all the hermits with a chatting murmur that died down slightly when they entered. X nodded to them and they ran through the version of the plan. There of course would be things they need, potions, weapons, and most importantly totems of undying. When Stress mentioned that part, Mumbo squeezed the totem still tucked in his pants, another hidden in his inventory. One from X himself when all of this began to go wrong and one gifted from the watcher -hunter- tower itself. Thinking back on it, the redstoner realized the building was a reminder to Grian about what they could do and a way to mark Hermitcraft as a territory they were to conquer. His mind flickered to the plan to relight the portal. It would soon be their demise. His sorrow at losing Iskall was replaced with drive. They were going to do something. They were going to get them back. Mumbo sat through warnings from evolutionists about the position of watchers. To their count there were about six of them, plus two of it’s personal guard, not counting Solidarity or who they called Xelena to explain it was the leader. Or Netty. He added with dread.

It was at that moment Impulse came jumping into the room that had been Xisuma’s office. Mumbo saw splashes of body parts behind him that belonged to Doc, False, and Tango who had been given the job to watch Netty after she had betrayed them. As soon as he saw the man’s face Mumbo’s fell. The hermits and evolutionists around him turned to background noise, all that mattered was the words that fell from Impulse's mouth. His face was frantic, words drawing something from the group around the long table as it descended into chaos. It could only mean one thing. His honey eyes hardened as he met Mumbo’s. The words fell on the redstoner's eyes like the pressure of an ocean above him.

“She’s gone.”

----

Grian ran. His feet pounded against the dirt and gravel crunching under his toe. The tall grass whipped at his shins and the seeded blades scraped the bare skin of his ankles. Still he ran, faster and faster. Each of his strides brought more emotions building in his chest. Guilt weighed heavy on him. His fault. He had trusted when he shouldn't have and now more people were falling in the watchers clutches. How many of his friends were captured? Were any hurt? Dread fell like a lump in his throat as his heart beat fast against his chest. Dead?

His breaths were gasps, exertion pumping through his veins with adrenaline. He had to get there. He had left the forest and spawn far behind as soon as he realized. Where would they end up in this world? He had ruled off the portal past Netty’s house because that seemed to lead to the portal over the shopping district. So now he sped his way back to the castle. The builder raced across the train tracks, feet falling between the perpendicular bars of rotten wood. His toe caught on a hidden plank, overgrown with grass. He stumbled, knee crashing painfully against steel rails. Grian’s hands reached out to catch him, digging into the rough stone and burning with scrapes as he pulled them away. He sat back on his heels, trepidation roaring through him. The weight in his throat deepened. His chest felt heavy, boring to him. Why did he always have to cause so much pain? Why did he have to trust her as a friend? And now any number of his friends, his family, could be here, suffering because of his mistakes. His lungs fought hard through the oppressive feelings but it was still hard for them to draw life giving air into his chest. There was a pit in his stomach and it felt as if his insides were boiling. He wanted to be free of them. From the godsdamn pain. It was his fault, this body’s fault for all the suffering around him. It didn't deserve to exist. A cry escaped strangled from his throat and his eyes prickled. Aggrieved tears trickled from his eyes. He didn't deserve to breathe if all he did with the breath was hurt someone. Grian's hands tore mindlessly at the knee high grass at his sides. A sod shook his shoulders, shame rippling through him. His fingernails dug into his palm as he shook himself. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve with a dry sniffle. He had to see what he had done. How much. How many. Who was doomed to this world with him? The fate to kill and learn to do it with no remorse? The builder slowly stood, guilt cracking his posture. The faded evening light cast over him. It was still late afternoon but sunset was approaching. He eased out a deep breath. He would fix this. He promised. Maybe only to himself, but he promised. He would make this right. Even if fairness took his blood spilled.

He walked again. It turned into a jog, to a run, and he was moving again. Carefuller but with a wild, reckless, gleam in his eye. He didn't care for himself anymore. He just had to make sure they were safe.

The palace of the watcher appeared quicker, its image fueling a strange mix of dread and ambition within Grian. A feeling wrapped around him like the void he was in countless times before. It crawled in the edges of his vision, black streaks like those blank days in his quarters. They whispered, words streaming like poison into his ears, adding to the chorus of hatred inside himself, at himself. All your fault. Judging eyes bore from the fantastical darkness, weighing down on him like fake wings. All your fault. Louder. He ran faster. No matter how fast he couldn't escape it as he sprinted desperately across the bridge above the sea. Couldn't escape the feelings that built like a dam in his throat and broke his heart in his chest. The worthlessness. That Grian didn't deserve it. The trust that he had put in Netty, the trust put in him by Xisuma and Mumbo and all the hermits. From Taurtis. He had let them down. Let all of them down and he was here to pay for it.

He came to the massive door, emotions burning in him as his hand connected fiercely with the wood. Purple exploded from his palm, the last of his power. His emotions swirled outward, his hopelessness fueling the fire that shoved the doors out from their hinges. He tore through the halls, not pausing to think about the display of his magic. Feet slipped against the hard marble tiles. They had to be here. The thought encumbered him, it was his fault. With a jolt he realized he had paused in his frantic sprint through the halls. He stood, silent, tears slipping down across his skin. Grian’s rib cage shook, breath huffing through his nose with a weighted sob. He was carrying too much on his shoulders he thought he would stumble and drown in it. His exhale shuddered and his expression cracked. Why? Why did he have to trust her? Why did always end up this way with him? His fault for more pain and suffering. They could all be dead and he would never know. They could all be dead and it would have been because of his mistake. He had gone back for her. Removed the shackles on her wrists. Set her free. Unleashed her on his friends and family. On his home. The shadows that rapped their metaphorical claws around him cackled with success. Whispering lies that could have been as much truth. Your fault. Your fault. The voices were in his imagination, that he knew. They were in his head but he couldn't help believing. They had plagued him ever since Taurtis. They said his friend's death would always be on his hands, as much as if he had held the knife. The builder’s inner logic fought against them. It was first a small breath and then another. A stumble and then a stride. He couldn't give up. He had to find them before the watchers. Even though they saw everything they had their limits. He could get them away. To the woods. Hide them. Something. Then he was quickly reminded that even Netty couldn't evade the watchers clutches. Even more that she was on the inside.

