Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was something inside the Boatem Hole.

Objectively speaking, there were many things inside the Boatem Hole. Spare remnants and broken shards that signified far too many goats that met an unfortunate end. Bits of fur that looked suspiciously like fluffy alpaca scraped on the jagged edges down. Occasional bits of slime from where they had launched themselves through the crevice separating their makeshift farm and a deathly drop. Impulse spotted scraps of maroon cloth that looked a bit too much like Scar’s enormous hat to only be a coincidence.

Breaking bedrock was a tedious task that often required a respawn after, if only for the irreparable state of Impulse’s eardrums. Doc was perhaps the only hermit insane enough to bother with the task (not to mention Impulse doubted Doc even had eardrums). Shifting one block was not as simple as any casual build- it took hours to rearranging and mathematical calculation to establish the pattern necessary. It was a shell of layers, peeled back one chip at a time via explosions and obsidian. Gunpowder filled his nose, burning his sense of smell and the tingling touch receptors now void in his fingers. Explosions burned the air with a horrid smell of something melting despite no obvious source.

No sane person would ever willingly hop into the pit when Impulse was working, even Scar would stay away (although that didn’t exactly mean much). Mumbo, with all his insatiable curiosity for redstone contraptions, swore off visiting the pit until it was safely finished and ironically much more lethal.

Impulse knew that Pearl had bid him her farewell before vanishing off in search of a new sand to quarry. Scar had mentioned offhand traveling East to visit the slowly growing Big-Eye commune. As far as Impulse knew, there shouldn’t be anyone here.

But there was. Well, there was something. Watching him with longer sustained attention any mob had to give. Longer than the duration of any potion. Impossibly, against every bit of logical reasoning Impulse knew he had- something was watching him. 

Yet…he could feel it with each slab of bedrock broken. Treating it with a bit more levity than it deserved, Impulse ignored it. He had a mission to complete, one that involved plenty of explosions and the monotonous tautology of arranging pistons and obsidian with care.

Five blocks, ten blocks. Fourteen blocks and he could feel the curiosity or unseen attention of something beyond his acuity. Hiding in the many crevices dotting the cliff of the Boatem Hole, Impulse knew it would be impossible to find anyone from here.

“Hello?” he asked, cupping his hands and shaking off bits of gunpowder from his fingers, “Cub? Are you guys trying to prank me here?”

In the distance, a sheep bleated from the surface. The gelatinous echoes of slime bounding about within their cavern echoed distortedly. Bedrock held the innate uncanny ability to swallow sound, filtering and absorbing each whisper like expensive enchantments carved into each shade of striated black. Impulse swallowed, feeling his throat shift and his heart thrum strongly near his neck.

“Man, of all times to not have an elytra,” Impulse muttered, huffing slightly at the intense climb ahead of him eventually. “Maybe I should have gone End-busting…”

There was no company at the bottom of the hole. There were no guests, no hermits or curious silverfish darting below cobblestone. 

‘Maybe it’s Tango pulling a prank,’ Impulse wondered, smiling despite the slight paranoia. ‘Eh, it’s probably nothing!’

Yet…the break did draw attention to his dwindling supply of explosives and the increasing risk that came from the thin layer of rock between him and Void.

“Is this a good time to take a break?” he asked rhetorically, wiping his hands off on his trousers, he shed his diamond leggings earlier with how much squatting he needed to do under precariously placed trapdoors. “What time even is it?”

It was difficult to tell in the pit, sunlight filtered through only when directly overhead. He guessed someone would come visit him if it started to get late- maybe Pearl would send a vine-lowered barrel down with bread or steak. Mumbo undoubtedly would poke his head in when curiosity finally won out.

“Well, if you are up there,” Impulse called out to the pit, squinting across the rocky outcroppings to try and spot the faint glimmer trails of invisibility potions, “you got me! I’ll admit, I’m a bit spooked down here!”

‘Nothing? Really?’ Impulse thought, a bit baffled by the silence. He was certain someone had been watching him- he was used to it. Sometimes his antics and builds were rather fascinating to watch. He didn’t mind the company, in fact, it almost made the time go quicker.

“I’ll be heading out soon!” he shouted up the cliff, counting the number of explosives he still had. “If you could ah, casually forget some shulkers behind, or more explosives, I’d appreciate it! Bedrock doesn’t break itself!”

The wind whispered, sliding between shattered edges of deepslate. There was no response, no sly giggle of a prank or unexpected waterbucket heading his way.

‘Huh,’ Impulse thought, tempted to fish out his communicator to toss a small message in chat. ‘Did someone’s cat fall in? Is it a trapped phantom somewhere?’

Four more shattered bits of bedrock, he finally carved something of a lopsided L in to the floor. The smell of sweat and molten rock and bedrock formed an acrid stench a tad too overpowering for Impulse’s stomach. It was no wonder Etho avoided breaking bedrock at every chance, his hypersensitive sense of smell already gave him trouble. 

“Ugh, I need a break,” Impulse muttered, kicking his armoured boots against broken bits of tuff. The climb out of the pit to his slime cavern was tedious, but a welcome relief from the static burning bedrock and void often made. 

The damp cavern was uncomfortable at worst, but in rare occasions a fresh moment of relief. If Impulse ignored the squishy sounds of oversized slime hopping about, the cool underground breeze felt nice on his sweaty back.

He stored a collection of baked potatoes (lovingly hurled at him by Mumbo Jumbo in a fit of manic spud-excitement) in one of the chests, carefully hidden over a layer of wool and chilled on packed ice. They were significantly better hot, but Impulse didn’t have the taste for something warm with how overheated he felt.

“Whoo, I should have charged to do this,” he complained, peeling bits of potato away from the wrapped spud. “What do you think, goober?”

The slime, now named goober, hopped around with a wet squelch. Impulse huffed, tossing tiny bits of potato like birdseed to the mindless mobs. They ate it like how Impulse imagined jellyfish ate- he didn’t understand it and it became more disgusting the longer he pondered it.

Plucking his communicator, he flipped through a few of the different messages. Nothing had been sent to him directly, but a few messages had been sent in his hard work. Bdubs had requested food on his pilgrimage to carve a path across the continent. Mumbo had apparently heard his call and attempted to market his potato vending machines on the global message account. From the looks of things, his marketing campaign had spiked something of Etho’s notorious shopping interest, which Iskall (his current base-roommate) was failing to stop.

It took only a few seconds to type out a hasty message to the general communication line they all used. Anyone by Boatem Hole?

<PearlescentMoon> No do you need help?

<Rendog> you fall in???

Of course Ren would instantly assume he had tripped or gotten stuck somewhere in the bedrock chunks. It was that exact reason Impulse made sure to carry a heavy stack of Enderpearls for a hasty escape. He typed with one hand, finishing the remnants of the baked potato as quickly as he could. Im good i thought someone was by here earlier?

<Bdubs00> Mumbs helping with the roads

<Rendog> caving

<PearlescentMoon> I’m at the desert do you need me to grab something?

<Keralis> Scar is here with me

Impulse’s smile started to falter as he realized the depth and ramifications of each incoming message. All members of the Boatem Community were absent, excluding Impulse. In fact, the closest location would be Keralis who was still quite a distance by land and then boat. It would take some time to get back, and from what Impulse knew Scar hadn’t gotten an elytra yet.

By all the quick dismissive messages filtering in, nobody was in the area.

“I’m just getting paranoid,” Impulse muttered, trying to shake off the lingering doubt. They were still new to this world, building their first starter base and making small tentative steps towards new designs. Some people had yet to settle completely, still flickering from one location to the next. Xisuma had promised that this world was safe. The admin only allowed the hermits to enter after he spent a solid week reinforcing the complex code and firewall protecting and simultaneously isolating this world from the server hub. For all others, they were completely hidden in a world of their own making, to colonise and claim until they ran their course and moved on to the next world.

Xisuma had said this world was completely uninhabited, difficult to find at first but perfect on his examination. It had been touched by the spreading update, already modified and requiring only small tweaks to be considered perfect for new habitation.

‘Maybe that’s what this is,’ Impulse thought, gazing at the few slimes hopping about oblivious, ‘is there a new mob here? Something we hadn’t met yet since the update?’

It would make sense why others hadn’t yet met it, Impulse was the only hermit to spend this long at such a low level. Down here, the occasional bedrock mist would lift in nostalgic memory of years ago when the fog had been pervasive and tangible. He was thrilled when that hadn’t lasted.

“Well, that Boatem Hole isn’t going to break itself,” he decided, stretching his sore arms in front of him with a small crack through his shoulders. He fished around, finding his diamond boots and sliding them on, securing the buckles and checking the blast protections were still in place. 

“Just five more pieces to go,” he said, speaking out loud both to deter the uncomfortable silence and to remind him of the task at hand, “hopefully it shouldn’t need anything more than the outer shelf to be taken off. Maybe ten more blasts then I’ll call it for tonight-.”

Impulse paused, his words dying in his mouth. He stared down the ledge into the bottom of the hole, surveying his worksite with a critical eye. His explosives hadn’t been touched, the trapdoors and bits of chiseled deepslate still lay off to one side. The obsidian stacked itself in a pristine pile, ready to be placed and used. 

The Boatem Hole stared at him with it’s open eye, the Void gazing at him with indistinct shapes and cold gravity. The obsidian he placed was mysteriously gone, absent or perhaps it had fallen into the void itself.

More concerningly, the five blocks of bedrock he had yet to remove from the 3 by 3 square were no longer a consideration. In fact, both the plugged obsidian and the bedrock had vanished, leaving a perfect square of bottomless absence.

“How the…” Impulse trailed off, quickly calculating the area around the hole. The shelf hadn’t been touched, his things were unmoved. He would have heard any explosions or the vibrations that came from conflicting with code. Even Doc, the only man capable of server-defying stunts would have needed to remove the outer shelf and hull of bedrock to establish enough space to place the reversed piston.

“That’s not possible,”  he said, staring dumbly at the miracle. Unless Xisuma had appeared randomly and destroyed the foundations of the code itself- but Impulse would have heard Xisuma appear. 

A part of Impulse wondered if it was a figment of his imagination. He had half a mind to grab a rock and throw it into the hole of the world. He knew logically that it was there, he had broken enough bedrock to recognize when it was real or fake. He simply didn’t understand how it happened.

“Okay,” Impulse said a little stressed, his voice tight and shaking towards the end, “apparently bedrock is glitching. That uh, that sure seems like a big problem.”

‘Although…now I don’t need to mine it out,’ Impulse thought, which was a bright side to such a horrifying thought like the world randomly falling apart. 

Cleaning up the Boatem Hole didn’t only include drilling through the bottom of the world. As the builder of their little community, he was the designated underground specialist since Scar was banned from stepping close to instant death, and Mumbo had a healthy phobia of the pit. Pearl was new to the server and their little family and was to be protected at all costs from a traumatic loss of everything.

Cleaning up the hole didn’t mean clearing away the bedrock. It meant stealing one of Scar’s jukeboxes, setting it up next to a collection of ladders and scaffolding and having a relaxing day chipping away at andesite and diorite speckling the rim of their lovely pit. The Boatem Hole deserved a beautiful drop into death, not one stuck with variated rocks with no pleasing aesthetics.

The collection of llamas along the rim of the hole watched him curiously, staying well enough away to not die. The poor goat suspended by a harness from the base of the Boatem Pole watched him dumbly, awaiting Doc to swoop in and rescue him eventually. The sun had barely risen, the heat of the day not yet at its peak. Overall, it was almost something to sing about.

Impulse felt the eyes watching him almost as quickly as he heard the scuffle. It came from below him, which was a concern since every other hermit was definitely above him.

He paused, setting his pickaxe and chisel safely on the nearest scaffolding. He peered over the edge, slowly pulling out his eyepiece to glance into the hole. 

The rising sun cast shadows into the pit, obscuring any detail any further than a few meters. There was no way to see the bottom from this angle, let alone isolate the source of the odd scuffling sound. If Impulse had to guess, it sounded almost like scratching of claws on a hard surface. Had a chicken fallen into the pit?

“Hello?” he called into the hole, pulling the eyepiece away. He listened keenly, sighing after a short while. ‘Well, I guess my little visitor isn’t the talkative type.’

He could work with that. Whatever the mob was, it was the quiet silent type. Hopefully, it wasn’t the explosive type like a creeper. Or the climbing type like a cave spider.

“Well, if you’re going to watch me dig this all away,” Impulse said into the void, beckoning one hand to the wall he was shaping into something much more pleasing to look at, “I guess I’ll narrate what I’m doing! I’m sure things will seem a lot quicker with a bit of sound!”

The void did not answer him, but he hadn’t expected it to. Scar’s music kept him in a lovely mood, energetic despite his progress or the slow tiring effort of hauling stone away from the site. He discovered quickly that any bits of scrap he had could be tossed into the pit and swallowed by the void, an easier clean up than hauling it up and over the lip of the cliff.

He made decent progress, carving a wide cut into the earth on both side. He had descended maybe a quarter of the way when the sun was now starting to set.

“I’m done for the night,” Impulse called into the pit, “I’ll be leaving now, but I’ll be back tomorrow to keep working. Thank you for keeping me company!”

He had no idea if the invisible entity watching him could understand his words, but Impulse had a good gut feeling about it. Something told him that his new guest knew just enough for it to be worth the conversation.

“Impulse!” Scar shouted, waving him down from the balcony of his swagin'-wagon. The man’s large hat toppled, nearly being swept away to flutter the considerable drop to the ground below. The man hurriedly grabbed it, slamming it down on his head with both hands.

Impulse waved back, patiently stopping his walk towards the Boatem Hole. Scar shouted something else before vanishing inside his house, presumably to hurry down the ladders indoor.

Impulse settled himself on the lip of the Boatem hole, placing his tools and bits of food to keep him going for the day. He doubted he would be able to hear the jukebox from halfway down the hole, although hopefully he could rig something to work inside the slime farm so he had music for the bottom portion.

“There you are!” Scar shouted, clumsily running over the path from his small starter wagon to the pit itself. He waved with one hand, nearly knocking his hat off of his head once more.

“Careful there!” Impulse shouted, nervous to have the man so close to the edge, “I got the bedrock removed.”

“Already?” Scar asked, inching towards the hole with visible awe and terror, “oh boy…so If I fall in…all my stuff is gone?”

“Yep, completely gone,” Impulse said with a small nervous laugh, “so uh, let’s not do that?”

“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Scar agreed a bit too quickly. “What was with the creepy spooky ghost here the other day?”

“The spooky ghost?”

“Yeah, who was it that pulled a prank on you?” Scar asked, cocking his head. His hat started to slip, but he caught it and righted it so quickly it seemed choreographed. “Also, can I chuck like…an apple in there?”

“It wasn’t anyone, and sure?”

Scar pulled an apple from behind his back and with a great deal of enthusiasm, hurled it directly into the pit. They watched it spin and tumble out of sight, plummeting straight down into the depths below. Scar huffed, deflating some at the lackluster reaction.

“Aww,” Scar whined quietly, “I wanted to watch it go splat.”

“Throw in another one?” Impulse asked, wondering if he had an apple somewhere in his collection of items nearby.

“Yeah but…I was going to eat that one.”

Impulse snorted, trying not to laugh too much at the antics of his friend. Scar pouted, sneaking the slightest bit closer to the edge of the hole once more. Impulse readied himself, prepared to grab Scar at the slightest stumble into the hole.

“So…we have a creepy Boatem Golem?” Scar asked, craning his neck to look over the edge.

“What? No-.”

“Uh, you should probably look at that then,” Scar said, pointing into the cliff.

Impulse did so, leaning over carefully with one hand braced on the nearby scaffolding. He scoured the edges of his last progress and saw the immediate change for what it was.

Gouges had been carved against the wall, descending downwards in heavy arced strokes. Bit of rocks had been removed, torn away from the edge like the marks of an enormous pickaxe or the shredded edges of Jellie’s scratching post. The bits of stone that had been clawed free sat in a clumsy pile near the tools Impulse had left the day before. This time, each tool was carefully placed next to each other with equal space.

“So uh,” Scar asked awkwardly, “did you grow like, really big claws or is there something you’re not telling me?”

Impulse gawked at the clawed portion of stone removed simply overnight. He scratched his head, trying to fathom the size of a creature capable of doing such a thing, and the time required to do so. He said solemnly but also a little hysterical, “I guess we do have a golem.”

The two stared into the empty pit. Temptation stirred, driving them closer to the edge as simultaneously, an act of caprice compelled them to hurl bits of food and objects into the void. It wasn’t smart, but it was oddly satisfying. Bits of steak and bread plummeted into the foggy depths. A spare set of shears, loosened from overuse. Scar tossed a golden apple into the void before squabbling a mere half-second after as he realized what he had done.

“Aw, my apple,” he moaned quietly, staring wistfully into the pit. “Why does the Boatem-Golem get to eat better than me?”

“I don’t think I even have any food left,” Impulse admitted, checking his pockets quickly. He had half of a golden carrot trapped along the edge of his pocket, spared from its demise. “At least it won’t be hungry.”

Scar gasped, eyes alighting in sudden genius thought. He turned to look at Impulse, his sly smile stretching so far it gave the impression of someone manic. Quietly, Scar asked under his breath: “what…what if we…could ride it.”

“Ride…the pit-monster?”

“It would be so cool,” Scar whispered, gazing into the depths longingly, “Bdubs would be so jealous with his stupid horse. We would be cruising in style.”

Impulse snorted at the thought. With Scar’s luck, the mob would end up being twice as aggressive as a wither with half the patience of a Drowned. He patted Scar’s back gently (mindful of how a heavy thump could toss the man into the hole), shaking his head with mirth. “Good luck on that one, buddy. I’ve got some walls to carve out still.”

“Aww, bye pit-monster,” Scar said, waving at the empty hole with sad eyes. “I’ll come feed you tomorrow! We’ll be friends- oh, what if it likes cakes?”

“Better go find some eggs then,” Impulse teased, sending the taller man off in a mad scramble to hunt down some wayward poultry. Chuckling, Impulse waved him off, spotting Pearl on top of her house working with some unruly shingles. A wave in her direction signified his entrance into the pit, and a potential rescue in the making if he lost his balance.

The scaffolding wasn’t wet or slippery until a certain point. Luckily, his work for the day was well above that threshold and wasn’t a concern. His tools had been arranged parallel to one another, staggered just enough so the blades of his Silk-Touch pickaxe and regular pickaxe didn’t touch. It was rather considerate, and something precisely done. The torches were a little lopsided, and the buckets of water were at a significantly lower volume than the day before, but it was still rather nice.

“Thank you, pit monster,” Impulse called into the ominous depths, waving at all edges of the cliff. Hopefully the unseen beast would hear him, or was watching him from somewhere in the crevice.

It was…oddly nice. The company drove off some of the boredom, and for unknown reasons significantly fewer mobs stumbled in. Impulse had prepared himself to fight off a few skeletons, maybe even an ambitious creeper falling from above. Yet, as the hours stretched on, he saw no mobs or things beyond falling bits of rubble and the occasional scratch of something just out of sight.

Keeping a monologue wasn’t as hard as he expected. He was quite a talker, although normally he was talking to someone. Babbling about a patch of diorite came second nature to him. Complaining about unforeseen gaps where he expected smooth rock was barely a thought. By the time he accidentally struck a patch of redstone towards the bottom of the crevice, his throat had turned sore.

“Ah-hah,” he crowed, alternating his pickaxes to chisel away at the red powder. Ideally he’d have a mask of some sort, although Mumbo never wore one and seemed perfectly sane after years of dealing with the glittering material. Redstone fluttered around finer than sand, caking his hands as he sorted it into a small pile. Fishing out his shovel, it took a bit of effort to scoop it into one of the many bags he brought with.

“You never know when you need redstone,” Impulse told the cavern cheerfully, “I have a good mustached friend who would appreciate this! You know, I can wire up some systems and know how to use it, but I’m not that much of a redstone user…hmm, maybe I should consider putting some doors down here…”

He babbled away, chiseling through the vein until he could see no more from this point under the gentle glow of his torch. He knew there would be more in the area if he took the time to chisel out the rock, but he hadn’t anticipating a solid mining expenditure. 

“It’s a nice find,” he explained to his watching audience, “but I’m just trying to pretty up the Boatem hole! Maybe later I’ll expand and make a mine out of this, but for now I’m just trying to neaten it! Scar is the man you want to talk to about mountains, oh he can work miracles with rock, and Pearl has one heck of a colour palette!”

He continued to work, finally stepping into the exhausting process of climbing up the scaffolding ladder to cut bits of chiseled slabs and stairs to alternate the edge of the crevice. Then, he hauled it downwards into the void on his shoulder, one hunk of rock at a time. It was much more difficult than simply mining away. It was a universal mystery how Scar was so thin and wiry with the amount of manual labour he did recreationally.

“Well!” Impulse called out, slotting his last slab into place for the day. He had a tedious amount of work ahead of him, multiple days maybe a week of work before the hole would be a perfect monument to instant death. “I’ll be off now! Thanks for keeping me company, little fella’!”

“Well,” Mumbo Jumbo said, precariously perched on a bit of deepslate with his elytra wings spread for balance. He stroked his mustache, squinting at the conundrum below them just adjacent to the bedrock floor. “I see the problem now.”

“Yeah,” Impulse said, stretching the word out slowly. “So uh, what do we do with this?”

“Well, use it I reckon,” Mumbo said, voice shifting a bit higher as he gazed at the heap of redstone. It wasn’t the most either man had seen before, but it was a hefty amount to appear (quite literally) overnight. When Impulse found it the following morning, he had needed to sit down quite quickly to think through his life decisions.

“...Would it be considered rude to not use it?” Mumbo asked, squeaking nervously. His elytra fluttered as he peered over his shoulder, clearly unsettled by the heavy weight of the omnipresent watching. “Like, uh…would it- would it get…offended?”

“Hm? Oh, probably not,” Impulse told him with a grin, “I mean, it’s been keeping the mobs away. It carved out a good chunk of the wall too, saved me a whole day of work!”

“It can break rock?” Mumbo asked, squawking at the thought. He blinked quickly, visibly frazzled by unavoidable proof of something intelligent living in their community pit. “So uh…It just…mined out redstone for us? No strings attached?”

“We have a nice pit monster,” Impulse summarized pleasantly, contemplating how many bags and trips it would take to haul their cargo to the surface. “Hmm…we should name it. How do you like the name Sparky?”

Mumbo laughed, the sound spilling out of him in a rush. Baffled, the man stuttered: “isn’t that uh, a name for a dog?”

“You’re right, our pit monster gets a better name,” Impulse agreed.

Mumbo settled on his heels, adjusting into a much more comfortable sprawl. He swung his legs, mindful not to lose a boot into the void. The sound of slimes above them squelched a rhythmic background sound, almost comedic to their current crisis.

“Does it, uh…” Mumbo trailed off, craning his neck to peer all around the pit with flickering eyes, “...just…watch you all day?”

“Yep, doesn’t really talk or anything,” Impulse told him. He pulled out a pair of shovels, pointedly placing one on the ground for the mustached man. Mumbo paled and pointed to the close proximity the redstone shared with the void, choking out his refusal.

Impulse rolled his eyes and got to work, sorting the mound into smaller bits which slotted into little pouches. Mumbo kept commentary, talking about his new adventures into automated potato vending. He had visited the furthest point of their island, meeting with Iskall and Etho on their shattered savannah and nearly died twice getting to where they were building a home.

“It’s a dangerous place!” Mumbo told him, “I swear those two don’t have a spare torch between them. They live above a mob of- well, mobs. You know what I mean.”

“I bet they’re so jealous of our pit monster,” Impulse laughed, tying off yet another bag of redstone. “I bet it’ll start clearing out phantoms too!”

“Wouldn’t that be a sight,” Mumbo agreed, still glancing around the rock formations, “sure is a, ah…spectator. No! A spec-tater!”

Impulse groaned at the potato pun, ignoring the obvious delight of the other man. He scowled playfully, shouting in good jest, “you’re just excited to finally find a use for that joke!”

“I didn’t honestly think I could use it in a sentence!”

“You’re a little stinker,” Impulse told him jokingly, going so far as to stick out his tongue. “Don’t upset our friend here with all your potato nonsense!”

“My nonsense- what- I-,” the man spluttered, fumbling to form any sort of words.

With the last bag of redstone tied, the two men awkwardly struggled to connect it to a spare lead. Fashioning the weight shared between the two of them with a severely questionable knot, they hurried to haul themselves up the climb.

“Maybe we should have done this in trips,” Impulse wheezed. He felt his joints strain under the weight of a good hundred tiny sacks of redstone dangling below them. Mumbo laughed, sweat plastering his hair onto his scalp. 

“Yeah, I guess I could have figured out a better system,” Mumbo agreed, although made no efforts to actually construct said system.

“I hope you’re having fun, pit monster!” Impulse called into their cliff, ignoring the way Mumbo spluttered on an exhausted laugh. “I hope this is really living up to your expectations here!”

“Expect- tater- tions!” Mumbo shouted with a laugh, nearly sending Impulse down the scaffolding with how difficult it was to withhold a laugh.

It wasn’t that funny of a joke, but both men were tired from hauling so many objects from bedrock to the surface. The breeze of fresh air felt clean and crisp on their sweaty skin, slightly itchy from small specs of redstone. A nearby llama, still attached to a post curtesy of Pearl, bleated at them in surprise.

“Oh, that was a workout,” Mumbo panted, bracing his hands on his knees. He took a moment to strip off his suit jacket, revealing the drenched white undershirt and loosened tie, “couldn’t our friend have piled all this up a little higher?”

“Aw, but that would take away all the fun bonding we had,” Impulse teased, collapsing to lay spread eagle on the grass. He giggled as Mumbo scowled at him.

Mumbo stumbled to the nearby chest, courtesy of Pearl at some point during the day, and fished around. With a triumphant noise, he snatched two bottles of water still cold from the slab of ice carved to nestle inside.

“Here you go,” Mumbo said, offering a bottle. Impulse accepted it, pausing to click his bottle against Mumbo’s in a silent cheers before popping the cork. It was refreshing on his overheated body, he hadn’t noticed how dehydrated he was until now.

“You know, that would have taken hours to mine,” Mumbo admitted, pondering their haul. “Especially without fortune enchantment.”

“I heard Keralis has books for sale, but they’re expensive like always,” Impulse told him, chugging down the remains of his water. Gesturing towards the chest, he asked: “is there anything else in there?”

“Some food, more water,” Mumbo told him, making no effort to get up as Impulse dragged himself to the chest. Opening it, he was delighted to see the great deal of food and refreshments available. Although there weren’t any golden apples or golden carrots, he did grab a loaf of freshly baked bread.

Mumbo made a noise of appreciation as Impulse passed a hunk over, nibbling on the crust immediately. It was well done, grainy with oats and specs of wheat still within the crust. Pearl was shaping up to be an excellent neighbour.

“Oh, right,” Mumbo said after a moment of silence. He tore off a bit of bread, chucking it into the pit. With a small laugh, he shouted: “thank you pit monster!”

“I wanna’ name it,” Impulse pouted, tearing off a significantly larger chunk of his half. He had plenty of food at home, and the pit monster deserved it after all its help. “Let’s see…it doesn’t really talk much. And just kinda watches.”

“It’s not actually that bad, honestly,” Mumbo agreed. “I mean, it takes a bit to ignore the uh, constant feeling like someone is staring at you.”

“It’s part of the charm,” Impulse agreed, “hmm, seems too smart for Boatem Golem.”

“Love the rhyming,” Mumbo said, trying not to grin. “What about…uh, I can’t think of anything. Calling it ‘looker’ sounds too much like Keralis’ old shop.”

“Looky-Looky-at-my-Booky?” Impulse guessed, noticing the problem, “plus that isn’t much of a name. And if you call it ‘Watch’ it might make Bdubs go insane thinking we’re talking about clocks.”

“Fair point,” Mumbo agreed, sipping on the last bit of his water. He hummed, staring up at the sky and the gorgeous colours of pink and orange appearing in the dawning sunset. “How about Scout? That’s something people name dogs, yeah?”

“Scout?” Impulse asked, testing it on his tongue. It didn’t instantly make him think of a strange word, and it did seem like a name someone would give a pet. He didn’t mind it.

“Yeah, not the dumbest thing?” Mumbo said, although the phrasing turned it into a question.

“I like it,” Impulse assured him, holding the hunk of bread he had dedicated to the pit, “here you go, Scout! Thanks for the help!”

Inside the Boatem Hole, something with claws and feathers and appendages that were once wings now forgotten, clutched bits of carrot and bread and a single shining golden apple.

It cocked its head, soft feathers brushing tentatively over its gilded surface, caressing each defect with a gentle touch no mob could ever imitate. Silent, except the accursed scratching of its claws along the cavern stone, it listened and watched the two humans chatter on top of the crevice. 

It had been… long since there were humans. Time moves differently in the void, memories are harder to construct and form- encode, organize and allocate to appropriate areas of recollection. It knew conceptually what humans were, what players were, but it had been too long. He knew the basic attributes- two arms, two legs, no wings- but couldn’t recall how they all slotted together. How did they function? How did they move and speak and build things so creatively?

The humans talked, throwing bits and things into the passage they called Boatem Hole. Curiosity (It shouldn’t have curiosity, yet It did. It shouldn’t interact, but It had been alone for so long- ) compelled It to snatch each dropped thing, collecting tokens in a pile of makeshift odds and ends. The humans spoke to It, gentle and curious. They kept It company, called It a friend.  It didn’t understand, but something beyond walls and walls of frosted glass and impermeable fog whispered pained and haunted behind It’s eyes with a voice that hurt to dwell on, don’t you remember this?

Chapter Text

“I know Scout is our new mascot, and we’ve only had him for a week now,” Scar confided, staring into the depths of the Boatem Hole with a whimsical lilt to his words, “but I would kill everyone on this server if anything ever happened to him.”

Mumbo spluttered, failing to gather his wits long enough to reply. Pearl laughed melodically, wiping her dirtied hands across a gardening apron now repurposed to her terraforming apron. Impulse was absent that day, off visiting the rumours of Doc once more flexing his ability to break the natural limits on the world.

“Well, don’t go killing anyone,” Pearl teased gently, “you may not get too far before needing someone to get your things.”

“Hey!” Scar complained, whining at Pearl’s jab. “I could totally kill someone! Maybe!”

“Uh, only if you convinced them to take off their armour,” Mumbo joked, laughing wildly at Scar’s dejected expression of betrayal.

“All of you are dead to me,” Scar said, crossing one hand across his chest in a dramatic fashion. “Nobody loves me, except Jellie.”

“Aww, we love you, Scar,” Pearl soothed, offering a golden apple from her shulker chest, “would an apple cheer you up.”

“...Yeah,” Scar confessed, twirling away from the bottomless pit to pluck the apple happily from her palm. 

Pearl hummed to herself, cocking her head slightly. The Boatem Hole was a deep terrifying thing, stretching to bedrock and then beyond. The details Impulse carved to the edges of the cliff added a new layer of depth to the passage, transforming it from an unsettling drop to something near a work of art.

“Are you thinking of adding more to the hole?” Pearl asked, wondering if she too should contribute to their community monument.

“I was thinking maybe about some vines,” Scar confessed, cocking his head. “Do you think Scout would like some vines?”

“We’re making a lot of presumptions about uh, Scout,” Mumbo admitted. He reached into his side bag, brushing aside small pouches of redstone and bits of machinery had hadn’t yet placed back into storage. Withdrawing a handful of recently roasted potatoes, he tossed them in with a hefty overhand lob. 

After the last spud vanished below the rim of the Boatem Hole, Mumbo settled to contemplate the unknown question before them. “I- I mean…what if ah, what if Scout is a….lady Scout?”

“Oh well, I didn’t think we were presuming genders here,” Pearl mused.

“Why cant Scout be neutral?” Scar protested, whining a bit, “I like the name Scout. Names are hard!”

“I mean, maybe Scout is just…Scout” Mumbo said a bit lamely.

“Well I love Scout,” Scar stated happily, stretching his arms above his arms as he cracked both elbows with a happy sigh. “He’s our creepy cryptid monster!”

“Yeah, a cryptid,” Pearl agreed with a chuckle, “maybe Doc will get jealous that we have a strange entity.”

“Only if it starts breaking bedrock,” Mumbo said, glancing toward the rough skeleton that would be his megabase, “hey, so…I know we’re making this uh, enormous mountain range but…Scar are you planning on filling the gap between Pearl’s mountain and my-.”

“Your armchair?” Scar teased, wiggling his eyebrows, “why, yes I am! I’m thinking a grand palace in the sky! An enormous beautiful mountain that will make this place…a lovely place.”

“I’m not sure we’re the targeted audience for your sales pitch, Scar,” Pearl chuckled, patting his shoulder reassuringly, “anyways! I’ve been meaning to head out and meet with Keralis. We have some ah, clock shenanigans.”

“Have fun!” Scar chirped, waving her off. 

After a moment of pause, Scar slowly turned to look at Mumbo. His relentless stare made Mumbo shift, uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze.

“What?” Mumbo asked, stuttering slightly under such attention. “Have I got something on my face?”

“Just that beautiful mustache,” Scar stated, a small Cheshire grin slowly spreading across his face, “say…how much stone do you have?”

Spluttering on a slightly shrill and exasperated noise, Mumbo hastily admit, “not ah, not enough for anything. I’ve been meaning to set up a beacon and dig away to get materials but…”

“How about,” Scar offered with a devious gleam in his eyes, “we jump into the Boatem Hole and dig down there and go looking for Scout?”

Diamonds were mysteriously fewer in quantity, increasing their rarity almost tenfold. Other hermits were scrambling for any sort of protection, equipping iron armour until they could gather enough precious gemstones to craft something safer.

In the dim tunnels deep below the ground, both Scar and Mumbo deviated from Impulse’s gilded slime farm into the treacherous caverns below Boatem.

A few hermits had ventured through the depths and lit the way with torches. The gentle glow staved off hostile creatures, but not all of them were deterred. The occasional spider skittered above them, large enough to eat a person whole. Occasional zombies stared into empty darkness, barely moving until either of the two walked too close. Creepers, the most dangerous by far, hissed quietly as they wandered the high deepslate walls with insect simpleminded movements.

“This is horrid!” Mumbo moaned, swinging his pickaxe through another patch of tuff, “there’s no diamonds anywhere!”

“This is the worst season by far,” Scar agreed, slugging an embarrassing amount of copper over his shoulder. The ores clattered together, shimmering slightly in the orange flickering light. “At least there's copper!”

“We should just start charging copper in our shops,” Mumbo agreed, nervously lingering to Scar’s every movement, “hey uh, there’s a uh…that creeper’s kinda close.”

“I’ll protect you,” Scar assured, waving his sword around half hazardously, “you may be peace this season but I am certainly not!”

The creeper ignored them, absolutely oblivious to Scar’s best attempt to kill it. It wandered off, vanishing into the darkness and into a cavern opening below their feet. 

Mumbo laughed shrilly, the sound bordering on something near to hysteria. Anxiety drove his hands to twitch, fingers fluttering in a random beat as he stuttered, “oh thank goodness! I don’t think End Crystals would help much here.”

“Who knows, maybe they’re good for mining?” Scar asked, seeming far too relaxed in the deathly environment.

“Oh, like that respawn anchor nonsense?” Mumbo scoffed, shaking his head at the memory, “I’ll stick to the pickaxe technique.”

