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“Hey G, bad news.”
Somehow, Scar’s words cut through the sounds of Blaze’s breathing and distant Ghast’s wailing. Somehow, Grian heard him over the grunts of Pigmen and the squishes of Magma Cubes. Somehow, his ears picked up on that above the terrifying rattles of Skeletons and Wither Skeletons roaming the corridors that surrounded them.
Bad news could mean anything from Scar, but Grian knew he wouldn’t say something like that while they were scrambling for the upper hand at a Blaze spawner. Scar could come up with some ridiculous things, but amid the heat and rising ash, he would know better.
The pit of dread in his stomach grew by the second, and he wasn’t sure if asking was going to make it better or worse, but Scar bringing it up now meant it was important, and Grian sliced through the thick air with his sword to make one last move against the Blaze’s before bringing his shield up and praying it would hold.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, able to hear the grimace in his own voice.
“My shield, and the potion…”
Oh.
That very much met the criteria of being bad news given their current predicament, and it only meant one thing: they had to head back. If it was one thing, just the potion or just the shield, then maybe they could’ve held out a little bit longer, but with both gone they had to retreat. Still, Grian had his shield, and he could feel the tail end of the potion still affecting him. He could buy Scar some time.
“Make your way back to the portal and head on through, I’ll be right behind you.” Grian said, looking back to his partner for a brief moment. He hadn’t been hurt, and he intended on keeping it that way. “I’ll keep the Blaze’s occupied until my potion wears off, then I’ll fly back and meet you there.”
It was then that Grian thanked their past selves for building up so much trust in their relationship. Scar didn’t argue, didn’t try to make a noble sacrifice, he simply nodded. He knew just as well as Grian did that Grian was a better flyer and would be able to safely make his way back when his own defences failed.
“See you on the other side, stay safe.” Scar said firmly. If he hadn’t been in danger, he might have made another quip, but Grian only heard fast, heavy footsteps as iron boots carried him away down the nether brick corridors.
That left Grian alone at a spawner, trying not to be overwhelmed by the Blaze. Easy, right? So easy he could do it with his eyes closed.
He did, however, make a very conscious decision not to close his eyes. Instead, he focused his gaze on the nearest monster and took in a deep breath. Already the air around him was starting to feel warmer, and it wouldn’t be long before he was at risk from the flames. A minute at best - but a minute that Scar needed more than him. His palms, profuse with sweat, shifted to grip to the hilt of his sword tighter. The diamond weapon glistened as fireballs shot from the Blaze before him, and once its onslaught finished Grian pounced. Teeth bared, flames reflecting in his eyes, he brought the blade over his shoulder and down through the hellish beast’s body. The other Hermits might give him stick about his shorter stature, but in moments like this where he needed to move his body quickly in such a small space meant the few inches he lacked were incredibly useful. It meant he could easily move away from the first Blaze as it fell still on the ground beneath him, body oozing out plasma, and focus his attention on the next.
Again, he raised his sword. Again, he brought the weapon down on the creature. While he’d been fighting with Scar they’d been gathering rods, but now he had no backup and gave no care to where he struck. Shattered rods meant nothing to him, and the killing blow of the second Blaze sought to prove that fact as powder burst in a cloud in front of him.
He coughed, inhaling more than he would have liked, and felt a burning sensation as the material travelled down his throat. He was feeling the heat more and more now: the feathers of his wings were starting to ruffle, the hairs on the back of his head starting to singe, and his lungs began to struggle taking in air. He needed to get out - there was just one more Blaze to take care of and then he’d be free to run.
But Grian forgot one key point in his logic, and as he turned to take on the final monster he was reminded of that in the cruellest of strokes.
Five more Blaze spawned - three now between him and the exit.
Grian was in a room with six Blaze, with mere seconds left on a potion, and he was alone.
With fighting his way out no longer an option, Grian instead brought his shield up once more and moved himself to the edge of the room. If he had his back to a wall that meant there was one less angle for the Blaze to attack him from - right? It was a smart idea, and it wasn’t hard to execute either. The next problem came in the fact that he’d backed himself against a wall even further from the exit, and now all six Blaze were hovering around him, ready to hurl flames toward him, and he had to make his way out somehow. The longer he was there the more Blaze would spawn.
He didn’t have time to think his movements through. Thinking only gave the Blaze more of an opportunity to attack, more of an opportunity to outnumber him. He had to run.
So he did.
Grian began to shuffle around the edge of the room, keeping his shield in front of his torso and his wings pressed against bricks. He felt a few feathers tear against jagged edges, but there were far worse fates given the situation he was in. It was nothing that couldn’t be patched up when he got back to the Overworld, even if Scar would shake his head and worry over him when he heard what he’d done.