Words came back to him when he first saw her back here. They wanted a way out, and you didn't give them one. Then the words changed, a strike of clarity like lightning. You didn't give me one. Maybe it was even his fault she had betrayed. They would do whatever it takes to get out. That's what she had said. To escape the torture of the watchers. She had decided it was best to pretend it wasnt torture. Join them and avoid more scars. Then he thought back to Martyn and a wedding adorned in simple white daisies under the shade of a tree, dappled with golden orbs of sunlight that floated toward the forest floor. A man in a suit. A man that was now dead. Solidarity’s burning rage toward Grian because of it. He wanted to kill him for his best friend. Netty just wanted herself not to hurt anymore and the only way to do that was to turn the watchers' wrath elsewhere. Grian understood that. Except that he deserved the hurt and pain.

There was no hope in hiding whichever of his friends that stumbled through that portal. All he could do was hope that they could make it back out without losing as much as he did. Where would they be? Had the watchers found them already? If they had, Grian would have known. So not the throne room or the quarters behind it. He had poked his head into the war room on his run by and the portal still was unlit. The training room was a possibility but he didn't want to try in case Solidarity was there and decided it was time for some ‘training’. His mind was shocked back to a little detail. A door handle coated in dust and a still room stretching to the sky with a glassed roof. The last room he had seen in full light, or at least moonlight, of a raven haired man’s face before it all went down hill. The thought was a twist in the gut but he took off in that direction anyway. Hallway after hallway and there it stood. An abandoned library, symbols carve into the elegant wooden door. There was nothing there. The room stretched as empty of stuffed shelves as it had been before. No portal. No friends. For some reason Grian felt something fall in him. He was almost crestfallen, as if he had been excited as well as distressed. He had wanted the portal to be there. Why? He didn't want his friends and Hermits to be captured. He didn't want to prove Netty was a traiter. Did he? Or did he just want to see if he could use the portal to get out? The builder had taken a half step back toward the door when the room was flooded in light. It blinded him in its streaked violet as he jerked his head away so as to not look directly at it. It flared to life, growing and growing. It exploded like a supernova of light but there was no shock wave, only a slight outward blast that deafened Grian and popped his ears but he wasn't thrown from his feet. It faded away and slowly the builder turned to the center of the room. Apparently he had guessed the location right because a tear in time seemed to appear, floating above the floor. Then a figure was thrown through it, tumbling to the floor. He was unconscious, slumping, but it was obvious with the round framed glasses that slipped off his nose and the brown combed hair that fell over his forehead. It was Joe. Grian barely sucked in a breath before the portal shimmered again and another figure fell through it. Systemzee colla[sed to the hard ground, elbows and shins scraping the floor. The builder also saw blood trickling down his nose. Grian's breaths came in rasps. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to escape to hermitcraft and that would be it. No more watchers or fear. Zee was supposed to be gone. Not back here. Grian had been so naive to think that this would work. This futile resistance against the beast that ruled over this land. Zee’s feathered wings propped limp by his sides, bent at weird angles and looked to be thin of feathers. He could go back through, if Grian got him up, his wings could get him back through. But the builder stood frozen. He couldn't move, only watching in horror as the portal wavered one last time and dropped one more figure into this cage with him. They were awake, stumbling as they were thrown into this reality. Slowly they pulled themselves to their knees. They gripped SystemZee’s elbow, dragging the half-awake man up. Halfway to their feet they looked up. Their eyes met Grian’s. The builder who stood wingless, observing them. The brown spiked hair and singular cyborg eyes. A colorful button pinned as always to the left side of their vest over their heart. It was pink, white, purple, black and blue, with no words imprinted on it. When it had been explained with its connotation of a too rapid change of feelings to put on the right pin in the morning and for it to stay that way. They had explained you should just ask. It was the swede who had always made him laugh, made him smile. They weren't smiling now. The look on their face couldn't be described except to be mixed with grim determination and a hint of something like frustration and anger in the pool of their singular brown eye. All your fault. It's all your fault. The words whispered. Only now they weren't a second voice in his head, the one that always had spoken of his insecurities and anxiety, they were his. He knew it was his fault and the mantra of words had taken over his thoughts. Because it was his fault. Another fallen friend. How many was that now? He wasn't worth this. All of this. The despair and broken hearts he had caused. End it all. The voices, his voices, spit with bile. Seductive. It would be easier wouldn't it? How would Mumbo feel? Would he be happy not to worry anymore? Iskall stood, pulling themself to their feet. He slowly walked to Grian and he wondered what they would do. He tensed, noticing the swagger in his walk. If they were to punch him he would take it without a flinch. God knows he deserved it. He had brought them here. Pulled them into this torture. Grian gritted his jaw, meeting Iskall’s eyes. His friend had every reason to hate him. You deserve it. They raised their arms. You deserve it. Their strong arms wrapped around him. His breath stuttered and was taken away. Guilt piling on him even more for some reason. He didn't deserve it. They were silent, Grian slowly melting into the touch of the hug a tiny bit, his muscles still clenched, shame burning in him. Why did he deserve forgiveness? He had let her go through that portal. Allowed her. Unleashed that horribleness on his home and friends and now they were trapped in here with him. Iskall slowly released him from the familiar hold, easing away their grip. They held the builders eyes and Grian almost crumbled over the pressure of being understood and forgiven. The bear hug used to be a normal greeting between the two. But that was before all of this. Out of the corner of his eye Grian saw the portal wink out of existence, its ethereal glow dissipating. Together they enjoy the silence for a moment. The peace before the storm.