“Yeah well, that technique isn’t working the best right now,” Scar said, gesturing to their useless trails through the rock. “Honestly, I’m just happy to have this much copper right now.”

“At least I have redstone,” Mumbo agreed, not as happy as his friend with his recent finds, “but honestly? I wasn’t lacking redstone.”

Scar gasped, the loud inhale startling Mumbo once more into timid anxious energy. Mumbo bounced on the tips of his feet, nearly clinging to Scar’s back as he glanced into the unsettling darkness.

“What is it?” he asked, holding his pickaxe tightly in his hands, “is it a creeper? A skeleton? An enderman? Scar- Scar please tell me you didn’t look at an enderman.”

“I just had the best idea,” Scar said, which frequently was the precursor to a terrible idea, “what if we ask Scout…to bring us diamonds.”

Mumbo blinked, processing the words twice (just to be sure he understood properly) before he wilted. Sighing, he sat on a granite outcropping, pulling one leg to his chest as he stared at the other man quizzically. “You want to…ask Scout to mine for us?”

“I just think it isn’t fair he got you and Impulse so much redstone!” Scar whined, waving his torch so quickly the orange flame fizzled at the movement. “I mean, I don’t want redstone, but I wouldn’t argue to having a cool secret Santa living in a hole.”

“Yeah but- we didn’t really ask Scout to get us redstone.”

“Well I’ll ask him then,” Scar said breezily, hooking his pickaxe to the harness on his hip. “We don’t need a lame cavern! We can get diamonds the cool way!”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to barter with an unknown potentially imaginary monster,” Mumbo teased, following hastily in Scar’s footsteps. Navigating the thin narrow tunnels took some time, their frequent torch placement turned the return journey significantly safer than the cave spelunking, but did nothing to stave off monotony. After the first half hour of the slow walk home, both Mumbo and Scar broke into song with increasingly baffling lyrics, until neither men were capable of identifying the original words.

“This is absurd!” Mumbo laughed, testing the word ‘milk’ as after the fortieth repetition it no longer meant anything to his brain, “I- I can’t even reckon how to spell it anymore!”

“It’s a mystery!” Scar agreed, cackling merrily as they finally exited their labyrinth to the welcoming sounds of mindless slimes. The large barely-sentient creators squelched along, chasing bits of apple cores or wheat seeds someone had tossed to them earlier.

“Okay so, how are we doing this?” Mumbo asked, gripping the cobblestone safety railing on the overlook of the void-hole. The railing had been installed by someone- likely Impulse, and created a scenic overlook of the gap of existence while also encapsulation all the necessities of a resting area. Scar already collapsed himself on a nearby bed, placed conveniently for any tired wayward hermit.

“I’m thinking…a shrine,” Scar said, staring thoughtfully at the roof of the slime farm. “Maybe a shrine mixed with a couch.”

“A couch shrine?”

“I just think that if Scout keeps peeping at us all day, he may as well have a comfy spot,” Scar defended with a grin, “and we have so much wool! Well, I have a lot of wool since Impulse pranked me.”

“Ah, so we’re using Impulse’s wool,” Mumbo giggled, settling himself on a chair with his miner’s lunch. At this rate, all of Boatem could be sustained off of golden carrots and baked potatoes. “I mean, I don’t really know how uh, big Scout is. Maybe Scout is smaller than a Vex?”

“Nah, I’m going to guess at least the size of a Blaze,” Scar countered, stretching his arms to vastly overestimate the size of a Blaze. “I’m thinking we just make a pile of wool. And a shrine in it too, a great big offering platform so we don’t keep throwing things into the void.”

“You just want to stop falling in,” Mumbo guessed.

Scar flushed, squawking embarrassedly. After a few seconds where he couldn’t form words, he reached above his head to hold his hat and pulled it low enough to hide his eyes and face behind the brim. 

Constructing the shrine involved multiple trips to bring down the precious cargo. Each descent was increasingly dangerous as Scar neared the end of his elytra’s durability, but refused to mend it since he could ‘do that later’. Both men argued about the most efficient way to clear rock from the crevice, happily ignoring the face that Impulse had already accomplished the majority of the work.

Towards the bottom of the Boatem Hole, at the junction of stone to deepslate, they hollowed out a concave bubble recessed into the wall. Taking turns to lob clumps of wool into the pocket they made, the shrine slowly built itself up. Some wool was lost to the void as both Scar and Mumbo attempted to drop wool from the surface of the world, missing the hollowed area by more than a horse-length.

By mid-afternoon, the shrine was a felted stamped assortment of rainbow fiber, some gleaming the bright colours of dandelion yellow and freshly stained green from smelted cactus. The majority was white, as Impulse had used that colour only in filling up Scar’s swaggon. Coincidentally, all of Impulse’s sheep were white and now, quite naked.

Gemini had visited their valley with a great amount of birch wood, preaching the worship of the specific type of tree. Mumbo thought personally that birch was quite an ugly colour when natural, and Scar didn’t have the energy to go chopping spruce or oak to build planks for their little project. The birch was stripped (bark scraps tossed enthusiastically into the void) and segmented into pale planks. Assembling the altar, it was a near miss to not set the entire crevice ablaze when Scar tripped over a poorly placed lantern.

“I can’t believe how close we were to destroying it all,” Scar said solemnly, ignoring Mumbo’s spluttered ‘we?’ as he placed the last bit of quarts to finish the center table. “Poor Scout would never forgive us.”

“This feels like a weird underground picnic,” Mumbo said under his breath, struggling to keep his balance on top of the indecently thick wool flooring. At least the center table was secure and ready for their humble offerings.

“Okay, what should I write on the sign?” Scar asked, pulling out a birch sign (the only use for birch according to many). 

“Well,” Mumbo said, “how do we know Scout knows English?”

Scar stared at the sign in dismay, struggling to think of how to convey such a simple want. Quietly, Scar asked, “...can Scout read doodles?”

“How do you doodle a diamond?”

“With a lot of hope,” Scar admitted sheepishly, searching his bag for blue dye and the luminescent ink from glow-squid.

Their drawing of a diamond was recognizable, if not a bit lopsided. The two had worked for so long, by the time they felt finished the sun was dwindling in the sky and Bdubs was complaining across their communicators that Pearl and Keralis were harassing his sleep schedule. 

The lingering odd sensation of being watched had not faded for the entirety of the day. After a period of time, they ignored it. Initially ominous and unsettling, it became a comforting weight (although a bit strange) to have someone watching their work. It wasn’t often they had guests in each server the Hermit’s frequented. They rarely had the opportunity to show off, or make more elaborate unnecessary things for an audience.

“This feels kinda like that cave of mysteries,” Mumbo remarked, setting a chest for storage on the center of their altar, “you know the one Tango made? That had Timmy the pig?”

“Yeah, and Tango kept leaving things in the crate until Impulse and Pearl ruined all the fun?” Scar asked, slightly bitter at the thought. “If Impulse or Pearl touch this chest, I will not be happy.”

“Mumbo!” Impulse shrieked at the first light of dawn, slamming his fist against the door to his small van, “Mumbo! Get up!”

Mumbo burst from the door, spluttering in confusion and panic. “What is it? Is something on fire? Did Scar fall into the void again?”

“Hey,” Scar muttered, pouting from behind Impulse’s shoulder.

“No! Better!” Impulse crowed delighted, “so, I checked the altar thing because it seemed really neat, right? And I got back pretty late so when I went down to check it out-.”

“You went down already?” Mumbo gasped, feeling much more awake and alert. “What happened? Do we have diamonds? Redstone?”

“Better!” Scar shouted in triumph, wielding something similar to an enormous feather duster.

Mumbo stared at it, waiting for some sort of elaboration. Both Impulse and Scar watched him, nearly vibrating at the uncontainable excitement. Mumbo paused, wondering what on earth he was missing.

“See?” Impulse asked him in a loud whisper, hands gesturing towards the feather duster, “look at it! Isn’t it amazing?”

“It’s…nice?” Mumbo guessed awkwardly.

“ Nice,” Scar repeated, excitement receding under disappointment, “aw, I thought you’d get all babbling again.”

“I mean, it’s a nice feather?”

“It’s Scout’s feather,” Impulse corrected.

Mumbo’s head snapped around so quick it may have audibly popped, “ what?”

“There’s the excitement!” Scar cheered, waving the long feather back and forth. The thing was a difficult colour to identify, a dark grey bordering on slate but without the blue undertones. Maybe maroon? Or purple if Mumbo squinted.

“It’s so fluffy,” Scar sighed happily, touching the wispy tufts towards the bottom of the poofy thing. It didn’t look like the sort of feathers chickens had, it looked a bit like the sort of feathers Pearl stuffed her pillows with. 

“It’s definitely not from a bird I know,” Impulse agreed, still vibrating in excitement, “but see- I found that yesterday when I went down to check down the altar. And it didn’t leave it there, no….Mumbo…I think I startled it.”

Mumbo balked at the implications, head snapping between the feather and Impulse’s thrilled expression. “You…you saw it?”

“Oh I saw it!” Impulse shouted, laughing wildly with glee, “It was really dark and it took off right away, and I didn’t get a clear look at it-.”

“Tell him! Tell him!” Scar cheered.

“Okay! So, I saw it…” Impulse trailed off, eyes bright and thrilled, “...and from my view it kinda looked like a big anteater!”

Mumbo hadn’t expected that. He couldn’t really remember what an anteater looked like- they weren’t native to the server’s he lived on but a few worlds had diverse animal species and fauna. Had Xisuma enabled new animals to spawn here? He would have told them all, so that didn’t make any sense.

“But Mumbo…anteaters don't have feathers!” Impulse declared, grinning like he won a stack of netherite.

Mumbo blinked, struggling to understand. He asked very slowly, “So you saw…a big…feathery…butt?”

“Well, no,” Impulse pouted, huffing and crossing his arms, “it was more like a really big poofy tail thing. But there were two!”

“It had two tails?” Scar asked, surprised at this new information. “That doesn’t seem very convenient.”

“It was all feathers,” Impulse told them sagely, “picture a lot of feathers on a horse, and then add more. That’s what Scout looks like!”

“But you didn’t get a good look,” Scar stated, petting the fluffy feather with his hands, “but this is a really big feather.”

“Scout exists,” Mumbo stated dumbly, the truth slowly slipping into his sleep affected brain. “You- this means Scout actually exists.”

“Dude, this is so cool,” Impulse laughed, “we actually have a Boatem Mascot!”

“I can’t believe this!” Mumbo said, running both hands through his hair quickly, “we- this is absurd.”

“Dude, I’m going to spoil Scout so much,” Scar said, sighing dreamily. “I love our resident feather duster.”

“It’s kinda weird that there’s a feather creature underground,” Impulse said, “where does it fly? Or is it just…fluffy?”

“Underground-chicken?” Scar guessed, his voice turning high towards the end.

Scout wasn’t only an underground strange feathered creature, he was a kind strange feathered creature.

“Oh we are rich,” Mumbo breathed, voice hitching in stunned shock. “This is- this is absurd!”

“I don’t think I’ve had this many diamonds in my life,” Scar said, sounding pained. He held the cluster in his hands, letting the jewels spill between his fingers back into the chest. “How many are here? There has to at least be a stack.”

“I well- yeah. I mean I’ve had more diamonds before, but not this early in the season,” Mumbo admitted, marveling over the sight. “I think uh, Scout doesn’t like your drawings much, Scar.”

“I tried my best, and honestly? I’m not that upset,” Scar said, caressing the pile of diamonds. “I mean, I’ll need lapis eventually. And I don’t know where he got a heart of the sea , but man…we’re rich.” 

Mumbo set his diamonds back in the pile, hurriedly dividing the collection into four equal parts. Each for Boatem, whose members had already agreed to split the profits.

“I don’t really have need for a conduit,” Scar confessed, poking the rare sphere with one hand, “what about you? You’re going to have a waterfall for your base, right?”

“I’ll check with Pearl,” Mumbo agreed, “but I could use it for sure.”

“In that case, it’s time for me to flaunt these in front of someone else,” Scar giggled, clutching the gemstones close to his heart. “Oh! We should leave one so Scout knows what we want! And isn’t just grabbing any blue shiny things.”

The ominous sensation of being watched wasn’t present until much later. When it did arrive, it was fleeting and flickering, wavering and vanishing quite quickly. It felt different, less oppressive on the back of their heads.

“Uh oh,” Scar said under his breath, ascending the line of scaffolding they hastily threw up for entry, “I think we upset Scout.”

Scout, clearly much more cautious since Impulse quite literally stumbled upon him, took greater precautions. 

It was more often than not you could venture down into the depths of the Boatem Hole and feel the absence of its watchful gaze. Clearly, wherever Scout had hid or spawned, the requirements weren’t exactly right anymore. The chest at the bottom of their shrine often took days before changing, their offerings accepted and exchanged for a variety of odd bits. It felt like a new discovery, a new piglin bartering mechanic only those in Boatem had access to. It brought up a new question, lingering at the forefront of everyone’s mind quite clearly when Impulse ascended and appeared from their official water elevator, hauling a shulker box filled with new trinkets.

“So…” Pearl said, sitting comfortably in the grass as the four worked to sort the newest bits into approximate piles. They often didn’t have a perfect number, sometimes things were provided that some deemed more valuable than others. Scar just about cried at the sight of oxidized copper. Pearl, Mumbo, and Impulse all stared in dumb stupidity at the physical real chunk of budding amethyst- something impossible to move.

“...has anyone else ever met Scout?” Pearl asked, sorting calcite into rough equal sized piles. “Has Keralis seen one? He does the villager trading, yes?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” Impulse said, eying his collection of deepslate with a keen eye, “I can ask Iskall. He and Etho sometimes do a bit with villagers and Piglin.”

“Not to put a damper on things,” Scar said, rolling a golden apple between his hands contemplatively, “but…why don’t we just ask the boss man himself?”

“I’m not asking,” Mumbo blurted nervously, “I- I still can’t look X in the eye. Not since the…the melon incident.”

“He lagged everything so badly Xisuma had to do a rollback,” Impulse translated for Pearl’s sake, “it was a tragedy, really.”

“I can ask him!” Scar said, childish delight guiding his movements as he drew his communicator quickly, typing away at the screen with focus. In synchrony, Pearl and Impulse’s pocket vibrated. Mumbo’s hip sang a cheerful tune for his notification.

<Goodtimewithscar> X!!! 

<Xisuma> scar!!

<Iskall85> Iskall!!

<Goodtimewithscar> loving the new mob what do I have to trade to get unlimited copper

<Xisuma> ??

<Docm77> New mob?

<Rendog> what when did this happen

<Keralis> shawamy why did you not say??

<Bdubs0100> nooooo

<Xisuma> Scar what new mob?

<Goodtimewithscar> the ground chicken

<Iskall85> that does not sound good lol

<Goodtimewithscar> the feather is so cool

<Xisuma> are you in Boatem?

<MumboJumbo> we all are

<Keralis> ???

<Xisuma> I didn’t add a new mob

Boatem was a lively place, filled with plenty of friendly faces with the growing ruckus of a party in the making. Bdubs appeared on the horizon with a swarm of llamas, carrying cargo and rockets that were filled with dyes for decorative displays. Tango and Keralis arrived, the missing pair from the Big-Eye trio, lugging candles and copper to sell to Scar’s increasing addiction. Gemini appeared over the horizon, darting to Pearl’s side to discuss in great detail their new use of moss and dripstone. Xisuma arrived on the horizon, traveling along the hand-shoveled paths on the back of a beautiful horse. Finally, once the Boatem crew thought no new guests would arrive, both Etho and Iskall strode into the valley atop sweaty exhausted horses. 

“Oh, this is a neat place,” Etho remarked casually, dismounting from the enormous beast with far too much poise. The man had opted to avoid the use of elytra for the entire season, using tridents and horses as his mode of transportation only. Clearly, he had taken well to the change.

“Oh that’s a beautiful mountain,” Bdubs cooed, eying the combined range spanning from Pearl’s granite and reddish hue to the naturalistic organic form of Scar’s handiwork into the sheer faces of Mumbo’s half-built palace. The ravine was quite a sight, stretching high into the sky with a demanding presence.

“Why thank you,” Scar said, sliding near his fellow organic builder, “I’m quite happy with how the moss has come in.”

“Oh I love moss,” Bdubs told him intensely, “love it. Just a great block.”

The hermits hadn’t really reached a point where they could all meet and discuss the things they had done. Scar hadn’t seen Etho for the entire season so far, the reclusive man simply vanished after the first day with whispers of horses and the shattered savannah. Iskall had been a more vocal member on the chat, teasing everyone and dropping the alluring hint that prismarine would soon be for sale. 

“Hermits,” Xisuma greeted, waving towards some of the shyer members of the group, namely Gemini, Pearl, and Mumbo’s still lingering embarrassment and guilt from the melon incident. 

“Shawamy!” Keralis greeted, going so far as to throw his arms around the armoured admin, “how nice to see you! What a beautiful face, it’s an axolotl, yes? Ah, lovely.”

“I’m a fan of it myself,” Xisuma said breezily, patting his friend on the shoulder with an armoured hand, “how has the server been treating you?”

“Oh, wonderful,” Keralis said, “Tango found a spider spawner, and Bdubs has made that mountain. You’ve seen it, yes?”

“Rode past it on my way here,” Xisuma said, nodding in the direction they had arrived from, “beautiful build, a bit empty on the inside though, yeah?”

“Shh, don’t tell Etho,” said Keralis with a wink.

Some of the gathered hermits were interested in the rumoured existence of a new mob- Etho one of the few. The man, although frequently aloof, had a strange paralyzing intensity to him when he fixated on something of interest. This time, at least, it wasn’t about a kaleidoscope of a base.

“I like the name Scout,” he said, toeing a bit of dirt into the bottomless pit, “and I’m kinda digging the hole into nothingness.”

“You four are lucky I didn’t think it was a bug,” Xisuma scolded them gently, staying a safe distance from the edge, “I almost came over to see what was wrong when I started getting alerts.”

“Well, you see…” Impulse said, looking guiltily into the depths below, “I ah…I didn’t remove all of the bedrock?”

“Oh ho ho,” Etho said, heterochromia eyes locked on Impulse as if he were the newest redstone update, “now that’s interesting.”

“You didn’t remove all of it?” Xisuma asked, voice shifting a bit higher in stress, “it bugged? But- I’ve been running at least a dozen debugging-.”

“No no! I ah…well…” Impulse trailed off sheepishly, “Scout uh…took some out for me?”

Xisuma stared at Impulse blankly. Impulse wilted.

“I’m not saying I’m happy there’s a bedrock-breaking mob on the loose,” Etho said nonplussed by the entire revelation, “but you gotta’ admit…that’s kinda neat.”

“There isn’t a bedrock-breaking mob,” Xisuma said, utterly baffled. “I don’t understand- you’re sure it wasn’t a player?”

“No I mean, I can show you even,” Impulse said, gesturing into the hole, “you need to move a whole shelf of bedrock to piston it out. There’s some blocks missing but the area around it doesn’t have that- you’ll notice it instantly.”

“Man, we should have brought Doc,” Etho remarked, shifting on his feet. He had a vaguely sleepy expression on his face, hair askew and flopping as he cocked his head a bit to the side. He asked, “have you seen Scout?”

“Yeah, just briefly,” Impulse explained, “I scared him off and now he’s really nervous to come back. He’s really big, maybe the size of a ravager? And all feathered.”

“Feathers,” Xisuma repeated, looking desperately at a loss.

“Does Scout like golden carrots?” Etho asked.

“A bit? He’ll bring things sometimes, we have this little shrine down there and we trade stuff. Scar asked for diamonds early on and we ended up getting a beacon out of it.”

“Aww man, I’m lucking out in the savannah,” Etho complained lightly, jamming his hands in his pockets. “I like this guy.”

“He seems too sentient for a mob,” Xisuma said, plucking something from the aether visible only to himself. If Impulse looked too hard at it, he could see the distortions and incompatible hues suggesting something beyond that of normal reality- something only an admin could access. It hurt his head, pulsing behind his eyebrows so he averted his eyes after a few seconds.

“There’s no history of any players accessing the server, only the whitelisted hermits,” Xisuma said, finally sounding frustrated at his failure, “I can’t even find an entity on the local chunk register, and mobs show up on that!”

“Well,” Etho said as he stretched his arms above his head, “what if Scout was here first?”

Xisuma stared at Etho, looking a bit faint. Etho shrugged his shoulders, relaxed about the possibility of something else living beneath their feet. “I’m just saying, maybe Scout was here all along and now he’s curious about his nosy neighbors.”

“I need to run some scans,” Xisuma said, voice warbling in such a way it seemed he may burst into tears.

“Have fun,” Etho said, smiling with his entire face. “Impulse, want to go grab Tango and make a trap?”

“Oh man, that sounds like fun,” Impulse said although his twisted grimace betrayed his words, “but…I don’t want to hurt Scout. He’s like family, you know?”

“Oh I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Etho said, stretching the words with a small chuckle, “what about…ah…well, Mumbo lives here too, right? How about a little observer-camera action?”

The benefits of having four redstone builders crammed in a small makeshift theater built behind the cavernous façade of Mumbo Jumbo’s half-mountain, was the sheer quantity of odd ideas.

Observers were never in short supply, not when Etho plopped down shulkers filled with enough stock to supply a small store. Tango had his own collection of bits and bobs, levers and buttons and a freakish number of redstone lamps. Impulse and Mumbo both possessed an ungodly amount of redstone powder, to the point it was an environmental concern.

Observers were meant to view changes and provide a signal based on that change- they were multipurpose motion-detectors. The benefit of them lay in their grey unassuming exterior, easy to hide in rock and chiseled stone. Redstone powder itself wasn’t that noticeable if you were experienced with hiding it- and Tango had plenty of experience.

Trapped chests were placed, carefully oriented against wool (and hidden redstone lines), observers were linked in complex chains to provide a near immediate output on an enormous assembly of lamps and lights and Etho’s expertly crafted piston-powered-face.

(“This is an important aspect,” Etho told them sagely, patting his monstrosity with one hand, “I mean, it’ll tell us if he likes it or not.”

“How will we know?”

“It makes a happy face or a sad face.”)

The four men settled in the shade of the setting sun, squinting at constellations different from their previous home. The nearby sea was far enough where the waves could not be heard, but the smell of salt and water soothed a restless thing inside them.

“You know,” Etho said, popping open a bottle of sweet berry juice, “ignoring the fact we worked for almost an entire day straight, this was fun.”

“I will never get over how insane your mind works,” Tango told him affectionately, peeling off a bit of bread to lob at the masked man. Etho stared at him, tipping the bottle of juice back to drink through his mask without breaking eye contact.

“He’s a monster!” Impulse cheered happily, sprawled back on his chair around their little bonfire, “where’s Beef when you need him? Someone! Help!”

“Oh, stop that,” Etho teased, “I only wear socks and sandals the majority of the time.”

“You know, I can’t really judge considering I wear a suit almost every day,” Mumbo said, “but that seems like a horrible fashion sense.”

“I didn’t forget those Mumbo-for-mayor shirts from last season,” Etho countered, lifting his eyebrows, “and I know you designed them yourself.”

“I- you may have a point there.”

They talked, waiting long into the evening and the beginnings of night. They had started to think that it may be for naught- but Impulse’s understanding of Scout won out.

“Oh! Look!” Impulse gasped, pointing at the wall of lights beside them, “look! It’s lit!”

“No way,” Tango stated, squinting to discern what exactly that lamp signified, “look, that’s just…that’s one of the observers near the back corner, right? Leading into that nasty cavern Mumbo almost died in.”

“Peace Love and Plants,” Mumbo stated weakly.

“It could be a bat,” Etho said, although he too was leaning forward in interest. “I mean, there’s plenty of bats down there. You should probably clear those out.”

“Yeah I’ll get right on it,” Mumbo confirmed weakly, watching in awe as the lamp spread to the next- a clear crude path from the entrance past an observer further inside.

“Boys, I think we found ourselves your cryptid,” Tango announced, flopping back in his chair dramatically. The poor thing creaked, groaning under the jerky movement. Reaching out with one hand, Impulse happily passed over a bag of potato chips.

“Oh, look at that,” Etho mused, watching and tracking the disjointed but very obvious slow investigation. “It’s sticking to the roof, not the floor. Looks like your guy is a climber.”

“He does have feathers,” Impulse agreed.

Scout did not stay entirely on the ceiling, but circled it according to the occasional observers. It felt a bit like the game of battleship, waiting and hopping that one of the many sensors would pick up something to give them information. They weren’t trying to hurt Scout, merely watch and find unmistakable proof of his existence.

“The real test is the chest,” Etho said, drumming his fingers along the armrest of his chair, “I mean, mobs can climb around. Maybe this is just a spider.”

“Mobs can’t open chests,” Mumbo agreed, nervously chewing on his lip, “oh, I can barely watch this.”

They waited, alternating between cheering on the unseen entity far far below them as it scoured the cave for any movement or threat. Occasionally, the booed as it detoured around one of their offerings, ignoring steaks and candles (much to Impulse’s sadness) with no pause.

Around it traveled, sometimes on the wall and sometimes on the floor. After what felt like hours of paranoid searching- maybe thoroughly investigating what modifications they had made (jokes on it, they had both Tango and Etho to hide redstone lines) to see if they still lingered.

“Oh it’s going for it,” Tango said, voice dropping to an excited whisper. Mumbo vibrated in his seat, barely able to contain himself.

“So we all left chests,” Impulse said unnecessarily, “we just need to see which one it takes things from…”

“And which it puts things in,” Etho reminded him, hoping the weird feathered thing enjoyed his selection of random blocks. He had a reputation to uphold, and was quite fond of strange things like mushroom stem.

“He’s on one!” Tango shrieked loud enough for them to startle, “Impulse! He opened yours! It’s open!”

“Come on, take some,” Impulse begged, nervously wriggling in his seat, “if you’re here you’ve never been to the nether! Look at that cool netherrack! Blackstone! Pretty!”

“And it looks like it closed your chest,” Etho told the man, trying not to laugh at the dejected expression on his fellow hermits’ face, “it didn’t take anything according to the item sorter.”

“Aww,” Impulse moaned dramatically, slumping in his chair.

“Oh that’s mine now!” Mumbo gasped, eyes bright and curious, “it’s…is it taking something? It’s taking something! Look!”

Sure enough, according to the item tally signal, an entire slot had been removed. They waited, curious to see if the other slots would dwindle down- Mumbo had placed a collection of things from the surface (stock from his store, Harmless Harvest) like saplings and leaves. Scout had taken something, but not with as much gusto as expected.

“Oh man, now it’s just down to me and you,” Tango said, grinning sharply at Etho.

“Mm, I’m feeling pretty good about this one,” Etho told him, a competitive drive making itself noticeable.

They waited, curious as Scout seemed to open both of the remaining chests, contemplating something (or leaving the chests open for an ungodly amount of time) much to their dismay. Time stretched impossibly long, leaving Tango questioning if the redstone had broken.

“Oh! Oh oh, look!” Mumbo shouted, pointing at the piston-powered face Etho had installed next to the lights, “it’s smiling! Oh, that is a terrifying smile…”

“That means it put something back, right?” Impulse asked, checking the item tally on their chests, “I don’t see a difference though? Did it swap something?”

“It must have- oh,” Etho said, voice shifting into a high gasp of surprise. Before their eyes, his item tally lowered one by one. Laughing at Impulse and Tango’s outraged shouts, Etho flaunted his clear superiority.

“What did you put in?” Mumbo asked shrilly, “how did- what did- how?”

“I told you he’d like the mushroom stem!” Etho crowed, “it’s the best block! Mushroom!”

“I lost to a mushroom?” Tango shrieked, falling dramatically from his chair onto the dirt ground, “no! This is horrible! Etho, you can’t do this to me!”

“Oh snappers,” Etho said, cackling as the piston-face transformed into a smile, and each item slot increased all the way to full once more, “it looks like I got the winning crate!”

“This is the worst,” Mumbo grumbled. Conflicting with his tone of voice, he looked absolutely exhilarated, “I thought the mob would like something- food or items or tools, but no! We lost to mushrooms!”

“Mushrooms!” Impulse repeated, sounding utterly dismayed, “and and- and something stupid!”

“Birch logs,” Etho stated gleefully, fully aware of how horrendous such a texture was.

“ Birch logs!”

Chapter Text

It had once considered a thousand different worlds, and settled in one he never dared consider its own. It had sorted through different flashes of life, each unique and special but so distant they existed only a glimmer in darkness. Once, It had known their names and could recite them easily in a voice he had forgotten some years ago. It kept itself at a distance, observing blandly through forced reluctance, and after some time those feelings became true.

When It gazed into its reflection, echoed in the soft ripples all water held regardless of its stillness, It could not recognize itself. Objectively, It observed each unique feature, as unimpressive as the rest, but together they constructed an image It could not actively recall. There was an oddity to Its features, a sense of unsettling wrongness from Its fading memory. There weren’t many things that looked at It openly, only those that stank with death, and death had no care for the inaccurate slide to Its steps and sounds of Its cracking joints. The barren-faced skeletons did not care for the pallor of It’s skin, nor the movements and sounds of It creeping across caverns and deep caves, they were dead and the dead did not care for if It lived or didn’t.

It had been years since It saw a human. It had been longer since It heard one speak, and It had no shame in how Its memories had merged into faceless images all mute except for a rough cadence of speech It couldn’t hear. It knew humans had two legs and two arms, but the distinct differences had long been lost to time. It had once spent months forcing Itself to try and speak in a language It didn’t remember. It had once jerked about through freakish metamorphosis, struggling and creating something halfway between cursed or blessed in a silent land far from holy. 

It could not remove all of Itself, and there was once a time where this bothered It. Now, It’s daily concerns stretched so far as:  where It would forage for fresh apples in the trees, what fields and plains remained untouched and potentially ripe for potatoes or carrots. If It felt particularly daring, It considered crawling out from below the rock and dirt under the burning light of day instead of the safe security of the moon.

It had a name, like the trees had a name and mobs did too before they were death and forgot how to care for all living things. It had a name, but It had forgotten it just as he forgot how  joints were to move and where the feathers and flesh met and melted or how to live without pain. Pain was a companion to It, a comforting presence that always lingered in the bouts between deep aching melancholy and the dulling brain rotting slowly from within.

It had been alone for years. Anything that once knew It would no longer recognize It. It had lost all bits of Itself in ways It could faintly see, but neither cared enough or remembered enough how to change or what exactly made It so wrong. Its hair had stopped growing, the feathers along the ears had changed and formed bones that shrouded Its face gently with curved wings that acted as much as a veil as they did whiskers. Its body moved strangely and sometimes Its skin burned quite awful from where It twisted oddly and  joints pushed and stretched to where It could tear like wet parchment. It saw everything simply and it took longer each year to think cohesive words, until it took minutes to react to the sounds and textures felt below the ratty skin. It hadn’t opened its eyes in so long It had forgotten how to do so, Its eyelids settled flatly with atrophy over the reddish purple hue of the celestial sight. What purpose were eyes when It could see between every feather and every flicker of movement around It? What reason did It have to open the small wings cradling Its jaw and skull, when It could feel the whispers of movement along Its body as keenly as any other blind and muted creature?

Everything banal went unnoticed, utterly unremarkable to It. It had once known colours but now the different shades were long indistinct in the darkened depths of caves It settled in for months on end. Unmoving, until the spiders wove cobwebs across the furthest tips of Its feathers, and where the lichen began to creep across the living skin hungrily.

Life hadn’t always been like this. It remembered bits from before, but allowed the rest of  years to pass through him like echoes across deepslate. It remembered that It once had friends, companions that stood at each flank and laughed and whispered words invaluable. It knew this, but could not recall their names or faces beyond basic description: a male human with dark hair, a female human with long hair. 

It had a family once, or maybe It didn’t. It saw bats with their young, small sleeping sheep with their herd. It had never seen the rattling bones of a newly undead, but some of the moaning rotten beasts were small and spry and far too young for death. It had a family, like all things must, but It couldn’t remember. Perhaps It’s family were the two humans It saw in flashes hidden with gaussian blurs, or perhaps they were the friends It was sure It once had. Maybe those things were one and the same, or maybe they weren’t. 

It had forgotten a lot of things over the years. Ideas and thoughts came ever slowly, dripping through calcite into stagnant murky pools. It had forgotten things, swallowed by the dull monotony that was Its slowly starving brain.

What had Its voice sounded like?

It had come to this world alone, but sometimes It allowed itself to remember differently. Sometimes, when Its bones hurt deeply and the strange lilting joints crunched with Its sluggish breaths, It dreamed while awake. It had come to this world alone, but It imagined and pretended coming to this place with humans at It’s side. They spoke with those strange voices, saying words It could not think of. It remembered things sluggishly, but the blissful idea and delirious hope that It was not alone was one far too glorious to truly believe. It knew it could not be true, but It hoped painfully for something different.

And then, everything had changed.

There were noises, sounds no louder than the grumbling tones of creepers in the depths. They grew, rousing It from the month-long trance. It ached, rattling through the vanes and quills across Its face with a piercing anxiety. It felt panic then, spurring It to crawl deeper to the pits and crevices too dark for mortal eyes.

It slept there, curled in a miserable collection of limbs that did not fit and always hurt no matter how It moved. It could see the world through the translucent edges of reality, hazy glazed pupils squinting through the layered covert feathers to stare endlessly across.

There were things here, chaotic noises too cluttered and loud to be them. They were too spread out, too physically disorienting to ever claim the ethereal bell-like sounds of them and their cruelty. This was something different, something tangible like the dead walking bones and the hissing sounds of spiders stealing his shed down feathers for their silk sacks and many eggs.

It crawled for many cycles of what would be a day-night-day, but wrong. Altered oddly with a forced soothing whisper of sleep from something not Itself. It was a thing living in the depths of this world , but what did It live for? What reason did It have to continue sleeping and eating, what reason did It tell the brain to keep breathing and existing when It saw no purpose despite seeing so much at all times.

‘Don’t you want to see what is happening?’ It thought sluggishly, the idea fragmented and coiling over the course of many hours before it truly set in understanding. It took him days to think and respond, ‘yes, I want to see what is happening.’

Drooping stalagmites cracked off of Its body like barnacles on the hull of a downed whale. The beginnings of tuff and dust shed from between his long feathers, each quill dull and matte like indistinct basalt under the light of magma. It crawled slowly, each movement taking days, joints crunching with the heavy sound of skeletons piercing one another with sharp flint-arrows.

The creatures of where It had settled fled hurriedly, fearing a mountain were awaking. In truth, a similar thing was occurring- a physical mound became alive and reanimated when even the dead had presumed It deceased.

‘What is happening?’ It wondered, breaking the stiffened joints to cycle fluid through old rounded bones. Many wings slid apart with a horrendous sound not unlike breaking amethyst. It awoke, like the awakening of an Enderdragon roused to activity under the burning light of crystals in the void.

It crawled, fluttering jerkily to shed off years of grime that clung to a spine like moss. Bats shrieked about It, rattling noises that caressed Its feathers and lit dozens of eyes with bright awareness. It did not see colors, but It could still see some. A watcher always watched, and despite everything, It was still Itself.

‘Look at those things,’ It thought in a voice unlike any It remembered, ‘look at the surface.’