The Blaze began to fire then, the six staggering their attack to wear him down. It felt like a bloody, hot war of attrition - one that set alight his hair and trousers briefly - but one that he wouldn’t let best him. He couldn’t. He had to keep strong, had to keep pushing through the unbearable temperatures that made it feel as though his eyes would melt from his skull and his blood burst from his veins.
In the end, though, something far worse happened.
The small fires on his body and clothes had been extinguished by the force of the Blaze’s attack almost as quickly as they’d been lit, but throughout it all his shield had taken a battering.
The iron became too hot to hold, Grian blinked and the wood went from a barrier to a torch, and he was forced to drop his protection.
Now, he really was in trouble. Now, he had to turn his back on six Blaze and had to run. As constricted as his throat was, he forced himself to swallow, and he spun on his heels to make his way out of the Fortress.
Grian focused his mind on following the torches on the walls to get out, trying to ignore the burning he felt all over his body. As he took a right turn, then a left, then ran down a flight of stairs, he listened to the sound of Wither Skeletons that he couldn’t see. Running into one now would be a death sentence, too panicked to be able to fight properly and without a shield to protect himself from their poisoned swords.
He took another left turn - but shouldn’t he have taken a right? Or was he running back into the Fortress?
There were torches on both walls, he didn’t know which way to go.
Skidding to a halt at an intersection, Grian tried to get his bearings rather than plunge himself deeper into the deadly labyrinth. A few seconds puzzling over which direction to go wouldn’t hurt, right?
As he stood and thought, his breathing shallow and fast, he thought he smelled beef. His throat began to tickle, the air around him thick with smoke, and he coughed to try and clear the irritation from his airways. There were no Blazes around him, no fires nearby, but the intense heat he felt radiating on his back told him there should have been something.
It was then that Grian came to a horrible realisation.
He was on fire.
Glancing over his shoulder briefly he could see the flames: they must have been so hot that they burned the pain receptors off his back, leaving him unable to sense the danger that he was in. He could see charred remains of feathers, frazzled wings useless and unmoving, and panic well and truly set in. He was stranded without his wings, and he was vulnerable without a shield or potion. He’d made Scar promise to wait for him on the other side: he was alone.
The first thing Grian did was drop to the floor, landing on his back with a thud and rolling around against the nether brick to smother the flames. He might no longer be able to feel the pain of the burns but from the intense heat he could tell the fire had been aggressive. He would be lucky if his wings would heal at all - though he tried to push that thought from his mind for now. Now, as the flames died down and the remains of his feathers simply smouldered, he needed to find some kind of safety. He needed to get away from the Piglins, the Wither Skeletons, the Magma Cubes, and every other cruel thing that roamed the Fortress. Eventually someone would come back for him. Scar trusted him, yes, but eventually enough time would pass that Scar would have to come back. He wouldn’t just sit at the portal with puppy dog eyes waiting indefinitely. He’d figure out that something was wrong.
Grian got back to his feet and began slowly making his way through the twisting corridors that surrounded him. He worried that if he ran too fast he might feed the smoulders enough oxygen to burst back into flame. Slow movements proved to work, however, and he found an untouched flight of stairs. It wasn’t too laborious of a task to chip away at the bricks and hide himself underneath, building up unsteady makeshift walls surrounding him to keep him safe.
He had some bread, he had a little water, he wasn’t going to die immediately.
He would be fine.
In an attempt to distract himself from the smell of burned flesh quickly filling his bubble, Grian decided to reach for his communicator. He should be able to reach out to someone and call for help. If he messaged Scar he’d be able to gather a couple of other Hermits, or gather enough resources to help him home, and then he could recover from the comfort of his own bed. It seemed like such a simple solution now that he had the time to think of it, and he felt foolish for not considering it in his panic before.
Except when his hand wrapped around the communicator it felt hot and it felt squishy.
And when he pulled the device from his pocket, he could see that it had melted beyond all functionality. The fire had not only taken his wings, but the one thing that could have allowed him to call for help.
All he could do was wait. Wait for Scar to come for him and hope that it wasn’t long.
Grian closed his eyes and settled himself as comfortably as he could, trying not to disturb his injured wings. How long could it possibly be?
# # #
Scar was concerned. He knew Grian wanted to stay until his potion wore off but how much longer was that supposed to be? He hadn’t heard from Grian since he’d parted ways, and night was beginning to fall. It had been hours, but Grian wanted him to trust him and he did. Scar knew he wasn’t the most competent of people - especially not when it came to the Nether - but his gut was screaming at him to go back through the portal.