“Is..?” Grian’s voice cracked. Iskall nodded. They were okay. Mumbo was okay. The builder let himself breath, bobbing his head and the tears that threatened away. They broke their hold on his elbow as they both turned to the unconscious Joe and bleary eyed Zee. Iskall fell to his knees beside the evolutionist, whipping away the stream of blood from his nose where it had slammed into the floor. Grian stood nearby, anxiety gripping him like the hands of a thousand bugs. His skin heated up, tension gripping his fast pounding heart. They were here and the watchers, what would the watchers do to them? To Zee with his wings? Iskall and Joe? What would they do to him? Make him a watcher again? Force him into that mask? Grian saw Zee sit up, nodding at Iskall who was whispering words to him, making sure he was okay. They then turned to Joe who was still unconscious. Probably from the void. They could have been trapped between for hours. Grian was expecting Netty to come through with them, had she been captured? Iskall propped his head up on their hoodie that they pulled out from under their vest. Seeing that was all he could do he turned back to Grian.

“What’s going on?” Grian's response was barely more than a whisper.

“My fault.” He swallowed, voice meek. “Betrayed” Iskall looked to him to continue and then he did. He explained about the watchers, his faulty trust in an old friend. How he had lost Taurtis, voice cracking as he went over it, mentioning how on earth would Netty know about the lockpicks if not told. How would she know to give them to Pearl who would pass them off to Grian just so she could get out of the dungeons. How she wouldn't know she would need them. THey nodded along as he talked, words pouring from his mouth and he couldn't stop. Minutes passed into more than an hour, his chest feeling lighter and lighter with each sentence. He felt time bearing down on him. The watchers would find them. Xelena would find them and nothing good would come of it. With each passing moment it became more and more sure in his mind, his heart and breaths speeding up with anxiety. Then there was a point where he tried to tell himself that if they had not come by now they would never. Even he knew that was a foolish lie. With the story said and tale weaved he took a breath. That's when the center of the room exploded. They were thrown back a step, the portal tearing into the world like a hole again. He had been foolish to think these three were it. As many as you can. A limb slipped through the waves of purple, followed by a body. It was her. Skin tinted a grey that took away the slight glow that came with any tan. Her hair was shaded black and her face was once again covered in porcelain. Grian tried to swallow back the lump in his throat and calm his racing heart as Netty slowly turned her face toward him. Netty had betrayed him. A pounding started at the door. The watchers knew they were here.The portal whispered in its thrumming hum and buzz and rippled once more. And it wasn't just her. How many hermits had fallen? How long until he fell? Dread was the only thing coursing through him when the doors to the library burst open and chaos flooded into the room. But all Grian could do was stare at where at any moment any number of his friends could tumble into this cage. It surprised him when none followed so he stared at the portal as if he could see through it as he wondered how many back home were bleeding out, hopeless. At the person who had buried his friend when he had left and who was about to bury them all.

----

She’s gone.

How could she be gone?

Ropes wrapped around the wooden spokes in a chair. Hands bound and connected at the wrists. Panic sparked in Mumbo’s chest. The redstoners eyes flitted to Impulse, the looks on their faces twins of each other as his heart pound faster and faster in his ribs. HIs amber eyes fished past where the other man had poured through the doorway. Standing by a chair draped with ropes, trident resting heavy in a mechanical hand. Ropes that were still tied. It fell into place. Purple dusted like glitter over a grey-skinned callous before igniting into flames. She hadn’t escaped, she was- He barely took a fast paced breath and opened his mouth with a warning when the room exploded. Violet bore into his eyes, blinding him. She hadn’t planned to leave forever. Netty had returned. But this time, she wasn't alone. The room filled with wings, glass shattered upon the floor, littered like a kids room was with toys. Feathers filled the air, drifting through the mayhem. Two watchers stood by her sides, blocking both exits at the long ends of the table. She stood at the far side from him, staring down the redstoner and Xisuma, her hands alight with fire. That's when screams filled the air. Salem fell to her knees, hands on her head, covering her ears as if to shut the thing out that made shrieks pour from her mouth. Mumbo flinched, taking a step back, reaching slowly for the sword on his belt, a sword that was normally on his belt. All his hand found was carved metal and the emerald eyes of a totem that wouldn't be able to save them all. Scar had said the appearance of the tower and its gifts felt strange. Felt staged. A totem as a gift that wasn't worth giving. They mocked him. They knew.