On the world above, little fluttering things moved clumsily. Dancing through the air as silhouettes wearing wings unlike Its but unlike anything It could remember. Its memory was hazy, but It knew the sounds and whispers were words in a language It should have known. It watched as they evolved, creating things like magic between the blinking of many many eyes. It watched, silent in the depths below their feet as they grew and interacted. It took a week to remember what they were: ‘they are human.’

And they stayed, venturing out on miniature expeditions. They traveled and returned, creating dens and caves of their own above the surface where It refused to walk under the light of the sky. It was too easy to be seen above the surface when the sun rose. There was too little to hide It from any watchful gaze. It could not be seen- It could never be seen- that idea alone drove It mad with paranoia.

It watched, and they explored downwards, holding rock and objects that carved apart the ground below their hands. They were chaos, a force of devastation that made It’s skin crawl- but they were builders and creators of some unknown passion.

They carved themselves a hole to the lower levels of the world, touching the skin that separated them from the aching void. The mottled bedrock was there to protect them from an empty drop which always ended in death.

The creatures burrowed deep for some incomprehensible reason, and It watched them. Fascinated, baffled by their precise rhythmic movements as they tore apart stone and gems by hand. Humans, so tiny but so bright with their ideas and creativity. It watched them, noticing their differences and realized, ‘that is a male, and that is a female.’

Then, after a long time It thought with horrified sacrilegious hope, ‘...aren’t I a male, too?’

He dared not ponder such things, too afraid to think of the things that only made him hurt. He was used to hurting, but this was a different pain he didn’t know how to stop or lessen besides settling to sleep the weeks and months away until he forgot how to move once more.

One of the humans noticed it, ( him, It decided, I am him ) and spoke to him casually. It felt wrong, sinful to address him openly but he could not remember why. He knew he shouldn’t interact with a human, but didn’t remember the citation to his punishment.

The humans spoke to him with a voice gentle and curious. They kept him company. One day, they worked in their pit in the ground where he lived and dared so bold as to address him as a friend. 

He had no friends, or he once did but couldn’t remember them anymore. He didn’t understand, he didn’t recognize or know how to begin to think in a way that deviated from the stagnation he had drowned in. They gave him a name (and names were dangerous, he knew that), and left him food and things no matter how little he reacted. He did not need to eat, but they fed him. He did not need to sleep, but they carved a piece of their time and compassion and filled it with soft textures and things that made him wonder if there was not more to life than simply living.

They offered him boxes filled with trinkets and gems, a transaction he could remember. They asked him and he provided, or he would be hurt and punished for the failure of his actions- they asked him blue-round-small and he tried to please them as they so needed-.

‘They are your friend,’ he thought, terrified and clinging to the damp lichen of his cavern's roof, peering at the opened chests with new offerings he couldn’t understand, ‘they aren’t here to hurt me.’

Maybe, if he repeated those thoughts, he would soon believe it.

With monotony came awareness of everything deviating from its prearranged schedule. Hypervigilant of his surroundings, the stirring of dirt and deposits of clay and rock were blatant to his many eyes.

The humans had been there, to the makeshift woolen cavern they jokingly called his lair. They had frequently left behind crates and barrels filled with the oddest assortments of trinkets or textures. Cloth and food, spongy blocks of organic material he could not remember. Some left priceless gems, which he recognized from his many hundred subterranean passages and hidden crevices. He responded in kind, providing emeralds and lapis in ore deposits larger than his clawed furled hand.

The humans liked this, he knew it. They responded in kind, bartering without words (although sometimes with crudely drawn pictures and diagrams). It stirred something in his brain, a bright ember slowly nursed back to a weak puttering flame. The drive for discovery, the insatiable hunger of curiosity and knowledge below his many fingers.

What did the humans want from him? What were they creating with their talented hands and holy imagination? What did they see that he could not, no matter how long he squinted into the darkened abyss below their feet or above the stars.

They explored his tunnels, carving ores and rocks from crude jagged outcrops into smoothed passages fit for any traveler. They claimed mountains, reframing them and forming them to flattened surfaces with care a mare showed their foal.

He didn’t understand. The humans had been here only months perhaps, but already they had built the beginnings of an entire civilization. There were buildings growing where none had been before. Great stretches of ocean slowly drained and filled with harder materials- the foundation for some great revolution. Trees were crafted by hand, ignoring the natural process of vegetation to create something aesthetically pleasing.

Great stretches of sand and dirt were removed and replaced with stained sand the colour of sunset. Stalactites speared upwards dangerously in a wasteland constructed by man. Factories grew overnight, their interior workings a mystery but the vibrations of pistons and automation penetrated deep into his home and bed.

He did not mind it. It was fascinating to watch, to observe the starts of something far greater than him. 

The bravery they held to conjure the undead with the sound of funeral bells permeating the world. He felt his heart shift, shuddering its lilting beat as it remembered the horrible sight of the tri-headed monster.

When he slept, he imagined something of a memory he didn’t believe ever happened. ( ‘I’m going to fight the Wither today, I’ve never done it before but I thought it would be a good start before trying the Ender D-.’ ) He wondered what it would be like to face the creature and attack it with mortal limbs and mortal weapons. He wondered how his humans could summon it so recklessly, and defeat it so uncaring of its horrific presence.

There were beacons now, spearing the heavens with their delight. The benefits extended beyond that of only humans- he could feel the strength in his body. He could feel the health and life return to his mottled skin, feathers growing through all stages with plumage shed in dark tufts on the cavern floors. He felt the speed in how his brain processed, the gentle warmth of thought and individuality returning. There was once a time where he spent days trapped in the cyclical repetition of confusion and questioning- when he struggled to remember what he had forgotten for so long he couldn’t remember what he was doing. There were months that passed in lethargy, lost to the bottomless ache of depression and inhibited cognition. There were months of suffering, large lapses in his mind he willingly forgot, preferring the patchwork disorienting haze that was his life now.

Except, it didn’t need to be that anymore. There were humans here. They were unlike the cattle and the horses, they deviated from their dictated patterns in ways he could never predict despite watching them so closely.

So, he climbed clumsily from the depths. He ascended, fracturing long inefficient claws into jagged serrated edges that scraped and scrambled across stone and granite. He fluttered through jerky uncoordinated movements as he glided and fell off small ledges and alcoves before he began to climb once more.

The humans created something he was loath to call a home, but he felt somewhere in his heart that it had the potential to be one. He nestled awkwardly on material so soft it felt foreign, rustling his wings and broken quills until they shed from damaged skin and old knots trapped below his tertiary feathers. Surely birds didn’t need to deal with this mess- but he couldn’t remember what birds did to prepare themselves to fly. He couldn’t remember how the joints worked, and no matter how long he watched the chickens frolic below the sun, he couldn’t fathom how the bones and feathers all fit together.

‘Does it matter?’ he wondered, bending his spine in a way that ached but allowed himself to settle somewhat on his side and no longer his old arthritic knees, ‘the humans do not have wings.’

He arranged the material around him in the utter darkness he had long since lived in. Pulling and twisting fabric with a strange curiosity. It was not neat or organized, it was not efficient or organized. The soft floor had been laid carefully with human hands and he tore it clumsily in great tufts to pile in a hazardous pile large enough to buffer the ache of his tired body. He had not seen colours in what felt like forever, but in the faint flickering light of old dying torches, there was a certain shade that caught his eye.

‘Is this life now?’ he wondered, folding his legs and body to collapse on his front with wings outstretched and many eyes staring upwards through rock to sky. ‘Is this contentment?’

They built and he watched. When they began the traverse down ladders and steps and into a confusing sudden drop into a microscopic pool of water. If he did not see their approach, or hear their voice as they called out below from the rungs of the ladder, he always heard the splash of water under the weight of a human form.

In those moments, he would retreat into one of his many hidden passages, watching from behind feathers and walls as the humans would approach with loud voices each distinct from one another. On good days, he could recognize the gender, and he was having good days more frequently now.

The human that appeared this time was one of the regulars. He was pleased to identify the shape of it, the tall lanky form and strange stumbling gait that resembled that of a newborn animal. It talked loudly, tone expressing joy or delight although he could not understand its language exactly. He peered through the walls, flinching at the sight of a glowing orange lantern, and thought: ‘it is a male human. The loud one.’

That was how he understood them, struggling to identify or name them in any other way. There was the repeating stuttering one, the gentle female, the laughing one, the loud one.

The loud one wore a hat far too large and inconvenient for the caves. It scratched on the top of the tunnels, nearly falling off as it brushed against hanging lichen. The human scowled, taunting the plant as if it could understand it. He did not understand why.

The human called out to him in a word he had learned meant him ( “Scout! Scout! I’m here, buddy! And I’ve got loads of good things for you!”)

Curiously, he watched with a held breath. The human repeated his name happily, scrounging through his large bag on his back, plucking out new trinkets and bits of small human things. He found them utterly delightful, especially the smaller things with joints and levers or small fiddly things.

The human called out to him, looking around before happily surveying his pile of fiber. He had torn it brutally from the ground, compressing it under the weight of his skin and form. It lacked the beautiful grace and consideration the humans made with their hands, but this human looked at it in awe.

The human repeated his name, babbling something as he plucked out a collection of the lost feathers. The broken ugly ones, dull and matted with dirt and mud and clay from the lush caves that glowed. The feathers were not his important ones, the long blade-like vanes that were clumped and matted and extended out from the hinge of his elbow and wing like swords or knives or branches on a subterranean tree. Those were firmly stuck in his skin, longer than a human’s arm and as useless as a discarded rock.

The human repeated his name, plucking each shed feather and dropped fluffy down to cradle by his chest. The pile was no larger than a newborn chick. The human crowed something, cradling it happily before setting his orange lantern just outside the edge of the woolen pile.

‘He is leaving now,’ he thought, watching from an eye under the feathers below his jaw, ‘he will take the feathers and leave something else.’

The human did not do that. He held the feathers closely, vibrating in excitement. The human pulled something from his bag, a strange copper shape with no obvious meaning, and set it just outside the edges of the woolen mess. The human, clearly excited, reached out and extinguished the lantern.

The cave plummeted once more into darkness. He waited, confused and perplexed by the action of the human. Why was it seated in the dark? Humans could not see beyond a certain light, utterly blind in the depths where he lived. Why would it willingly do that to himself?

‘What is it waiting for?’ he wondered, curiosity itching at his skin. He stared, peering through the dark nervously for any sort of difference. He would see if the human made a move to turn on the lantern or draw a sword. He doubted this one, the loud one, even had a weapon on him.

He knew better, truthfully he did. Yet…perhaps something of the human mind was contagious, because he found himself horribly curious.

Slowly, in movements so careful he felt more ancient than the dead that walked the halls below. A soft scratch of his talons on the stone, echoing across small tunnels. The gentle whisper of feathers on slate, no louder than the rattle of leaves in a small breeze. With every movement, he shed a sound. With every step, he watched the human vibrate in excitement and squeeze his eyes ever tighter closed.

‘Is it waiting?’ he wondered, hesitating just outside the closest tunnel. Even if the human lit its lantern, it would see him from his current position. ‘What is it waiting for?’

The human breathed, shaking with miniscule tremors. It said his name, biting his lip from nervous energy.

He clawed himself around the rock outcropping, keeping a handful of eyes affixed on the stationary lantern. The human froze, realizing they now existed in the same space. He waited, frozen in an outstretched prowl for the human to jerk and do something so utterly predictable.

He clawed closer, wings scraping on stone and catching on a bit unprotected with the wool. He stretched closer, curiosity making him simple and dumb.

He approached, until he could hear the shaky breaths of the human’s exhale and imagine the heat of a living body so far below. Closer, his talons sounded like metal.

The human flinched at the grating squeal of broken claws on the metal shape. He plucked it hastily, jerking away protectively- if he had stretched further, he could have touched the human.

He watched, half of his eyes focused on the single drip of sweat on the human’s brow. The remainder of his eyes peered at the metal thing, rotating it clumsily between his misshaped fingers. Trying to manipulate it required his elbow to bend, which pulled on his wing and awkwardly forced his spine to bend to accommodate the fusion of elbow to joint. It hurt, but he always hurt.

( “Scout?” Scar asked, speaking no louder than a whisper. He held his breath, trying not to shake from excitement as if to scare the creature away, “is that you? Oh man, the boys back at Boatem won’t believe this!”)

He looked at the little metal thing, struggling to identify it. It looked like the things the humans had made on the surface, out of wood and metal and other odd bits. He couldn’t name it, nor understand the purpose of it.

( “It’s one of my Swaggons,” Scar explained, wishing he could open his eyes and see his friend for the first time, “I thought you may like one of them! They’re my pride and joy- oh and before I forget-,” )

He flinched back, all wings flaring out in a dazzling shape of eyes staring. They blinked, a rattling disorienting look of a hundred pupils, dozens of dozens of iris’-.

The human had moved, his eyes still squeezed shut. The human reached into his bag, fumbling slightly before he pulled out a round metal thing- an apple, and reached out with one shaking hand. He held it on the flat of his palm, glossy and pristine. 

He stared at it, comprehending sluggishly. ‘Is that for me?’

The human repeated his name twice, holding the apple with a baited breath. He shuffled, unsure but curious. This was a thing that humans did, he had seen it. They provided things to the other- and in truth the humans had already given him trinkets and bits and built him a den or a cave somewhere safe to sleep. What difference was this, receiving a thing from a hand instead of the damp coldness.

Here, he was not alone. At least, for a little while.

Scar held his breath, feeling the weight and presence of something much larger than him. Their running guesses had been wrong- Impulse and Tango were arguing over if Scout was greater than or less than the size of a Ravager. Mumbo had argued that Vex were small and horribly pesky things, so perhaps Scout was actually quite small. Xisuma wasn’t one to outright say his mind, but he had grimaced and flinched badly when Etho casually cast his vote for something the size of an Iron Golem.

And Doc thought he and Etho were insane! No, Scar also believed Scout was an enormous thing, it had to be one if it could live in such close proximity to scary things like creepers and skeletons. 

It was great to have his thoughts confirmed- he couldn’t actually see Scout, but he could feel the way the cave air suddenly felt a lot less drafty. Directly in front of him, outside the fluffy mess of red wool that looked a bit like a bird’s nest (Scout was shaping up to be one wonderful cave-chicken), Scout had crept out from one of the many tunnels. He and the Boatem Crew all agreed to not light the passages with torches, sure they would stop the mobs from appearing but Scout seemed equally nervous around any bright light. 

It was gut intuition which told Scar to turn off his light. If Scar was so desperate to not be seen, then Scar would make sure he wouldn’t look! Besides, Scout had been a helpful cave monster for Impulse, and he scrounged up gems and lapis when they last asked. As far as Scar was concerned, the Boatem Mascot was a big softie at heart.

‘Come on, Scout!’ he mentally begged, holding his hand steady with his golden apple outstretched. ‘You’ve liked them before!’

He waited, the seconds feeling like an eternity. He could feel sweat on his brow growing from nervous excitement, oh he couldn’t wait to tell the others about this.

Scout rustled, the many feathers (he assumed considering the sound came from a lot of different places at once) scraped on the ground. Was Scout like a peacock then? With an enormous feathered tail that dragged around? How would that be useful in a cave of all places?

Scar waited, excited and nervous. His arm was aching from the effort of holding it still. He felt the air shift, swirling slightly, he heard an odd crackle of static. It sounded a bit like Mumbo’s back after he spent an entire day fiddling with redstone.

Scar squeezed his eyes tighter, and felt the apple vanish from his grip. He felt the barest scratch of something along his palm, a weird multiple-layered texture of Jellie’s claw after he cut her nails and they peeled a bit. He’d know the feeling of a busted nail anywhere, but certainly didn’t expect one quite so large.

Scar waited, a question bubbling in his throat. He presumed Scout didn’t understand English, maybe he’d get Keralis down here to speak in a different language in hopes that they could breach the communication barrier. Maybe Scout was just really shy.

He waited, settling down for the long game. He had patience, he had been training by watching his copper oxidize in front of him. He could outlast a big feathery monster! 

Although…he’d need to feed Jellie eventually. And Pearl would come looking for him after a while. He wasn’t exactly ah, strategic with planning out his sudden drop to the cavern. He had a great idea and wanted to join Scout in his nest at the soonest convenience- he didn’t have time to send off a message!

‘Although, maybe I should have,’ Scar thought, trying not to grimace. He didn’t know if Scout was blind or could use some sort of echo like the bats. He didn’t want his facial expressions to scare the thing off. ‘I should have at least told Impulse…’

Lost in his thoughts, he jumped at the sound of an odd crackle. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to identify the sound, although it was much quieter than he normally heard.

“Scout?” he asked, breathing shakily and somewhat in awe, “are you…eating the apple?”

The crunching stopped. The horrible sensation of being watched intensified, until Scar felt like a stranger in his own skin. The paranoia burned at him, but his determination to last burned brighter. He wasn’t running away, not if he could help it. Besides! The cavern was pitch black and he’d likely fall off a cliff if he tried to walk.

He waited, licking his dry lips. He asked gently to the cavern, “Scout?”

The shuffling resumed, brushing against the ground no more than an arms length in front of him. He knew Scout had taken the little bronze Swaggon, but he never expected it to actually stay in the area. He never dreamed of Scout going so far as to eat in front of him.

“Scout?” Scar asked again, trying his best to be soothing and gentle. The crunching stopped, although there was a weird noise he associated with chewing. He always hated the sound of chewing, but on Scout it was a beautiful thing. 

‘It’s now or never,’ Scar thought, trying not to giggle at the hilarity of the entire situation. It was surreal, impossible to explain if not for the fact it was still happening. Scar licked his lips, trying not to cry from the stress and excitement of it all, and reached out with one hand.

He felt nothing in the cave, it was a bit drafty. It was a tad damp but not as bad as some of the other ones. He could feel the eyes on him, worse now than ever. Was that possible? How could it get more focused?

‘This was a horrible idea,’ Scar thought, ‘this was one of those silly dumb ideas! Oh, Xisuma is going to be so disappointed in me! Oh, this is horrible!’

There was a rustle, the slightest shift of something. Then, Scar felt something against his hand.

He had expected a gemstone, maybe a bit of rock. Something equal to a single golden apple- but this wasn’t cold or stone or any gemstone from the ground. It was warm, but damp and cold in a way that made him think ‘they’re sick’. Scar had held ( too many in his opinion) chickens before and knew the shape and feel of healthy skin and feathers and new pins growing in. The touch of a wing or an unnamed appendage against his hand made his stomach drop. It felt like the body of a stressed parrot, plucking itself until its own forced neglect caused it to die. 

“Scout,” Scar breathed horrified, frozen as the appendage yanked itself away hastily. “Scout, you’re sick.”

Oh, they had all been so stupid. They were right before, why was a feathered thing underground? Birds were meant to fly, or at least flutter somewhere. There was no room to fly here, there was barely any room for Scar to run around!

“Scout,” Scar said again, his voice strained. There was a scuffling scratching noise as the creature bolted, afraid of something or wary of being in Scar’s presence for so long. The uncomfortable sensation of being watched lessened, until Scar opened his eyes and knew he wouldn’t be anywhere close to the thing.

With shaking hands, Scar relit the lantern. The little glowing light made him flinch at first, eyes watering from the bright glow. There were a handful of new tiny feathers, the fluffy undercoat insulation that went into pillows and quilts for winter. There were the smallest bits of torn wool, uprooted by broken claws.

Scar fumbled with his communicator, squinting at the bright light from the screen. There were a few messages in the main chat lines- according to the clock it was mid-afternoon. He had spent hours in the dark.

He typed across the keyboard, each sound loud and jarring to his ears. He trembled, disgusted and worried. Laying across from him, discarded and entirely used, the bits of an apple core gleamed the last light of residual regeneration.

<GoodtimewithScar> Guys we have a problem w/ scout

Chapter Text

In three days, the contraption was built. Donations were provided heartily, Scar going so far as to bring shulkers of materials- some helpful and some consisting of random objects. Supplying them with shulkers of baked potatoes and chocolate, the occupants of Boatem kept the redstoners happily fed.

Pearl dropped by nervously on occasion, fretting over the state of their nervous bird. Apparently the creature had barely budged, staying high and hidden on the tiny silken shelf it had created. It did move, apparently adjusting and exploring the cave late at night, holding true to their theory that it felt comfortable in the dark. If Scout hadn’t despawned at this point, there was a chance it was immune to sunlight damage. The first test could only be conducted once it was in a safe sterile container (blueprints provided happily by Zedalph) for medical treatment. The mad scientist himself confessed that running tests on Scout was beyond his comfort zone, since his experiments tended to verge more on curiosity and weren’t necessarily productive at the end of the day. Etho and Doc combined had more knowledge of early mob experimentation than some servers had with all their occupants combined.

Now, the only thing left was to lure the creature down via old classic curiosity, and slowly trick it into its new home. Some were excited, some were nervous and fretting so badly they buried themselves in unimportant builds to bide their time. Bdubs on the other hand, fluctuated between rage and dread over the potential outcomes their new feathered friend had.

“Please don’t have mites,” Bdubs muttered, pacing back and forth. His normal anxiety had blossomed into a dangerous sort of terror brought by their requested meeting at night. The moss-lover hated phantoms, and hated being outside of his comfortable bedroom past dusk.

“If this goes well, we’ll have one birdy in this box by sunrise,” Tango stated, patting one mossy shoulder, “relax, Bdubs!”

“You try relaxing!” Bdubs shouting, gnawing on his hoodie tassels angrily. 

Doc chuckled, settling himself on the main control panel. They had to build the machine and container so quickly, there was no time for spatial reasoning where exactly knobs and levers should go. That led to the classic problem of ‘wow-everything-is-right-here-isn’t-is?’. The previous record with the Boomers indicated both Tango and Bdubs were not to be trusted with a highly delicate control panel. Any other day, Etho would have happily taken a stand at the operating table, but today he was required for bait.

Etho had been seen by Scout before, or smelled by him depending on how exactly Scout navigated in the dark. Scout would hopefully recognize Etho, and with how the creature had slowly been exploring, would hopefully follow the man if he acted just odd enough to pique its curiosity.

Thankfully, Etho had a natural talent for being generally odd. Sitting in a large underground cavern with a blindfold on wasn’t the weirdest thing he had done in the past week, although it was up there. Scout had no knowledge (hopefully) that Etho’s eye was anything more than an unusual color. As far as it should know, Etho was completely blind with cloth wrapped over his vision. Even Doc would struggle to see through the material with his synthetic eye, not nearly as adaptive as Etho’s. The ninja-hermit wasn’t normally so easily swayed to using his biomechanical prosthesis, since extended use could potentially damage it and there was no replacement on hand unlike Doc’s easy repair.

“Aw, don’t worry about little old me,” Etho teased them, waving them off with the thick black scarf Pearl had provided to be his makeshift blindfold, “I don’t mind, honest.”

“You better not mess up that eye of yours!” Bdubs fumed, face puffing and flushing a low red from the intensity of his worry, “I mean it this time! No funny business in there!”

“Aw, but I was thinking Scout may be a real champ at knots-and-crosses,” Etho teased, winking dramatically just to rile his friend up even more. 

“If you think it is a threat, bail out, my dude,” Doc warned him, chuckling heartily at Etho’s antics, “I don’t know what that thing is in there, which is weird.”

“Look at Doc,” Beef said, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment, “one glimpse at something breaking the rules of physics and he gets all flustered.”

“Now you know how we feel!” Bdubs hollered, eyes bright and excited. “Oh! But Xisuma said not to do anything he wouldn’t do, Etho!”

“What, me? Oh I’d never.”

“I don’t think Etho knows how to be safe on a good day,” Doc chuckled, patting Etho heavily on one shoulder. With one last lingering look and multiple wishes for good luck, the group waved and slowly left FiFi’s cave with reluctance. The sound of pistons and grinding redstone contraptions set into place, sliding and slotting to secure the front entrance shut just as intended.

Before long, Etho found himself in the quiet echoing chamber of FiFi’s lair, settled with his only company being a handful of torches, a single soul lanturn, and a good deal of wood with his favourite tiny carving knife. He had left most of his armour behind- since he decided to forgo wings this season, he found himself with a lot of time on his hands and smaller projects in the making. It turned out attempting to carve bunny rabbits and beavers was a wonderful way to work off some nervous energy.

Just because Etho had plenty of time and insatiable boredom, it didn’t exactly mean he was good at carving. It was something to keep his hands busy, an interesting little bit of action that reminded him to work on his knife skills he once prided himself on. Maybe he should take up ice carving, it would be a good use of his faulty pickaxe.

Time drifted on, slow and leisurely. Etho found himself waiting patiently for the creature above to stir if only slightly, or perhaps it already had and was waiting for Etho to make a move. It didn’t matter to him, Etho knew the plan by heart and was ready to tie the thick scarf over his face and obscure his sight. All he needed was for the great creature to show the slightest bit of interest, or awareness for Etho’s presence.

Perhaps it took hours or some time more than that. Etho was seriously considering the benefits of taking a nap when he heard the faintest soft scratch, a noise that echoed like the scurrying paws of mice somewhere just on the periphery of his hearing. He knew that there were no mice in here- Bdubs had been careful to seal off and insulate the cave since he had intentions of making it into a storage. That soft noise meant only one thing: Scout had woken up and was taking note of him.

‘Well, at least my last torch is coming to its end,’ Etho thought, shifting to stand casually. At once, he felt a surge of anxiety, nervous tension grasping his heart and coaxing it into a faster hummingbird beat. He gasped quietly, the sudden rush of adrenaline tilting the world and hazing his vision with instinctual panic and paranoia. Hysteria bubbled before he could quell it, tighten his careful control on the unnecessary feelings and choke it into submission.

‘You’re fine,’ Etho thought to himself, his hands shaking with small tremors as he lodged his last torch into a rock outcropping to stand at the base of a small outcropping. ‘Stop panicking!’

Did Scout have some sort of effect? An ability that plays on other’s emotions so easily? It would explain why the other mobs stayed clear of it- there should be plenty of zombies and skeletons spawning in such a dark cavern but Etho heard only his rapid heart and soft breathing. Scout was awake, he knew that, but he refused to address the creature so openly.

Etho stepped a few paces away from the torch, glowing dimly in its last dredges of light. The man fumbled with the scarf wrapping it around his head securely to completely blind him of the world around. He waited, breaking through his mouth as his nose was partially compressed under the dark fabric. He waited, struggling to hear through the cloth barrier that dulled his senses.

He settled, waiting in the damp dark. There was something watching him, peering into his soul and body, analyzing every layer of his code with unknown intentions. Was it an admin? Did it have the ability to somehow pull and pluck apart the fabric of Etho himself to warp him beyond recognition?

‘Calm down,’ Etho thought under the strange animal terror, swallowing thickly. ‘Listen, did you hear it move?’

Etho waited until he was certain that something had changed, and then he waited even longer. The raw panic surged to a new level, dangerously close to drowning him. Etho waited. Then, when he could wait no longer, he opened his eyes. 

There leapt a creature downwards, silent under a spread of feathers larger than an elytra and broader than any cape. In the reddish embers of the dying torch’s light, Etho stared in wordless awe at the disgusting thing the hue of bruised plums, the speckling sickness of a bruise on pale skin, the ill fated colour of a nether rose wilting after its time. It lunged itself more than it flew, gliding on partially opened appendages fused together at the elbow like it forgot how to fly and forgot how to crawl. 

It drew closer, landing clumsily yet quietly. If one of Etho’s chickens had demonstrated a similar collapse, he would have taken it immediately to Stress for a thorough examination. He would have suspected a broken bone, a concussion or the bird equivalent. 

‘They were right over in Boatem,’ Etho thought as his heart raced in his throat. ‘Scout isn’t well.’

This close to something undeniably dangerous gave Etho a rush of hypervigilance. He was suddenly aware of every sensation: the pebble under his rear, the scratchiness of his trousers where he forgot to wash away clay, the ache in his head from working too long into the recent nights.

He had an opportunity here, one he knew he couldn’t afford to ignore. Impulse had obtained a single feather from the creature. Mumbo had noticed one deep gouge in the lid of a chest. Scar had touched the thing, blind and only for a fraction of a moment with spread fingers.

Etho had more than that, already he could scour the creature’s confusing proportions with his eye. The reddish haze saw more than colours, it filtered his mind with snippets of bastardized code an admin would scoff to see. He wasn’t Xisuma, but he didn’t need any sort of command to see more than just the visual world. He saw the fluctuations in heat and light, where small crescents of iridescent invisible lines painted themselves with an ultraviolet pen. The overworld didn’t use ultraviolet often, only in flowers to lure insects in- was Scout truly some sort of spider abomination?

‘No, ultraviolet is in the End as well,’ Etho recalled hastily, counting more than a dozen crescent moons in faint pastel lines across the creature’s exposed sickly flesh and between oddly matted feathers. Elytra originated in the barren dimension, absent with exception to the great leathery wings of the Ender Dragon herself. Was Scout a parallel to her? A king of a different dimension, separated and trapped below the dirt?

No, being trapped below ground couldn’t explain the other abnormalities. The idiosyncratic in how Scout moved as it slowly awkwardly forced itself around Etho, drifting into the lost visual field of his normal unmodified eye. Enormous feathers or the remnants of what once were dragged across the dirt and gravel, fractured vanes and center shaft dragged and caught like an unraveling coil on linen cloth.

Oh Notch, it appeared in his periphery slowly circling around his backside before emerging in the corner of his sight. Etho dared not move and alert it, but he watched with increasing worry as the ambling creature dragged itself with soft scrapes on the ground. Its front limbs looked like they may have once been human. The joints were placed approximately in the proper places, lacking the distinct bony prominences and rotations to be comfortably normal. Scout’s elbow, craned backwards as if he were using his arms to carry something flush to his chest and hands, were fused to the first joint of a ratty wing. The gap between the joints clumped with dirt, running parallel between its humerus and the first thick bone of the wing before the two combined like a horrific failed experiment. There was no purpose to it, no reason or benefit. 

‘Can it even move properly?’ Etho wondered, disgust twisting as he noticed the true extent of its odd fusion- it could no longer reach its arms in front of it beyond the simple open and closure of its elbow lest it pull on the movement of its primary wing. Conversely, the first pair of wings could no longer fold or close and looked affixed in a partially open stance that collected dirt and only hurt it.

‘This can’t be normal,’ Etho thought, knowing that Scout was in no way a mob or at least not one made with a merciful hand, ‘it’s not simply sick. This thing needs Xisuma.’

Etho had been determined to coax the creature into their trap, but now a horrible urgency cleared his mind of all distraction. Scout waddled oddly, twisting its head back and forth in a way that would be painful on a human neck, perhaps it was painful for it.

Etho didn’t know if the thing could see. In the darkness, he could barely discern the edges of feathers along what should have been its skull. Perhap it used echolocation, but that wouldn’t correlate to its obvious preferences for red wool.

‘Slowly, Etho,’ he thought to himself with a careful exhale, ‘just move a little.’

Scout startled, rearing on its hind limbs like Bdub’s horse ( Amore, Etho remembered distantly). The movement wasn’t natural, it looked a bit like an armadillo attempting to turn around quickly but lacking the anatomical flexibility to do so. Scout had hind legs of some sort, hidden below a stunted asymmetrical flare of yet another pair of wings anchored somewhere by its lower back. Etho couldn’t figure out how many wings the creature had, it was feathers and fluff and confusing limbs.

Etho waited a few seconds, tilted his head to pretend he was listening for Scout’s silent movements, and shifted himself further back. The creature did not move, freezing itself in its precariously balanced slanted pose.

Etho watched it with one eye, careful to avoid it’s head in case it did have some form of unique vision, and scooted himself closer to the exit.

He licked his lips, his mouth dry as once more he pretended to look around and listen for the movements of the thing in front of him. He asked with an unexpectedly raspy voice, “hello? Is anything there?”

‘Yeah, the giant eldritch monstrosity in front of you,’ he thought to himself. Reaching around to trace the ground with his fingers, using it to guide his path.

If Etho were actually blind, he would need to use his hands to guide his path from wayward rocks and gravel. He could easily see the differences in texture and heat still glowing bright in his vision from the remaining coals of his dead torches. They scattered like breadcrumbs, etching a path towards the entrance of FiFi’s lair.

Scout moved silently beyond the soft brushing of feathers scraping the ground. Etho’s shaky hands easily overshadowed the sounds- Scout freezing in place when Etho stopped moving or made a physical movement to listen. Etho turned his back to the creature as every instinct demanded he turn around. He shakily stretched one foot in front of him, scraping it against the ground as he shuffled towards the exit.

Scout followed him, watching him intently. Etho still couldn’t figure how the unnerving paralyzing sensation of being watched worked when the creature had no obvious eyes. It followed him curiously, watching his every step as slowly Etho traveled the distance to the cave. It felt long and painful, anxiety thumping under his sin in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. He stepped forward, he wondered if Scout would take his momentary weakness to pounce and kill him quickly, he stepped forward, he wondered if Scout would grab his ankles and drag him somewhere far below the cave where he wouldn’t die but clearly would wish he had.

‘Keep going, Etho,’ he coaxed himself, feeling sweat absorb into the scarf Pearl had knit so carefully, ‘you’re almost there.’

Scout shuffled on his side, brushing over a small rock. The piece of diorite clattered, sliding down a tiny ledge where it clacked and banged off other bits of stone with a catastrophic orchestra of sudden noise. Etho flinched, twirling around to face the noise instinctively. Scout shied away from it, balancing on long distorted fingers not quite birdlike but not human either.

“Hello?” Etho croaked raspily, his hands shaking and sweat cooling his nervous body. He knew Scout was watching him, surely Scout had caught on at this point?

Etho turned around once more, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather his courage before he shuffled one step further. ‘One step at a time, just one more.’

He was going to go home after this and take all of Iskall’s diamonds. Hell, he was going to take all of Keralis’ diamonds and spend every last one. He’d buy crates full of ladders with no intent to ever use them. He was going to buy so many flowers they’d have a bee infestation soon.

How had Scar touched the thing? Etho felt like he’d pass out if he stepped one bit closer to the thing. There were eyes watching him, unraveling every bit of his identity and carving out things Etho defined himself by. Each minute under the heavy eyes left him feeling lacking and insignificant, miserable under such expectations as the passion bled from him worse than any wound.

He shuffled and finally the edge of his metal reinforced sandals tapped the granite wall trapping him within the cave. He reached out, exhaling a hitching breath as he traced the wall for all its intricacies; feeling the chisel marks from diamond tools that carved the rock from its home.

“Okay,” Etho spoke, unable to bear the silence any longer. His voice echoed despite how soft it was, merely a whisper, “this…this is blocking the entrance.”

Scout was beside him or behind him. Etho couldn’t figure out where exactly the thing was, but he knew it was there. Looming over his shoulder, watching each movement with the interest of a viewer separate from action.

‘Well, not any longer,’ Etho thought, hands scrabbling across the rock. To anyone else, it would look like his desperate attempt to find an invisible exit in the dark. He looked, eye piercing the shadows and recognizing the microscopic flickers of garnet gemstone. The hues of ruby and ochre dancing in that which was redstone. 

Etho shifted into position, pressed his entire palm against the stone button camouflage into the rock face, and compressed himself flush to the cold stone. A repeater clicked, a circuit connected, and the stampede of a hundred pistons firing simultaneously deafened his sensitive ears.

