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A young Grimlander wandered through the caves underneath his home. The single torch in his hand lit the way as he desperately tried to recall landmarks that made it easier to identify the way home. The flames cast shadows into the caves, ever climbing down, and he could swear he heard monsters echo in the distance. But he couldn’t return to the surface if he stayed in one place, and there would be no rescue party.
That was the bet – fWhip would go to deepslate level, mine a little, and return to show his friends. He said he could do it; his friends dared him to actually do it. His parents would be furious when they found out. Gem would be disappointed, but in the secrecy of their bedrooms, she would giggle and laugh and scold him for taking so long rather than doing it in the first place.
If he ever made it back to the surface, anyway. He hadn’t even reached deepslate level yet. He couldn’t come back a coward, empty-handed, so he braved the caves and climbed even further downward.
A soft red light from around the next corner caught his attention. He didn’t stop to think – he rushed forward, towards the light. He’d found lava! A light source. The perfect place to rest a while and re-evaluate his options.
He didn’t expect to stumble upon something magical.
Any other Grimlander would not have used that word; magic was for the Crystal Cliffs, and redstone was not to be put in the same category as magic. Yet, young fWhip stared at the most magnificent sight and could only describe the moment as magical, the image seared into his brain.
Almost a living structure, tall as a house; its red veins popping and pulsating, sending signals everywhere. Its deepslate spikes reached upward, to the ceiling of the cave, some piercing through. And the veins reached out for the cave walls, though it wasn’t deepslate like the structure itself, and it spread accordingly, without discrimination. Awe-inspiring, intimidating, loving. The beating heart of the Grimlands’ beloved redstone, encased in deepslate on a level where there should be none.
fWhip tried to catch his breath. It was so unreal – was he awake? He pinched himself, it hurt, so he had to be awake. How was he here? Many men have come down these very caves, in search of this mythical power source, but they all returned empty-handed. It didn’t feel right to find this wonderful, beautiful, breathtaking structure without trying. He wasn’t worthy.
He fell to his knees; his heart filled with awe and respect and love and other emotions he couldn’t understand. His eyes on the redstone, his mind brimming with ideas for pranks and inventions and the like. Unlike any he’d ever come up with; unlike anything he’d ever seen created. He was worthy; the redstone gave him these ideas. He was always meant to find this. The thought of predestination confused him, and he discarded it immediately.
And then he heard them for the first time.
Whispers. A chorus of maybe ten, maybe more, maybe less. Varied voices speaking simultaneously, intermingling. A chorus that intrigued him, yet he didn’t dare come closer to such a magnificent structure. He couldn’t understand what they whispered about; it was hard to focus on just one. But the words they spoke changed, until each spoke about the boy who found them. They called him by his name.
The whispers acknowledged fWhip and welcomed him home.
They allowed him closer, to the edges, to scrape off a bit of deepslate to show his friends. The red light that had led him to the deepslate redstone now guided him away from the power source, through the cave. fWhip found he didn’t need his torch so long as he followed the red glow that always waited around the corner.
He reached the exit of the cave where his friends waited, and he showed them the deepslate, but said nothing about the deepslate redstone he found, nor about the whispers that followed him home.
The room was just as lively as it was before. Books scattered on the ground, stacked on top of each other based on alphabetical order rather than by topic. Random pieces of paper with gibberish fWhip couldn’t understand – magic – and the bedsheets dangled over the edge of the bed. fWhip had passed it last night and she could hear her frustrated voice on the other side of the door. Gem had been here tonight.
Gem wasn’t here this morning.
fWhip found the bedroom exactly as she had left it, with two notes on her desk that hadn’t been there before. One for their parents, one for fWhip. He grabbed his note and retreated to his own bedroom.
He barely dared open the letter.
But the whispers encouraged him, the chorus of about ten that followed him home. They hadn’t left him alone since he’d returned. fWhip didn’t mind, then he hated it, then he liked it, now they were just a presence that’s always there, unable to turn it off. They told him to open the letter, read it, brave his fears; except the one low male voice that always demanded he kill someone. fWhip had learned to ignore that one voice, and he opened the letter.