The watchers with their porcelain masks and visible skin speckled with dull purple markings pulled weapons from their cloaks, gleam in their eyes hidden but undeniably there. One held two wicked curved blades of dark shining steel, sprinkled with indigo light like dew, they glowed with enchantment. Mumbo swallowed, trying to fight back fear at the imposing edge of the impossibly sharp blade. The other held across their body a double sided axe, its edges burning with flame. Its wielder smiled, a chill going up the redstoner's spine. They weren't here to capture, they were here to kill. They wanted power over this world and they needed obedience. Doc vaulted into the room, trident in hand, quickly followed by False who held her sword. They moved in sync through the crowded room in which they were trapped, the revelation causing Mumbo to hyperventilate as claustrophobia settled over him. Like a well oiled machine they attacked the first watcher who guarded the main door. The rest of the hermits scrambled for weapons, Scar pulled back a rocket on the slow turning gear of his crossbow. The evolutionists who had gained the weapon of magic with the curse of having wings slowly came to their senses and the room filled with the purple glow as Pearl was the first to stand, fists a flurry of flame. With a yell she threw the globe of power directly at this madness’s source. At the one he had heard she used to call her friend. At Netty. It spiraled faster and faster toward the unsuspecting traitor but when it was just inches from her skin and impact, it exploded, hitting something invisible surrounding her. The shock wave traveled back through the air, as if following the path the burning ball of plum colored electricity had made towards Netty. The discharge of magic ran right up Pearl’s arm, throwing her back against the wall with a sickening crack as she tumbled, unconscious to the floor. A second later, the ‘watcher’ drew its flaming axe across the shaft of Doc’s trident. It shattered instantly. But the cyborg just twisted his grip as if the two halves were clubs. False came up behind them, slashing against the purple fabric it wore but the blow never connected. They ducked, sending a foot out to kick False in the gut. The wind tumbled out of her, the sword falling from the soldier's grip. In one fluid motion they turned and slashed the blade across Doc’s chest, scorching the fabric of his lab coat as it tore through it. A shriek slashed through his lips, agony rippling through the sound. He was knocked back by the blow, two halves of his enchanted trident escaping his grasp as he fell. Mumbo understood the original name gifted to these monsters. They were hunters alright. Power hungry and merciless. Shouts filled the room as Hermits scattered, pain in some of their cries. But Mumbo was already moving, towards the room he and X had just left. Towards the office free of hunters and guards and the window that was the only unguarded exit. He wasn't a soldier or a pvper. He didn't know how to fight. He was a redstoner, a builder. He wasn't meant for this. Or maybe he was just a coward. His mind flashed to Grian, his friend. He had boarded himself up with grief for him and Iskall he had forgotten about Joe who always spoke with rhyme and reason. Of a zombified girl looking toward an empty seat. He had forgotten about systemzee, the man he had yet to learn the name of. Of Pearl, who had first come here, shut up with walls and emotionlessness because those things set to protect her were put up for a reason. A reason all throughout her silent comfort of distracting him he had forgotten to ask. Yes, he wasn't a pvper or a soldier. He knew there was nothing he could do in that moment to protect his friends as they fought and fleed. And, yes, he was most certainly a coward. But a weight pressed down on his chest with guilt as his feet ran away from the chaos, praying others had the sense to follow. A truth came to him that all of this pain and suffering was just because he was selfish.

So the redstoner ran. His feet pounded the ground and dead grass crackled beneath his toe. The tall grass whipped at his shins, threatening to drag him down to his hands and knees. Still he ran, faster and faster. More cries filled the air and his stomach twisted sickly at the thought of what had caused them. Get out, get out, get out. His mind pleaded. With every scream his eyes slammed shut as if that would protect him from the horror pouring into his ears. If he couldn't see it, it wasn't real, right? Guilt weighed heavy on him. What if they didn't make it out? What if the ‘watchers’, the hunters, killed his friends? And he had just left them like that? Left them for dead. He was so stupid. Of course Netty was to escape, they should have tied her better, killed her when they had the chance. But Mumbo knew they would never do that. They were builders and redstoners. Pvpers and mechanics. Artists and farmers. They weren't soldiers. They were not killers. And that is where they went wrong. They had joined a war. Decided to go against someone much stronger than them to protect their home they had found. The one they had built.

Where could he go? They would find him. Hunt down the hermits one by one. Where could he hide? The idea came to him. A place meant to install fear in them. A place they were never expected to return to. And just his luck, or rather the complete opposite of it, it was nearby. The redstoner changed his course, over the hills and away from the rocky terrain that stretched upward in the distance to form mountains and cliffs. It appeared over the grassy slopes, elegant in its haunting way as ever. It was the tower, imposing and fearful. The symbol carved in the bedrock and the air around the structure itself caused a rapid beat to his heart, a lump in his throat that he swallowed down as anxiety creeped it's tendrils around him at the sight. How fitting that he would end up back here. When he was here for news of Grian with X and meeting the evolutionists they planned to offer refuge to it was much less blood-curdling. It was empty now, like an abandoned house on halloween. Taking a breath he stepped into it, pulling himself onto the bottom stair of the steps. He waited, sweat collecting on his palms and unease settling into his stomach. After a few minutes of catching his breath, ears pricked for any sounds that might be his friends or a ‘watcher’ there to drag him off somewhere, the communicator on his forearm was tempting but he couldn't risk it. What if Netty had gotten her hands on one? She would be able to see any call for help or name of a meeting place. How had they gotten here? To this place over the course of a day? Scattered across the plains, Iskall, Joe and Zee taken, many more of his friends probably captured so the hunters could take over this world. There would be no one left to fight to keep it. Doc and False were injured, probably Pearl too. And this was only two watchers, how were they supposed to go up against six more? Earlier he even had hope that they could go through with this raid and get his friends back. Grian back. Now it was all gone. With what? A simple underestimate of someone that was supposed to be an ally? The redstoner sighed, dropping his head in his hands. Dread and fear welling up in him with hopelessness. It was all going wrong.

Chapter Text

They swarmed into the library pushing against him, like the hands of insects that never leave you alone. They grabbed them, tore them at their limbs. Nails scraping, clawing, dogs digging in the dirt. In and away again they went, tides of cloth and color. All he could do was stand and watch. Gaze as his world and hope disappear, blood seeping into cracked earth. They took them away through the doors, off and afar, to the dungeons, though that was far from the worst thing they could do. Grian was left alone to wander back to his quarters, watching as Netty once again whisked off to do more of Xelena’s bidding. He couldn't help but notice when he saw her again, shifting through the halls, the glint of red coating her knuckles and the stain spreading across her clothes. There was much more sickness in his stomach after that. Fighting down bile that threatened to scratch his throat he returned to his save haven. If it could even be called that, just in his thoughts. His room was the same as he left it. Well, almost. Once again that mask that had been placed on his nightstand caught his eye. It had been moved, purple still folded neatly beneath it. He had almost trampled over it as he stepped into the room, the items staring up at him from the floor. A cold washed over him with revelation. He drew in a sharp breath, barely noticing something like a whisper of a voice that wasn't his tickling the back of his brain. A mind that wasn’t supposed to be there. He passed over it, a random footnote in human psychology that was just a made up concept. A complex system of feelings, much like gender. It was nothing. And maybe he shouldn’t have thought that because in the future it would become anything but nothing. But no-one, even more so, Grian, could know that yet and the only one who had the capacity to figure it out was worlds away. So his mind returned to the warning that somehow could come from the simple moving of a mask. His time was up. He could no longer pass a footnote in this watchers game. He would have to play, whatever the rules were because he knew if he didnt the whole board would end up shattered. So picking up the heavy disk that had once rested on his face, something chorusing in the back of his mind to a crescendo, he returned it to his features. His own thoughts deterred to defiance, a last blockade against the swirl of hopelessness and sadness threatening to overtake him. He had to show it that it was not in control. That Xelena couldn't keep doing these things and have him follow along with it like a dog. He didn't know why that was the way his mind drifted, along the dangerous path of insolence but he was done with this. He was too tired of the tricks and the losses. If they choose the rules, he would just have to pick the game.