Scout reacted clumsily with panic, scrabbling loud and hastily over rock as pistons erupted in a perfect perimeter around them. The rock Etho pressed himself into recession just large enough for his body to slip through, escaping to fresh air and open sunlight.

It felt overwhelming, suffocating paradoxically in the fresh air. Etho tore the blindfold from his face, blinking with one bloodshot crying eye as his head ached with sudden photophobia.

“Ladders!” Bdubs howled, launching himself towards the taller man frantically, “oh are you okay? Oh what am I saying, of course you aren't? Come on Etho- speak to me!”

“Dude, chill out,” Doc argued, flipping a lever to automate the system before he approached Etho a bit quicker than his normal walking speed. He hastily scoured Etho’s body for any open wounds or (more likely) any hidden bleeding injuries. Etho had a reputation to protect, which was taking a big hit with how he felt absolutely terrified.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, clasping one fist to his chest where his heart was racing frantically, “just…must have a- a mob effect.”

“You need a potion? We got potions!” Bdubs shouted, jerking away to scramble through a barrel set aside for emergency first aid. “What do you need? Health? I can get you health!”

“He’s fine, man,” Doc reassured the builder. He patted Etho down, checking Etho’s hands for some unknown reason, “your pulse is fast. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Etho wheezed, rubbing one fist into his watering crying implanted eye. “It’s in the perimeter for sure, I don’t think it’s a mob.”

“Not a mob?” Tango asked, approaching from where he had been overseeing the careful depositing of gravel for their curtain to help block light from the many sea lanterns inside the containment zone. A wall for gravel separated them from the tinted glass which hopefully would allow them to see inside without distressing it too much. All they needed was to get prepared, settle down, and drop the final barrier.

“Yeah, it’s something…different,” Etho said, finally feeling a bit more sure of himself. Tango watched him, a small frown warping his face into an expression of confusion.

“A glitch?” Doc guessed, knowing more about bugs and glitches than most.

Etho shook his head, running one hand through his hair hastily. His skin prickled, feeling weird in his body. “No, it’s…I don’t think…I don’t know what it is.”

“That bad, huh?” Tango asked, glancing at the wall of gravel nervously. “Should I call X right now?”

Normally, Etho would shrug off the worry. He didn’t like Xisuma getting too close with his projects and testing, partially from their differences in ethics and Etho’s tendency to cause unneeded Hermit-death and redstone monstrosities. With Doc at his side, he had felt competent and capable to face any sort of server-based weirdness. 

This though, felt far out of his area of comfort.

“Yeah,” Etho said after a lengthy pause. He felt the concerned gaze of his fellow hermits on him, not nearly as overwhelming as the sightless watching force of the entity contained in glass, gravel, and light. Etho said meekly, “call Xisuma.”

Doc shuddered, something icy and clinical overtaking his expression. The creeper hybrid nodded jerkily, fishing out his communicator before entering a longer sequence for off-server calls, presumably to contact his hivemind. The joking nervous humour of Bdubs altered into something much more serious, watching Etho with a heavy look.

Tango cursed quietly, fumbling through his buttons to presumably send the server alarm and announcement for the admin to pop by as soon as possible.

“What do you think it is?” Bdubs asked Etho, all laughter gone.

“I…I don’t know,” Etho confessed, and that scared him. “It’s too complex for a mob, it reminds me of a player but it…clearly isn’t. ”

“You think this place is corrupted?” Tango asked, red eyes flickering to the gravel curtain, “think maybe a player’s code got duplicated somehow and glitched out?”

“No, that rarely ever happens and they aren’t sentient then,” Etho told him. Such an occurrence had been often in his early years, well before Tango ever came along. Thankfully, errors like those were more myth than reality at this point.

“So what then?” Doc asked him, hurriedly flicking both hands and all his fingers to frantically type into his open communicator, “a corrupt code?”

‘It may be a corrupted player,’ Etho thought, but knew better than to voice the worst case scenario, ‘if so, there may be nothing left we can do.’

“Xisuma said he’s on his way,” Tango reported dutifully from his communicator, gaze flicking between them and the wall of gravel, “just a head’s up. Pearl said she was already en-route before we sent the warning. You know how Pearl is…”

“Insatiable,” Bdubs growled, trying to hide his worry. Pearl was a recent addition to their family. She was bold, brave, and determined. Her gentle heart and trickster antics disguised her rarely seen harsh side to her personality, where she acted firm and took role as the leader they hadn’t known was necessary. Pearl potentially was the best of the Boatem crew to show up if things turned for the worst, but it wasn’t a fun idea.

“What if we get this over with before she arrives?” Etho asked, not having much personal experience with the woman. “Let’s drop the gravel and get an idea.”

“Xisuma can always do that teleportation thing,” Tango reasoned warily, his voice trailing off towards the end.

Bdubs and Doc shared a look, glancing towards the cage. With a heavy sigh, Doc muttered under his breath in his native language, speaking something to himself as he snapped his communicator closed and strolled towards the main communication panel filled with switches and buttons.

“Fine,” Doc said reluctantly, “but if this goes bad, you tell X.”

“Yeah, I’ll deal with the grumpy salamander,” Etho stated, eyes fixed on the gravel wall, “let it drop, Doc.”

It fell, descending into the depths below once the pistons retracted. The wall fell, sunlight breaching the dark cube lined with rock, sea lanterns, and finally obsidian. The tinted glass obscured most of the sunlight but still some flickered through. A flurry of movement too dark to understand drove Doc to hitting another unassuming button made of Acacia wood.

“I’m withdrawing one quarter of the shaders,” Doc informed them, grimly watching as the ground withdrew on approximately one quadrant. As the gentle blue light illuminated the box, random movement made more sense.

There was something fluttering in the furthest corner, scrabbling against the wall with animal terror. The many wings Etho had spotted all opened and closed uncoordinatedly, splaying out broken primary feathers and scattering loose downy from frantic movements. It scrabbled, glass shrieking shrill as its clawed appendages scratched across the tinted surface.

“It can’t see us, right?” Bdubs asked, petrified in place. The man’s skin had palled, all blood leaving him as he trembled where he stood. Etho winced under the familiar sensation, grasping the edge of the control panel with a white knuckle grip. Tango staggered, swaying slightly until he recovered with a wide stance. Doc cursed in a harsh language, slamming yet another button which revealed yet more sea lanterns.

The creature made a noise that was not a bird cry but was not a cat hiss. It was something in between, made from behind a curtain of feathers obscuring its face from any sort of sight. It’s hands- bruised and sickly with blue hued veins visible below the sallow flesh, clawed at the black tinted glass. Etho felt grim that his earlier guess of the strange joint fusion was correct.

“What is that?” Tango shouted, recoiling as the thing flinched at Tango’s voice and fluttered to hide itself from sight yet failed miserably.

Bdubs laughed from stress, looking ready to cry. Doc said something, still unknown as the language was not one any of the group spoke.

“You were in that cave with that thing?” Tango asked, sounding strangled. Bdubs had drawn his sword, holding it in a trembling hand. The caution was warranted, as the thing was equal parts disgusting as it was terrifying.

‘It’s watching you,’ Etho thought, somehow feeling invisible eyes staring through him. He winced at the sensation, somehow lessened now compared to earlier. Did the creature know it was doing that? Was it aware?

“Xisuma!” Bdubs screamed at the top of his lungs, the creature flinching back and flaring its shattered broken tail feathers like a peacock from the nether. Doc averted his eyes, shivering under the sunlight. The creeper hybrid’s hand crept towards shifting away the last barrier of blocks and releasing the full illumination of the cage.

As the final barrier withdrew and the full visage of the creature came to light, Xisuma appeared in a stuttering mirage of light. There was an odd pop in their ears like pressure equalizing, atmosphere stabilizing from where there had been none. Admin commands were like that, sometimes bending reality with the nearby hermits the unfortunate victims to the experience.

“Get back!” Xisuma ordered, his gentle persona gone and a battle hardened guardian in its place. The man wore netherite incorporated into his general armor, the axolotl decoration not nearly so cheery under his stone cold expression.

“X, what is that?” Tango asked, leaping for safety behind a console table.

“It isn’t a mob,” Etho said unnecessarily, flinching away as the creature lunged itself in its weird disjointed way at the glass again, “it’s too sentient for that.”

“It’s panicking,” Doc said, marveling at it openly, “look at it…it’s learning.”

Xisuma watched with a grim expression, hands frozen while suspended, ready to summon his console. He watched the creature with an odd expression, perplexed and wary of some sort of unspoken cue.

The admin said slowly, “it isn’t registering on any of the server chunk scans. It’s somehow outside of the register.”

“A glitch?” Etho asked, fearing for the worst. ‘Is that a broken chunk of code, shattered from one of us?’

“I don’t know,” Xisuma said damningly, “but I intend to find out. It can’t get out of this for some reason, it only reacted negatively once the light was placed on it?”

A whistle grew louder as the sharp smell of gunpowder assaulted Etho’s hypervigilant senses. For once, it wasn’t Doc’s leaking anxiety but the approaching smell of a rocket, packed to the brim for three times the duration. 

“Pearl,” Bdubs explained, craning his head upwards to try and spot the approaching hermit, “oh no, oh no she isn’t going to like this-.”

The woman circled above them, glancing for somewhere to land. Initially, her expression was open and curious, then it transformed to worry at the obvious anxiety of the group. She lowered herself into a gentle spiral, scanning for open ground. 

It was obvious the moment she caught sight of Scout. Something changed on her face, but not in the way they had expected.

She did not look afraid, nor did she flinch in terror. The heavy sensation of eyes crashed over them, piercing their thoughts once more and yet Pearl appeared to be the only one unaffected. Xisuma staggered, catching himself on Doc’s shoulder as Tango sank to one knee. Etho pressed one hand to his synthetic eye, forcing the ache of I see you, I see you, I see you to recede.

Pearl stormed their landing like a gladiator stormed an arena. Her face was one of rage and dark fury, tightly leashed and wild like a lion behind iron bars. She drew her sword, purple and gleaming and held it aloft with flames dancing along the blade.

She asked, heavy and damning: “when did a Watcher get on this server?”

Link to Art of Etho and Scout

Chapter Text

Xisuma stood at the window, arms crossed behind his back with gauntleted hands clutching at his bracers. The netherite gleamed a soft purple, iridescent shimmers protecting the soft skin of the Admin from harm.

The man had taken vigil in quiet contemplation for quite some time. More often than not, the admin stood facing the tinted glass with a heavy frown behind his thickened visor. He watched irregardless of the time of day, uncaring of the weather and rare lightning storms.

Keralis sighed, slumped lazily across a pool lounger he had hauled from his island oasis. It was difficult to work in his office when every moment he glanced out his window, he could see Xisuma standing at the glass motionlessly. After a few days of this nonsense, Keralis knew he had to step in.

“You need to take a break, Shashwammy,” the man cooed to him, beckoning towards a matching poolside lounger he had hauled from his home. Blinking slyly, the man asked: “take a seat, rest your eyes for a bit! You’ll feel much better after a little rest, no?”

“I can’t,” Xisuma said stiffly, gazing through the tinted glass, “I can’t afford any moment of carelessness.”

“Ah, but you’ll be careless if you are tired,” Keralis argued with a huff, plucking a bottle of chilled melon juice from the cooler he brought with him. “Just a moment, what if I watch our feathered friend.”

Xisuma started a word of protest. Keralis huffed and stood, snatching another cold bottle before he swaggered to the Admin’s side, draping one hand across the armoured shoulders. He held the bottle teasingly in front of the man, swishing the pink juice back and forth. “Take a break, Sheshwam! Leave it to Papa K!”

Xisuma scoffed slightly, reluctantly plucking the bottle between three fingers. He held it at a lost for a brief moment of time, looking adoringly perplexed at what to do with it.

“It helps if you drink it,” Keralis teased the man, offering a single exaggerated wink before he giggled quietly. Xisuma rolled his eyes, sighing fondly before he allowed himself to be herded towards the empty lounge chair.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Xisuma mumbled, settling himself heavily. His thickened netherite protective armour forced the chair to creak, groaning under his considerable weight.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, you sweet-face!” Keralis crowed, spinning on his feet to stare determinedly through the tinted glass to the weird misshapen figure that was Scout. Keralis huffed, his breath momentarily fogging the glass, “I will watch this creature with my own two big eyes!”

“I know you will,” Xisuma said to him, shaking his head. With a small sigh and a wistful smile, the admin reached around the side panel of his helmet to deactivate the pressure seal and allow it to be removed. Keralis fidgeted slightly at the noise, recognizing it obviously 

Xisuma sighed at the taste of the melon juice- Keralis obviously had created the drink himself. The man had remarked on a few occasions how he wanted to open a cocktail bar but simply hadn’t the time yet. The man had a certain knack for it, even for nonalcoholic drinks.

“What about this creature worries you?” Keralis asked, leaning closer to squint through the glass. He could see the vague shape of the creature, huddled in the furthest corner motionlessly.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Xisuma said, his voice thin and tinny without the synthetic speakers all hermits had come to know him by. The man sounded shockingly frail, although it was deceptive at best. Keralis did not turn to look over his shoulder, respecting Xisuma’s privacy. The fact Xisuma had willingly shown Keralis his face before did not mean he was comfortable in this exact moment to be seen without his helmet.

Keralis hummed, peering into the tinted cube. “It is odd, I heard it has an effect?”

“Doc confirmed it, and Etho gave some sort of explanation for it,” X said, sighing through his nose, “it isn’t a status effect I’ve ever heard of. It may be reacting to the player code itself.”

“Oh, that would be strange,” Keralis agreed, bouncing on his toes, “it makes you anxious, yes?”

“Something like that,” Xisuma agreed. The soft clink of an empty bottle being set back into the cooler alerted Keralis that his friend’s break was quickly ending. 

“I have never heard of an effect like this, the panic,” Keralis hastily added, trying to prolong his friend’s break further.

Xisuma paused, tilting his head slightly as he glanced at the glass. After a moment of thought, Xisuma said: “Well, I’ve heard of some admins experimenting with different impacts. It reminds me of what I’ve heard of frenzy, but doesn’t fit. It isn’t…it isn’t anger, it’s more heightened paranoia.”

Keralis hummed, turning his head to look at Xisuma only after he heard the pressurized click of his helmet secured in place. Keralis cocked one hip, blinking slyly at the man and asked, “ah, so it is scared?”

Xisuma stared at him, dumbfounded. Awkwardly, the man looked between Keralis and the container housing Scout, and back once more. With a small amount of shame, Xisuma admitted tightly, “you know? I think you’re right.”

Keralis was a man on a mission, and he knew only one person capable of radiating a soothing presence enough to pacify a raging ravager. There was only one hermit able to tame their new confusing friend, however finding him was a little bit of a challenge.

Keralis flew with two goals in mind. First, heading southwest into the boggy swamp to locate his trio of potential recruits. It wasn’t hard to spot them, following the hard dirt path winding between mountains and birch forests, drifting through pillaring trees to end up in the shallow mud and clay of the swamp.

“Hello?” Keralis crowed, swooping carefully between tall spindly trees nurtured into their unique form. Glancing at each perfectly coaxed branch, there was only one woman capable of such a feat: Gemini.

“Hello?” Keralis asked, landing in a slight stumble on the packed dirt outside a shocking ravine descending far into the ground. The nether portal from his first glance appeared to be floating on an island above a great crater, leading into a subterranean cavern. “Ladies? Sweet beautiful faces?”

With a slight whoop echoing across the rocky walls, two elytra ascended with a burst of fireworks from below the ground. Keralis squeaked, leaping in surprise at the sound and sight. At the apex of the climb, both women crested and twirled downwards with elytra spread, gliding into a gentle descent to land on the loamy soil and thick moss.

“Keralis!” Gemini said, clapping her hands together with a loud satisfying smack. She bounced on her feet, netherite gleaming around her handmade slippers custom designed for the wet environment. Her hair had bits of leaves trapped in them, the small antlers protruding upwards like a tiara on her brow.

“Oh, ‘ello Keralis,” FalseSymmetry greeted, cocking her head to one side. Her hair was tamed in a bun secured with a thick leather thong, much more suitable than Gemini’s muddy appearance. Keralis eyed the thick gleaming broadsword on her hip, shimmering with promises of pain and respawn.

“Hello beautiful ladies,” Keralis greeted with a broad smile and a slight giggle, “how ah, how would you two like to help me a bit with a teeny tiny project?”

Gemini huffed, cocking her hip and wrinkling her nose. Keralis hadn’t remembered how short the woman was until moments like these, where the sharp tips of her antlers were the perfect height to poke one of his eyes.

“We’ll I’d love to,” Gemini said, elongating the word with emphasis to convey that she was not interested in truth, “but I’ve got bog business! Moss won’t plant itself, Keralis!”

False tapped her fingers along her arm, nails wrapping softly against the leather and iron inlay on her custom armour designed for her unique fighting style. False met Keralis’ eyes, her own scrutiny causing the man to fidget under her steely expression.

“I could help,” False offered sweetly, smiling slightly as Gemini cackled at her willingness. The other smacked her hand on False’s pauldrons, twirling on her heels to leap back into the abyss below them.

“I do hope you weren’t lookin’ for Stress,” False apologized shyly.

“Oh, no no no,” Keralis hastily tried to correct, lifting both arms defensively, “you are perfect! Perfect False! You are lovely!”

“Aww, thank you,” False said bashfully, shifting her weight from one side to the other, “what can I help you with, Keralis?”

“Ah, well you know ah, the creature? Scout?” Keralis asked, waiting for the slow nod before he continued with his hasty explanation, “yes? Okay well I thought, wow! What if we talked to it, good idea, yes? And I thought, who better than dah-dah-dah- XBcrafted himself!”

False shifted her head, curiosity burning behind her focused gaze. She nodded slowly, cuing for Keralis to continue speaking.

“Right! So then I thought, hmm…who better than one of the loveliest ladies in all this server? No other than False!”

“You want me to protect XB?” False asked, tapping fingers shifting from her arm to the thick sword on her hip, “well, I suppose that isn’t too much of a bother.”

“Huzzah!” Keralis cheered, whooping loudly in delight, “you are lovely! The loveliest False! Lets go get XB now!”

“He should be at Horsehead farms,” False said with a small smile, nodding in a southern direction. She plucked a rocket from her inventory, dancing on her feet gracefully in preparation for the shift in inertia, “I’ll guide us if you’d prefer.”

“Wonderful,” Keralis beamed, bowing clumsily for the blonde woman to take the lead. False chuckled softly, taking one step forward before curling into a forward spread and ascending like a bird. False did not wait for Keralis, she expected him to follow just as any commander would.

Flying to Horsehead farms was an exciting path, winding above and over countless stretches of untouched land. They flew, False lagging slightly to allow Keralis to catch up and keep pace with her.

Pointing below, they soared above the dark red rooftops of a sprawling village below them. False pointed to each individual building, naming their function with pride in her voice.

“If you look over there,” False said warmly, outlining a square protruding from the forestline of dark oak, “there’s Leaf Spleef, made by Cub.”

Keralis had yet to play it. False flew, arcing her spine in the shadow of protruding mountains of a shattered savannah erupting from the landscape. The faint familiar rooftop of Keralis’ Pass-an-Gas glinted slightly in the sunshine, nestled at the base of Etho and Iskall’s mountain home.

Eastward they flew until the stamped dirt path exposed itself from the covered forest across the grassland along the coast. False reoriented herself, traveling above the dirt path north along the ocean’s coast, pointing out IJevin’s monstrosity of a build carved into the ground on their left.

It was beautiful to fly so openly during the day. Keralis had considered taking the Nether for quick transport, but the serenity of a long flight was unmatched. False had a similar thought as they followed the bank, bending eastward once more along the thin landbridge connecting the eastern peninsula and the main continent.

Tango’s turtle farm nestled itself in the sand below them, the large green animals sleeping happily in the sunlight. The Eastern Pass-an-Gas nestled itself beside Cleo’s graveyard, disguising its true bee-farm function from an eagle eye. Joe’s flower stall speckled the landscape with the bright colours of specially dyed wool, hiding the bushels of flowers in cool shade. Further they flew past the growing castle erupting from the landscape carved from rock and placed lovingly by Cleo and Joe since the start of this world. Further, over the shaded forest and dark-oak docks spanning across rivers and tributaries until finally the enormous horse-head motifs grew from the dirt. False pivoted her elytra, swooping downwards between the chestnut horse’s ears with a rattling snap of exploding gunpowder. Keralis was not as confident with his flying abilities, not enough to twirl through the sculpted statues' open mouth.

Keralis stumbled to the ground, feeling his communicator vibrate in his pocket. False landed next to him with no fumble in her step, paying attention only to her communicator which apparently had sent a message. Keralis couldn’t fathom the coordination to simultaneously send a message whilst landing- it was well beyond his coordination.

“I hope you don’t mind, I sent a message to XB to see if he was here,” False said apologetically, sliding her communicator back into it’s specialized holster on the outer side of her hip. It was strategically placed, easy to grab in an emergency situation. “He hasn’t responded, but I suppose it would be no problem to walk around for a while?”

“Not at all, pretty lady,” Keralis said, a little frazzled and dizzy from such a quick descent. “Lead the way!”

They explored for a short moment of time, XB responding to their private message with a hasty apologetic explanation that he was some distance away but returning quickly. XB was anxious at heart, shy but not timid. He had a passion for creating that Keralis always admired, and a heart of gold that breached through his introverted exterior.

“XB!” Keralis cheered at the sight of the man, manifesting through the veil of the Nether. The man blinked, disoriented momentarily from the shift of light and temperature, before he spotted both False and Keralis standing outside the stalls.

“Oh,” XB said breathily, hurrying down the steps hastily, “I’m so sorry, I was mining and hadn’t noticed your message at first.”

“It was not a problem,” False said, smiling.

“Well, I hope everything is okay,” XB said, gaze flickering between the two with slight nervous tension, “is…is there something I can do for you?”

Keralis beamed, striding forward. For the slightest sliver of a second, XB tensed at the sudden movement. The introvert relaxed himself, averting his eyes shamefully at reacting in such a way. Keralis ignored it, XB was always a bit unsure with social interactions but never needed to feel shame from his natural reaction.

“XB!” Keralis enthused happily, gently patting the man’s shoulder with one hand, “you are just the lovely face I wish to see! Thank you for being here! I ah, I was looking for you to help with something!”

“Me?” XB parroted, somewhat stunned by the pointed words, “I- well I’m nothing special-.”

“You are very special, my friend,” Keralis told him honestly, “you are the kindest man around! You are sweet enough to make bees angry at your niceness!”

False shrugged one shoulder, smiling fondly at the interaction as XB looked at her desperate to escape the praise. She did not miss the embarrassed flush painting his cheeks below his scruff.

“You know of the creature of Boatem?” Keralis asked XB, dropping his hand from the man’s shoulder. 

XB slowly nodded, looking very overwhelmed but not yet stressed by Keralis’ very demanding presence. Everything about Keralis was loud, but not unwelcome.

“I- yes. There were a few messages in chat, is everyone okay? Can I do anything?”

That was a reason why Keralis loved XB, the man instantly thought of others long before he thought of himself.

“The creature, Scout, is a shy thing,” Keralis explained rapidly, clicking his tongue as he scrambled to find his words, “it needs a friend! And I thought, who better than XB!”

XB gawked, blinking rapidly as he tried to understand the request. He swallowed thickly, glancing to False and the obvious weapon on her hip.

“I…uh,” XB said weekly, looking a bit faint, “you…want me to…talk to it?”

“Yes!” Keralis exclaimed happily, “If I were afraid, I’d always wish to see you, XB! You are so kind, you could calm a Wither!”

XB chuckled anxiously, running one hand through his hair, “I ah, I don’t know about that,”

“You don’t need to!” Keralis shushed him, twirling on his feet, “it was a thought! I wanted to try something, Sheshwammy has been so busy I wanted to see if perhaps this Scout would like a talk!”

XB exhaled in a rush, shifting his weight, “I ah, I mean…I could give it a try.”

“I’ll be right there with you,” False said to him gently, tapping her sword with a pointed look. XB smiled at her, some tension leaking from his body but the nervous nausea tinting his skin pale.

“Me too!” Keralis said happily, “nothing could go wrong!”

Fear was an interesting thing. It formed below your skin, parallel to each vessel in your body. It squirmed not unlike fish trapped in dwindling tidepools, aware of their impending doom but not when and not how. It crept in obviously- you knew when fear grew and you knew what you were afraid of, but the strength of it was never something you could predict.

Anxiety was similar, looming and present in every moment. For XB, he felt the odd pressure of expectations and failure on his back from the moment he stepped outside to the moment he slipped into his bed. It was an unwelcome friend, but one he knew well and had accepted years before when it first appeared at his door.

Social anxiety was a constant. Anxiety and nerves were a state of living, one he knew and one he combated with careful tactics and alternative means. 

It was a shock when False stumbled, her body rolling through the waves of tension and anxiety. Her grip tightened along the handle of her sword, creaking the leather hilt and tracing its pomel with one thumb. Keralis winced as they drew closer to the tinted box, wearily swaying with a pale complexion.

XB paused, reexamined himself, and felt no different now than he did at home.

“Oh, that’s…” False whispered, wincing once more. She drew something from her pocket, potions of regeneration and poisons for combat. Glancing over her shoulder, she fidgeted and scowled at no source in particular.

“Ah, yes,” Keralis said, shaking himself like one large excited dog, “that is Scout! He is ah, very scared we think.”

“I don’t notice anything,” XB said, then immediately regretted ever speaking. Keralis and False looked at him, he averted his eyes hastily.

“Ah, that is good then!” Keralis told him happily, clapping his hands together once more, “I will tell Shashwammy to take a break!”

False nodded him off, peering through the tinted glass. Above them on a platform constructed by Tango, Keralis went to dismiss the current watch. Presumably Xisuma would take a break for as long as they were there.

“Is it that bad?” XB asked quietly, curiosity burning. False glanced at him, then back at the glass square.

“It’s uncomfortable,” she admitted simply, “a bit like combat.”

“Oh,” XB said awkwardly, regretting his words. ‘You should have said something better than just ‘oh’, you’re a hermit!’

“It’s okay,” False said to him, clearly picking up on his nerves, “I’ll be there to help you, would you like me to come inside or stay just outside the door?”

XB wet his lips, trying to think of the best option. What would he do if he was in there? Having False would certainly make his nerves worse, especially the sight of an obvious weapon.

“Outside,” he decided after a moment, “I don’t want to intimidate him.”

“Alright,” False said with a short nod, shivering randomly from stress, “if you need help or want me to come inside, give me this signal-.”

She demonstrated something that looked very much like an official signal. XB clumsily followed it, feeling very out of place with a combat signal on his hand. False nodded when he replicated it adequately, drawing her sword and equipping a bow and quiver on her body for quick combat. XB swallowed at the sight, feeling nervous just from her pure intimidation factor.

“XB!” Keralis called from above them on the second level platform, “go ahead, you beautiful man!”

“Okay!” XB shouted hoarsely, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

He stood at the door, an iron door with an external lever to allow access, and placed a shulker from his inventory. Sorting through the objects on his person, he set aside unnecessary things- some dirt, rock, a few dozen flowers. He set aside his weapons, lingering on keeping a torch on his person but deciding against it. False frowned at him, clearly uneasy with his lack of protection, but didn’t protest. After a lingering moment, XB stripped his armour and placed that too inside his box.

“XB-,” she said worriedly. He ignored her, hastily closing the box before she could convince him to put his chest plate back on.

The iron door opened with a creak, spilling sunlight through the gap. Inside the box was bright from an absurd flooring of sea-lanterns, but partially dimmed from heavy tinted glass. The air inside felt cooler, filtered somehow from below ground. XB didn’t know who crafted the enclosure, but they made it with all factors considered.

His nerves didn’t increase, but they didn’t decrease either. XB swallowed, his mouth dry, and stepped further into the box. 

He saw Scout, the only thing inside the box beyond some oddly placed clumps of red wool pushed through the smallest iron trapdoor in a wall. The thing did not move, a ball of weird feathers with no arrangement or orientation. It hurt XB’s brain to try and fathom- how were some feathers as long as his hand and others as long as his leg? Where did they go? How were some pointing in opposite directions? What was it?

XB swallowed once more, then hoarsely said in a quiet near-whisper, “hello.”

The thing did not move, but XB had a good idea that the creature was very aware of his presence.

“I’m uh, I’m XB,” he introduced himself, shuffling forward softly on his feet. The creature did not move as XB shifted to the middle of the room, settling himself into a clumsy sprawl on the floor. The feathery ball was pressed into a far corner, barely moving beyond that of a slight shift as it breathed.

‘Just give it time,’ XB thought to himself, steadying his anxiety as he always did. He breathed carefully, holding it and releasing it gently. After a few seconds of this, he felt inspired to once more speak. “Are you Scout?”

It didn’t move, but that was alright. Sometimes it took a while before XB felt comfortable enough to speak, he gathered it was the same.

“I’m not going to come closer,” XB said softly, tracing one hand along his shoes to trace the seam mindlessly, “I’m right here. I’m going to keep talking so you know where I am, but I’m not going to come any closer.”

It didn’t respond, and XB smiled to himself. It was nice actually, being in the enclosure. The tinted glass gave a great illusion of privacy, the cold mountain air felt blissful compared to the heavy heat of the sun. He should invest in making something similar.

“It’s a wonderful day outside,” XB said in a gentle murmur, thinking back to what he had done that day, “I went to the Nether to get some quartz. I was thinking it would look likely in a new project of mine. The weather here is much nicer than the Nether.”

And so, XB talked. He continued to speak in a gentle roll of sound, never increasing his volume beyond that of a quiet mumble. It didn’t strain him, and after a while XB himself felt more relaxed simply by the exercise.

He didn’t know if Scout felt any bit relaxed, but XB felt that something was changing. 

XB was not looking at it when it moved, but he heard the sound of feathers across the ground. XB did not look, knowing that eyes were sometimes the worst pressure in the world. He waited, feeling the air swirl slightly as something shifted- something that keenly told him below his normal levels of stress: I am watching you.

XB smiled slightly and repeated, “hello.”

It looked at him, watching him, and XB continued to fiddle with his shoelaces. He waited, the creature clearly expecting something from him. Then, it moved again.

It did something significantly greater, settling after a moment of orientation. When XB looked, he kept his eyes on the gentle glow of sea lanterns until he saw the edges of Scout’s body, then slowly observed what had changed. The confusing orientation of feathers made more sense, as from the disorienting ball emerged more structured appendages in various states of splay or fold.

“Hello,” XB repeated gently, the creature shifting through something reminiscent of a shudder. “You’re alright,” XB whispered softly, “you’re okay here.”

It must have been curled in on itself uncomfortably at first. Once repositioned, it had stretched out on its stomach or its version of a torso. From its back, where a tail may emerge on a reptile sprouted two enormous wings folded clumsily with long trailing feathers all broken and dirtied. On the middle of its back, parallel to the protruding bone of a spine, stretched another set of wings where a saddle would sit on a horse. These wings were larger, pointed and spread to disguise its body further- yet both sets paled in comparison to the enormous spread protruding from between its shoulder blades like a true avian. These wings looked the most anatomically correct, and were potentially capable of flight if not for the strange contorted posture they rested in due to a hideous fusion of its first joint and what looked like a human elbow. There was a hollow between the two bones, where separation should occur but could no longer do so.

“Hello,” XB whispered again, feeling pity swell in his chest sickly, “you’re alright, it’s alright.”

It was hiding its head below the enormous front wings, arching its neck with more bones sticking out from its back. The poor thing was emaciated, hungry and sick with old feathers trapped and matted with mud and dirt, old pins trapped from broken pin feathers with their casing still adhered. 

“Hello,” XB repeated, shifting himself sideways to sit facing the wall instead of the creature. He knew it was watching him somehow, perhaps through a different sense than sight, but he wanted it to know he wasn’t going to press further.

He waited for ages, at some point stretching out in his own lazy sprawl as exhaustion pulled on him. He felt safe oddly, unconcerned with being attacked by the enormous creature. It was scared and nervous, but so was XB and that was his normal state. He dozed, napping before stretching and pulling a lunch from his pocket to eat.

He didn’t know if False was still outside the tinted glass, the glare made it impossible to see through. He didn’t know if Xisuma was back or if Keralis was lingering on the periphery. All XB knew was a very scared creature that he wanted to help.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, noticing the slightly splayed position of the creature in one corner. It had stretched out at some point, still alarmed and scared of him. XB repeated, “hey there.”

It tensed when he scooted the slightest bit closer. Its feathers vibrated, trembling through a muscular exhaustion that came with atrophy. XB stilled himself, only one small bit closer, and went back to his relaxed state of absentminded daydreaming. Eventually, Scout relaxed and XB repeated the same movement.

He drew closer, until he could reach out and touch the thing. It still avoided him, pressing itself as far away as possible. XB didn’t want to touch it, but he wanted it to know he wasn’t trying to scare it further.

“Hello,” XB said, smiling as the entity slumped into the floor. Finally, XB reached into his backpack and withdrew his original goal.

The red wool blanket was soft, washed by hand until the knitted material had felted into a single thick fabric that XB had used numerous times when stressed or nervous. It smelled of flowers, gentle and fragrant and felt like sunshine. He let it settle on his lap, waiting for Scout to settle after the nervous tension that came from any form of change. He waited until the vibrating feathers from trembling muscles relaxed, then stood.

What he had accomplished reversed itself immediately. The splayed lower wings retracted protectively, forming some sort of heavily broken shell around what XB presumed was its lower legs. The middle wings mantled and arched, protecting itself and splaying- had XB not expected such a reaction it would have easily thrown him off.

But XB was determined, and he knew sometimes when you were panicking and scared, you would lash out when in truth all you needed was a nice warm blanket.

He tossed one edge of the red blanket as far upwards as he could, allowing gravity to do the rest. The angle wasn’t optimal since a good portion of Scout was pressed flush with the wall, but it was enough for him to adequately cover something. The blanket sank heavily, blocking light under its thick fuzzy surface. It landed with an ungainly fwump, half splayed on Scout’s presumed upper back.

Scout froze, utterly still. XB ignored it, mentally repeating his soothing chant: It’ll feel better after this, It’ll feel better after this.

“Let me get the other corner,” XB murmured softly, essentially a whisper. He grabbed the other corner, tossing that as best he could. He felt a bit like he was trying to throw a duvet over a bed from only one side- constantly struggling but the effort was there.

The blanket settled heavily on Scout, compressing it under the gentle pressure. XB made sure that it wasn’t going to slide off, then retreated exactly three steps until he was out of arm’s length and settled himself on the ground. He gazed at the tinted glass wall, carefully not at Scout.

‘Any second now,’ XB thought, trying not to smile as the creature clearly was flummoxed by his action, ‘just wait.’

XB waited. Slowly, the creature beside him moved. Like a cat exploring the underside of a blanket, it reached out with one of its limbs to shift the blanket and marveled at the resulting shift of fabric. Innocently, like a child, it adjusted and continued to do so under the protective cover of the blanket.

Transfixed, it appeared to completely forget about XB’s presence until it stretched its bones with an uncomfortable crackle of stiff joints. During the movement, the outer edge of one appendage brushed the outer warm edge of XB’s leg.

Scout froze, flattening itself below the blanket. It stayed still, remembering XB’s proximity and presence.

XB smiled against his will, finding the entire experience oddly mystical to witness. It wasn’t often he had the honor to watch something so innocent.