Just when he thought he might be about to convince himself to do exactly that his communicator vibrated and he let out a gasp. It must be Grian! He must have found a spare potion and drank it to stockpile yet more rods, and now he was safely making his way home.
Xisuma: Hello everyone, I don’t mean to bother you all in the evening but Grian’s communicator seems to have died. The last ping I got from his location was in the Nether a couple of hours ago. Could someone confirm he’s with them - or that they’ve seen him more recently?
Scar’s stomach sank, his heart began to race and his breathing quickened. His communicator was damaged - which would explain why he hadn’t heard from him - but their communicators were built to last. There were very few things that could destroy a communicator, and he knew damn well Grian wouldn’t have allowed it to simply run out of battery when he was in the Nether of all places.
Messages pinged in from people confirming they hadn’t seen Grian, and Scar began to type as best as his shaking fingers would allow him to.
GoodTimeWithScar: We were at a Blaz spawner. My potion ran out and he told me to leave. He’s not come back to Boatem.
He needed to go. He needed to find Grian and find out what had happened. He was panicking, he was a moment away from throwing himself back into the Nether without getting any gear to help or finding another potion to protect him from lava and fire, when he heard a voice calling to him.
“Scar!”
Pearl.
“Scar!”
He turned around, and his emotions must have been worn on his sleeve because the look of pity that Pearl showed him was second to none.
“I’m coming with you.” She said, and Scar had no intentions of arguing with her. “If something’s happened then having two of us will make it easier to get him out. I’ve got a couple of fire resistance potions, I’ve got plenty of rockets, do we need anything else?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s happened to him. Milk if it’s a Wither Skeleton, bandages if he’s been hit with arrows…”
Their communicators buzzed again, a message from Xisuma, and Pearl started to type this time - clearly saving Scar the trouble.
PearlescentMoon: Scar and I are heading in, we should be okay. If it’s bad, we’ll call you.
With their worried leader satisfied, Pearl offered Scar a fire resistance potion.
“I think if we don’t know what’s happened the best thing we can do is go back to where you left him and scour the place. We get him, we get back here, we help him here. He’ll be fine on the journey, might even be able to sleep if he needs it.” She said, and Scar was very glad that she was taking the lead. She had a level head on her shoulders even in times of crisis and he couldn’t be more thankful as he uncorked the bottle that had been handed to him.
“Bottoms up.” Pearl flashed him a weak smile, tipping her head back and chugging the potion as quickly as she could. Scar did the same, bringing the back of his hand to his lips to muffle a burp as they stepped side by side into the portal. It wasn’t going to be as bad as he feared, he knew that. Grian was too capable to let anything happen to him, and if in some awful happenstance something bad had happened, Pearl was the best person for the job of making it right. Scar was mostly there for directions and emotional support.
When they appeared in the Nether they immediately set off down the familiar tunnels, Scar leading the way as they descended stairs carved into the netherrack and found themselves standing at the edge of a cliff.
“You good to go?” Pearl asked, and while Scar nodded his response he was still grateful that she even thought to check on him.
“After you.” She said with a wave, taking a step to the side to let him jump and fire a rocket without issue. He did, his elytra spreading behind him, and he heard as Pearl followed suit immediately after. It wasn’t a long flight but it had never felt like a greater distance separated him and the Fortress. The lava lake felt more like an ocean, and every pillar of basalt looked like a pillar he’d already passed once before. He felt like he was going in circles, like he was making no progress, like he would never find Grian again, until the building appeared on the horizon and he finally felt like he was getting closer.
Scar was deliberately careful with his landing, knowing damn well that Pearl didn’t need to be rescuing both of them, and he glided down to the roof of the Fortress gently. Thankfully the Blaze spawners were both inside netherrack cliffs - it meant that they only had to worry about Ghasts - and they managed to avoid ambush as they broke their way in.
“D’you recognise this corridor?” Pearl asked, her shield up and protecting the both of them in case a Wither Skeleton decided to ambush them. Scar shook his head.
“We landed on the other side. We were getting Blaze rods. My potion wore off and my shield broke and Grian told me to go back home, that he’d fight until his potion wore off so I had enough time to escape. He said when his potion wore off he’d come straight back.”
“So there’s a chance his potion wore off and he left the spawner?” Pearl clarified, and Scar nodded. He could’ve sworn he heard her swear under her breath.
“Right. We need to split up. Do you want the shield?” She asked, and for a brief moment Scar hesitated. Leaving Pearl without a shield when it was her own felt wrong, but this wasn’t about what was right or wrong, it was about bringing Grian home safely. Pearl could handle herself, he needed that extra layer of protection. He nodded.