It was the next day when a knock came from his door. Brushing it open, he faced a watcher with no visible marks freckling xir skin as he listened in silence to the dignified command pouring from xir mouth.

“You are requested in the throne room immediately.” Something pounded in his chest as he nodded, mind going a mile a minute. He could sense as if through the very fabric of the universe that something was happening. But the thing about the universe was that it was too large and vast to know just the gravity of what was to come. So neither did Grian.

He followed side by side with the watcher, head held high as if to prove that he would no longer bow to xem or any other watcher. Xe opened up the heavy set doors to the throne before the builders eyes could even pass over the markings in the wood. His face covered by the mask, he tilted up his chin. He had spent too much time feeling hopeless. The hermits were not coming for him so he just had to do something himself. The watchers were already lined up in rows before him as he stepped into the hall, sun streaming down and criss crossing the floor before him. Xelena was on its throne, and it might have just been Grian’s imagination, but a bitter tilt passed over its mouth as it eyed Grian’s confident stance. That's right, his mind sneered in triumph, I'm done with you. A part of rejoiced at what he knew was a life threatening way of acting. Nothing left to lose. He never quite understood what it meant. He could be struck down and he wouldn't even care. A flicker in the depths of his last memory of reason. Yes, it had his friends, yes, it had killed Taurtis but it would have to take him.

That was before the door behind the throne opened and figures were being led out. His face fell and he could tell before he felt it in his gut by the smirk resting upon the monster’s face. It was easier to be confident when he forgot who was really in control. A wrong step and he knew one of them would be punished. They already had been. Zee came first led by a guard, chains illuminated in purple glow. He had a black eye and blood trickling from his cracked lip. Vile looking scrapes, touched by infection and unintended struck down his neck. His bonds led behind him to the next to step out of the darkness. Iskall. They had been given the same treatment. Grian had to accept that it was, in fact, blood, that streaked in multiple lashes across their forearms. A pit formed in his stomach and a hint of it must have leaked into his face before he pulled his guard back up from the shock because he had noticed a hint of surprise on Xelena’s face. Sickened, the builder realized it must have been a mental note for later. That Iskall was a weak spot. A pressure point. That was the problem with holding your head high. They could see when the cracks began to spread and how hard they would have to push to crack them in. It was only when the thought passed with nausea rising in his throat that he noticed Joe was not following after them. Where-? The idea was trickling half formed into his brain when the main door to his left shifted again. And there was the poet. He was in much better shape than the other two and you wouldn't even tell he had been a prisoner if not for the chains of the same purple binding his wrists behind his back. Why was he there and not in the dungeon? What had he done? A watcher was beside him. Ae had pale dots jotted down aer neck and Grain felt a slight hint of recognition. Ae led the glass eyed poet down the lines of watchers, each with violet markings adorning their skin in some way. Something was up, he could feel it in the air, Grian couldn't even let himself feel relief at Joe seeming to be okay. Joe approached the foot of the Xelena, and he knelt. Joe knelt. Before that monster, the being that had taken everything from Grian. Traitor, the builder's mind seethed.  How could Joe be in cahoots with this? Wasn't he a friend? Why was he bowing to someone who he should look at with fear in his eyes? His head dipped downward, blocking his eyes from the ruler on his throne.

After a moment of Joe offering him up like a pig to the slatter in front of it, it commanded in a cold slithering voice for him to speak of the meaning behind this.

“I request to no longer just be your guest. I have nowhere to reside, let me join your side” Grian couldn't help the shock that flooded over him. Joe? The heartwarming man with always something clever to say? He lifted his head, brown hair dripping over his glasses into his warm brown eyes tinted with a slight gleam of green iris somehow holding so much coldness. “I want to be a watcher.” an evil smile twisted like metal on his cheeks. The builder's heart thundered as he watched. What was happening?

“And why should I trust you?” Xelena spoke, its head tilting to the side, its legs still crossed in front of it, hands wrapping around the edges of the throne. And even through all of this Grian couldn't help his eyes drifting to the wings gracefully adorned with feathers on the monster's back. The reason Grian originally thought Xelena was coming after him, the magic and power in those wings. The thing he had stolen when he shouldn't have. His teeth clenched, that train of his thinking had gone for far too long. He had done what was right. But all of that amounted to nothing when they were all back here, no better off. Right where they started. Strange how the fates play with you, isn't it?

“Tell me, why should you?” The syllables slipped from his tongue, “I am a humble man, my Fate is in your hand.” He switched off his slightly challenging tone of voice. “Even if you don't, what am I to do? Me being able to beat you is untrue.”

What had gotten into Joe? Had they possessed him somehow? Is this why he had been separate from Iskall and Zee? A quick glance over at the bruised pair revealed they hadn't seen this coming either. Betrayal was clearly written all over their faces and they took little effort to hide it. Xelena noticed it, flashing its gaze over to the chained up pair. The effect of someone you thought you knew doing something that never, never, not in a million years, crossed your mind would surely warrant some shock and pain, and the monster revealed in it. Its eyes returned from their quick flash of the prisoners, one no one in the room noticed. Exsept Grian. At the simple body language, the builder watched as the pair, bruised and battered, were led back through the door silently, without notice. His hope wilted for no good reason as if the light airy space in his heart had been packed full of stones leaving him downcast. Somehow he knew the chances of a long wait before seeing the faces of his friends again.