“Hello,” XB whispered, voice even softer under Scout’s obvious stress and fear. He waited, looking directly ahead with no motion to readjust himself.

‘You’re okay,’ XB thought to himself, wetting his lips with anticipation, ‘come on…’

Slowly, Scout prodded his side again. The blanket operated as a barrier between them, a veil to disguise the exact texture of Scout’s appendage or limb but not the size and strength of it. XB thought it was too bony, too thin and frail from what he could feel on his outer thigh. 

“Hello,” XB repeated, voice slightly louder. Scout paused, then nudged him again.

It took actual effort to not celebrate the communication. Scout may not understand him, but it clearly had formed an association between XB’s voice and his greeting. XB clearly wasn’t an immediate threat, and with all people and sentient creatures, trust was the first step.

“I’m XB,” the man stated gently, looking straight forward. “You’re Scout, I’m XB.”

It waited, comprehending something behind the feathers and in its presumed brain (unless it was a slime, or a slime variant). It nudged him again, shifting below the feathers so its entire body adjusted. XB hoped it was comfortable now, resting however it preferred. XB repeated gently, “I’m XB, and you’re Scout.”

It nudged him slightly, withdrawing after a second. Then, it shifted in some odd way and prodded him hard.

It knocked XB over, kicking his legs out from under him. He collapsed to his side, startled by the sudden weight and force behind the shove. Scout flinched back, curling in on itself either in shame or surprise. XB blinked, then chuckled softly.

“Oh, you’re just a horse, aren’t you?” XB asked fondly, righting himself slowly, “you’ve got no idea how big you are!”

Scout waited, hesitating for some sort of reaction. Slowly, it relaxed back to the posture it was in before. The sudden jerk had shifted its blanket, forcing it to slide downwards from its head and upper set of wings, slowly sliding downwards.

XB kept his eyes averted, if Scout didn’t want him to look then XB surely wouldn’t. It was all about mutual respect, and Scout was learning just as much as XB was.

“I’ve been thinking about digging a tunnel by my base,” XB said softly, musing about his new business plans in the making, “either connecting some of the outer farms to my megabase, or somewhere close by. I think it would be quite nice to have a foot-path, don’t you think?”

And so, XB talked. 

Time rotated on its axis, distorted inside the gentle hazy space that was Scout’s enclosure. XB relaxed, at some point eating his dinner or lunch or whatever and however long it had been. Scout stayed there, adjusting and accommodating XB’s presence and personality the longer time stretched on.

Scout was struggling to understand, his brain operating sluggishly but with increasing efficiency. Things were coming quicker to him, thoughts reacting with less delay.

Remembrance came with its unwelcome rapture, bright and searing with knowledge of his crimes. There had been a number of them, but he was careful not to think too often in specifics of their titles and shapes and so many eyes. The given name was more than that: mere words elevated to description, words elevated to knowledge of what a thing was. All power resided in the giver of a name and a giver of words, without such a gift all things were a simple type and a simple herd of what was him and what wasn’t. 

Anonymous then, anonymous now. All things existed separate from him, or him. There was no distinction, no recognition or awareness beyond that of essentials. It had worked for him, it had ensured his survival in a place where no others could. 

He once knew them, but no longer remembered all the fine details. Who could possibly know all the right names for the vagueness of the world. Who knew the insufficient exact nouns and adjectives and structure that came with words. He didn’t want a better system, because systems required order and structure and the emergence of higher questions.

He was nameless now, because he had unnamed each thing he saw. He was not a name, but once he had been something. A Watcher, dedicated to a philosophy of watching, of inaction except for where action was necessary.

He didn’t want to remember words, he didn’t want to remember names and the stories he knew of others and the stories others told about him. One day, things would repeat his simple syllables, speaking an unknown cipher to a riddle lost to time. 

He had a past but in the present it was only him who remained, him and a human sitting beside him, draping him in a warm fabric with a kindness he could not remember.

It was another bad idea, trained into him although he had long since forgotten the original lesson. He knew there would be ramifications, an unwanted outcome but the important thing he knew was to simply not ask- to not let your needs be known.

Scout shifted with a single purposeful movement, arcing high and painfully against fabric. XB gasped a soft inhale of surprise, head rotating to observe in a facsimile of awe. Scout shuddered, contorting forwards and upwards. The human had been good to him, and what did it reward him? The human had been good to him, and it meant more precisely because it would reward him nothing.

“Oh,” XB whispered, struggling to assign a word or thought to the mindless observation of the thing before him. One by one, each element of the scene came into focus, the sharp angles of the room’s corner, the steady glow of lanterns below their bodies, the musky smell of body odor and fear, the filth of mud and decay between feathers and skin. This is what I am, its body said. This is where I have been.

XB breathed carefully, trying his hardest not to cry. There was comfort in familiarity and this was beyond that which XB knew. He watched as Scout shifted, wings and broken body on display with an aggressive ferocity of an animal posturing in its last moments. Do you see me? Scout seemed to ask, its torso lifting and wings folding. The woolen blanket slipped lower, draping across its lap and around its second and third set of wings across its lower back. 

It’s head was bowed, each vertebra protruding through its thin neck. Feathers wrapped around its skull, wings no larger than a grown man’s palm pressed flush to its face and eyes. At first, XB had thought they were bandages wrapped around its face, then he imagined it to be a laurel of flowers and purplish leaves. Each wing was no larger than that of a songbird, stretched and curved tightly to shadow its face and every feature. It sat, a bastardized humanoid body grafted with feathers and wings and bones.

“Hello,” XB whispered, voice tight and stressed. Anxiety thrummed through him, fear not for himself, but fear for the suffering the poor thing ultimately felt. How much pain did it feel? How long had it suffered in the damp and dark?

XB swallowed around the thickness in his throat, suddenly aware of how he felt close to crying. He repeated, “hello Scout,”

It arched forwards, humanoid arms trapped and bound to wings unnaturally, its fingers long and distorted like it had tried to remember the hands of a human but could no longer distinguish the fine details.

‘No,’ XB corrected himself, fighting against nausea, ‘not It. He.’

An undeniably male upper torso bowed oddly. The red blanket rested on his lap, but it was not all comfort as such pleasures were sacrificed for the decency of folding either his largest wings or relaxing his human arms. Scout wasn’t a mob, XB was certain of this. Scout had to be a corrected glitch, a broken bit of code trapped in an unlisted server.

“Hello,” XB repeated, gaining confidence. XB had to help, he had to help. 

XB reached one hand out, palm upwards. Scout stilled, motionless as XB looked at him as gently as he could. XB waited, feeling sweat roll down his back and the compression and tightness in his chest.

“Hello Scout,” XB whispered gently, wishing he would just take the hand offered. ‘Come on..’

Then, Scout moved. 

The wings across his head were individual joints. XB had thought stupidly that they were decorative somehow.

The feathers trembled, contractures fighting one another as ancient songbird wingbones shook themselves open. They opened upwards and outwards with vibrating strain across filthy matted hair and purple iridescent sheen. 

Memory didn’t require remembering to exist. Memory could wait dormant, metastasizing in silence. What he had forgotten might dismantle or appropriate what surrounded it. A mass of loaded neurons fired across gray matter, set off with a squelch of wet distortion and biofeedback until there appeared those nameless faces lost in the void, lost as from a great distance, he had stared helplessly into the world of their anguish, their screaming and begging for what had once been his name: Grian

“Hello,” XB breathed, gazing at the face of someone lost and forgotten for far too long.

Scout mimicked in a broken whisper: “hello”

Scout saying hello

Chapter Text

Rage was an excellent motivator. Pearl had come to learn that personally. 

Her terraforming was beginning to reach an end, her man-made mountain sculpted by her diligent eye and callused hand. Hours of backbreaking work left her sweating and sore, but it was better than the alternative.

Someone in the town of Boatem had clearly ratted on her unhealthy but impressive building prowess. Pearl was willing to bet money on it being Scar, since Impulse had faced her wrath once before and knew better than to challenge her.

(She realized quite early on that her house had been built…facing the wrong direction. One day filled with effort, spite, and a potentially herniated disc left Impulse thoroughly frightened.)

Pearl always imagined she was quite a generous host. She went so far as to always have fresh food on hand, comfortable pillows and a spare bed for anyone who needed it.

This of course required her guests to be invited in, which Stress and Iskall certainly were not at the moment.

Pearl stood at her door, one eyebrow twitching as Iskall peered around her home and her recent mountainous terraforming project with one of his well known hmmm. He pursed his lips, tapping his chin and squinting his biomechanical eye with little metal adjustments a bit like the gears of a small watch. Pearl wondered if his eye worked like a spyglass, or if it made that noise every time he looked at something at the end range of his vision.

“Aww, don’t look at us like that,” Stress said, tapping the end of her foot on the door, scuffing the floorboards shyly, “we’re worried about ya’!”

“Yes! We’re worried!” Iskall agreed, nodding fervently.

Pearl scoffed, shifting her weight to cock her hip pointedly. She tapped her elbow with one hand, trying to radiate as much hostility as she could.

“Aww, none of that now,” Stress said, seeing right through Pearl’s attempt quite easily, “I reckon you’re still mad ‘bout that Scout thing, yeah?”

Pearl scoffed, this time more than just for show. “Me? Upset? Well, maybe a tad bit. It’s not like me warning everyone about a server-destroying monster is important or anything!”

“Huh,” Iskall said, sharing a glance with Stress quite slowly, “so uh, yes. About that. Erm, have you… seen this Scout yet?”

Pearl glared. Iskall shifted to hide partially behind Stress, who stood strong and refused to bend under Pearl’s expression.

“I don’t thing we need that hostility here, missy!” Stress declared, reaching out to gently pat Pearl’s shoulder. The woman huffed, shaking her head until her flower crown shifted. “I know you’re upset! But I don’t want no misunderstandings here! Not allowed!”

Pearl floundered, jaw opening and closing before she made a wordless noise of frustration. She spun around, storming into her home but leaving the door open. Iskall and Stress followed, quite happy to help themselves to bits of bread on the table, set out for any guests.

“Ooh, this is delicious,” Iskall stated, lifting the half bit of lingering bread in his hand, “so! Scout is ah, a Watcher? Yes? That is what you called him?”

“Yeah, I’m confused about that,” Stress said, “is that a species? Like a hybrid?”

Pearl frowned, then sighed so heavily it shook her body. She said, “let me put the kettle on, then we can talk.”

In the time it took to gather the water and set it to boil, Pearl had the opportunity to dwell on what to say. There were plenty of things she knew, plenty of personal stories and experiences she could pull on. Admittedly, she had only mentioned a scant little of it to Xisuma in the past since it hadn’t been necessary. Even now, how important was her past compared to the general information of what Watchers were and their shared cruelty.

Stress and Iskall were her friends. She could trust them- it was her panic and neurosis acting up against the trauma she had experienced before. They did not deserve her hostility and misplaced aggression.

“Okay,” Pearl said, forcing her tight muscles to relax as she settled in her chair. She distributed the mugs of tea to her two friends, watching as Stress sniffed it with a poorly disguised wince. 

“So…” Iskall said, twirling the mug around for something to do. The whirring of his eye made Pearl smile slightly, the sound was vaguely grounding. 

“Watcher’s aren’t like Players,” Pearl explained quietly, hating the anxiety that came with discussing any sort of these topics, “they’re different. Like Admins, but more than that.”

“Oh, so a different species or something, yeah?” Stress asked, taking a brave sip of her tea, “I hadn’t heard of them before.”

“They’re not the friendly kind,” she said, “I’ve theoreized with a few others before, we think Watchers live between servers and the main hub.”

“Between servers?” Stress echoed, open surprise obvious.

Iskall leaned forward, speculation running wild in his head. The man had always been a creative innovative sort, not as technical as Doc but just as brilliant.

“A voidwalker?” Iskall theorized, tilting his head slightly as he thought. “No, its a species thing. Hmm, but they aren’t Admins, you said?”

“Different entirely,” Pearl confirmed, sighing quietly. “From what I was able to understand, they’re…similar to Admins, but can see information without a panel.”

“A spectator,” Iskall breathed, looking stunned, “they can spectate while corporeal?”

“I don’t understand a single thing ya two are sayin’.” Stress chirped happily, slyly pouring her tea into a potted plant near the table.

“Okay, so,” Iskall said, using both hands to gesture wildly, “imagine like, we are all potatoes.”

“Oh dear, I don’t want to be a spud!”

“We’re potatoes, Stress,” Iskall repeated, “except some of us are sweet potatoes, where we’re different and not the same but still potato-esq.”

“Xisuma is a sweet potato, I hear ya,” Stress said, nodding warily, “and these Watchers are ah, turnips?”

Pearl swallowed, unwilling to disrupt their theorizing. She hadn’t quite the heart to admit the horrible truth of what they had learned so quickly. She didn’t want to tell anyone, let alone her two friends ‘Hello, we think Watchers are created from Admins actually, not a different species entirely.’

No, she’d pass along her worries to Xisuma only. For now, she could at least let her friends know the threats.

“They actively toyed with us,” Pearl explained quietly, fiddling with her cup of tea, “created monuments overnight. Gave us gifts if we did well, spoke in riddles carved into bedrock.”

“Bedrock,” Iskall repeated, looking ill at the idea. 

“They weren’t kind creatures,” Pearl repeated, “they’re cruel and evil. They threatened to kill us all- and I have belief they could make it a permadeath.”

Iskall fidgeted, looking ill at the thought. Stress puffed her cheeks, letting it out with a threadbare whistle.

“Well, that’s ruddy mean innit?” she said with a finality to it that made Pearl wonder who would win in a fight against her. 

“A permadeath is no joke, Stress,” Iskall warned.

“Good thing I aint joking,” she stated, standing abruptly so she could place her hands on the table and lean her weight onto its surface dramatically, “if Scoutie is all so bloody dangerous, why don't we pay ‘em a visit?”

“Wha- now?” Iskall asked, blinking his one human eye quickly, “I ah, I mean sure! Yes! Omega idea!”

Pearl didn’t feel quite as excited as Stress. She normally felt safe, but now with the knowledge that a Watcher was here- she felt dread no distance could erase. She wondered if she would ever feel comfortable again.

“I want to talk with Xisuma again,” Pearl said. She had avoided the Admin since she originally stormed up and shouted herself blue. The man hadn’t given Scout as much caution as he should have, but Pearl knew better than to be petty when such a risk existed. It wasn’t Xisuma’s fault, he hadn’t ever encountered a Watcher before and didn’t understand how perilous they were. 

“Good!” Stress stated, beaming as she snatched a cookie off of Pearl’s counter and casually pet an alpaca wool pillow on a nearby couch. She paused, warily glancing at Pearl before she snatched the entire pillow itself to cram comedicaly into her tiny bag.

The three left Boatem on elytra and acrid gunpowder trailing behind them. They soared around the mountainous peak crafted by Bdubs that separated the western village of Boatem from that of the Big-Eye shopping district and harbor. Fluffy’s cave had been made with aesthetics in mind. This clearly had been translated across as the external walls of the cube had been renovated into something like a building. It still protruded oddly from the landscape, but not quite as unfinished or strange at first glance. Someone, potentially Keralis, had constructed a landing stretch along the coastline a very short jaunt from the cube itself. Atop its structure, a small redstone lamp designated that surveillance was in the works.

Pearl wondered just how complex the redstone wiring was. She wasn’t an expert, but the careful intricacies of all the various settings made her mind spin. Doc had helped design it, there was no way that it could possibly escape.

‘It can destroy bedrock,’ her mind whispered tortuously, ‘how do you know it isn’t simply playing with us?’

“Hello!” Stress yowled loudly, landing with a small stagger. Iskall yelped as she swerved last minute, nearly knocking him across the ground with one of her wings. “Whoops!”

Pearl landed quietly, trapped somewhere between simmering anger and dread. She didn’t know how to feel entering the cube. She didn’t want to.

“I heard that Falsie was here a while ago,” Stress shouted, jogging away from the two towards the buildings facade resembling something of a little Italian villa, “she said it was good! XB came too and they went in and had lunch!”

“They what?” Iskall yowled, but Stress had already bounded inside the main doorway. 

Pearl and Iskall followed, sharing a healthy amount of caution. The interior of the cube was clean and sanitary- end rods suspended horizontally in long strips across the hallways and towards the main viewing chamber. From what Pearl remembered before the cube had been remodeled for a long term habitation, there were two pathways. One went up to the observation room and controls for room manipulation and other settings. The other pathway descended through a number of chambers which allowed access into the room itself. Pearl knew which way she was going.

“Hello?” Stress shouted, her voice echoing down the hallways. A small noise of interest echoed before Stress hurried upwards to a familiar accent. By the time both Iskall and Pearl entered the observation room, they were watching Keralis and Stress end a hug and saw what had once been a lopsided knitting project on the floor.

“Oh Stress! You brought beautiful faces with you!” Keralis said, giving both Iskall and Pearl a flirtatious wink. He beckoned towards the control panel, some of which had buttons labeled in block letters in Bdub’s handwriting. “Are you here to see little Scoutie? The feather-sweater, the ah…the feather-friend!”

“It took you a while to get there,” Iskall teased with a small laugh, reaching out to clasp Keralis’ forearm in some sort of shared cultural greeting. Keralis giggled, wriggling all his fingers in Pearl’s direction. 

Pearl didn’t glance at him, her focus was intent on the tinted glass that allowed them to peer in but nothing to look the other way. She doubted it would work, Watchers could see far more than people presumed.

“Who has gone in there?” Pearl asked, her voice flat as she glanced over all the different options on the control panel- more light or reduced light. Observer setup to monitor movement patterns. A redstone dropper in one corner for a shower, another with food objects that hadn’t been provided yet.

What stood out was the thick red blanket draped heavily across the shaped body in the corner. The very thought of something under that blanket made her feel ill.

“Ah, Princess was in earlier!” Keralis said, swooning on his feet with a dreamy sigh, “it was magical! Just ah, magical! Princess has such a lovely touch, oh, truly to settle such a big sca-ary beast! Hehe!”

Pearl felt ice trickle down her spine, absolutely horrific to hear. She stared at Keralis, only faintly aware of her jaw dropping slightly. “XB touched it?”

“Mmhmm,” Keralis confirmed, nodding his head while pointing to the blanket inside the enclosure, “look! Scoutie has finally fallen asleep! Bdubs will be so happy, mmhmm!”

Iskall looked at Pearl worriedly, picking up on her distress. Awkwardly, the man asked, “i ah, I reckon that’s not a good thing?”

“Nobody has ever touched a Watcher,” Pearl said, feeling numb, “we thought they were partially incorporeal.”

“I never heard of a Spectator being able to touch things,” Iskall agreed, glancing to Stress who was fumbling through her shulker for something unknown. Iskall let his air out in a rush, rubbing his arm nervously. “Keralis, could you see if Xisuma is busy?”

“Sure! I can call Shashwammy,” Keralis chirped, fishing out his communicator clumsily, “watch the birdie, yes? Thank you, beautiful faces!”

The man left, leaving Stress still rummaging in her shulker and Iskall to examine the button control panel.

“It looks like there are speakers,” Iskall stated, pointing to one set of buttons, “if you want to question it, you can do so from here. I thought XB mentioned it could speak, but we had thought it was simply because of the wings.”

Pearl tried not to feel bitter when she asked: “you’ve been talking about it without including me?”

“We thought it made you uncomfortable,” Iskall said carefully, “and didn’t want to stress you out.”

Stress appeared from inside her shulker, crowing a sound of joyful success. In her hand she held a ratty stained towel and a dinged metal bucket. She held them aloft proudly, beaming so wide dimples pressed into her cheeks.

“That’s where I come in!” Stress stated confidently, swinging the bucket by its thin handle. She grinned at Pearl, clucking her tongue loudly. “You don’t get to worry a single little hair! Not when you’re in the presence of StressMonster!”

Iskall casually stepped to the side, avoiding Stress’ predictable arm movement as she swung both the towel and bucket forward- sloshing a bit of water from the bucket. Pearl hadn’t realized the bucket had been filled with faintly fragrant water- at least it was only partially full and not to the very top.

“Do you know a single thing about washing feathers?”

“Nope!” Stress cheered with a wink, slapping her shulker box with her toweled hand, “but I got a load of goodies here!”

“Wait, I’m not understanding,” Pearl said, anxiety pressing high on her diaphragm, “are you…going to go in there?”

“Well we can’t let little ole’ XB have all the fun!” Stress laughed, closing her shulker with a heavy smack. With a surprising amount of strength, she hoisted the purple box into the air under her armpit as the towel lodged itself near her front. “Wish me luck!”

“Bye!” Iskall cheered, busying himself as far as possible to avoid the imminent towel smack on his side. 

Pearl shook her head, making steps to chase the older woman. Iskall predicted this and snagged her arm with one callused hand, pointedly shaking his head. Pearl had half a heart to leave and chase Stress from where she vanished down the hallway- her singing echoing down the passageway. 

“I- Iskall please,” Pearl said, refusing to let the woman walk to her death, even if respawn was allowed on this server, “she- she’s going to get hurt-,”

“I don’t think you have enough faith in her,” Iskall said, his voice still lighthearted. He searched for Pearl’s face, maintaining eye contact with a steady honest smile, “it’s okay, Pearl. Just watch, please?”

Pearl shook her head, her hair stinging from where it whipped against her neck. Iskall’s grip tightened, not painful but a stark reminder. “Pearl, we’ve all come from different servers. Have trust in your fellow Hermits.”

Pearl swallowed thickly, her eyesight breaking to watch in horror as the main containment cell clicked and opened. If there was an air seal, she couldn’t hear it. 

Iskall gave her one last look before he released her arm to press on an unassuming acacia wood button. Something clicked, then the sound of Stress’ loud happy whistling echoed around them in a comforting tune. Pearl watched as the woman walked into the room, setting her bucket on the ground with a loud clatter and her shulker onto the floor sea lanterns. 

“Well!” She said, only minor distortion warping her voice through the speaker system someone had figured out, “look at this mess! No no! This won’t do at all!”

“She’s going to get herself killed,” Pearl bemoaned quietly, unable to look away from the inevitable tragedy. 

“No she isn’t,” Iskall stated firmly, “there have been a number of hermits that went in there before. XB went in once, so did Keralis and Xisuma. I almost went in but something came up. Stress is the closest thing we have to a medic on the server.”

“You planned this,” Pearl accused.

Iskall shrugged his shoulders, not looking as sheepish as he should feel, “just a bit. Xisuma and I talked, and you’re the only one that actually knows anything about Watchers beyond those weird stuffy old books Xisuma keeps in his super secret Admin inventory. It’s a bit easier to just show you that Scout isn’t hostile than it is to try and let you open up on your own.”

Inside the containment room, Stress was singing something with her thick accent, sorting out a pile of clean white towels and old rags. Bars of flower soap were sorted, pressed into geometric shapes and crumbling a bit that designated their handmade quality rather than server import. Balls of felted wool were set next to her pile of cleaning products, sometimes used in showers instead of scrub brushes.

“Alrighty mister feathers!” Stress shouted, her accent transforming the vowels and consonants into something like “awrigh’ Meesta’ Feathah!” . She placed her hands on her hips,  puffing the bangs that spread over her forehead out of her sight, “time to get you all cleaned up!”

Pearl steadied her breathing. She felt her heart rate spike into something loud, the slight hue of grey tinting her vision that came with elevated blood pressure and the normal stress response. She tried to compose herself, ready herself with what she knew would haunt her. She turned her gaze away from Stress and looked to the corner of the room where the Watcher hid.

It wrapped itself in a red felted blanket, heavily worn and thickly woven. The red dye was deeper than poppy, something made personally with a combination of squid ink and crimson roses or something else entirely. It had been gifted, clearly loved and freely given, which made Pearl feel an uncomfortable emotion.

The Watcher was not obviously seen. There were no purple particles or hazing fog that accompanied bedrock in Pearl’s memory. There was nothing besides the confusing shape and broken feathers littering the floor that designated the creature as her worst fears. It could have, to any other person, been a mob trapped below the fabric.

“Hello!” Stress said again, approaching with heavy steps in her boots. Water sloshed a bit, sending suds across the ground which captured bits of dust and downy sweeping them aside. “I’m gonna give you a bath!”

It trembled at her approach, vibrating little movements as she whistled her jaunty tune. Clasping the blanket, Stress pulled it away to a different corner with hardly a care. Iskall had remarked once that Stress was the worst hermit to have knocking at your doorstep in the morning, namely because she had an affinity for dragging you out of bed by your ankle.

“X just messaged me,” Iskall said in a low murmur, trying to comfort Pearl in some way, “he’s on his way. He just wants to talk, if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah,” Pearl agreed, feeling dizzy. Iskall offered her a chair, which she accepted.

Stress hummed, folding the blanket to the side. She promised to return it after it was cleaned, offering a different blanket but only after he cleaned.

Scout shook, frozen under the gaze of so many eyes. The limbs were askew and messy, clumsily folded and awkwardly shaped. From what Pearl remembered, it almost looked stranger now- with little songbird wings sprouting from larger joints like a budding tree. Bones with an obvious origin and insertion were diverging into little prepubescent offshoots, feathers of different sizes and shapes opening and closing where they hadn’t existed before.

“It changed,” Iskall said, verbalizing Pearl’s own observations, “well…that’s interesting.”

“Watcher’s don’t have physical forms,” Pearl stated absentmindedly, trying to study the creature better, “or we had thought that.”

“Hmm,” Iskall said, pulling a spyglass from his pocket to peer closer to the creature. He did so for a few moments, zooming in and out before he drew it away and said fairly confidently:  “so…these Watchers…they’re scary,  no?”

“Horrifying,” Pearl agreed.

“Hmm,” Iskall said. He passed her his spyglass with a knowing expression and said casually: “well, your big scary Watcher has fleas.”

“What?” Pearl asked, choking on the sharp inhale. Saliva trapped itself in her throat, struggling past her epiglottis into her trachea. She coughed until her eyes watered, then coughed for good measure. By the time she recovered, Stress was dumping a bucket of sudsy water on the largest of the feathered appendages and standing aside as the residue washed away in dark brown and red grime. Pearl couldn’t see the fleas, but she could see the trademark bloody water which always accompanied fleas and ticks and others parasites trapped on animals.

“Seems a bit…unhygienic, for a big powerful species to get parasites,” Iskall said pointedly, “and to be so afraid of simple little players. No?”

Pearl’s arms felt cool, her hands tingling from the lack of air or the level of adrenaline in her body. This didn’t make sense- none of it did. 

Watchers were terrifying. They were faceless hideous creatures that toyed with people for their own sick amusement. They influenced them towards darker decisions, dragged them to conclusions and watched the chaos that ultimately unfolded.

“I don’t understand,” Pearl said, hearing her voice but wondering if it was a stranger saying it. “None of this…it doesn’t make sense.”

“We were wondering about that too,” Iskall said cheerily. He took her hand, squeezing it gently in his. The touch was welcoming, grounding in a sense. “We just want to talk and figure out what’s going on.”

Stress sang a happy tune, whistling loud yet gentle. She rolled her sleeves high, securing them around her freckled forearms. Setting the bucket on the ground, she drew a floor broom from her shulker and set it to the side with a satisfied huff.

“Okay mister feathers!” she said, fishing a large wet sponge attached to a bamboo stick. “I’m gonna sponge ya’ now! Like a little ole sponge bath but with less water!”

Stress approached with no regard for her personal safety. She reached out, poking the largest wing with the wet sponge. 

Scout bristled, the enormous wing curling tighter. It reminded Iskall of a large mollusk, perturbed by something poking it. Scout was as active as a clam, or maybe an oyster.

“D’aww, don’t be like that,” Stress said, approaching to gently rub the sodden sponge on the wing again. It shuddered, pulling tighter inwards away from her touch.

“You’re a cranky fella,” she scolded, setting the sponge aside. She didn’t miss the grey stain spreading on the yellow surface, dirt adhered from however long it had lived below the ground. Stress said, “just a little more! Gotta get you all clean before you can take a nap!”

Scout bristled, the upper smaller wings flapped oddly, jerking with neurologic reflex. Their odd ataxic jerking settled once Stress clucked at it, tossing a wet towel across the closest enormous wing.

From what Stress could comprehend, Scout consisted of multiple odd appendages with feathery offshoots which sprouted from its main body. She had heard that Scout had three main sets- the outer largest wings somehow integrated into its humanoid arms, a secondary set where an elytra would fit, and a third set of wings awkwardly located towards its rear end.

It was difficult to differentiate one pair of wings from the others based only on the flared filthy vanes. Stress assumed she was working on the main set, the right one since the feathers arched that direction.

“You’re filthy, aren’t ya?” Stress hummed, dragging the towel off to flop with a squelch on the floor. It was disgusting, as expected, but she had brought plenty of towels. She dunked the towel into the water, wringing it out before she threw it over the wing.

Scout made a noise, not quite a chuff but something distressed  and miserable. Stress knew the rumble of an angry hoglin, the grunting of a charging ravager. Scout uttered a sound not unlike a chicken ruffled and annoyed at being carried away from a delicious meal.

“Oh, you big baby,” Stress cooed, stepping yet closer to manually drag the towel down the feathers, then starting at the top of the larger covert feathers to drag down with the direction of the feathers. Dirt flaked off in caked on chunks, mud peeling away from the fragile broken vanes. Bits of gravel slid free from the base of the feathers, trapped against the origin of quill to skin. Stress was loath to admit that Scout smelled of mildew and detritus. It wasn’t a good smell, but she was an expert in herding cats and unwieldy patients.

“No you don’t!” she teased gently, using her palm to gently press the entire limb lower. It had started to creep upwards, elevating like a tent to try and hide from a different vantage.

Scout made another noise, not bird but not not bird. 

“Oh stop it,” she scolded, sweeping the towel down once more. Sand slid free from between the feathers, shockingly obvious on the sea lanturn floor. Bits of moss peeled away from one feather, looking old and dried out. Stress sighed at it, feeling terribly sad for such a miserable creature.

“Alright, you’ve got six wings, mister,” Stress said softly, using one hand to grasp the top of the enormous wing and tug it down. It followed her movement, shifting in her grip obediently to flatten downward. More feathers were exposed, matted with dirt and clay. She picked out the obvious bits, tossing aside disgusting things with a careful steady hand. It would take hours at this rate, but she had a willing hand.

“Iskall!” she shouted, waving one slimy hand towards the observation wall. Smiling widely, she teased, “I need your expertise here!”

Four hands were better than two, but six wings were overwhelming. Scout wasn’t entirely compliant, often jerking away like a timid scared dog. Iskall spoke in a gentle voice, keeping a constant commentary which helped somewhat. When either Stress or Iskall stopped speaking, the feathers rose and bristled strangely. A few gentle words had Scout settling once more.

It was easy to see how this scared creature was the cryptid of the Boatem Hole. It was painfully shy, curling away with more quiet frightened noises at each stroke. Feathers were realigned with Stress’ nimble fingers. Fleas leapt free as potions were applied to rags and fumigated the pests hiding below the feathers. Ticks, increasingly rare, were plucked with pliers as Iskall prattled on about his new plans for the mountains.

“Aww, you’re a big softie,” Stress cooed, plucking more broken feathers away from ill looking skin. Scout shuddered as she moved its enormous wing, patches of rotten feathers cut carefully with shears. The creature was miserable, but somehow relaxing in their presence.

“Can you pull this one back?” Stress asked, using her forearm to try and lift the main wing. She said: “there was something white under here, I wanna see if there's any fungus in all this muck.”

“Mmm,” Iskall hummed, trying to coax the large wing to lift. The outer pin feathers, torn beyond recognition, opened and closed with rhythmic muscle undulation, struggling with an internal conflict. The wing lifted under Iskall’s relentless prodding, the creature rattling a quiet groan or a small sad whimper.

“Ahah!” Stress said, snatching a soapy rag from their limited supply of clean water. She ducked down, one feather knocking a flower from her hair. “Gotcha! I see ya!”

The main door opened, a gentle steady greeting had Iskall chirping a hello.

“Hello!” Stress chimed, ducking onto her knees to try and wriggle below the massive limb. “Don’t mind me! Just cleaning some stuff!”

“Stress…” Pearl said, having accompanied Xisuma inside the chamber. “I…I really don’t…”

“Aww, Scoutie’s just a big softie!” Stress said, giggling slightly as the big wing in question flared and readjusted with weird muscle movements, potentially recognizing its name.

Pearl didn’t look so sure, trying to stay as far away as possible. Xisuma had less caution, approaching with his thick protective armour. He observed Scout, eying the parasites and dirt littering the floor. He frowned at the sight, displeased by the poor state of their one-friend.

Xisuma cleared his throat, the noise filtering through his speakers in a odd garbled mess. Scout bristled, one of the smaller wings no larger than a canary flapped near the peak of the winged mass.

“Hello Scout,”  Xisuma stated. “My name is Xisuma, I am the admin of this server we have named Hermitcraft.”

Scout did not react to the words, merely the tone of voice. It shifted away from him, as reactive as a cod fish trapped in a small bucket.

Xisuma tilted his head slightly, his visor no longer parallel to the box’s floor. He repeated in a loud clear voice: “Hello Scout, my name is Xisuma.”

Scout did not respond, the various wings fluttering slightly as the large external wing tried to curl inwards protectively. Stressmonster, now on her back to slide under the lowest feathers and reach the underside of the wing, swatted the appendage with her filthy rag. 

“Oi! I’m still down here ya big ball of fluff!” she scolded gently, using one of her legs to try and nudge the appendage outwards again and not trap her inside the multiple layers. Scout shuddered, puffing with a quiet alarmed noise not unlike a hedgehog.

Xisuma hummed quietly, contemplating the situation. He turned, glancing at Pearl and asked more serious than she was used to seeing the admin. “These Watchers, how did they communicate with you?”

Pearl flinched, taken aback by the blunt question. The admin had previously ignored all of her warnings of the creatures, something must have changed. 

“I- they wrote,” Pearl said with a shudder. “Not like our communicators, there…there was some sort of…I don’t know. It was almost like a text-to-voice, but they weren’t ever truly present.”

“Oh?” Iskall asked, keenly interested by that source of information. “XB mentioned that Scout directly parroted him, enough that we figured it had vocal chords.”

Xisuma nodded slowly, eying the creature with a sharp eye. “It’s possible. There’s a function that admins have but rarely use- it’s more to communicate with other code-viewers. It wouldn’t be unlike that, but regular players were never made to hear it.”

“It wasn’t exactly pleasant,” Pearl remembered.

Stressmonster wriggled her way further, giggling slightly to herself. She krept further into the ball of feathers, alarming the creature as its rear set flared and flapped frantically, stirring dust and bits of debris from where it had lodged itself. Stress kept giggling, the creature chuffing loud and anxious as it moved backwards, attempting to somehow escape her presence as she squirmed quite towards the belly of the beast.

“Stress!” Xisuma said loudly, grasping her barely-seen ankle. With one movement of considerable strength, the admin pulled her from below the creature with one swift tug. She squealed, hair flying behind her as she dragged across the ground in a trail of dirt.

“It isn’t polite to go looking between people’s legs,” Xisuma scolded her gently, keeping his eyes locked on Scout. 

“Yeah Stress,” Iskall teased, helping her up. His eye whirred, watching Scout finally close and curl in on itself miserably, if only slightly cleaner. 