“Okay. If you’ve got the shield I want you to search the corridors. I’m going to fly around to the other side of the Fortress and break in closer to the spawners, the potion should be enough to keep me safe. If anything happens - if you’re in danger, you find Grian, or something else - you call me. Don’t bother messaging, just call me. I won’t bother answering, I’ll just run as soon as I feel my pocket vibrating.” She instructed.
With their plan laid out plainly, it was set into motion. Pearl flew off without another word, leaving Scar alone to search the dark corridors.
It would be okay. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid, he wouldn’t run off hastily and make mistakes, he had to find Grian, and Grian needed him to be safe. It didn’t mean he felt particularly confident though, his footsteps quiet as he slowly eased his way around every corner. He was terrified of what would be on the other side - and he didn’t know if he was more worried about seeing a cluster of Wither Skeletons or Grian. But the place seemed to be eerily empty, and as concerning as that should have been he elected to focus instead on Grian. His Grian.
Stars, if anything had happened to him he wasn’t sure what he’d do. The idea of being without Grian made him sick to his stomach. Of course it would never come to that, but the thought of not having a hand to hold or a body to hug spurred him on. He had to find Grian, they couldn’t leave the Fortress without him.
He fought off the intrusion of images in his head of Grian bubbling away at the bottom of the lava lake they’d just flown over. He didn’t need thoughts like that to fill his mind.
“Grian?” Scar called out, poking his head around a corner and finding a long corridor leading to a room with a staircase. There were no other offshoots, which meant that beyond here his choice would be to go around and continue on beyond or to go up. Clearing the entire level felt like a good idea - save him getting lost in the corridors themselves - so he resolved to go around the staircase when he eventually reached it.
“G? It’s me! I know you told me not to come back but Pearl’s here too. It’s getting late, people are worried about you. Can you say something if you can hear me?”
He stopped moving, but there was no response. He supposed shouting into his surroundings probably wasn’t going to be the best way to go about locating Grian - especially since if he was still in the Fortress he would likely be very easy to spot. It made him feel better though, so maybe the occasional call wouldn’t hurt.
By the time he reached the stairs he deemed it had been long enough between shouts, and so he repeated himself. This time, he wasn’t expecting a response.
“Grian? Are you here?”
This time, he got a response.
It wasn’t much - the sound of loosely placed bricks crumbling and a quiet moan of pain - but it was something. Immediately his hand reached for his communicator and he pressed Pearl’s name, letting the device ring knowing she wouldn’t answer. He might not have Grian in his line of sight just yet but he was here, and the sooner Pearl could get to them the better.
“G, can you say something? Or at least, keep making noises? If I can hear you it’ll be easier to find you.”
While Scar appreciated the low moan that followed, he was also acutely aware that he wasn’t speaking. Instead of using his words he was communicating through noises. Pained noises. He was hurt, and if he wasn’t speaking then he was hurt badly. His hands began to shake again as he followed the sounds, pushing away poorly stacked bricks beneath the staircase when he finally found the source of it all.
When he saw Grian, he felt sick.
Grian’s face was paler than normal, his chest rising and falling quickly as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath, and every part of skin Scar could see was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The distant sounds of Blazes were forgotten as he looked at the charred remains of feathers, his sweater almost completely disintegrated from fire, and blisters the size of Scar’s hand bubbling away where the worst burns seemed to have been located.
It was far worse than anything else he could have ever imagined. He wanted to help and he didn’t know how. This was his fault. He should have insisted that Grian left at the same time as him rather than stayed behind. He could hear faint footsteps, a voice calling his name, Pearl was getting closer.
Pearl would fix this. Pearl could fix everything.
“Oh God, Grian.”
Pearl fell to her knees beside him, a hand reaching out to take his and feel for a pulse.
“Scar, I need you to go back to the Overworld. I need you to get Xisuma and Stress to Boatem. I’ll get Grian back, but he needs better medical attention than I can give him.”
Pearl couldn’t fix this.
Still, Scar nodded, because if he lost his cool now then Grian would be in trouble. Grian had already suffered enough, it didn’t need to be made worse. Grabbing the shield and the communicator, Scar began to run back the way he came, and in a flash he was in the sky and flying back toward the portal home.
He managed to type out a message of sorts to the group, one with even more typos than his normal work (that he was certain would demonstrate just how desperate the situation was). If Stress and Xisuma replied - or anyone else for that matter - Scar didn’t know. He didn’t check. He just landed, stumbled for several paces, and bolted toward the portal back to Boatem.
When he arrived it was night, and Xisuma and Stress were there and waiting. In the distance he could see Mumbo and Impulse - both clearly wanting to know what was going on but not wanting to overwhelm things or get in the way.