She had left. She apologized to him; she couldn’t do this anymore. She was a wizard, and she needed to learn to control it, self-study didn’t work, she needed proper guidance. She left for the Crystal Cliffs and expressed her wish to see him again someday. She also asked him to burn this letter.
The note to her parents didn’t say where she’d gone. When they asked fWhip, he said he had no idea, either. He'd already cast the ashes of the letter among the wither roses that grew outside Eastvale's walls.
It was terrifying how easily his parents forgot about her. They transformed her room into his new study. They removed all signs of their daughter around the manor; as if she’d never existed. fWhip couldn’t understand why they would take such drastic measures; she was still his sister, and he couldn’t forget the way they did. He’d saved some books, some writings, to have something that used to belong to her.
To have something that made him feel less alone.
You’re not alone, the whispers said, you have us.
And fWhip nodded. He wasn’t alone. He had the redstone whispers that guided him. He would never be alone.
An explosion claimed their lives.
fWhip attended the funerary rites but did not shed tears. His parents had not really been parents – they were the count and countess, and he was their future. Gem had been their future, too, before she ran. They were his parents in the sense that they brought him into this world; they did not meet any of the other criteria. His nannies raised him, his caretakers took care of him, his teachers taught him. Gem was there for him. And the Count and Countess were always at work.
The halls had been empty before; they will still be empty in their absence.
Nobody knows who did this. Gunpowder was readily available in the Grimlands, and anyone with basic crafting skills could make TNT. Common sense and a healthy respect for others prevented most Grimlanders from actually creating more TNT than absolutely needed. Decency prevented them from stacking it someplace secret and lighting the fuse.
This had been a targeted attack.
They had it coming, the whispers told him. They were not worthy. You are.
fWhip couldn’t disagree with the whispers. His parents had been unfit to rule. He had just completed his studies and had been ready to step in should something like this happen. He was ready to take over when the time would come, and the time had come.
They tried their best. Of course they did. But they were not worthy and had to go.
fWhip looked at their graves the same way a stranger observed a fresh grave and went to work. There was so much work to do.
“You picked a side.”
Sausage’s facial expression didn’t change; that half-smile taunted him and Gem. Maybe the realization of what was happening seeped through into his corrupted mind. Maybe that’s why that maniacal grin had weakened into a bitter half-smile. He knew he was losing his closest allies and didn’t lift a finger to correct them, stubbornly chose the side of evil for power he didn’t need, and even yelled after them that he didn’t need them anyway.
Gem and fWhip flew away from Mythland, from Sausage, from the corruption. They said little on their way back home. There was little to say; they had lost their friend to the corruption, they’d tried to help – help he hadn’t accepted. Sausage picked a side, and fWhip stood firmly opposite of him.
That’s what fWhip thought of it, anyway. He wasn’t sure if Gem thought the same. But as far as fWhip was concerned, it was clear what had just happened.
Sausage cannot be saved. He’s too far gone.
The whispers had become his own thoughts; fWhip had agreed with them so much that hearing them comment in the back of his mind was almost like listening to his own thoughts. If Sausage chose this life, how could fWhip help him? The answer was that he wouldn’t help. He didn’t have a hard time admitting that his friend was unsavable – it was harder to come to terms with the fact that nothing fWhip did would help.
It doesn’t need to help, the whispers told him. He picked a side. He is now your enemy.
Right. Sausage picked a side. He supported the corruption, something that had always made fWhip feel uncomfortable. Something that had always made him wary since he had that horrible dream of being a test subject. The whispers had never been more restless than right after that dream. The corruption was bad, they all agreed, stay away from it. fWhip wholeheartedly agreed.
So now, he stayed away from Sausage. That man needed help, but fWhip wouldn’t be the one to provide that for him. He wasn’t sure the whispers would let him, anyway.
fWhip spent long nights in the Grimlands Forge. Almost ready. It was almost ready.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was making; he followed the instructions from the whispers, his quiet council, and they asked him to create this. Something for peace; something to celebrate; something of their own design. It needed some gold and a gemstone that represented each of the twelve empires.
It was a gift, he reminded himself. A gift for everyone to enjoy.
A gift he would wear.
fWhip shook his head. He shouldn’t get ahead of things. Of course he’d present it to the others before he would put the crown on his own head. To present them with a good rule. Because the one with the crown would be able to create one rule that everyone had to obey. One rule to be upheld. And he would be the emperor of all, as they would need to follow his rule.