Xelena seemed to weigh his words but Grian knew Joe’s reasoning had nothing to sway it. It wanted chaos, drank from it. Excepting his offer was just another way to torture the prisoners and to give Grian himself pain.

“I accept.” The word was like a boom across the marble floor, Xelena waved forward one of the higher ranked watchers that stood behind the high back chair in which it sat. Heo had braids flowing over hie shoulder and produced from somewhere a mask, free of scuffs and marks placed on a bundle of silk Grian was all too familiar with. Joe ducked his head with a respectful nod to hie as heo donned the purple cloak around Joe’s kneeling shoulders. His eyes darted up as he reached up his hands to take the mask. Pressing his lips together, eyes hard behind glass he took it and wrapped it so the band secured it over the bridge of his nose. Heo stepped back behind the throne and next to the watcher who held a crown on thons head. Xelena looked almost bored on its throne now, as if this little play had gone on too long. It waved its hand, signaling for Joe to rise. He did, dipped his head and bowed. Not very deeply but with submission as if he was fully Xelena’s and for some reason Grian felt as if he was jolted back into his body. It felt like he did after falling through his mind about what living is like. The way you feel like you are being splashed with cool water after dissociating. A small smile crept onto his face, a twist that never revealed itself in his features. A hint of confusion was still held within him but a fire sparked, because he had done the same thing. He had praised someone who never deserved to be and whatever Joe was doing, this act, this submission, there was a reason. And just knowing the rhyming man, he knew it was worth trusting.

The meeting ended and Grian was preparing to slip back into the safety of his room when Solidarity called him over with a slight tone of mock in his voice.

“Come lead this new recruit back to his quarters, Xelqua.”  The galactic version of his name had a hint of snideness Grian couldn't place as he turned back to the man he thought he knew and now, he realized with a hint of anger, was ranked above him. Grian bit his lip, fighting back a retort and insubordination. Solidarity must have sensed his dissent because he added with a smirk, “Unless, of course, he wants to hear what I had to go through to make that one eyed freak scream” Sick to his stomach Grian turned away fast, trying to block Solidarity’s words out. He didn't mean it, he couldn't know. The builder stumbled toward Joe who held his head high, face as serious as he had ever seen it as Grian tried to force the pounding out and the air back in. He was lying, Iskall was fine, he had to be. They couldn't kill them. That wasn't how they worked. Grabbing Joes arm he took off from the room, Solidarity’s jeers echoing around his head,

“Come with me.” As soon as he could no longer hear them his mind quieted down and he could feel his soul back in his body. Joe walked behind him in a regal fashion, not letting his guard down even now, when they couldnt see them. Of course Grian knew that thought was foolish. Any sense of comfort and privacy was faulty.

The watchers hadn’t told him where to put Joe and he hadn’t stuck around long enough to ask so they ended up wandering around the halls for a while, past the doors that led to false sense of security he knew shouldn't happen even in his own bed. Without knowing, Grian's feet led him soon enough to a familiar room. With the shake of his head he walked briskly past it. There was too much there, a memory before that failed escape, at least for his rescue. That hopeless hope. And memories before that too. They were already buried under ownership of another friend, Grian realized, who Joe’s imperial head tilt reminded him of. The builder stopped in front of the next room, one he believed had belonged to Bigb or Zee. The door was uncarved, unlike more of the ‘public’ rooms and gathering places of the castle. Gesturing inside Grian opened the heavyset door outward and Joe gave him a curt now. A glance inside told Grian the room was set up much like his own, but a bit smaller and less decorated. At least compared to his scant adornments. The window was curved and peaked the same way on the opposing side to the door but lacked the swooping curtains. There was no night table and only a dresser, though for what Grian never figured out. There was nothing worth, or able, to be owned. The difference of rooms set him off. Taurtis’s room had the same quality of the builders and Pearl had only moved in after. Was there something that made the watchers hold him, and his raven haired friend, in higher regard? Why? Was it because they were here first and that brought up the fact to mind that he was hand picked to join the watchers? They had lived in the deep end before this, surrounded by bedrock and void but they had come here, this was an outpost, small compared to their forces. It was moved here so they could watch the evolutionists and keep Taurtis. He had caused this, his lack of obedience, how he didn’t want to join and those wings. The magic, the freedom that came with them. All of this, what came after that first escape, that first moment of whatever they saw in him to whisk him away was caused by him. It was an outstretching web and he seemed to be the center of it. He was the cause of all these actions, but why? Joe stepped past him, jarring his confused thoughts. This mystery had to be solved later but that didn't stop curiosity from burning in his gut. He couldn't stop his tongue, couldn't pull back something he shouldn't do. Shouldn't have done.

“Joe-” A simple name, he couldn't stop. The regard brought the poet back and stopped him in his tracks of easing close the door. One mystery at a time he guessed. That was when he registered the mask that covered both Joe’s and his face. Biting his lip and hoping the watchers hadn't cared to see what he, himself, was doing in this moment, reached up and covered the part of the mask over his eyes, which also happened to cover the symbol etched into the white. What can you do now, watchers? The show of some power of them electrocuted in his veins. I can't see and neither can you. Joe stiffened with recognition, even though there was no possible way he could know of the watchers fraudy power and the way they did it. But it was Joe, and as he turned so the door blocked his face, leaving only a sliver for them, the builder was happy for how unwavering the poet trusted him, how his mind could somehow always keep up. Forehead rested against the cool surface of the wood Grian voiced his question.

“Why are you doing this? How can you-?’ He trailed off as he could sense the upward turn of a smirk to the poet’s mouth. He spoke.