“I’m actually here because I heard a word from Etho,” Xisuma explained, finally stepping back. The admin contorted his hands, moving them through a series of graceful arcs and movements to manipulate something invisible to the rest of them. Pearl knew about the admin panel and console commands, she had once known a dear friend who could do the same.

“Oh? What’s that lousy man up to?” Iskall asked. “I hadn’t seen him at home before I left.”

“That’s because he’s been in the End,” Xisuma explained, “we had a theory of course. End-dwellers and void-walkers view the world through a different light spectrum. Etho had speculated that underground, Scout may have been using a similar approach.”

“Ultraviolet light?” Iskall guessed, his frown heard in his tone of voice. “You really think that bringing in some raw End-rods will show us something?”

“It’s worth a try. I reached out to a few sources off-server. Nobody has ever actually seen  a Watcher outside of specific environments, and even then reports are rare.”

‘Reports only came from Evo,’ Pearl wanted to say.

“He should be arriving in a short while,” Xisuma explained, smiling to Stress and her dirty appearance, “thank you so much for giving our friend a bath.”

“D’aww, it was nothing much,” Stress said with a shy grin. She tapped her foot, scuffing the wet mud with her shoe, “he’s still pretty filthy. I reckon a good dunk in a river might do the trick!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Xisuma said.

When Etho returned, he had a canvas bag secured tightly to protect the naturally flimsy End-rods in their natural state. Normally, hermits transported the thin core and manufactured it into their standard light source. Like this, the rods were fragile and more likely to start an open fire or break in transport. The man had a clear suspicion that Pearl was reluctant and curious to see.

“Alright, happy campers,” Etho greeted them, setting the satchel down with a careful hand. He eyed the small crowd, blinking lazily with the ease of a predator.

Iskall and Stress had left, letting Mumbo know that their mission was successful for dragging Pearl out of her home. With Pearl and Xisuma actually talking again, Mumbo found the need to play mediator between the two in case the more zesty Boatem resident started shouting once more. Pearl was a gentle heart, but she had a streak of rebellion brighter than a pink sheep.

Etho had nothing against the suit wearing man, in fact they often got along quite well when they weren’t breaking servers or causing enough lag for the world to cease functioning. It always happened at least twice a year, afterall.

“So, these are raw End-rods,” Etho explained, glancing at Pearl with the slightest bit of wary caution. He tapped on the cold light, slightly violet even under the synthetic manufactured end-rods they had lit the box with. “They’re fragile, and use ultraviolet light rather than how we harness them. If yours breaks, let it drop and it’ll run out eventually. Otherwise it’ll burn you. Any questions?”

“Er, yes,” Mumbo said, raising his hand for extra emphasis. “What…er…what exactly are we looking for?”

“Anything different,” Etho said simply. He glanced at Xisuma, blinking slowly. He asked, “are you coming in too?”

“No, I’ll operate the light system from out here,” Xisuma explained. He paused, glancing at Pearl before elaborating: “it’s safer as well. I’d rather be outside so I can secure the box if anything happens. I’ll construct a barrier in the worst case.”

“Sure thing,” Etho assured, swiftly dispersing the rods with the ease of a born fighter. Mumbo held his awkwardly, alternating between a loose grip like a lever and a two handed hold like a sword.

“Oh, and don’t attack it,” Etho said to Pearl a bit insensitively. She bristled, opening her mouth to argue. He lifted one hand, closing both eyes tiredly before he explained: “we don’t know how it works with respawn. I know you may not like it, just leave it if it really bothers you.”

“You’re being a big jerk,” she said between grit teeth.

“Sure am,” he agreed, nodding towards Xisuma who spun and advanced to the main control panel. Mumbo gulped, lifting his end rod nervously to his face. On his clothes, the white of his undershirt glowed a bright blue.

They entered the box. Etho secured the perimeter, avoiding the dried dirt patches and held one fist aloft. 

“You ready?” he asked, checking both Pearl and Mumbo lazily. Pearl scowled, Mumbo gulped.

Etho opened his hand, nodding and lowering his arm in a clear signal. Slowly, the ground vibrated. Pistons clanked, shifting heavily as mechanisms rumbled to lift. The ground moved, all three hermits held steady as vertigo threatened to knock them sideways. Scout was the unfortunate flaw in their experience, the great creature flapped and opened wings with a swirl of dazed disorientation. Too quick for the three to actually see, the creature moved about, stumbling and swaying on four legs or in a hunched position. It smashed against the wall- also moving as the sea lanturn floor recessed into the wall and dark blackstone took its place. The light level dropped, Scout was flung again into the moving floor as it struggled to stay upright, heavy wings smacking into the ground with a limp heavy noise. 

Mumbo winced, holding his light tighter. Steadily, the haze of blue and purple began to grow. Colours shifted, fading into alternate brightened or darkened hues. Pearl’s brown hair looked close to black, her teeth a vibrant blue. Mumbo watched his tie transition to a soft violet glow, his nailbeds closer to cyan.

“You two alright?” Etho asked, rotating his neck to glance over his shoulder. His hair looked like the colour of swamp orchids. His eye, synthetic redstone shone the brightest. Brighter than any light, it pierced through them in a fluorescent pink with thin alternating rings of violet and magenta. Mumbo had never understood just how complex the man’s eye was, but here it was practically a beacon with unknown effects.

It shifted with no sound. Mumbo watched, transfixed and awed as the thin rings of pink and red modified themselves as the man presumably accessed a different mechanism within the organic creation. 

“Oh that- that’s brilliant,” Mumbo whispered, leaning closer. Etho jerked back, misunderstanding the situation by the sudden unexpected blush on his cheekbones.

“We’re here on a mission,” Pearl grumbled, ignoring the odd embarrassing story that Etho would certainly tell Doc later.

Scout was difficult to see, dark and hidden in the corner. They approached with the lights held high, scanning the ground. The feathers weren’t glowing, nothing unusual stood out to Etho. 

“Hello?” Mumbo asked, his voice a squeak. They ventured closer, wary of any unexpected movements. “Scout? It’s erm, well uh, it’s me? Mumbo? The… uh, you know?”

“Scout?” Etho asked, his voice clear and sharp. The creature shuddered, a small flash of purple and blue catching their eye. It was on its wing somewhere, moving out of sight below the various feathers.

“Scout,” Pearl said sharply. She held her ground, lifting the light to poke it like one would with a weapon. “Look at us. I know you’re a Watcher. Look at us. Look at us!”

“Pearl-,” Etho muttered, ready to take her rod away. They had no intention of hurting the creature, only investigating it.

“Look at us!” she demanded, prodding it brutally with the rod.

Scout flinched away, opening the outer wing in a clumsy sweep. It failed to do more than knock Mumbo back, the thin beanpole he is. Etho braced it, catching the wing with one hand to push it up. Overbalanced, Scout made a strange guttural sound as it stumbled forward, an entire humanoid arm trapped as it lifted with the now caught wing.

“It’s attached,” Etho realized, now only an arms length away from the crude fusion of bone and bone. The hand was undeniably human- or it once was. Now the joints were unlike anything Etho had ever seen.

“Let him go!” Mumbo yelped, ducking under the flapping limbs. “Don’t- don’t hurt him!”

“It’s a Watcher!” Pearl shouted back, holding the rod like a baton. “Open your eyes already!”

“Pearl! Stop it,” Etho ordered, trying to calm the increasingly stressed creature. “We aren’t here to do anything-.”

Pearl said something, then pressed her baton close to a section of lighter texture Etho and Mumbo suspected to be the actual body of the creature. There was a mimicry of ribs, thin and emaciated and roughly humanoid in a forward pained curl. The cold rod pressed against a junction that may have been it’s armpit or upper torso, held open by Etho’s grip on the wing.

“Look at me!” Pearl demanded it, pressing the rod into the creature’s weak open side. She demanded: “ watch!”

The first eye was no larger than a thumb, sliding open from a violet crescent on the underside of the wing. It arced slowly, pupil the size of a sweetberry gazing directly at the rod pressed into its side. It blinked slowly, lacking eyelashes before the dull simple eye rolled upwards with sentience and met Pearl.

She flinched away, dropping the rod against the ground. Fluid oozed out, bright and uncontained with the heavy light of glow squid ink. It burned upwards, brighter than the rods but shorter living. Where Pearl had touched the torso spread small arcs of light. More grew, contagious like a sickly disease.

Crescents appeared like thin lines of a pen, drawn in small swoops and pinprick dots. Pupils blinked, some oval and others reflecting with hues of cactus green. One eye with a horizontal purple pupil blinked like a goat to Mumbo, appearing on the wing itself.

“Bloody hell,” Mumbo gasped, stumbling backwards. Etho dropped the wing as if burned when along the top of the wing an eye opened as great as a cocoa bean pod. The feathers lifted with it, unveiling a feathered eyelid over a sentient dumb gaze.

“Get back,” Etho warned both Pearl and Mumbo, drawing a small knife from his side. The eyes continued to spread, covering the creature along the tops of its wings and all along the sensitive insides. 

“I told you,” Pearl said, indignant rage vanished. Horror and open fear replaced it. “They watch, they just watch you…”

“Oh for- are those spider eyes?” Mumbo asked, his voice turning high and shrill. More eyes appeared on the lowest bit of the wing, now open to look at the three with eyes invisible except under ultraviolet light. “Oh this is- well, this is a bit disgusting, isn’t it?”

Pearl trembled. She exhaled, her voice verging slightly to a retch. With a new noise drawing Scout’s attention, every single eye rotated to stare directly at her.

“I- I can’t-,” she slurred between the starts of a panic attack. She turned, sprinting towards the door and vanished outside into brighter light.

Etho resisted the similar sensation that crawled on his back. It wasn’t unlike the initial sense of panic he felt, the weird sensation of being seen. It pulled on him, made his legs tremble as fear overrode his rational brain. Etho was better than this, but under such a sensation he felt as young as a child again. 

Etho had faced many things. He stared into a shapeless thing with a thousand blinking eyes, and wondered if he had dared to go too far.

“Oh this is- this is ridiculous!” Mumbo said, jerking his shoulders a bit through a shudder. “Stop looking at us like that! I mean- you’ve got eyes. Why can’t you just…look away? In a different area? Oh come on, surely you don’t need all of those!”

Etho flinched as Scout moved, pulling the wing tighter. It was no longer as spherical as before, there was an undeniable torso under there, an arm and a ribcage from what they had seen. Etho imagined that the creature was looking at them with its head- he dared not think of what facial features it had if there were so many eyes in different places.

“Yes yes, I can see you and you can most definitely see me,” Mumbo continued to babble, “can you err…am I talking to a brick wall right now? Oh I am certainly just babbling towards a brick wall right now.”

Summoned like a miracle, the outer speakers clicked on with the slightest hiss of static. Xisuma spoke with a twice gargled speaker system, still cohesive in the partially dark room. “Actually, I was checking out the code. There’s an error in the language system. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Oh, well that makes this all easier. Or much worse,” said Mumbo. The man cowered next to Etho, nudging him with one shoulder as he asked: “That’s going to make this much worse, isn’t it?”

“It may be the main error we’ve had with communication,” Xisuma explained, doing something…somewhere.

Etho wondered if they were going too far. Modifying code was one step in a direction Etho never went. He never dared- he hadn’t been born with the talent but had found ways to see it, even after all this time. Language was a tricky setting, if broken or corrupted it inhibited all areas to learn. Language made little sense, even with years of training.

Scout hadn’t been the most physically active since in the box. The moment Xisuma activated or modified whatever invisible code data the poor creature had, the thing thrashed.

It moved with a high rattling wail. Its wings opened, a dozen eyes, a hundred eyes, a thousand eyes all flared open in a see of blinking rippling sight. Mumbo felt nausea lift in his stomach, nausea twisting until Etho had to steady him with one arm. Vertigo struck, both men struggling to stay standing as the creature moved in crooked twisting movements, wailing loud an echoing piercing sound. It wasn’t something they heard, but something they felt in their brain which burned under a molten heat. The touch of magma, of soul fire and the aching throb of packed ice.

Etho watched it writhe, eyes fluttering and flaring through agony and shock. Etho thought, 'Is this how it looks to watch a god die?'

“Move!” Etho roared, shoving Mumbo outside the box as Xisuma cranked a button or lever to manually override the blackstone floor. Sea lanterns opened, the blinding light causing the invisible eyes to shudder close. Etho scrambled through, collapsing to his knees as he vomited across the floor of the air lock.

“Bollocks,” Mumbo cursed, sweat dripping down his face into his damp neckline. “What- what on Earth…”

Pearl slammed open the door, standing in the open frame. She looked disgusted, horrified and sick at what they had unfortunately stumbled across.

“ That,” she said with a reluctant confidence, “was a Watcher.”

Scout was different after overriding whatever block or virus it had experienced.

Xisuma tried to explain it the best he could, stating that all living creatures required ‘patches’ when viruses or problems occured. Every person would develop them over time, but it took guidance and regular scans to notice and repair them. A glitch or virus impacting the very aspect of communication and language was one so severe, Xisuma hadn’t thought it was possible. Yet, Scout had apparently been unknowingly mute and blind to everything they had done. It had been restricted, forced to be docile and stupid through a source of malicious compliance. How do you think if not in words? How can you form an identity, if you were unable to have rational thoughts at all?

Xisuma had called it barbaric, a cruel intentional move by some unknown source. There were remnants of code imposing the glitch in the first place, corroded and aged in time. Potentially a backup plan in the even a Watcher fell through the cracks. A system in place to prevent such a supposedly powerful race from being accessed by players. Xisuma declared it inhumane, and Mumbo was in sharp agreement with it.

Word had spread that whatever Scout was, his previous state was that or dormancy. He was as simple as a mob, gentle like a cow that had awoken to realize it was a dragon. Word spread to stay back until Xisuma had explored it in depth. Mumbo of course didn’t agree with a lot of rules, namely those about lag and the limits on his machinery- but this was different! Surely Xisuma would notice that?

Sneaking into the box was much easier when it was Keralis on watch. Keralis did not agree entirely with disobeying Xisuma’s strict words, but Mumbo could persuade the man into letting him in for a tiny while. XB had been safe inside, and Keralis knew Mumbo would never do anything to hurt such a sweet creature. Mumbo entered the box, trying hard not to shake as he stepped inside. The dirt had not been washed away. Food was being pushed into the box through a new small flap in the floor. 

‘Xisuma calls what he found inhumane,’ Mumbo thought sadly, ‘but isn’t this also?’

“Er, Scout?” Mumbo asked quietly, shifting his weight awkwardly. He hadn’t brought a blanket or anything of interest- unless Scout had a sharp affinity for pushing buttons, but hopefully a nice conversation wouldn’t be too much.

Scout shuddered in the corner, facing the wall. The longer wings towards the back rustled slightly, shifting on the floor with a visible sign of having heard him.

“Hello, I erm…my name is Mumbo,” he said, introducing himself awkwardly. “Well, it’s erm…MumboJumbo, but you can call me Mumbo. I’m not sure if you remember me- and it’s fine if you don't! It’s not a problem, it would be rather rude of me if it were a problem, mind you, but I just thought…yeah…”

It shuddered, shifting slightly. It was hard to tell, but Mumbo had the strange impression Scout had turned to look at him over it’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Mumbo meekly repeated, waving one hand. “I uh, I wanted to come say hello.”

Impossibly, terrifyingly, Scout shifted once more and said in a raspy vague mimic of Mumbo’s voice, “hello.”

Mumbo jumped, jaw fluttering as he struggled to think of what to say. Stupidly, Mumbo repeated, “hello.”

Scout shuffled, wings posed and moving strangely. It rotated weirdly, hundreds of feathers brushing the floor and dust. Mumbo remembered the odd junction of the creature’s arm and wing, he wondered if it moved like that out of necessity instead of natural choice.

“I was wondering if you wanted to talk,” Mumbo asked nervously. “I mean, I can talk if you’d like and you can just…listen?”

Scout shuffled, tilting the rough proximity of its head as it settled. On its front legs, or arms, or things. It looked at Mumbo with less eyes according to the unsettling sensation of being seen. Mumbo fumbled, unsure of what to say or do.

“I…my name is Mumbo…”

“ Hello,” Scout whispered in that odd echoing voice, rattling around in a mimic yet with a tone somewhat masculine.

“Hi,” Mumbo repeated, laughing a bit at the oddity of the entire situation. He wrung his hands, wondering if he should take a seat or offer his hand. It felt a bit rude to keep standing. He said: “I uh, I’m from Boatem. Which is the village that you lived under- or the uh, the place you were before we came! We uh, we have the hole! That you helped make, I think? Erm, thank you…for that…”

It made no noise, but Mumbo had an odd gut feeling that Scout was laughing at him.

“Anyways,” Mumbo said, chuckling to himself. “It’s…It’s really nice to meet you. I mean, you’ve known about us but…well…Xisuma thinks you’re dangerous. And Pearl- my friend Pearlescentmoon, she thinks…I’m not sure. She’s really quite nice, I promise…but…well…I just wanted to let you know you're not alone anymore.”

Scout froze, sighing a hoarse pained rattle. It shifted, dragging itself forward. The hair on Mumbo’s arms stood on end, his anxiety jolted but he forced himself to stay still. He trusted Scout, even when others hadn’t.

“It’s okay,” Mumbo said out loud, mostly for himself. “You’re totally fine here.”

Scout dragged itself slightly closer, shying away. Then it spoke again a single word, masked in a question with tentative hope: “...alone?”

“No no, not that, certainly not that,” Mumbo told him quickly. “I mean, there’s plenty of us here now. Once they realize you aren’t scary or dangerous, you’ll be let out. I’d love to show you what we’ve made right above that dim cave of yours, I mean it uh, it’s a lovely cave…”

“T-tell…” it rasped, gasping, pained and desperate. Its wings flared, the largest one opening just as it had before Mumbo saw what he should not. It was bright inside the room, but the impression of eyes were still there. Invisible except suddenly they were not. Bright and purple, they burned in Mumbo’s eyes like activated redstone, dangerous and threatening. They looked at him, and Mumbo thought: ‘oh, he must be so sad.’

“Hey, it’s alright,” Mumbo said to him, reaching one hand out without thinking anything of it. “You’re alright here, take your time.”

“Tell…tell again…” it rasped frantically, “I…p-please…”

“Oh you must have been so afraid,” Mumbo whispered, reaching out with one open palm. Scout shuddered, wings moving and eyes blinking with tears of a scared lonely thing. And then Scout in turn, reached out. He stretched one hand from below the feathers, askew and crooked from disease and damage all uniquely named and painful to recall: dupuytren’s contracture, wartenberg’s sign.

“Tell me.” he said, a hundred eyes dark and fervent, “say it again.”

And Mumbo knew what it was so desperate to hear. What knowledge it was too afraid to accept and hurt enough to want to trust. Mumbo reached out, gently touching the withered skin and held the hand of a tired man.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Mumbo said gently, holding one hand in his, “you’re alright now. You’re not alone anymore.”

Chapter Text

Xisuma had thought long and hard about the situation plaguing the Hermitcraft server. Grudgingly, he had to admit, he had been quite selfish with his treatment of it.

The server was his responsibility, yes. He had stepped up to the mantle and claimed it proudly, operating as the server’s single Admin. That didn’t mean he was the only admin present- there were others dotted through the server with different level skills. Some were born with the console abilities in their very coding, others acquired it through modification and other means. 

Xisuma was the groundskeeper, but he was not the one left to make all decisions. He may have more expertise than others since he preferred to tend to the server glitches and occasional bugs, but that didn’t mean his word was final.

</message: hermit:all>

< This message includes: [BdoubleO100][Cubfan135] [Docm77] [EthosLab] [FalseSymmetry] [GeminiTay] [GoodTimesWithScar] [Hypnotizd] [iJevin] [ImpulseSV] [Iskall85] [JoeHills] [Keralis] [MumboJumbo] [PearlescentMoon] [Rendog] [Stressmonster101] [TangoTek] [TinFoilChef] [VintageBeef] [Welsknight] [xBCrafted] [Zedaph] [ZombieCleo] continue y/n>

</ y>

<Please type message contents>

Xisuma sighed, leaning back on his chair. He knew about Watchers, but only in old stories. He hadn’t paid much attention to things that lurked in the void and further- that was beyond the limit of players and as such, not important to him.

Yet, Scout clearly was something else. Scout was in on the server, meaning everyone had to have a say in what went on. He may be an admin, but he did not make the final decisions.

He typed with both hands, clicking translucent characters with thick gauntlets. 

<XisumaVoid> Hello hermits. I would like to call a formal Town Hall to discuss our future plans regarding our feathered friend, Scout. Scout has been a topic of discussion this season since his initial appearance in the Boatem Village, founded by Pearl, Impulse, Scar, and Mumbo.

<XisumaVoid> Our combined efforts on the server has led to the containment of Scout near the mountain bordering the Big-Eye shopping district, run by Bdubs, Tango, and Keralis. We have attempted communication, and have come to the conclusion our future steps should be discussed with all of the Hermitcraft server as it may affect all of us.

<XisumaVoid> I propose a Town Hall to be held at the nether portal site for the Big-Eye shopping district. If any would prefer this be held in an alternate location, please let me know. This is proposed to be held at noon tomorrow. Attendance is optional.

Bdubs had always exceeded expectations. Xisuma knew, the moment he exited the swirling purple portal, that the decorative tables and overhead flower trellis had not been there previously.

“Oh relax!” Bdubs huffed, waving his hands and shedding flower petals with each step. “I want it to be nice! Is that so bad?”

“No,” Xisuma agreed, contemplating the overwhelming albeit impressive display of building skill. “But, this wasn’t at all asked for, my friend.”

“Oh don’t think anything of it!” Bdubs said, chattering on about his details in the woodworking and the half heartedly built floating barge. Apparently, it wasn’t to his preferred level of skill, but even then it was crafted well beyond Xisuma’s ability.

Noon came closer and slowly, the portal flickered and delivered. Hermits came through, those that were closer to the situation arrived before the designated time. Pearl lingered towards the furthest border of the pavilion. Beside her was GeminiTay, a recent addition this season but apparently a gentle friend that Pearl looked ever so thankful to have. The Boatem crew settled with one less member at a table, toying with slices of cake pushed to each. Doc and Ren lingered on the outskirts, talking something with hushed breaths and multiple holographic diagrams. 

Tango and Keralis were causing chaos, occasionally dropping dye on the well maintained barge floor. Bdubs of course spotted this and shrieked his outrage. A warm welcome as both Iskall and Etho flinched at the noise but joined in watching the spectacle with open delight.

“Hello, Xisuma,” said Welsknight, approaching from just to the side. There had been a beautiful view in that direction, something he and TinFoilChef had been admiring. The salty spray from the water was one Xisuma had never appreciated, until moments like these.

“Hello, my friend.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Wels said, admiring the collection of chaos and gentle friends with a fond smile. Wels’ different accent hit softer, gentler somehow or perhaps it was the endearing atmosphere itself. Xisuma felt so dearly loved, and so sad for an unknown reason.

“Bdubs has outdone himself.”

“When doesn’t he?” Wels asked rhetorically, quirking one eyebrow as he sipped on a fruity drink Keralis had all but pushed into his hand. “Tell me, what is it that has you so afraid?”

Xisuma instinctively opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but withdrew it. Wels wasn’t wrong, and the armoured man knew it.

“I’m afraid of what we may have to do,” Xisuma said after a quiet moment. There were many outcomes ahead of them, some decisions not as easy as others.

Not all of the hermits were able to come. Hypno, Beef, and Cleo were the unfortunate three too deep in their projects to arrive. They promised to read  the summary of the meeting, and gave their choices and judgment to Xisuma clearly.

“Hello everyone,” Xisuma greeted. Friends and family turned to look at him, some curious but all were fond. “It’s wonderful to see you all. I wish it were in better circumstances.”

Xisuma began to pace, wandering to and fro between the long tables. He waved towards Hermits that preferred to stand, greeting them too in their pavilion. 

“As I’m sure you know, we’ve come to the conclusion that Scout is not a mob, but instead a species not unlike an Admin, called a Watcher.”

The few hermits who had not been as attentive to the situation, such as Zedaph and Wels, glanced around in open curiosity. TFC huffed from his place near the sea, gazing dramatically at the occasional leaping dolphin.

“A Watcher, from our rough understanding, is a species capable of performing a skill we Admins call spectating.” Xisuma explained, keenly watching Pearl nod jerkily at his words. “Spectating had originally included an ability to observe a server and all players within it, however you were unable to interact with the world itself. Some data provided to us suggests Watchers were able to not only observe, but to actively influence and modify servers.”

Murmurs broke out, friends glancing at one another with open surprise.

“X, you don’t mean that…is that even possible?” iJevin said, spluttering and stuttering through his words. 

“Doc, can that even happen?”

“How have we never known of a different species?”

“You mean that feather thing? Capable of that?”

Doc sighed, stepping forward. With a flair of dramatics, the creeper hybrid slammed one scale plated boot on a wooden table. The echoing clang! Made Bdubs squeak and Ren smirk a wolfish expression.

“It should not be possible,” Doc summarized. “Xisuma has examined the player code and it does not look like any code known.”

“You looked at it’s code?” JoeHills asked, bolting upright from his seat. With both eyebrows open in aghast horror, the man shook his head. “X! That’s…that’s not-.”

“Scout is nonverbal and does not respond to spoken language,” Xisuma explained in a straightforward careful voice. “On examination of its code, I determined that a bug had been planted in its script. There was a patch placed to remove it’s functional use of any language, written or spoken, as well as its comprehension.”

Joe sat don’t heavily, looking thoroughly sick. Etho flinched away, recoiling with a carefully dull expression. Stress shouted something, an explicative that had Bdubs wincing.

“That’s- that’s inhumane!” Tango yowled, a bright burning fire echoing through his eyes and warped snarling expression. Ren stepped forward from the pillar, hunkering into something of a pounce before Cub swirled back to slam one arm across the man’s chest- holding him back.

“The code was removed,” Xisuma stated in an elevated voice over the chaos and commotion. “There is still a question as to what a Watcher is, and why Scout was here initially.”

 “Well what are we doing then, X?” Cub asked. He stared directly at the man with bold confidence, tension tight across his body beneath his white lab coat. “What are you not telling us yet?”

“We’re helping Scout, right?” GeminiTay asked, head flickering between Pearl beside her and the group itself. She wilted, shoulders drooping and ears flipping back as she noticed something odd. “Right? Pearl?”

“I have met with Watcher’s before,” Pearl said, silencing the room near instantaneously.

“You what?”

“How? I’ve never heard of them!”

“Are they dangerous? When was this?”

Pearl huffed through her nostrils very quickly, slowly unlocking her jaw. She said, stiffly and carefully: “My previous server encountered Watchers. The majority if it was before I arrived, so I admittedly never had much interaction with them.”

“Well what server was it?” False asked, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Can’t we contact the admin?”

“The server isn’t operating anymore, it collapsed.”

“We can still reach out to the Admin through the server hub network,” Joe said. He pulled out a book with a quill, prepared to write down notes for Cleo and the others. “What is their ID? Any information may be helpful.”

Pearl twitched. It did not go unnoticed.

“I’ve talked with Pearl about the unfortunate events of her previous server. Unfortunately, the server was unstable and the Admin went missing.”

Uproar occurred. Xisuma waited, calm in the storm of nervous feelings. He waited and lifted one hand, requesting others to settle themselves. Etho was speaking quietly with Bdubs, who looked close to vomiting.

“The admin of that server went missing, however,” Xisuma said, briefly exchanging eye contact with PearlescentMoon, “there were survivors of the server crash.”

With a heavy sigh, TFC turned away from the sea. He walked towards the group, a walking cane smacking the ground with every other step. He grumbled quietly, asking above the sound of so many other hermits, “Xisuma, if you’re trying to communicate off-server, you’ll have to open this server.”

Xisuma knew this would happen. Of course it would be TFC, one of the oldest members to identify the problems.

Joe stared at Xisuma, stunned. He said: “X…if you’re trying to open the server- that would…that would take down the firewalls. It would leave us vulnerable!”

“Only for the smallest of moments we would be vulnerable to any hackers. Hermitcraft has one of the best firewalls ever known, and this is not a decision we are to make lightly.”

Stress cleared her throat, a heavy frown downturning her mouth. “So we gotta’ open up our walls to let in some fellows?”

“Old friends,” Pearl said simply.

“So we can open our walls, get some information and help for Scout…but doing so leaves us vulnerable to threats.”

“Well, I don’t see it as a problem,” Tango said. “Let them try and mess with us! I’m itching for a good fight!”

“Erm, maybe not a server based fight,” Zedaph said with a meek wave.

Xisuma knew this would be a problem. Some hermits had tragic histories, some bloodied or unkind. Offering safety came with certain security measures that were dangerous to lose.

“What if we set precautions, more firewalls? Secondary authentication measures, would that work?”

“Potentially,” Xisuma said.

“This is a scary decision either way,” Scar muttered, bumping shoulders with Mumbo nervously.

Etho sighed, tapping his fingers along his arm in an unknown pattern. He said after a moment of pause, “I say why not. I can help clean up any glitches that pop up after.”

“Worst case possible,” Xisuma said to the hermits. “We’ll need to evacuate this world. It would mean a rapid evacuation to a brand new map- is that something you’d be willing to do?”

Impulse snorted, nudging Tango impishly with his side. With one tired yet hopeful look, Impulse stated: “X, we’re hermits. Building from scratch is what we’re made to do. And if it helps someone alone the way? I think a better question is ``why are we still waiting?”

<SolidarityGaming has joined the Server>

<InTheLittleWood has joined the Server>

“Is that a big bloody egg?”

“Oh well, I don’t know Jimmy. How ‘bout you think about what animal makes an egg that big.”

Xisuma wasn’t sure how to feel about the two new visitors to Hermitcraft.

At first glance, they looked like a curious mix. Aloof and curious in a way somewhat similar to Impulse, or perhaps more like Tango. They were of similar height, dressed in odd clothes that came with them from their home server.

Pearl relaxed at the sight of the two, barely remaining at Xisuma’s side as the two men joked and teased one another.

“Oh, wow. Look at those mushrooms. Gorgeous work-.”

“Maybe if you keep working at it, you can make mushrooms, Jimmy.”

Pearl snorted softly through her nose, fondly admiring the two. They bickered playfully, pointing at the colourful builds along the swamp on the outskirts of Spawn.

One of them finally spotted the two, nudging the other with one elbow. They were sent tumbling at the nudge, nearly cartwheeling off into the sand.

“Martyn!” they shouted, scrambling to their feet. With one hand ready to bop the other man into the sand, he shouted something of a war cry.

“Now, that’s not very polite,” said Pearl. Her hands on her hips and hair loosely tied over one shoulder. The two men craned their head around. 

“Pearlo!” the one man yowled, throwing himself forward. Xisuma allowed the smallest flicker of Admin abilities to overtake his visor, if only to identify who the louder man was: SolidarityGaming.

“Look at you, Pearlie,” the other man said, a huge grin splitting his face. Heavy relief dripped off both men, crashing into her petite frame with open arms, “oh it’s great to see you again!”

“Let me down, you two meatheads,” she teased. Laughing, they threw her around until her hair lifted and spun with each movement. They laughed, cackling as the one slipped on the loose dirt and all three fell to the ground.

“A pleasure to meet you two,” Xisuma said, waiting until all three looked as chaotic and messy as possible. The two men scrambled, legs twisting together as they attempted to get up as fast as possible. This failed, sending the two back into the dirt as Pearl laughed openly at their antics.

“Let me up!” the one man shouted, “Jimmy! Move your rear off my back!”

“Get your leg out of my face!” the other man, Jimmy, argued despite the other’s leg being nowhere close. Pearl smiled, fond of their antics. 

Eventually, the two men managed some semblance of order. They stood awkwardly, brushing dirt off their clothes before awkwardly offering a hand to shake. Xisuma knew he was an intimidating fellow, mostly his dark armor and thick tinted visor.

“Hello,” Martyn introduced, the more serious of the two. “I’m Martyn Littlewood, this idiot here is Jimmy, don’t mind him.”

“Oi, I mind you plenty,” Jimmy scowled, knocking into Martyn pointedly. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Martyn said, ignoring Jimmy openly. “As soon as we got a message from old Pearl here, well, we’d never say no.”

Xisuma nodded slowly, scanning the two men as carefully as he could. There were no obvious bugs on them, no glitches lingering on their coding. What small glitches were there rapidly burned under the aggressive firewalls of Hermitcraft, already closing around the hole in their defenses. It chewed away, pine needles smoldering and melting under the aggressive ravenous maw of Hermitcraft server firewall. If Xisuma was younger, he would have smiled at the sight. Now, he glanced at it with the dismissive uncaring eye it deserved.

“Much appreciated,” Xisuma said.

“Oh wow,” said Jimmy, staring at Xisuma with open awe for his visor and entire body suit. Xisuma turned his eyes to the other man, aware of his mechanical clicking and small whirring exhales. He knew how people saw him, it was partially how the server remained untouched and shrouded in mystery. Xisuma was a towering armoured man, intimidating at least, horrifying at best.

Jimmy’s eyes boggled, tracing the dark mechanical ventilating materials to stabilize air into something closer to the void. With a squeak, “You’re bloody terrifying.”

Pear laughed, pressing one hand to her eyes. Xisuma could see why Pearl enjoyed the two men, already he felt a smile flicker on his face.

“How about we find somewhere to settle, yeah?” Xisuma asked politely. “I brought some elytra and rockets if you’re used to flying. Otherwise, I’m certain we can find some horses.”

“Oh, no no we’re good with flying,” Martyn said hastily, awkward in the presence of a new Admin. “I mean uh, we know how…”

“We can land in an open area,” Pearl said gently with a knowing grin. “Or near some open water.”

“Perhaps it’ll be easier to take you to the area in question. It takes some time to travel there, Pearl can provide you a basic tour until we arrive there.”

Pearl nodded happily, flicking through her inventory to sling her enchanted elytra across her back. Martyn and Jimmy eyed her curiously, lingering gazes on her builders bag and other supplies. Xisuma had a vague impression that the two were not used to a place of peace and construction.

“I’ll notify our communicators,” Xisuma explained. He pulled up a console, accessing through that instead of the individual smaller devices. Martyn’s eyes lingered slightly on the panel, able to view it where others were not. ‘Curious…he isn’t an Admin. Maybe a moderator?’

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Martyn agreed with a small smile, cautious now instead of earlier. “C’mon, Jimmy. Be useful for once.”

Jimmy complained, but followed with the whistle of fireworks. Xisuma watched them leave, examining the code of Spawn once more.

There were lingering broken segments in the code. Firewall fibers that had yet to mend from where they were torn so quickly. It was safer to include new members at the start of a season, not partially through it. Virus’ would always try to chew through, pulling at the threads.

For a smallest moment, Xisuma felt a strange pressure pulling on him. A tense nudge against his head, behind his eyes. A surreal itch of nerves and anxiety lifting before it vanished, never there at all.

“Huh…” Xisuma said, pausing. His finger hesitated, no lines of code different then before. He could have sworn something was different- intuition telling him something was different.

He’d look into it further, once he was certain it wasn’t his paranoia for the time being.

He pulled up his keyboard, sending an update to the rest of his hermits who he knew were waiting for any word.

<Xisuma> Our two guests have safely arrived. Please give them a warm welcome if you see them. Pearl has volunteered her lovely home to our new friends until arrangements are made.