“Pearl’s coming.” Scar explained breathlessly, his back finding the obsidian frame of the portal and sliding down to the grass below as his knees gave way. “She’s got Grian. Bad burns. Blazes. My fault.”
“Scar, it ain’t your fault.” Stress jumped in, quick to reassure him, and he felt an armoured hand on his shoulder. Xisuma. He was glad for the other Hermits, but right now their comfort didn’t ring true in his mind.
“Can you do me a favour, Scar?” Xisuma asked, and he nodded immediately. “Can you go tell Mumbo and Impulse what happened? Stress and I can help Pearl with Grian when they get back, but I think we need to make sure you’re being looked after as well.”
Scar nodded again. He wanted to be with Grian but he’d seen the man. He needed medical attention more than he needed anything else right now, and so he would stand aside. He would let people that knew what to do take over and he would trust them to help Grian. As the portal came to life with the familiar sound of bodies travelling through, Scar backed away. He would give them space to work and everything would be okay.
Everything had to be okay.
Mumbo had a hand on one shoulder and Impulse a hand on the other. Everything would be okay.
# # #
When Grian awoke, the pain was so much more prevalent than it had been before.
While in the Fortress he had slipped into shock and however touch and go his continued existence had been, he hadn’t felt the pain that his body was in. Now though - as his eyes slowly opened to reveal bright light pouring in from his window - he was aware of everything. His wings were the worst, his back a close second, and he closed his eyes again. This time he scrunched them up tightly, his fists mirroring the motion, and he let out a grunt of discomfort.
“Ah! You’re awake!”
He recognised Stress’s voice, but he didn’t respond in any particular way to her.
“Don’t strain yourself, you need to rest up as much as you can. You scared us, Grian, a lot. Like seriously I think ‘Suma thought we’d lost you.”
“I did.”
Xisuma’s voice joined the conversation, and Grian let out another sound to let his friends know that he was indeed still alive.
“Y’stopped breathing on us for a minute, but you’re on the mend now. You’ve been out for a couple of days, managed to get some potions down ya to keep your strength up but I think Scar’s been waitin’ with soup at the door for two days straight. Want me to keep him away a bit longer or d’ya think you’re up to visitors?”
Grian felt his mattress sink a little as Stress perched herself on the edge of his bed, taking his hand in between hers and cradling it gently. She managed to wrap his fingers around one of her hands, and the other traced small patterns to the back of his hand with her fingertips.
“Squeeze once for Scar to bugger off, twice if you want him to come up. We’ll give you some privacy if you’re together, of course, but we’ll only be downstairs if you need some help.”
Grian just about managed to squeeze twice. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep himself awake for, but he wanted to see Scar. The last thing he could remember from being in the Nether was him, and he needed to thank him for coming back as quickly as he did. If it wasn’t for Scar, there was a damn high chance he’d be dead in the Fortress. He didn’t manage to stay awake long enough to get his gratitude out, and it wasn’t until night had fallen that he woke up again.
This time, the pain was a little more distant and he felt strong enough to not just grunt but to attempt words.
“Sc… Scar?”
He saw a blur of movement in the corner of his eye - a slumped over figure just barely illuminated by a small table light sitting bolt upright in a flash and leaning hurriedly toward him.
“Grian!” The man in question gasped, the relief in his voice palpable. “Oh, sweet baby Jellie, you’re awake!”
“Wh’happen?” He muttered, closing his eyes again and letting his head roll to one side. If he drifted back to sleep again, so be it, but he’d at least attempted to hold some kind of conversation before he succumbed to his body’s needs.
“You saved my life.” Scar said. “And I will never ever be able to repay you.”
“Mmm…” Grian hummed. “But… Y’safe?”
“Yeah.” Scar’s reply came, softer than before, and Grian felt a hand press lightly against his face. Fingers brushed over the scar tissue beginning to heal over the light burns of his cheeks, and Grian’s thoughts momentarily flickered to just how awful he must look. He hoped when the idolised way Scar viewed him wore off, and when Scar forgot he ever thought he was a hero, he’d stick with him. He’d hope the damage done to his body wasn’t so hideous that everyone he loved would be too repulsed to stay with him. Xisuma and Stress might have nursed him back to health, but that didn’t guarantee they or anyone else would want to stand by him once he was capable of caring for himself again.
But he wasn’t going to let himself think about that yet. That was a problem for the future. Now he wanted to sleep, and he wanted to lean closer to Scar’s touch.
As he did just that he felt a new touch against his forehead, warm and damp - careful lips providing gentle kisses.
Maybe he had nothing to worry about after all.