This would risk him losing the crown. It wouldn’t matter. He could always steal it back, murder his fellow ruler for it. He could put the crown back on his head and reinstate his rule. He had to think of a good rule, then.
Don’t worry about that. We will take care of that.
Wonderful! Now fWhip could focus on the creation of this crown. Of his crown.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted the crown. But the longer he spent on perfecting it and the way it looked, the more he realized he needed it. We must wear the crown, the whispers urged him on. We must present it before the other rulers and wear it.
fWhip nodded, curious about the rule he would implement. As he worked, the whispers reminded him of their origin; of the deepslate redstone miracle deep in the caves. fWhip had visited it often, especially when he thought he was losing his connection to the whispers that have helped him all those years. It had been a miracle that he had found it; it was still a miracle that he found his way back. It was a shame that only he knew where it was, that only he enjoyed the council of these whispers.
Don’t worry about that, the whispers reassured him. We will take care of that.
“Can you believe it? Joel is the emperor! Joel, of all people!”
“fWhip,” Gem said in that typical annoyed voice, the one she used when she didn’t agree with him. Why didn’t she agree with him? That crown should’ve been on his head! It already went wrong when Jimmy, of all people, took the crown. And then Scott, and now Joel. It was unfair.
The whispers were restless, too. That crown should have been ours. You must take it back. You have to take it back. And, in the back, one that continuously shouted KILL.
“It should’ve been mine,” fWhip argued. “Scott was giving it to me.”
“And Joel took it.”
“But it was mine.”
“Only if you wore it.”
fWhip turned his head to Gem. She was a mess; shivering, a white streak in her hair. It was Scott, she’d said. It was an accident, she’d said. It was fine, she’d said. Clearly she wasn’t fine. But fWhip didn’t have the energy to urge her to find help. He couldn’t bring himself to do so. Not while his mind was consumed by the thought of the crown, while his waking moments were spent thinking of that one thing. The whispers didn’t let him live it down, either.
That crown should have been on our head at the feast.
Gem looked at him, unsure. What was there to be unsure about? She supported Joel’s reign, apparently, while she should be supporting the rule of her brother.
He hadn’t called himself her brother in such a long time, but it felt natural now. They came from the same blood – why wouldn’t she pick his side? Why did she have to become a wizard and only slightly impartial?
She cannot be trusted if she doesn’t support us.
He hated that the whispers were right.
“fWhip?” she took a hesitant, trembling step closer. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Why would you- I’m fine, Gem. I just need that crown.”
He caught her gaze again. The uncertainty stayed, but also… fear. Barely visible, but still present. And distrust, too.
“What are you looking at?” He bit down the urge to add ‘to my crownless head’ to that sentence.
“You’re not well.” Gem clutched her staff while she moved closer. “fWhip, have you seen yourself? Have you seen me?” She shook her head. “You should be telling me to get help. You should be pestering me until I do. I shouldn’t be arguing with you about that stupid crown.”
fWhip bit his lip – what do you mean, stupid crown, it’s a good crown, it’s a powerful crown and it’s supposed to be mine and-
“Get help,” fWhip said in the most casual way, to get it out there, so she couldn’t accuse him of never trying. So he could stop this train of thought. “I want you to get help, but I know you. You’re not gonna listen to me. So why waste my breath saying something you’re not even going to listen to?”
Gem didn’t say anything. She just looked at him. Did she know? Maybe she did. That he was right. That he was too consumed by the crown to bother telling her to get help. That telling her to get help was just as effective as asking a brick wall to move out of the way. But she said nothing and the silence was only slightly concerning.
“You should go,” she said in a small voice.
fWhip nodded. “Yes, maybe I should.”
He turned around and walked out of the Crystal Cliffs’ apothecary, the whispers already coming up with plans to snatch the crown from Joel.
He hadn’t wiped the blood off of the crown yet. He didn’t have to – it added character. Something the crown had been lacking thus far. Sitting across from someone with a bloodied crown gave a lasting impression of the emperor than if it were stainless. An added factor of intimidation. fWhip didn’t mind, and neither did the whispers, finally satisfied that they had the crown on their head.