“You know me Grian,” The way he said the builders name brought a slight grin to his face, he knew Joe alright. And into theratrics, Grian could already feel goosebumps raise on his arms as if anticipating his words to give him a chill. “I am into plays, after All, it's just a new stage.” and forever in Joe fashion, that made it make all the more sense while solving nothing, all in the shape of a haiku. At least he knew he was not to suffer any more betrayals.

The builder had turned down the hall before his hand slipped from his porcelain covered eyes. He hoped Joe wouldn't do anything brash with all this new situation for his acting. Grian had to admit he had done it quite well. The wingless man returned to his quarters, footsteps echoing down the long halls before he reached his door. Pulling it open he noticed the pale light slipping through the window, it was twilight again. After fussing a while with his cloak and ruffling his hair in the silver mirror that stood on the wall of his room. Without much to do he settled down to sleep.

His dreams, as always, were chased around by thoughts. Mysteries of what really made the watchers pick him and drag him off to the deep end before putting him here just to watch his friends suffer. What did they know that he didn't? His subconscious as always circled back to thoughts he had forced down in the daylight, was Iskall okay? What were they doing to them and Zee right now? What was Joe’s plan? Would it end in them getting out of here? Were his friends okay? Did they survive whatever Netty had done to them? How much of the past would he have left? What happened if it all went away? What would Taurtis think of him? Was Mumbo missing him, faults and all? How much sorrow was he worth? Darkness swallowed him. He was woken by a sharp knock on his door. It took a moment of disorientation for him to once again notice where he was. Flinging off blankets he secured the mask more tightly on his face and shook off sleep as sauntered to whatever was awaiting him behind the door. Shifting it open he was immediately greeted by the same, familiar, repulsive grin. Golden hair rooted in brown dripping over the starch white of a mask that was harsh on the builders eyes like the paint color in a hospital ward. He leaned against the door frame, head tilted against where the door would be. His elbow pressed into one side of the entrance and his arm hung forward, holding the handle of a diamond axe, his other hand caressing the blade. His eyes watched his fingers and even though they were around the same height the imposing way he stood made that seem untrue. The way he held himself was full of pent up menace, threatening to unleash itself. His eyes flickered upward and Grian could tell they were tracing his face. The expression on Solidarity’s lips grew. Chills had settled long over the builder before the other man started talking. The true meaning behind his words falling over Grian as the world before him fell more and more out of focus. The sentence dragged out slowly, Solidarity enjoying every second of it as Grian’s pain fell onto his face.

“You are being requested to train our uncooperative new recruits.”

There was nothing of a request in it. Grian had spent too much time here to not recognize the oily word that stood for nothing short of a command you will be forced to follow. Too much time being beaten up by Solidarity’s ‘training’ to not notice the true meaning. An image came back of Zee’s black eye and Iskall dripping blood from the wrist. Of Xelena taking note of the place where if pushed hard enough Grian would crumble. He was going to have to hurt the prisoners. He was going to have to hurt his friends.

----

Mumbo was impatiente. He paced. Across the stone floor and back again. What was he to do? He had no way to know what had happened in that meeting room. Should he go back? Were they still there? Sugar cane rattled against the stone walls. It was eerily quiet and it was an upsetting thought that mere fractions of a mile away a battle could still be echoing. His thoughts swirled back to the shattered glass windows, the three watchers who outnumbered them in magic alone. Had anyone followed him out? Were they still fighting? It was a worse thought that they weren’t, now laying discarded, bones broken and blood pooling like a spilled bucket of paint. That image was enough to sicken him and he could take it no longer, he had to know. He slumped himself roughly against the wall, pulling his left forearm in front of him. His white communicator glistened in the now dipping sun. Tearing it from his wrist he set the band in front of him. The hunters could have accumulated any number of the communicators and would be able to see anything he tried to send or of meet ups which was one of the reasons he was so tentative. He paused, mind going over all the things that could go wrong if he was found by them. Mumbo’s fingers were shaking he realized as he shook them out, forcing his anxiety to drain. He would never get anywhere like this. He reached and pressed the blue-grey circle set into the darker material. The phantom screen popped into existence. The redstoner opened his messages, not pausing to stop now. He typed something out, making sure it was vague enough that he was relatively safe. The hunters probably would never guess he had hidden here since he had been gone long enough to reach something much farther away, and why would anyone in their right mind stop running to only across a few hilltops? He drew in a breath, hands shaky. He pressed send. And the redstoner prayed. Prayed that none had fallen and that his message was being read only by thinking eyes. He couldn't bear to think what would happen if it was not.

MumboJumbo: Are you’all okay?

It was a silly phrase to start things off with. Of course they weren't. Pearl was unconscious, False and Doc beaten and bleeding. All his friends trapped. And him- him running. From the screams. From the pain. Just like always. How unfair was that? It took a while but after a while of a pause, him holding his breath, fear dreading and fighting against what would happen if there was no one else left to reply. Stolen, broken, dead.

Rendog: Mumbo..?

The tension drained out of Mumbo immediately before he realized that he would never know if it was truly Ren or not. Or any of them. How could they regroup if they didnt know if it was safe? Mumbo was about to type his suspicious and question him when Ren continued,

Rendog: What was that?

Mumbo’s breath sizzled out of him. The hunters could have his communicator- there was nothing there they couldn't know. Was it truly Ren, or even a hermit? More messages streamed in.

XisumaVoid: It's not a good idea to meet up yet, don't share information of your location.

XisumaVoid: They could be anyone of us.

Then a few seconds later:

XisumaVoid: I hope you’re all okay.

BdoubleO100: How many are gone?

Mumbo could almost imagine the solemn silence.

TangoTek: Doc and False are badly hurt and unconscious

TangoTek: Pearl might have a concussion

TangoTek: They took two more people though, don't know who

The news of another kidnapping of sorts struck Mumbo about how much under their thumb they actually were. They couldn't fight back meaningfully and if they didn't more and more people would be stolen away until there was noone left to break them out. Images of Grian’s suffering and nightmares tore through him. They would be subjected to the same thing.