<Impulse> Sure thing! Thanks X!

<TangoTek> when can we prank them?

<Keralis> always fun to have more lovely angels hehe

“How do you three know each other?” Mambo asked, sitting quite awkwardly at Pearl’s table as the woman in question bounced around her home. The two men were eagerly injecting themselves in her space, making a general nuisance of themselves. It was all odd, and somewhat uncomfortable as Mumbo felt very much like he was intruding.

If Xisuma was feeling the same, he was doing a remarkable job hiding it.

“Oh! We go way back,” Pearl explained, clicking her tongue and swatting one of the men with a towel. Jimmy, Mumbo recently learned, yelped and leapt around like a very large bird.

“We were all on a server together, a bit of a project one,” Martyn explained helpfully. He held up both hands, counting off silently before he stated proudly, “there were eleven of us, Pearlie came in a bit late but was a wonderful friend there.”

“Oh, stop it you big jerks,” Pearl said, smiling fondly. She smacked Jimmy’s shoulder, knocking him aside gently.

Mumbo drummed his fingers, asking Xisuma very awkwardly, “so uh, do- do you uh…do you know this?”

“No,” Xisuma stated, smiling slightly. He looked absolutely unbothered by it.

“Alright, I’ll stop being the tease here,” Pearl said, taking pity on her two hermit friends. “We were all on Evo, or Evolution. It was a server that periodically jumped through different updates.”

“Pearl came in fairly late, but far enough in. Evo started all the way from beta-.”

“Oh, that’s… brilliant,” Xisuma breathed, looking absolutely stunned by the idea.

“It was wonderful, the same world but different updates and patches released through a series of portals.” 

Xisuma shook his head slowly, absolutely stunned by the information presented. Mumbo presumed it was something legendary then, to truly impress xisuma of all people.

“That…your Admin must be quite capable,” Xisuma said with a small stutter, “I…I reckon I couldn't’- blimey, I don’t think anyone could…”

Martyn’s expression twitched, flashing through something of undeniable loathing. His tone was brutal as he spat, “yeah, well. That’s where- well…we had portals.”

Xisuma opened his mouth, then closed it. He obviously had more questions, but could tell there was something much worse at work.

“Well, how did you three meet?” Mumbo asked, blurting his question if only to change the tension.

Thankfully, it worked. Pearl smiled fondly and nostalgic, chuckling gently. “Oh, well, I came right out of nowhere! Fell straight from the sky. Then, oh good heavens. I got recruited into the Mafia-.”

“Hah! Load of idiots, them!” Martyn burst out, grinning broadly. He explained for Mumbo and Xisuma’s benefit. “Jimmy and I were part of the Property Police, the Mafia was a group always fighting against us, you know how server fights are.”

“Right,” Mumbo said, still feeling dizzy. “You had…a Mafia?”

“Oh, don’t tell them about the empires,” Pearl teased, nudging Jimmy who looked quite thrilled at the opportunity to recall what clearly was a mess.

Docm77 came some time later, where there was no further clarification and only more confusion. It was difficult to understand- riddles and stories and apparently a painful amount of TNT. Xisuma had explained hastily that TNT from then was not as stable as current forms, more labile and easy to explode at random. The use of it was dangerous and often led to death. Pearl apparently hadn’t minded, using it on occasion to tower high.

For as gentle and warm Jimmy and Martyn were, they had some level of hostility. Doc had not been welcoming or keen to the idea of visitors. Doc was not particularly… rude, but his ideas of public decency and conversation was a tad more brash than others.

Doc also had a similar difficulty with his personal appearance, since stigma against mob hybrids did exist, and Doc was an enormous man with cybernetic enhancements and a loud personality. It was no fault of the man, except for when he walked into a building with the intention to intimidate.

“Ah,” the man said, forcing his accent thicker until the creeper hiss saturated every vowel. The man slammed his feet as he walked, rattling the table. His cybernetic glowed an unholy light he had full ability to disable when he wanted- his arm whirring and grinding with all the sound of a deadly machine. “So here are the two guests.”

Mumbo thought, feeling his anxiety level rise drastically, ‘ah, this is why we don’t have visitors.’

“So, tell it to us plainly,” Doc stated. He shuffled where he stood, the creeper hybrid traits clearly unnerving their two guests. Doc hissed a shrill whistling noise frequently occurring moments before detonation. Doc of course wouldn’t explode, but it did wonders to trigger an adrenaline rush.

“Doc, stop that,” Pearl scolded, looking ready to interfere. She frowned, unhappy with the treatment of her two friends.

“We uh, we may be coming across a bit strong,” Mumbo admitted, worriedly exchanging glances with Pearl.

Xisuma waited patiently. Doc would simmer out once he knew the two men weren’t a threat to the hermits. It may take a while, but he would eventually relax.

“How about you stop posing,” Martyn grumbled, scowling at the creeper hybrid. Jimmy looked thoroughly spooked, nervous around the man.

“We’re all friends here,” Xisuma greeted the small group, settled around the table of Pearl’s home. “I don’t mean to upset you, my friends. We’re simply at quite a loss and would appreciate your help.”

“Yeah I mean, Pearlie mentioned needing our help with something,” Jimmy meekly agreed, waving one hand in Pearl’s direction. “What uh…what can we do?”

“We’re lacking information.”

“Well you’re out of luck there, Jimmy doesn’t have much in that area,” Martyn started with a mocking smirk. If it wasn’t for the playful glimmer and gentle nudge, Xisuma would have misinterpreted it as cruel hostility.

“Oi! I know enough!”

“Maybe you think so, but to the rest of us-.”

“We’re in a predicament with something called a Watcher.”

The two men immediately went mute. Martyn flinched back, his teeth bared defensively. Jimmy cowered, hunkering lower as he slid slightly below the table, hiding himself from view. Pearl twitched, even now. Perhaps being in such fond company brought back poor memories.

“...what business do you have with them?” Martyn asked carefully. He lost his implish decorum. What gentle teasing he had was absent, barren in face and body language.

“Just searching for information, my friends,” Xisuma said, hoping to soothe what damage he could. 

“There’s a Watcher here,” Pearl said.

Martyn flinched, hissing a single noise of open distress. Jimmy jumped, knees slamming into the table as he openly cowered and swayed in his seat. With a shrill breathy noise, Jimmy bemoaned an open horrified, “no… no. They’re here? Pearl- Pearl why… why-.”

“It’s captured!” Mumbo interjected, looking flummoxed and afraid of the hideous reaction. “It’s err…in a big box! All contained, yep yep! No worries there!”

“Stupid,” Martyn spat, his body shaking with miniscule tremors. “You can’t just trap a Watcher!”

“We have,” Xisuma said reassuringly, remaining strong and calm. “A Watcher is currently contained, and we would greatly appreciate your help in this matter.”

“You can’t contain it!” Jimmy blurted, trembling in his boots. “It’s- it’s a Watcher! You can’t bloody just- just shove it in a box!”

“That’ actually uh, exactly what we did,” Mumbo said awkwardly. “Shoved it uh, in a big ruddy box.”

“It was severely hindered, strips of code limiting it’s cognition and communication ability,” Xisuma explained the best he could without delving too deep into the strange bastardized code present. “We removed the limitations, but all signs are indicating that this Watcher was purposefully trapped here. We simply relocated it to a different environment.”

Martyn’s lip curled. He remained skeptical of the idea. Shaking his head, Martyn crossed his arms and argued; “yeah? And how much trouble has it given you? Any broken buildings? Random bloody quests? A twice-damned meteor?”

“A meteor,” Doc repeated, sounding thoroughly baffled.

“Yep, meteor. Sent right through our building once, made right out of bedrock,” Jimmy explained. He shivered at the memory. “They weren’t happy with us.”

Xisuma felt dumbfounded. The amount of effort to conjure a single block of bedrock was difficult, to conjure enough to cause damage but then to defy server physics to do so?

“Jimmy and Martyn were part of the Property Police,” Pearl explained in a quiet voice, tinged with nostalgia. “The Watchers…were…they orchestrated things behind the scenes. They guided the server through updates, since our Admin wasn’t able to do so.”

“We went through portals,” Martyn said through his teeth. “They ran us around like rats. Made us jump through their stupid hurdles, complete their stupid riddles to get to the next update. And for bloody what, eh? To fight a dragon? To get knocked down again and-.”

Jimmy sniffled, his eyes misty. He did not cry, but he stated thickly, “they…they took him.”

The three fell silent. Pearl twitched, looking at her hands with a difficult emotion. Martyn grit his teeth, aggressive and furious with something beyond  their reach.

Xisuma could feel their pain, a sense of defeat. He hated it- so many people hurt in the world. He helped Hermitcraft prosper to save those who needed it.

“How did they take him?” Doc asked, cocking his head. His cybernetic eye gleamed, glowing red in the shade of Pearl’s home. “Your admin. These Watchers took him, yes?”

“Yeah, snatched him right out from under our bloody noses,” Martyn grumbled. 

“We went through the portal to fight the dragon,” Jimmy said quietly, jaw trembling. “And…and we didn’t even notice things were wrong until after. And…and those bastards just- they spoke to us and they- they took him…”

Pearl closed her eyes, turning her head aside. She said nothing, unable to do so.

“I- I’m sorry I don’t follow…they spoke to you?” Mumbo asked, feeling a bit confused. “Yet…you couldn’t just…take him back?”

“He wasn’t a bloody dog,” Martyn snapped, hands curled into fists. “They spoke a stupid bloody way in your head, or code. Like your communicator but you can’t ignore it.”

“They wrote in galactic,” Jimmy muttered with a shiver. “I…I can read a bit of it. I’m rusty, it’s been a while…”

“What did they say?” Xisuma asked gently.

Martyn laughed a single cold puff. “Which time? When I said I’d be mayor and they decided that I was wearing a false crown on his head? And summoned a bloody meteor!”

Martyn stood, slamming both fists on the table. Pearl reached out, taking his hand in hers. She shook her head quietly, trying to soothe the distressed man.

“They- they were really cryptic,” Jimmy said with a shiver. “I ah, I memorized what they said. There were two of them- or three now. No- two, two.”

“Because they turned your Admin into a Watcher?” Mumbo asked.

“They did not do that!” Martyn snarled, bristling. 

Mumbo jumped with a quiet eep! Doc stood once more, ready to intervene. Jimmy shook his head, stuttering before he shouted above the quickly developing chaos: “Grian is still out there somewhere! He- he wouldn’t give up! He bothered them more than any of us!”

Doc flinched away, ready to lunge at Martyn. Pearl held him back. Xisuma felt a headache begin behind his eyes. Mumbo repeated, with a unique level of absolute horror: “I- did you just say Grian?”

Eyes turned to him. Mumbo swayed, the blood vanishing from his skin. His pale complexion turned to a sickly shade, his mustache shaking as his lip trembled. He shook his head, looking dearly close to falling out of his seat.

“No,” Mumbo repeated, jerking his head back and forth, “no you- you must be mistaken. Surely not…not…of course it would be Grian that was roped into- into supernatural entity chaos.”

“You know Grian?” Martyn interjected suspiciously.

Mumbo giggled a high stressed noise. “Only if your Grian liked explosions and knew how to push buttons. Both literal and figuratively.”

“Oh, oh,” Jimmy said. “You did know Grian.”

“He was like my brother,” Mumbo said weakly, staring somewhere into the distance, “I haven’t heard from him since…oh good lord, since season three I reckon.”

“There’s no bloody way we’re talking about the same Grian.”

“Oh well, if you know Grian, strange things always did happen with him. Pick anyone to get struck by lightning and he’d be flaunting around on a skeleton horse,” Mumbo said, resting heavily on the back of his chair. “Good heavens. Grian, after all this time…I thought he had- well. I had assumed the worst.”

Xisuma cleared his throat, drumming his fingers politely on the table. They waited a moment for Mumbo to relax, to gain what little composure he had left. They had things to do, no matter how difficult it was to accomplish it.

“Mumbo, you were with Scout the other day,” Xisuma addressed. The man was shaking his head, looking as distressed as both Jimmy and Martyn looked. “What form of communication did you have?”

“It- he-..” Mumbo slumped, bracing himself on the table. The man was sweating, looking dangerously sick. “He just- he was scared. I didn’t think…he can’t be the same as- as those Watchers. No he- Scout’s innocent!”

“No Watcher is innocent!” Martyn hissed furiously.

Pearl slammed an open hand on the table, the sound forcing all of them to flinch back. She elevated her voice, shouting at the small group of people: “ Will you all just listen to me?”

Everyone stared at her, either stunned or surprised. Doc lifted both eyebrows, intrigued by her sudden aggression. He chuckled quietly, the baritone a low bass rumble which only served to make Jimmy more anxious by the second.

Pearl huffed, stating firmly: “ Scout is a Watcher, but it’s not like the Watchers on Evo. The Watchers on Evo were horrible things, but the one we have trapped here either isn’t a complete Watcher or not like how we knew them. Scout was stuck here first when we arrived. Scout has modified code- we don’t know why.”

Martyn quieted, his eyebrows furrowed. Jimmy twitched, wincing. After a moment, Jimmy sighed and slumped forward. He thumped his forehead on the table, miserably moaning into the table. Martyn closed his eyes, breathing through what looked to be a self-coping mechanism, or a relaxation technique. Doc of course looked thoroughly to be enjoying himself, albeit silently.

“Okay, fine,” Jimmy mumbled into the wood, straightening miserably. “Show us this stupid bloody Scout.”

Mumbo hadn’t thought of Grian for years. 

Season three, as they fondly called it, had been a painful amount of time ago. If the hermits all thought back, they likely remembered the name or the antics somewhere. Mumbo had blabbered his mouth off to quite a few people- maybe a bit too much for some. He remembered painfully how his fellow hermits had teased him quite openly, jokingly assuming that Grian didn’t exist at all. There were bets and rumors regarding when Grian would finally visit, when Mumbo could finally persuade their Admin at the time to let a favoured friend inside the famous borders.

Then, Mumbo lost touch with Grian. He lost all contact, went so far as to visit the world hub and speak to the code registers to try and find the location of his friend, all leading to the same outcome. Grian was presumed dead, Mumbo spent months on his private redstone world testing builds formed through grief as he came to terms with everything. 

And Grian was never mentioned again. Either in cruelty or kindness, Mumbo had not thought of the name in years.

Mumbo had thought, ‘Our servers are short' and then corrected it- 'our worlds are short'. And that was it. Time spent on each world is short, and Mumbo had shortened his time in each world in a hundred different choices and decisions. He had wasted days of construction on days of lethargy. He had wasted the opportunities to make new memories in favour of dwelling on the somber ones. Each world- no, every world is an open book with choices to make, and things to share. Not every world was perfect, and Mumbo certainly had made plenty of bad ones in his life. Everything was neutral, a block of iron was simply a block of iron. Mumbo, somewhere along the way, had looked at a block of iron and assigned something negative to it, thinking of wasted ideas or plans that would never come to fruition. A block of iron was just that, but he would look at it with a deep level of self-loathing or regret and feel weighted by the miserable depth of his loneliness.

If each world had the potential to be good, then each world had the potential to be terrible. He knew logically that each world was filled with horrible terrible things- spiders, creepers, and other things that would love to eat him. And somehow, people began to fit into that category too. People may do wonderful things but what if they left you heartbroken and aching instead. 

Somehow, Mumbo came to the conclusion that all good things would come to be and then leave him. Things he built and the pride he felt- abandoned, in favour of a new open field of grass and horses. Back to the beginning, forcing himself up from his knees to think 'and here we are again. Back to wooden tools.'

Eventually, people would certainly break you too. Promises would likely fall through. Arrangements would certainly be canceled. What reason was there to open his burdened heart and try to love when all that would happen would be heartbreak? What point was it to build things from the dirt, if it would all be abandoned?

He hadn't always felt that way. It was a new feeling, that seeped into him subtly like a stalactite dripping a weakness potion on him in his sleep. There was a time that open fields and untouched dirt filled him with a childish enthusiasm. He felt free, open to all ideas and possibilities. He had friends then, encouraging him on with a breathless smile and a chaotic laugh.

'What's the problem with a new world?' Grian had told him, leaping around in Mumbo's private world. Clumsily walking along iron block supports, surely smearing the fine redstone powder circuitry. Grian had been free, gentle and kind amidst Mumbo's machines and ugly constructions.

Grian smiled at him kindly and said: 'You think you aren't a builder? You're far too hard on yourself. It isn't about what you make, it's about the love you have for it. You know, Mumbo, you could make something beautiful.'

And the thing is-

Grian had forgotten so much. Time moves differently in the void, in the abyss between places where time had a grasp and where life was a series of numbers that meant so little. Grian remembered faint things, flashes of colours he had thought long since beyond him. He remembered sunrises, the touch of grass on a hand he could not see. He remembered emotions, vague and cloudy.

And the thing is- it was difficult to love life when you had no stomach for it. It is difficult to cradle the burning smoldering crumbs of what you once had as the smoke filled your lungs. It crumbled, ashes and dust with memories scant and dangerous to hold so closely.

Grian had once thought, ‘I can’t possibly live like this,’ and he couldn’t.

And now, he woke with the stuttering breaths and the image of faces in his mind he clutched between shaking hands. He could remember the flicker of a charming smile, accented voices, and he thought: ‘I can do this. I can learn to love again.’

And then-

The door to his purgatory, affixed in stone and burning light, slammed itself open with the synchronous hymn of echoes. Grian flinched, disoriented by that which came from change. He struggled, thoughts sluggish despite his hurried frantic mind still operating below a capacity he knew himself capable of- think, faster, faster.

“Oi you!” shouted a voice he could not remember, but nostalgia was stored in the broken lines and thickened scars deep below his flesh. “Yeah you! You Watcher feathered prick!”

‘Who are you?’ Grian thought in sluggish thoughts, words constructed in alphabets garbled and characters twisted. ‘I knew you once, didn’t I?”

The human- man- (“well- well this is it, isn’t it? We’re here, aren’t we? Well, what do we all do now-”) was blonde and loud and Grian knew him.

He stormed forward, and Grian urged to step forward, to reach out with his hands- wings, so many wings why was he- how could he-.

“This is for Evo you bastard,” the human- Martyn growled, and punched Grian just shy of his nose.

“Oh my-,” Mumbo gasped, hurriedly pressing himself against the glass. Xisuma’s visor whirred a low gurgle, translating something similar to a whine.

“Oh there he goes,” Jimmy muttered, pulling his hair quite firmly as he watched everything in dismay. Doc snorted, an oddly mob’ish noise escaping him in his moment of utter surprise.

Pearlescentmoon shook her head, somehow strangely fond. From the observation room, the crowd of four watched with mixed feelings as Martyn solidly knocked the enormous feathered creature to the ground.

Whatever he hit was decently important, the enormous thing flopping onto its flank with the paralysis that occurs when a chicken lands on its back. It lay there, wings sprawled out clumsily as it struggled to process what had happened.

“Well,” Xisuma said, recovering the quickest. “I ah, I hadn’t considered uh, punching Scout.”

“Ah, rookie mistake, that is,” Jimmy explained dumbly. “Martyn is a big fan of smacking things. Or smacking me. Who knows.”

Pearl’s lip twitched, somehow very pleased with the change of events. A somewhat strangled noise caught itself in Xisuma’s throat, garbling through the speakers. Mumbo’s squawk accompanied something suspiciously close to hysterical giggle.

Inside the box, Martyn paced back and forth, shaking out his wrist. He sneered, moving a bit like a tiger in front of a rabbit. The man, armourless and weaponless, towered over the slumped creature. Proportionately, Martyn was perhaps a quarter of its size- at most as long as the main wing. Scout was supposedly a creature of unimaginable power, and a simple player had it sprawled on sea lanterns.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Martyn sneered. He twisted his wrist back and forth, redying himself for another swing. “Not so big and powerful now, are you?”

Scout shuffled, the splayed wings awkwardly folding back on themselves. Slowly, the rear set of wings folded inwards, a beautiful glide of organic mechanics. The slid into place, long broken feathers trailing through dust and dirt. If Martyn squinted hard enough, patches of mediocre clean vanes glimmered iridescent below a dark oil sheen.

That didn’t apply to all the sets of wings- three as far as he could tell. A low set anchored to where the hipbones would protrude, hanging so low they were hardly functional but somewhat pleasing aesthetically. The second set were rounded and fluffed, every bit like poultry with their innate nonuse. Martyn suspected even those wings, slightly more anatomically avian, were not functional but instead acted more to shroud its true body from sight. The last set of wings, anchored high enough to actually be functional with their long bladed secondary feathers and spread flight feathers. Or, they would have been functional if the quills weren’t broken and shredded from dragging across the ground.

Actually, Martyn thought the normalish largest set still looked odd. To the point he leaned forward to try and determine the exact reason for why the movements were so restricted and jerky. Small grafted wings fluttered with no rhythm, little cardinal appendages intercrossed with songbird feathers and a single asymmetric wing that looked eerily like a crow wing upside down.

It moved, struggling to right side itself from its lateral slump. The back sets were unimpacted, but the main wings were thoroughly restricted.

“What the bloody hell happened to you?” Martyn asked, nose wrinkling slightly at the sight. The room didn’t exactly smell pleasant either, a deep permeating smell of citrus cleaner and oil saturating the floor.

The Watcher shuddered, a disorienting barrage of movement. Martyn winced, stepping closer to try and peer as to what exactly was wrong with the thing. Martyn felt the laughter burst out of him, a bright surprised sound. It echoed ugly, making even he wince away from the crude noise.

“You messed up there, aren’t ya’?” Martyn asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. Difficult to see at first, once he bent at the hips to peer below the awkward limb placement. 

The Watcher rumbled a low baritone whine, wings fluttering and trembling at his close scrutinization. Martyn smiled, expression twisted and not polite. He reached out, almost tempted to touch the creature.

It winced away, the large joint lifting awkwardly to try and recoil from his fingers. Martyn felt his expression change- not quite delight but not entirely cruel.

“Oh blimey,” Martyn muttered, thoroughly baffled by the strange union. “Is that your elbow?”

At that moment, Martyn came to several conclusions. First, the Watchers were bastards through and through- they would never openly allow themselves to be seen in such a pathetic state. Secondly, there was no benefit or use for such an appearance, it wasn’t all powerful or as arrogant as Martyn knew the Watchers to be. Third, the creature was acting utterly terrified of his hands- Watcher’s weren’t afraid of anything.

“Right,” Martyn said, unsettled by his new discoveries. “Are you going to really make me grab your dumb arm thing, or are you going to stick it out for me?”

The creature winced away, a low groaning noise rumbling from somewhere near its presumed head. It fluttered back slowly, not reacting as quick as Martyn would have expected.

Martyn and Jimmy first lived on a server known as Evolution. It wasn’t paradise, it wasn’t a land of salvation. It was their home.

When they evacuated it, they sometimes found memories and mementos. Snippets of objects trapped in their inventory and not quite Ender Chest, glitched from a leap between server updates. Small things, lost and trapped until they were pried out with care under Admin hands years later, held apologetically for something that could have been but still failed.

Notes and memories held together in shreds of paper and carved initials in sticks and rock. 

We’re leaving in the morning, chiseled by Netty’s hand before they leapt to a new place and came to know each other more than friends. 

Goodbye, carved in the last weapon gifted to him to slay a dragon in a place they had never been.

I built this house with my hands, traced in the fragments of crumbling brick shaped and fired by the hands of an Admin long dead.

We had to leave but this was home.

Martyn exhaled through his nose. He stood, contemplating what precisely to do. 

There's a creeping sort of fatigue that snuck up on you. If Martyn thought hard about what he heard, what he remembered- he couldn’t ever stomach the thought of living in such a place. There was pain there, remembering people with loud voices, louder problems, the small corruption and cruel riddles. It was easier if Martyn could pretend it never happened.

‘I can’t do that,’ Martyn thought with a heavy pained resignation. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

“Alright, well,” Martyn said. He wrung his hands, fingers aching from where they had punched- always violence. “Jimmy you twat! Get down here!”

“What did I do?” Jimmy complained, speaking through the tinny speakers from the observation room.

“Well, I don’t want to get smacked and your face is quite smackable,” Martyn elaborated, waving one arm towards Scout’s retreating form. The attempt wasn’t quite as effective as the creature wanted, since it was the size of two horses combined. Martyn couldn’t see or hear him, but he could mentally picture Jimmy’s exact facial expression of dismay and disbelief.

Scout retreated once more, Martyn pressed forward. The creature made a noise, rumbling a bit more shrill and distressed. Pressed flush to the back wall, the creature scrambled sluggishly to try and stay out of Martyn’s reach. Always moving to try and hide, always attempting to be just beyond the touch of human hands. 

There was something…odd about it. Different, and Martyn didn’t like it. There was something sad, woven into each unshapely feather. It reminded Martyn of the way he drowned himself willingly after his rescue from the depths of Evo. There would be sound and light surrounding his presence, only background noises Martyn had allowed himself to dwell between. Whenever he was alone he had found himself pulling his communicator from his pocket to answer phantom vibrations, imagined missed messages. He had never told anyone, only listened to their problems. Martyn had always believed the important thing was not to ask, not to let your need be known.

Martyn looked at Scout, and thought: oh you’re the same as me aren’t you?

“Eh, you’re a real mess, eh?” Martyn asked, whistling. Scout rumbled slumping low, trying a new strategy or giving up entirely. Martyn cocked his head, watching the miserable thing with a new theory burning in mind.

“Oi, feathers,” Martyn barked. Scout trembled once more, reacting sluggishly with a delay in either its processing or hearing. If what Xisuma had stated was accurate, it was probably trying to reorient back to understanding language once more.

Martyn shifted his weight, thinking. He sighed, rubbing both hands across his face. His hand hurt, namely from how hard he punched the thing in its noggin. He wondered if Watchers were able to bruise.

The door to the chamber opened, Jimmy coming inside with a mild expression of annoyance.

“You have a lot of nerve, you know that?” the man asked, huffing dramatically. Xisuma walked in behind him, keeping a healthy distance from the feathered mess.

“Yeah yeah,” Martyn said, shrugging him off. Cocking his head and straining his ears, the weird hitched rumbling sounded almost like crying.

“So, this is it, eh?” Jimmy asked nervously. “A real Watcher. I thought they looked…different.”

“Not a mess, you mean,” Martyn guessed. That was his guess too. In fact, he had listened to a lot of rumors of what Watchers looked like. He had seen it once, and it had been nothing resembling this pathetic heap.

“Kinda smelly,” Jimmy admitted shyly, glancing at Xisuma who shrugged one shoulder awkwardly.

Martyn had plenty of thoughts, and now his suspicions were coming together into quite an idea. He had listened to many things, and one idea in particular was growing. Intuition was a powerful thing, one Martyn had relied on time and time again.

“Your theory,” Martyn asked, turning his back to Scout. The motion was not unnoticed, the Hermitcraft Admin’s attention hardening quite openly. “Your theory on how Watchers are different from other players and Admins.”

“Yes, the information provided to us by Pearlescentmoon, and theorized by some of my personal sources,” Xisuma clarified. Something in the uncanny attention made Martyn want to squirm. Something behind the visor spoke of things impossible to see, only black darkness and the wet invasive feel of the abyss beyond the void. Hello, I know you are listening.

Shuddering, Martyn looked away. Jimmy rapidly gazed between the two, horribly at a loss.

“You think the theory is right?” Xisuma asked, uncaring or ignoring the unsetting phenomena of staring into the void and those that walked within it. 

“Which theory is this? So I know I’m not just left out again?” Jimmy asked, wringing his hands.

Martyn’s mouth felt dry and his words felt broken as he stated: “how Watcher’s are made.”

“Oh, oh,” Jimmy said, swallowing thickly. “So uh…you think this is uh…”

“It’s a Watcher alright,” Martyn agreed. “But I’m pretty sure it’s still an Admin too.”

Chapter Text

And this is how grief goes.

It hurts, carving at you with blunt tools and half-sharpened knives. It grinds against your insides, scraping at your ribs and rattling them with each breath. It aches in your skull, by your temples from the tension you don’t want to release. It hurts, and some of it is welcome because it is a reminder that your pain is real, and pain is synonymous to caring. You deserve the pain, because it’s proof that something mattered.

It aches deeply and does not let go. It builds itself a fetid home, rancid and weeping like an ulcer somewhere in your soft tissue. It poisons each thought, tainting it with a new hue invisible to those who do not share your pain- who see your perspective and memories and hurt. It’s a disease, a burden not able to explain and one others have little sympathy for. Apologies, gratitude given, and for what? My condolences.

It lingers sourly, sapping your energy and motivation like a tapeworm coiled between your arteries and veins and constricting the organ most important to you. It waits, patient as all other thoughts come above it in priority but it always will remain there, waiting. Eventually, you can forget it until something prompts a sharp hideous remembrance, and then you feel guilty and horrid for ever managing to forget at all.

And perhaps one day you will grow out of it, perhaps the pain does lessen as you are desensitized to the new chronic illness that came from loving someone so much. Perhaps one day you’ll grow, the quantity of your memories diluting the ones you have now- but it waits. Grief is a hideous violent thing. It does not grow weaker, it settles at the bottom of your soul like thick muck and silt in a rotting bog. The predator sleeping below the mangrove roots, gnawing on the corpses of every happy moment you’ve ever had.

And it doesn’t leave, time doesn’t make it weaker. You simply learn to live with it, to build above and higher towards the sky. Away from the foul thing, watching from below as you ascend one step more beyond its reach. And ultimately, you still feel guilty for it.

There were quite a few ethical problems to consider when regarding Scout.

Martyn and Jimmy had done a marvelous job informing them of all Watcher related potential problems they could encounter, as well as Pearl once she had thawed partially from her overarching unease with the situation. Some things obviously weren’t mentioned again, but the sight of the two former server-family members had soothed her aggressive edges into something much more conversational.

Xisuma wasn’t one to press further than necessary. He knew how painful some topics were for his hermits, especially those with rather…difficult histories. He didn’t want to put anyone in a situation of unnecessary stress. Yet, it seemed this season was nothing but stress regardless of how much he tried to help.

Scout was the current problem, one that he felt very exhausted by.

The ethics around mob and creature experimentation were loose and heavily scrutinized, in the times before regulations had been set in place a few pioneers had established the standards of mob farming through experimentation. Etho, notorious for some of the cruelest endeavors of curiosity before Xisuma had even learned how to input one line of code, was perhaps the greatest known for this. Without Etho, a great number of discoveries would have been lost. Yet, with the increasing mob hybrids, there was no wonder why many people were outright terrified of the man.

Scout was something new, a botched forsaken creature partially trapped between human and Watcher. Obviously, experimentation would provide greater information, but instinctually Xisuma could never allow an innocent creature to feel that fate.

Stressmonster had been struggling nearly as much, sorting through thick books and scrolls from other servers and ancient trailmaking times for specialized potions. Cubfan had similarly awkwardly intruded with his less than innocent potion creations, avoiding the use of too much vex influence in case of corruption. GeminiTay had skittered by, clopping around with her eldritch experiences and offhand suggestions for more arcane approaches. 

The problem was this: Scout was sick.

If a player was sick, they could talk and consent to any form of medical treatment. In most cases, medical help was provided with implied consent because prior discussions had established it. Scout was clearly sentient, sluggish and struggling as he was, but there was no way or form to actually obtain consent.

False was the only hermit on the server with personal experience with wings, her pair classic for an avian. In terms of hybrid, she wasn’t significantly far leaning in bird traits- only the dark soaring wings on her back suggested her avian ancestry. There were no brutal talons, no arching ear feathers or tail feathers for high speed maneuvers. It was easy to forget her wings if not for how pesky they were in close combat.

False, for as much experience as she had, admitted to having no idea of what to do with broaching Scout’s limbs. Pearlescentmoon (and whatever moth-moon creature she was) had less idea, out of all of them perhaps Iskall had wrangled enough chickens to recognize when a feather was beyond saving.

Scout was ill, undoubtedly in dire need of medical attention yet they hadn’t actually been able to determine how sick the creature was. The urgency to evaluate had heightened in priority now that they had a crude confirmation that Scout had been (and still was) sentient.

It left the odd collection of hermits who had self-determined themselves to be the Scout-medical team. It was not beyond Xisuma’s attention that many of the people on this so-called medical team were in no way trained for medical concerns.

Zedaph and Etho in particular were guilty of simply being very curious about Scout. A safe ethical curiosity of course, no creatured hurt in the making.

Stress and Gem were burrowing deep into the medical properties (combined with Cub’s potions) and gathering shulkers of equipment. Etho had casually combined with Doc’s not so innocent devices to design and construct something that looked like a very violent multi shot crossbow. False had sorted through the spare bags of chicken feathers and her own molted feathers to have a collection for an idea they had little hope in. Rendog provided an enormous quantity of pies.

“I want it said on record, that I don’t really like this plan,” Gem said, shifting on her feet. She shuddered, ears flickering back and forth. The little decorative chains and gemstones rattled softly across her antlers with each twitch.

“Yeah,” Stress agreed, sighing heavily. Hauling no less than four shulkers of supplies, she gnawed on her lower lip with open anxiety.

Xisuma disliked the plan also. They had brainstormed for quite a few days with no luck. Scout was still a very dangerous entity with unknown impact on code- it wasn’t a risk Xisuma was willing to take for his hermits. That didn’t mean he felt any less like a monster at the exact moment.

“Okay, I think I’m ready,” Stress said, rolling her shoulders with a heavy sigh. She braced herself, waiting at the door with Gem nervously by her shoulder. Looking skywards to one of the many communication lines run throughout the little enclosure, she asked: “is everything alright up there?”

“Yep,” Xisuma agreed, eying Etho from the edge of his vision. The other man perched himself oddly, looking lanky and disproportionate with his stretched out posture. One half slab had been removed from the cage itself, unnoticeable in the upper corner. There, Etho waited beside Xisuma in the safety of the control box, stretched like a cat with the modified crossbow in hand. Through the miniscule gap in the wall, the weapon settled itself unwaveringly on the enormous feathered body inside the cage.

The only option Xisuma, Doc, and Etho had settled on for the safe examination of the enormous potentially deadly creature, was to drug it. The only way to do so was to use multiple potion effects. Splash potions could be used but only if the feathers would absorb the fumes, False had mentioned her wings were able to reflect the spray away from her body, turning them into a smelly but useless attempt to harm her or other avians. This obviously was a problem, since Xisuma hadn’t an idea if the multiple limbs would be similarly capable of deflecting the thick lingering potions- which left poisoned arrowheads as the only viable option.

“Are you ready?” Etho asked, blinking slow and lazy. The amount of liquid carelessness oozing off the man made Xisuma worry for the state of his server, truly.

Stress readied herself, lifting her shoulders into a neutral strong posture, and pushed open the door. Stress and Gem walked into the room, Gem’s cloven hooves clicking softly over the sea lanturn and quartz floor with soft echoes not unlike a horse on cobblestone.

“Hello there,” Gem greeted Scout softly although she kept a safe distance from the furthest point of the room. Her nostrils twitched, tongue briefly flickering out to lick one side of her maw in something instinctively nervous. Tossing her antlers and jingling her jewelry once more, she straightened her shirt and gazed at her multiple pouches of supplies and potions.

“Hi there, Scoutie!” Stress greeted, dragging the name out longer as she rolled the name across her thick accent. Hefting down the shulker boxes, she stretched both arms with small nervous flickering fingers. 