Sausage walked into the hall. Each step seemed hesitant, his hand on the hilt of his sword. fWhip had been expecting him – the self-proclaimed protector of the crown, coming to see the new emperor. The crown didn’t need a protector. But Sausage was a good place to start.
“Hello, Sausage.” He said, unable to wipe that grin off of his face. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Sausage said nervously. “I’m here to—”
“Yes, I know,” fWhip interrupted him. “You’re gonna protect the crown, great. Listen, I have a job for you.”
“Tell me, and I’ll do it,” Sausage said, though he seemed to dread what was going to happen next. Little did he know he had nothing to fear. Nobody had anything to fear.
“I’ve decided on my rule,” fWhip told him. “Everyone must gaze into the heart of the deepslate redstone.”
He left a silence.
“Nobody knows where that is,” Sausage said. Only fWhip knew, and the newly crowned emperor nodded.
“I'm aware,” he said. “Which is why they must seek me out as soon as possible to let me take them there. And you…” he looked Sausage in his eyes. “You’re gonna be the first to take that step.”
Sausage couldn’t refuse. As protector of the crown, he had to be excited to oblige. That didn’t take away that fWhip could feel his anxiety, and even the whispers noticed it. fWhip tried to calm him with soothing words, that nothing would go wrong, he just wanted people to have seen this miracle, and he wanted to share it with everyone. People in the Grimlands could easily find it now (they couldn’t) and now he had the crown, he just wanted to have other rulers witness this beauty as well.
Sausage only nodded, and he probably took mental note of the way back up. Shouldn’t the protector of the crown be a little more trusting?
The walk was short, and Sausage gazed upon what fWhip had described as beautiful. It still was as majestic as he’d remembered it; maybe it had even grown, the deepslate now a more striking feature in the cave and the veins running ever closer to the entrance of this cave. Truly awe-inspiring. The whispers had calmed down as fWhip looked at it. This would always feel like coming home.
Sausage claimed it was beautiful and turned his back, hurrying toward the exit. He couldn’t get out of the cave quick enough.
Too short, the whispers said. He needed to stay longer.
Well, that backfired. Next time, fWhip might just have to tell Sausage something was wrong down here, that he needed his opinion, and then block him off. Knock him out. Leave him here. That’d be long enough, wouldn’t it?
It would.
Good. that was the plan, then. After the other rulers presented themselves to him to come here and look into the heart of the deepslate redstone.
The other rulers would hopefully stay longer. Maybe he should’ve added a specific time limit to the rule, so they had to stare for a specific amount of time. But he couldn’t retroactively change his rule. So he’d just have to stay with them, forcefully keep them there if possible, and hope for the best.
Nobody else had come. fWhip stayed home in the Grimlands, impatiently waiting for anyone else to show up. He had thought the others would come; it was only a small thing to do. It was definitely more sensible than putting on a Joel head, or not being able to fly. It definitely was less effort than building a stupid cod sanctuary. So what were they waiting for?
They’ll come, the whispers said. They’ll come soon enough.
“They’d better,” fWhip responded. “I’m starting to get impatient.”
The Grimlanders didn’t even glance at him anymore when their Count walked past. What were first random frowns became quiet whispering and was now answering to his whispers out loud. The people were concerned but said nothing. They remembered what happened to the last person who doubted the Count’s sanity.
They say the Count had been cursed. That he’d looked into the heart of deepslate redstone. One of his friends, the one who dared him, had been caught wondering if he was the source of fWhip becoming so irrational. He was a kid, after all, and hadn’t known it was a dangerous place only fools attempted to find. They hadn’t known there was a reason why it was so hard to find, why people gave up; that they found it, heard it whispering and immediately hurried back, rather willing to admit defeat than say that they found it haunted, evil.
The whispers refuted all these claims. They don’t know what’s good for them. They don’t know. You should teach them.
“Maybe later.”