ZombieCleo: “Only the dead have seen the end of war”

There was a pause after that, shivers ricocheting up the redstoners spine. It was like something Joe would quote, just as dark and meaningful. And true.

ImpulseSV: Tango are you still there?

Ethoslab: Dn't anwser

Ethoslab: Sory Impulse, but we need to know if its yuo tell us somtehing only you could kmow

Zedaph: state name and when you joined?

The chat flew by in a whizz, Tango stating two dates since the first time he technically joined was to help with an iron farm. Mumbo paused in checking the information with what he remembered pausing to write his own answer.

Ethoslab: aynone misssing?

Welsknight: Jevin and Keralis

That set in. There was even more on the line right now and it was nowhere near to stopping.

MumboJumbo: Is it safe?

MumboJumbo: We need to regroup.

ImpulseSV: We’ll find out, won't we?

A while later Mumbo had sent his location and cords. He was hoping they were right in thinking the ‘watchers’ were truly gone. They could have easily snagged something off Doc or False, who, if Tango was to be trusted, alright and still in possession of both of their communicators.

Mumbo watched as the hermits and a handful of evolutionists came from a variety of directions, some stumbling from the remains of the meeting room. Xisuma nodded to him as they met in groups nursing each other's wounds and speaking in hushed voices. His feet wandering across the floor, its edges clustered with the others, his head perked up as he saw two figures hobbling up the hill he had come from. It was Tango and leaning heavily on his shoulder was Pearl. It took a moment for his eyes to recognize that the red of their clothes wasn't just the fabric and something dropped in his stomach. He ran to her. While he flung her other arm over his shoulder with a grateful look from Tango, she stumbled but righted herself with a grit of her teeth. The redstoner wondered how fast someone could get attached to another person. It made sense to him, after so much loss, trauma and uncertainty you would begin to look for something that could help you claw your way out of this hole. And for him, the ladder was sitting in a grass field telling stories of the past to ease the pain of the present. Was that really only this mourning? Or was it yesterday? They soon eased her into sitting against the stairs as Stress fell upon her with gentle words and wraps of bandaids. Xisuma turned to Tango,

“Doc and False?” Tango shook his head wearily,

“Alive, I couldn't do anything for them.” After a pause of silence, all of them letting the events of today and the past weeks sink into them. They sat in silence for a decent amount of minutes punctured by mummers of comfort before they got back to business.

“The raid?” Impulse questioned, “The portals here.” And Mumbo realized it was. Remembering a story from his childhood and yarn that when snipped was a warning of death from the three fates he realized it wasn't just cut but a tangle of lines. All leading back here. To the past, Grian’s hauntings, a war between leaders that were gods over power, wings that no one questioned on the back of a friend. So where were they in all of this?

“We need totems.” Tomohawk spoke up.

“And potions”

“Food, weapons, armour, and if today was a warning we need it fast.” They all nodded to that but Mumbo wasn't paying much attention.

“Can you draw us a map of the place? To the dungeons?” That was Xisuma, directed to the evolutionists. They nodded.

“We should attack now, when they're not expecting it.”

“They’ll expect it anyway. We’re too weak.”

“What if we wait three days and build up defenses?”

“Traps?” The one who had spoken nodded.

“We can't fight them here, everyone will still be trapped on the other side.”

“Whatever we do we still need to light the portal-” The planning went on like this, Mumbo not quite in it - there had to be another way. They couldn't set traps here, that was a solid point and they couldn't attack all of the watchers head on, they had trouble with two. That brought a question to his mind, he blurted interrupting mid sentence without caring.

“What happened to the watchers?” Impulse cleared his throat, fighting off the awkward pause,

“Dead, killed by X, but we had to gain up on them. Netty had left again, bringing Jevin and Keralis.” Mumbo nodded, silence fell again before they went back to their discussion. So they could be killed but it had taken the collective effort of ten people who were all undered prepared. What had the evolutionist said? Six watchers, two personal guards to the leader, Solidarity and Netty. That count was now down to eight. What if they could fight the ‘watchers’ on their own turf and then sneak around the castle after they were gone? They gained the upper hand. His eyes skittered across Pearl, hunched over on the stairs opposite him against a pillar. She didn't voice any concerns and like him didn't seem to be listening. They must know this plan of bursting through the hunters back door was futile as hope of snow in the summer. The fates had tangled them in this web. The evolutionists trapped and escaping. Grian shedding feathers and his trauma from whatever the ‘watchers’ did to Taurtis. The situation now, the hunters coming back to attack them. A web. And what was the center of it? It fell on him. The thing all of these actions were meant to hurt. The who. Grian’s friend, Grian’s hope, Grian’s home. It all led back to him. The hunters were focused on him, keeping him passive, under control which meant they were afraid. Afraid of the builder, of who he could become -would become- in the presence of the wings their magic. Grian was powerful and they saw to it that he wasn’t. He was the key to this all, to overthrowing Xelena. The scissors to break the yarn that entangled them and kill the ‘watchers’ once and for all and he had asked for him. Mumbo. The useless redstoner who even failed at TNT traps. The man who knew nothing, who was no good at PvP and couldn't even kill a pig. And Grian knew that - so why ask for him? What was he thinking to gain? What was the message here? Come one Grian, couldn't you have said something useful? It struck him. A half formed idea flickering across his mind. He dove deeper into it. They couldn't beat them in a fight, or at least not all of them. Netty was a traitor and they came for her, his eyes fell on the purple cloaked builder who had a porcelain mask tucked in her pocket that he was told acted as an eye, so what if there was another? What if they could get some of the ‘watchers’ to come to them? What if they put on a play? Possessed by some thought he jumped to his feet and eyes turned uneasily to him.

“That won't work,” His eyes sparkled, laying across the evolutionists, “I have a plan”