But the sound of a rocket brought fWhip out of his thoughts. Finally a visitor! Finally someone to take to the heart of the deepslate redstone; to gain a new friend in this endeavor. He never thought he’d be happy to see the Codfather head among the crowd – it was Jimmy! Impulsive, naive Jimmy. Surely he’d stay long enough to enjoy the heart of the deepslate redstone to its fullest extent. Surely he’d see it as a miracle, too.
fWhip did not want to waste any more time and directed Jimmy to the caves. Jimmy protested – he had traveled far and was starting to get a little hungry and thirsty. It wasn’t going anywhere, the Codfather argued. Maybe they could catch up first.
The whispers begrudgingly agreed with these plans, and fWhip lead Jimmy to the dining hall. It was about time for dinner anyway. He seemed nervous; fWhip told the Codfather he had nothing to worry about.
Jimmy wondered if it was truly as magical as fWhip claimed it was. fWhip agreed and told Jimmy he was going to see it for himself soon. After dinner. A nice salmon dish, one Jimmy had a hard time refusing.
BETRAYAL! The whispers almost overwhelmed fWhip, nearly gave him a headache. They’re destroying us! They’re killing us!
Jimmy, who’d grown even more anxious, asked fWhip if he was okay. It was hard to believe Jimmy’s visit was a coincidence. But this wasn’t about Jimmy.
fWhip had to go.
He rushed down the caves, flying through the familiar tunnels he’d memorized by now, and arrived in the main cave.
He saw the cave filled with explosives, all around the deepslate redstone. It pulsated quicker, reached out to fWhip to save it. But there was barely any more redstone visible through the red TNT. He could hear their panicked whispers, begging to help, commanding fWhip to stop them from destroying them. He entered the cave flying, glanced to his left. He could just see Gem and Sausage standing at a lever, placed over a redstone vein, and witnessed how Sausage flicked the lever right as fWhip had turned his head.
fWhip couldn’t stop. He didn’t correct his course, to stay away. He had to save the redstone. The whispers consumed him, made him fly into the TNT, to salvage something, anything, do something, save us!
The explosion knocked him to the side. He hit his head, the crown that still rested on his head creating a large gash. He took a moment to recover while the world crumbled around him. He got up quickly, he had to save it, he had to…
fWhip looked at the structure; once beautiful and magical, now reduced to a pile of deepslate and redstone debris. Completely destroyed, the magic gone.
It was quiet.
It was silent.
The whispers had gone.
And he was back.
“fWhip?”
Gem called his name. He turned his head. Gem gasped and put her hand against her mouth before rushing to his side. fWhip frowned. Why would she do that?
He brought his hand to his head and felt something sticky. He pulled back. Blood. Stuck to his hand and hair. Huh. That would explain it.
His legs failed him; they no longer could support his weight. He fell on his knees, would have fallen face-first on the stone if Gem hadn’t been there to catch him and support him. Sausage was there, too. Had he set the explosives? It had been expertly done. Where had he learned?
He couldn’t focus. Gem called his name and he looked in her direction briefly before his gaze drifted again. She and Sausage talked to him, but he barely understood. One came through; are you okay?
Good question. Was he okay?
He waited for a response from within, but it stayed silent.
Oh. Right.
“They’re gone,” fWhip answered with his now raspy voice. “The whispers are gone.”
And he laughed. He laughed and must’ve scared Sausage and Gem in the process. He couldn’t stop – he laughed and laughed until he had a coughing fit and could barely catch his breath anymore.
He couldn’t catch his breath anymore.
Gem and Sausage spoke in panicked voices, blurry voices he couldn’t understand. His gaze drifted about everywhere, tried to catch Sausage’s auburn hair and Gem’s ginger braid. The formless gigantic purple hat was easy to focus on, even as his gaze was drifting, even as his senses were fading.
With his remaining energy, his cold fingers tore the crown from his head, pulled out a few hairs in the process, and pressed it in Gem’s hands. There. That was better. She’d know what to do with it. He was left with no crown, no whispers, just fWhip.
Just fWhip…
Was he even him without the whispers?
The voices were gone. He hadn’t had a moment to himself since he was that young Grimlander wandering through the caves underneath his home. And he wouldn’t have wanted to share this deeply vulnerable, personal moment with anyone but Sausage and Gem. With a calm smile on his face, fWhip watched and listened until their blurry outlines blended with the deepslate background and it sounded like they were on the other side of the cave, whispering.
Their voices were the only ones that mattered, anyway.