Scout, potentially having been asleep or in a strange trance, stirred at their voices. The enormous back wings moved slowly, folding with loud rasping sounds of vanes and broken quills scraping over the floor. A small scratch of claws on nails signified some sort of movement under the impenetrable curtain of feathers. The smaller wings, grotesquely graphed on and in no way useful, fluttered and stretched like recently awoken canaries glued across random bones.

“Did ya’ have a good sleep?” Stress asked, still nervous to approach. Scout shifted once more, the wings slowly folding inwards towards the center of its spine where each vertebra protruded somewhat from its spine. Scout rumbled, a low baritone noise deep and reminiscent of a marine animal slowly awakening.

“Okay,” Gem whispered to herself, her heart a rapid thing in her chest. She fingered her hip where multiple potions rest- splash potions of weakness for the worst case possible, tapping each cork rhythmically.

Stress inhaled, held it, and very slowly nodded. 

The sound of a crossbow firing was a loud whistle, accompanied afterwards with a wet heavy thwack! Generally, archers were so far from their target to not hear the acute noise of arrows sinking and gaining a purchase. Normally, archers fired only one arrow at a time, or three if they were skilled. Etho of course did none of these things and had the calm confidence to fire six arrows with caustic flint heads, each saturated with a toxic potent elixir.

The wet thwack! Settled outside of time itself, occurring solid seconds before it seemed to actually affect the moment. In one blink, Scout began to stir from his clumsy awakening. In one blink, Scout stumbled and clattered to the ground with unhinged movements, joints flaccid and knocking around with rattling crunches of bones on the wall. Six arrows protruded from it’s back- four lodged in the enormous surface of the middle wings, and two sunk deep along what they presumed to be its body.

For all that Scout was silent and struggled to communicate, it knew the feral tongue of animals and spoke a horrid wail. It jerked about, bristling and flapping jerkily, trapped in a net of it’s own bodily limitations. It screamed, a shrill noise too high for a bird, for a child, for a scared thing as it jerked about frantically.

“Stress!” Gem shouted a warning. Quickly, the smaller woman lowered and forced her hind limbs to lunge upwards, ramming Stress to the side in lieu of being struck by one enormous faintly bleeding wing.

On the ground, the two covered their heads, hurriedly attempting to protect themselves from the blunt trauma of a heavy strike. An avian could break ribs with one well aimed hit from a wing to the chest- would it be an instant death if one of Scout’s limbs hit them? 

“Xisuma!” Gem screeched, tossing her head to roughly bat her antlers and knock aside one long secondary feather coming too close for comfort. “Some help would be really nice!”

Instead of the admin appearing to help, a bit of the wall crunched away. Dropping through the wall and landing in an easy crouch, Etho eyed Scout’s panic induced rampage with disinterest. He drew a shield, slotting the iron supports in place to hold it on his right forearm.

“Hello ladies,” he greeted casually. With a small crinkle to his eyes, the tall man ducked under a sweeping wing and knocked it aside with an upward bash.

Scout shrieked, the noise loud enough for Gem’s ears to briefly cease functioning. Etho grabbed her bicep, hauling her back before lifting his shield in a parry against the clumsy limb- cl-bam!

Scout jerked back, rearing on what Stress imagined to be its hindlegs. Its wings arced around, flailing like scythes before wrapping inwards in a protective hug, struggling to remain balanced as lethargy grew.

“Go down, Scout,” Stress moaned, finding the sight painfully sad. Scout fought back, panicking and frantic. The arrows were drawing blood, little splatters that decorated the walls with tiny red pinpricks, no greater than a sweetberry. Scout bled red, a bright splash that otherwise looked so unassuming.

Etho steadied himself, holding the shield warily. There was caution in his movements, each strike against the blunt limbs calculated in paradox to Scout’s frenzied jerking. The potions were accumulating, toxicity rising in synchrony to the crescendo of wails and hellish shrieks.

Scout hummed, a loud vibrating tune that alternated between slurred clicks with some semblance of language. He slumped, keening high and distressed as one leg gave way. It crumpled to the ground, an enormous primary feather fracturing and bending backwards like a wet thumbnail after soaking in a bath too long. 

“Nnn,” Scout slurred, moaning between violent sobs and other sounds. “No- no.”

Gem shuddered, curling her chin lower into the soft cardigan Stress wore. The rough approximation of protests dwindled, fading weaker as slowly Scout succumbed to potion effect. Weakness lay over the creature with no kind compassion, no steady rise to its chest beyond that of jerking chaotic gasps.

“He’s down,” Etho stated needlessly, lowering his shield with no other signs of concern. Peering over his shoulder, the heterochromatic man cocked his head and asked: “do you need me to keep watch for you?”

“We’re fine,” Stress said, her words choked and trapped in her throat. She cleared it, uncomfortable with how it caught somewhere by her vocal cords.

“Alrighty then,” Etho said.

“Come on, Stress,” Gem soothed. She righted herself, offering one hand to her friend to help pull her upright. Now standing, the three glanced at the fallen enormous creature across the small room.

Etho hummed to himself, whistling a jolly tune. Casually, he scuffed one shoe along the floor where an enormous gouge carved itself into the marine sea lantern. It looked like a scraping blow from a longsword, severing the illuminated surface deeply. Stress had some memory of a feather swiping there, and felt her nausea emerge once more.

“Maybe I should stick around,” Etho said after a small pause, contemplating the gash in the floor. 

Gem had no complaints, none at all.

They opened the shulkers, drawing free the clean blankets and small vials. Buckets of water were hefted from inside the purple shell, set aside with intentions to deeply clean the creature. Metal tools were set on a small table, hastily constructed- shears, piers, knives, and needles. 

“I don’t think you can patch these feathers,” Etho informed them, eying the punctured web split to the quill. To repair a feather, you often required a matching set to splice together. False had done her best with what she kept from her last molt, but her wings were miniscule compared to the broken vanes erupting like thorns.

“I’m worried about malnutrition.”

“I think we should get the arrowheads out,” Gem muttered uncomfortably. She skitterd between approaching Scout and shying back, instinct daring and damning her all the same.

Etho kept guard as she slowly stepped closer, cloven hooves dancing between grime and exposed flooring. Scout breathed shakily, entire body shuddering below the heavy jerk of its diaphragm.

“One,” Gem said, drawing the arrowhead clear from where it impaled the nearest wing. The arrowheads were not made to pierce deeply- they were broad and appeared to impact and distribute poison as quickly as possible. They would bruise, but bruises could heal.

The fourth arrow came free much like the prior three. The last two, lodged in the pale skin near the spine, stuck upwards violently. They did not come free when she tugged initially, only when Gem dared to touch the body and yank against the thin flesh with both her hands.

The wounds left behind were gruesome but temporary. Gem felt ill as she stared at them, able to count and trace the spiderweb blue lines of vessels below the thin skin. This close, it was undeniable that Scout held some sort of humanoid vertebral column. It wasn't a phantom, or a mob Gem knew. The skin itself was something different, pale and translucent although Gem had suspicion it wasn’t supposed to be.

“How long was he underground?” she asked her two companions. Gently, she pressed her fingertips in and watched the small capillaries and vessels blanch, filling slowly once more with blood.

“Too long,” Stress responded. She nervously paced on the outer reach of the splay wing, uncertain where to approach. Gem teetered from her perch atop Scout’s back, her hooves catching on something she worried was a pelvis below all the shed downy.

“Well, I guess it’s time to start plucking,” Etho muttered, setting his shield down. He swept a set of swears up in his hand, holding it aloft to check for any notches or dents in the blade. Once passed his precursory scan, he slid himself between a set of unsalvageable feathers and hacked the weathered vane in two.

The sound was not unlike a small twig breaking underfoot. The ratty end of the feather dropped with a shed of dust, other white powder escaping the hollow quill from where a blood supply had once been before it dried up years ago. Stress flinched at the noise, her mouth drying at the unimaginable sight of a clipped wing. Etho gave no indication of it bothering him, simply moving on to the next unsalvageable feather.

This pattern continued. Gem carved and healed the small lacerations left by their arrows, packing each incision with an herb poultice oozing with the juice from golden apples. Stress tended to each feather that had some degree of function- painstakingly brushing it out with a straw broom and plucking ticks and other debris free from the tangled vanes. Etho did what he did best, severing things with shears or a knife. Slowly, the pile of discarded feathers stacked taller, able to stuff one of Bdub’s mattresses. The ground turned brown with dirt, sticks and lichen tugged from old spaces. They rivaled two elytra, almost three.

“Alright then,” Stress said, finally breaking her silent focus. She rubbed her hands on her trousers, leaving ashy tracks across her thighs. Contemplating the situation, her posture slumped as she confessed miserably: “I think we need to roll ‘em.”

Gem had known that for quite some time. Accessing the wings was easy enough, but the true question of Scout’s health was what lay under the wings. She had managed to address her open fears- malnutrition, vitamin deficiency, some old muscular atrophy simply from her posterior perch. 

“Okie dokie,” Etho said without blinking. Far too casually, he set aside the shears and approached the largest set of wings. 

With a loud huff of exertion, the man raised himself from a squat with the wing joint in both hands. He struggled, body shaking as the elbow of the appendage lifted, dragging the entirety of Scout with it.

“Wait wait!” Gem cried, ducking below to precariously lodge her antlers across the joint- providing Etho enough time to shift his grip to something better. “Look at the wing! His arm!”

Gem had heard about it, seen the rough anatomical sketches Doc had provided of the presumed physiology. Associating a charcoal and ink drawing to actual tangible bone was something much different.

Etho twitched, cringing visibly at the proximity. His hands flexed, fingers curling into soft downy feathers that coated the underside of the main wing- just shy of the awkward transition. Skin stretched, distorted and wrong. Small prickles of attempted feathers poked free in needlepoint asymmetry. Bone structure bulged from a relatively identifiable elbow, taped together with thick rippled stretch marks.

Etho breathed slowly through his nose, thankful for his mask as a dislodged downy feather fluttered close to being inhaled. The arm twitched, long disfigured hand curling into a claw-like instinctive grasp.

Stress eyed the junction, tearfully touching the union of skin with one shaking fingertip. It stretched, blanching under the pressure. There was a blood supply, regrown into the unwanted area.

“What are you thinking?” Etho asked her, holding the joint steady. Stress wet her lips, pinching the fusion to feel for muscle or tendon below. It sank softly, thick but not too thick.

“I…we need to lay him flat,” she croaked hoarsely. She was sweating, mostly due to nerves. “Have any of you two fellas helped in a surgery before?”

“Surgery?” Gem asked, squeaking. She skittered, antlers shaking as she tossed her head twice. “I uh, I’m not sure about that.”

“I can help,” said Etho, grossly fascinated by the strange connection.

“We should get the rest of him sorted out,” Stress said. She shuddered, lodging a wedge of scaffolding below the lifted wing to create a support pole. The wing slumped, twitching slightly as it tented over the ground. Ramshackle, and broken.

“Want me to get a temperature?” Etho asked, snickering softly. The attempt at humor failed, yet it didn’t lay awkwardly or uncomfortable between them.

“I can handle that,” Stress said, “can you check by his head? XB said that Scout had opened the face wings before- there may be a reason he hasn’t since being in here.”

“ Or,” Etho presented boldly, “he’s anxious and irritated that he’s stuck in a box.”

“Or he’s got a toothache,” Gem countered. “Besides, I’m checking out the toes and claws! Go on in there, you big scared cat!”

“I’m not scared,” Etho muttered. He sniffed, shouldering his way bodily below the biological lean-to. Scout’s humanoid arm hung, suspended by its elbow union with each talon about level to Etho’s knee.

Etho squatted, frog marching himself below the wing. His hair knocked bits of dirt askew, some landing on his face like filthy freckles. He resisted the urge to sneeze, feeling mildew creep inside his sinuses. 

“You okay down there?” Gem asked, her voice melodic and sing-song. She was busying herself somewhere further south, investigating the hind limbs presumably.

“Peachy,” Etho muttered, trying not to grimace as more debris caught in his hair. Sometimes, he was dearly thankful for the fact he wore a mask.

Scout’s neck was a thin gangly thing, bowed forward like he had fallen unconscious sitting upright. The arch of all six main wings and the odd upper body forced the poor creature to lay with its body bent, head unable to truly touch the ground. Miniature wings splay limply, controlled by gravity in a downward splay like a wilting flower. Filthy matted hair resembled a felted blanket more than actual hair. Well beyond saving, bits of hair tangled with vines and other things into an unsalvageable mess.

Etho scoured for any sign of injuries. He couldn’t smell the high recognizable stink of infection beyond that of general grime. Scout’s skin could use a good exfoliation, but the visible patches were smooth and unburdened of injury.

“Found the head,” Etho said unnecessarily. He squirmed, wriggling onto his back to slide below the creature. It felt a bit like he was working on one of his redstone machines, except he was without the rolling cart and tools within reach. Scout breathed with hitching breaths, each inhale and exhale a struggle.

Outside of the feather cave, Stress asked: “reckon he seem alright?”

“He’s breathing,” Etho said. 

Scout twitched, a small flutter through his clawed fingertips and furthest edges of his wings. The small joints around his face, cradling his cheekbones and jawline, flapped twice reflexively. Etho watched with open fascination as Scout’s face shifted, tightening slightly across shadowed cheekbones before the creature shuddered.

Each little bird wing opened and closed, aggressively flapping twice before closing as quickly as they came. Little bits of fluffy down fluttered, suspended in the flecks of dust permeating through the hazy curtain of light. Below the thick canopy of feathers, light existed in a gentle haze. Etho fluttered his eyelashes open, contaminating the sepia scene with carmine and insatiable ravenous text.

“Hello there, Scout,” Etho said gently. He loath to disrupt such odd tranquility but according to jittering figures and indications- the potion effect was running out far faster than anticipated. Etho gently caressed the smallest wing near an approximate cheekbone, teasing the small songbird appendage to tremble at his touch.

Etho could trace the miniscule curved lines with his red enhanced eye, knowing them to be countless numbers of eyelids recessed into odd unnatural places. He longed to poke one, to feel the little eyeball jolt away and roll frantically behind his finger. A part of him, the part that was cruel and violent, wanted to pry the little wings away from Scout’s true face to peer hungrily at the skull of something deliciously new.

Yet, Etho was not the same uncompassionate person who had braved Mindcrack and its aggressive hostilities. He was different now, changed. 

“Alright, see you later, Scout,” Etho whispered, watching little feathers wiggle like a cat’s attentive ear. Regretfully, Etho slid on his back, scooting below the tented feathers away from such temptation.

“You see anything?” Stress asked him upon his emergence. Etho grimaced, shimmying white powdery dust from the back of his dark green jacket- it would need a thorough wash after this.

“Just Scout’s upper body and face,” Etho reported dutifully. “I’d almost say he’s avian.”

“Yeah, same from over here,” Gem called. Her hooves clattered with her bounding approach- clack-clack-clack! She daintily deposited a well worn set of hoof-trimmers into a canvas bag, beside a file and a rounded circular knife. Her ears rattled back and forth, nose scrunching as she stated: “his back feet are a bit like talons, but a bit mushy. It’s almost like someone rolled an avian in a ball and tried to flatten him back out!”

Etho thought, and said: “that’s…shockingly accurate.”

Stress grimaced, her smile transitioning to a wince. What work she had managed on the outer wings was hard to see- one brutality altered for another. Broken feathers had been cut away viciously, bald patches exposed sick sore skin with thick plaques or other wounds. Scout clearly would be unable to fly, even if the wings weren’t so atrophied.

“I’m worried about that upper arm,” Stress said. She shifted on her feet, hand dropping to her flank where more potions were at the ready- enough to knock a ravager out if used correctly.

“You should make up your mind quickly, the potion effects aren’t lasting as long as we hoped.”

“Yeah…” Stress said, dwelling on the thought. She chewed her lip, gnawing anxiously.

At what point was it alright to perform surgery? Scout hadn’t consented- and separating an incorrect attachment of that severity was nothing more than true non consensual body modification. Scout already couldn’t fly, and he had been stuck in that state for an unknown amount of time prior. When was interfering something for their benefit, and not necessarily Scout’s? Were they actually helping or simply soothing their consciences? 

“I…I’m not okay with that. The surgery thing,” Gem stated. She shifted on her feet, clicking softly. Her normal compassionate gentle expression hardened with steel- the emergence of GeminiSlay in moments of true determination. “It isn’t right.”

“Agreed,” Stress said quietly. Her hand fell away from her pouch- another day then.

“Besides! Scout should already feel better, I pulled out a ton of barbs and prickles! Oh, and I cut off a ton of overgrown talons. He should be up and moving as soon as he wakes up!”

“We can watch him when he comes out of it,” Etho decided, considering the benefits of an enderpearl thrown into the tiny recession in the wall he had fired the crossbow bolts. 

If anything, it was pretty darn comfortable.

And this is how grief goes.

He had never taken the time to think about the void.

Trauma was one thing, blood spilled and blood taken. The void was different, a thing to be avoided and cautious with when traveling on wooden bridges stretched from horizon to horizon. 

He didn’t know where to place that grief- the bitter intrusive state of freezing. An abandonment as his friends and family left to a server that hadn’t yet corrupted and crashed to a place he could not follow.  

The end can only do what it does. 

The Watchers can only do what creatures and entities driven by violence and indulgence and ache can do.

And so-.

Worlds grow, grass sprouts, trees bloom flowers and grow orchards over the memory of a dead body- still missing.  Servers continue, hands working to build empires and create legacies; hopes that perhaps a new monument, a new siren will draw a lost passenger finally home. 

Memory is like a screen, built of code and numbers and made of so many things to see at once. Friends process what absence and failure he was and all he can remember is black emptiness. Bottomless, born to fall with useless broken wings. 

There's a timeline somewhere, buried deep in the recesses of his memory and reinforced by trauma and maladaptive coping. There's a map there, of concepts and cause and effect of friends being stranded and the impending doom of death. Buildings being destroyed, meteors, the implacable indestructible ice of bedrock poisoning his fingertips with that black void-emptiness.

He hasn’t recovered from walking the crumbling edges of meteors speckling the landscape, like holes in a graveyard. He hasn’t forgotten the deadline, the riddles leading to their untimely end. 

Rationality said don’t overthink it, as if his body was listening. As if the body will ever forget that which it is given.

(he is Void, empty and black from that which has been provided, personified-)

If he built buildings for every pain he’d felt unjustly, he would be wandering through barren empty cities of his own empire. He would take back every insult, every match thrown carelessly into gunpowder wrapped with cheap paper, all of it if it would end this experience. The worst build, created through experience and exposure.

How much value are diamonds to those who have no use for personal belongings? Who had said the first words- had he built an empire or formed a revolution and watched it fall and burn apart. He couldn’t believe half the things he’d been through, he didn’t know if he had imagined it.

He’d never been taught how to adequately mourn. He didn’t know how to speak to the wind, let his words be stolen and swallowed by the endlessness that he now felt inside and at every moment. He wanted to give everything he had been handed to others, and now he wondered if he remembered how to cry. How many eyes, how many tear ducts? He can’t cry about the body (what is he, what has he become?) but he feels it. There is a person split from the universe’s promise to always be one. Everything is blurry and grainy- all of the flowers have died. All things here die eventually.

And in six months they draw shovels and uncover an empty casket to hold their memories and bury it. Each arm tilts in dirt, able to shovel away their sadness. 

There are no heroes in the cold aching endlessness, always changing nothing. He poses, dances with wings of royal purple and poses himself as decoration: aren’t I beautiful? Are you watching me?

And he is not a survivor, he is simply still breathing. He exists, the void chewing on his fingers and staining him so empty. What else do we have if not the memory of life before this? 

He remembers grief, the grand finale of confession as love falls beyond his reach. He remembers mourning, the intentional decision to leap to where one can never look- he cannot tell how many lives he’s lost to mourning. 

If you want to be a simple animal, then so be it you shameless creature.

But-

But he can tell you the sky is blue and clouds shift across its horizon. He can tell you the transition from walking to crawling and the touch of grass and flowers that survived (like him). He can tell you the sound of familiarity, the hiss of gunpowder and the taste of crisp apples. 

He can whisper, dare to say that which he was afraid to: I miss you, I’m sorry, Help me.

He can say: my name is Grian

Chapter Text

Something had been bothering Ren. 

Ren wasn’t the smartest dog around, but his momma-dog had raised him well and he knew better than to trust a gift bone when given to him. Too many things weren’t lining up, it was making him nervous.

He had seen Scout in person a scant number of times, each memory left him nervous and twitchy. It made him a little too anxious, chewing on his claws until Doc had gotten him the remnants of a skeleton to play with. 

Ren wasn’t an admin, he wasn’t a big scary monster like a void walker or whatever Etho was. Ren was just a hound-dog, but he had a good nose on him and he could sniff out problems. 

Scout never once made him feel that warm friendly thing that others talked about. Scout was a stinky thing full of fleas, and Ren hated fleas.

Sometimes Doc was too curious about major aspects of a project, he was blind to the smaller details. 

The most recent event with Scout didn’t do much to make him feel better. When he heard about it, he just about snarled at Etho’s bland expression. They had the audacity to sedate Scout? Shooting him with poisoned arrows? They were lucky the insane thing hadn’t attacked them all outright!

Rendog wasn’t scared of some weird big bird, but he had some doubts. He knew he wasn’t the only one. Joehills had been quieter, careful with where he traveled. Joe was a good hermit, a dang helpful one too. Joe was a rather timid Admin in Rendog’s eyes, but that didn’t mean the man didn’t know anything.

Tracking down Joe was easier than most would expect. Ren had a nose made for sniffing out suspicious things, and a keener sense than any tamed wolf. He could spot a creeper a mile away, and had gotten used to Doc’s shenanigans at the Octogon to ever let his senses dull.

“Joe!” Ren shouted, crowing delightedly in something near a howl. “My old friend! How’s it shaking, my dude?”

Joe startled leaping a little as he dropped the shulker he had been pawing through- spilling bee hives across the ground. Thankfully, they were empty, but the delicious smell of honey made Ren’s tail wave a little quicker.

“Oh, I'm sorry! I hadn’t seen you there,” Joe apologized, nervously wringing his sticky hands together. Honey spilled onto the grass, slow golden molasses filling ant hills with the most glorious death. Ren almost wanted to watch.

“Man,” Ren said wistfully. “What a sweet way to die.”

“I mean, I guess?” Joe said, voice squeaking into high pitch territory. The two men stood there, watching the gentle ooze for a concerning length of time.

“How can I help ya’?” Joe asked, wiping his hands clean on a rag in his right pocket. The man smiled softly, somehow a lump of honeycomb was trapped in his scruff.

Ren grinned, wide enough to show his admirable fangs. Joe’s gentle warmth did not diminish, nor did it lessen in any way. 

“Joe, my dude,” Ren said, puffing his chest as wide as he could. “I don’t believe any of this Scout nonsense!”

“Uh,” Joe said wisely.

“I mean, a weird feathery monstrosity arriving out of nowhere?” Ren barked, tossing his head backward with the ferocity of his words. “It’s outrageous! Do they take us for fools? Because I’mma tell you this- this dog ain’t gullible!” 

Joe very slowly looked at his honeycomb, wearing an expression similar to despair. The man sighed, recognizing the appearance of Rendog for what it was. Woefully, Joe asked: “I’m not going to be able to clean this up, am I?”

“It’s organic, dude,” Ren said, grabbing the man’s upper arm with his clawed grip. “Nature is healing, or something. Come on, we got priorities!”

“I had priorities,” Joe mumbled, allowing himself to be pulled along.

Ren did not halt his frantic speed. At one point, Ren was sprinting with Joe hastily enabling his elytra to soar over a ten foot gap like a large terrified kite. Ren had found this hilarious, unable to restrain his hideous cackling yips. It took some amount of time before Joe felt the prickling nervous energy begin to flutter in his chest, gathering in a tight anxious ball.

“Ren- Ren where are we going?” 

Ren grinned with a bright manic light. Through his sunglasses, Joe could spot telltale pinprick pupils of someone high on danger and adrenaline. He knew suddenly that they were undoubtedly up to no good.

“Oh don’t worry, my dude!” Ren cackled, finally releasing Joe’s abused arm from his tight grip. The man’s tail wagged quickly, battering against Joe’s flank with a heavy blow. “ I’ve been thinkin’, scheming if you prefer that terminology…and I thought, hmm, who else would be insane enough to go against Doc! And I mean, I live with that madman!”

Joe very worriedly thought: oh no.

Ren waved both arms about, claws dark and flashing as he gestured wildly. “And you know what I thought? I thought, man, Rendog, there’s only one dude around that crazy!”

Rendog’s ears perked, a twitch of his lip pulled him into a toothy grin. Joe felt panic once more at the sudden depth of what he had been literally dragged into. Not that he was going to walk away- Ren had presented some open problems that Joe also had been wondering.

With a small shudder of wind through the clearing, the leaves rustled and their expectant guest landed gracefully with elytra outstretched. In some ways, Cubfan was a natural at flying. Where Scar had never quite adjusted to using elytra for flying, Cubfan had embraced and practiced the art of the equipment to soar quite literally heads above Scar. 

“Well well,” Cub said, voice level in the monotone inflection he always had although one eyebrow quirked upwards in open amusement. Joe knew how to read Cleo’s face (who on occasion had some facial paralysis kick in from decay), he could adjust to reading Cub’s expressions.

“Cub! The one and the only! The legend himself!” Ren shouted, throwing both arms into the air with a cut off howl. “How are you doin’ my brother?”

“We’re brother’s now?” Cub asked, cocking one head with an intensity to his gaze. It felt almost alien, uncomfortable to look at.

“Well, we may be from a different litter, but you’re family to me!” Ren defended with another toothy grin. “How is life treating ya’. Do anything wild recently?”

“Mm, nothing too crazy,” Cub deflected. Joe noticed how the man hadn’t actually answered the question. He had heard rumors that Cub couldn’t actually lie, which felt ridiculous but maybe there was some merit to it.

“How would you feel if I offered you an opportunity then?”

Cub’s piercing gaze shifted, fixating on Joe for a moment longer than necessary. There was something primal in his gaze, a predatory gleam that made Joe think of freezing potions and the acrid smell of dragon’s breath. Cub’s smile didn’t seem so friendly, now it felt almost razor sharp and edging on the cusp of cruelty. 

“Oh?” Cub asked, casually glancing at Ren who didn’t seem to care at the odd expressions. “What sort of opportunity?”

“How would you feel starting some chaos?”

“Mm, well. I do enjoy some chaos.”

Joe shivered, trying to ignore the sharp gaze which flickered to him for a short period. They seemed to see through him, recognizing or assessing the situation quicker than he would have liked. Cub hummed flatly, his elytra ruffling with a small insectoid shift. He asked: “I take it the chaos aspect is why Joe is here, and not Xisuma?”

“Got it in one,” Ren laughed. He reached out, smacking Cub affectionately on the shoulder of his lab coat, dangerously close to clawing the pristine material. “What do you know about this Scout hooligan?”

“Just what Xisuma has mentioned over the communicators,” Cub said dismissively. Joe did not think Cub actually thought as little of the situation as he portrayed.

“Well, I don’t like it one bit,” Ren growled. “First X runs off, and now Doc too! That idiot won’t even come home now, too busy thinking about theories and- and…and myths!”

“I heard Scout was a Watcher,” Cub said with his apathetic tone, distant and curious all at once. “I wondered about that.”

“Have you ever run across a Watcher?” Joe asked, hating how squeaky his voice was all the sudden.

Cub smiled. His smile, to Joe’s eyes, reminded him of a mouth full of thin needle like teeth. Cub laughed a short genuine guttural chuckle, eyes bright with a brutal clarity. 

Cub said, “I don’t think so. I'd love for a Watcher to meet me.”

Ren barked a noise of amusement. “Hah! That’s probably why X wanted you to stay away! You’d terrify the thing!”

“I can’t help it, I’m just cool like that.”

Yeah, or terrifying, Joe thought.

“So I was thinking, I ain’t biting all that Watcher nonsense,” Ren explained, waving his arms around as his tail continued its slow wagging. “I mean, I can believe maybe X stumbling over something in his server hopping, but why this one?”

Joe felt both men look at him, clearly waiting for his input. Finally, something he could comment on.

“Oh, well…uh,” Joe stuttered, trying to recall what drew him and Xisuma to this precise server. “We normally check the origin spawn area, as well as the different biomes within a specific distance. We do it for every server, we had multiple options and this one was just…the best?”

“The best objectively?” Cub asked casually, “or the best in your personal opinion?”

“Well, best is pretty subjective,” Joe said awkwardly. “I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. Xisuma and I just…have a certain taste when it comes to new servers. It was probably just chance.”

Ren growled, his tail freezing in place. He asked very slowly, “what if it wasn’t chance?”

“That’s not possible,” Joe argued. “There’s millions of potential worlds out there. We had dozens in our selection pool, the likelihood of something being able to predict us is impossible.”

Cub clearly thought otherwise. The man drew a stick from his inventory, the bark stripped away and end fashioned thin in preparation of being affixed to some sort of tool. He ignored his previous work, instead using the  stick to sweep away the leaves and detritus on the floor. With intentional heavy strokes, the man carved lines into the forest floor and peeled back the moss.

“Alright, let’s look at it then,” Cub said with mock disinterest. “Way back, to when the community was founded. Who did that?”

“Biffa2001,” Joe stated. Cub drew a mark in the ground, below it Biffa. 

Shifting to the right, Cub cleared a space and asked, “and when you left that server, who decided where to go?”

“Biffa decided where to go when he was our Admin,” Joe explained hastily. “That was…oh man, since the very start, until Xisuma started taking over the duties and Biffa retired.”

“You and I joined later on, Cub,” Rendog said, contemplating the list of names and different worlds Cub scratched into the dirt. “How is any of this important?”

“Did you help at all with selecting new servers?” Cub asked Joe directly.

“Sure?” Joe squeaked, using his shoe to anxiously stamp at the ground at various worlds. “I uh, I helped these ones…”

“The third, fourth, fifth, sixth…” Cub muttered, trying to find any sort of similarities across each world. “Each server was pretty unique…beyond some standard things…”

“Yeah, like…we have parameters,” Joe stated hastily. “Specific things Xisuma and Biffa looked for- resources within a certain distance, a variety of biomes. Plenty of ocean monuments and so on.”

Rendog snuffled, ears twitching as he thought. He couldn’t see any sort of familiarity across the maps, but there had to be something.

Cub tilted his head, unblinking as he stared at each world written in the dirt. Cub tapped his stick, trying to find anything. He asked, lost in thought: “This world…how perfect is it?”

Joe floundered, caught off guard. He stuttered, nearly choking on his spit before he registered and found his confidence once more. Cub watched him, not helping his stress levels.

“I mean, it’s a good one? If we hadn’t come to it, we probably would have eventually. Why?”

“Scout had been underground,” Cub said softly to himself, staring at the various worlds below them. Slowly, with his stick, he scratched out each individual world, leaving only the names: Xisuma, Biffa, Joe below each. “How long had it been waiting?”

“Eh? You think it was waiting for something?” Ren asked, hackles bristling.

Cub tapped his stick, deep in thought. His smile was not friendly, merely contemplative. He asked: “how long do you think Watcher’s can go without eating?”

“Uh, a pretty long time I imagine?” Joe guessed.

“Years?” Cub guessed, eyebrows lifting on his face. “Decades? Long enough for us to eventually hop over and land on this pretty server?”

Ren caught on quicker, his ears laying flat. His voice turned steely, a low growl radiating through each word. “You think it had been waiting here? Like- like a trap?”

“No, that’s not possible,” Joe argued. “Xisuma and I are super secret about what we look for. The only way that it could possibly know, would be by looking at our previous homes. But even then, it would just have a guess!”

“A guess based off of previous worlds,” Cub said.

“We have a traitor then,” Ren stated boldly. 

“Maybe,” Cub stated, sliding the stick back into his inventory. He stretched, elytra moving in a way impossible (as if the man himself had wings-) before it settled inanimate as it should be. For the smallest flicker, Cub’s eyes were nearly glowing. “How would you two feel about spreading a little chaos?”

“What do you have in mind?” Joe asked anxiously.

“Well, if it’s a trap…why not spring it?”

The problem with living with Doc was Cub was intimately familiar with the man’s redstone. Cub himself was rather talented with the binary system, but usually hadn’t the patience to create the complex mechanism. Joe rarely used redstone personally, but he had enough resources and overarching awareness of the community schedule to know exactly when to strike.

“Oh baby,” Cub said, whistling affectionately as he eyed something Doc had made. Ren had a sneaking suspicion the man was going to replicate the fine intricacies into something much more diabolical. 

“I can smell Etho all over this thing,” Ren rumbled. He gave another heavy sniff, before snorting and sneezing twice. “Oh, gross! It smells like chickens everywhere! And not in a good way!”

“Here’s the important wire,” Cub informed the man, waving towards a thin unassuming stretch of red powder. With a careless scuff of his shoe, he broke the connection without any fanfare. Cub smirked cheekily, saying teasingly: “oh, oops.”

“You’re a devil,” Ren chuckled, tail thwacking the delicate machinery and sending bits of fur floating away. 

Joe of course felt much worse about the situation. He was able to monitor the location of everyone- it was far too easy to convince Keralis to take a shift off and let Joe cover it. Joe felt pretty bad about it, but Cub did have a point. Cub had also said if anyone asked, he manhandled and blackmailed Joe into letting him continue his evil ploy.

“Okay, we’re all good down here!” Ren shouted up from where he had clawed up the panels and vanished into the belly of the redstone concoction. Joe exhaled nervously, drumming his fingers along the control panel without pressing down on any of them. 

“Yep, Joe you can press the button now.”

Joe whined miserably, calling into the pit: “I know but I really don’t want to!”

“Push the freakin’ button, man!” 

“Fine, but I’m not happy about this!” Joe shouted back.

The box rumbled. Scout, who had been dormant or sleeping, startled awake in a jolt. Cub and Ren appeared from below the floor, scrambling up to peer through the one way glass. Slowly, the wall of sea-lanterns withdrew on the furthest wall. Scout shifted away from it, dragging claws and loud scratching feathers that had Ren wincing and rubbing his ears. The monstrosity of feathers piqued Cub’s interest whilst simultaneously making him hesitant to stare at it so openly. Something about… looking at Scout was bothering him, pressing achingly on his eyes. It itched inside his body, touching his nerves with little zaps of discomfort.

Scout shuffled away, scrambling with lethargic weak movements. A red woolen blanket slid off of it, revealing broken tarnished hind-legs barely spotted below a bastardized set of wings resembling tailfeathers. An emaciated ribcage peeked below feathers, little spine ridges of vertebra caught Joe’s eyes with a lurching sort of horror.

Normally, the wall was made to rise suddenly and create the box. Rerouting the redstone and reversing the signal slowly withdrew the single wall- effectively freeing the creature from it’s rudimentary varmint trap. Joe was sure he had seen Scar capture feral cats with a similar design, only much smaller.

The open maw of FiFi’s cave beckoned Scout forth. The creature sluggishly moved, struggling to orient and coordinate it’s many limbs. It looked a bit like a gangly feathered spider at times, then like a prehistoric flying animal grounded to the land.

“Isn’t that a sight,” Cub marveled. The man itched to touch the feathers, to stroke the broken vanes and trace the areas where the worst of the damage had been cut free. Cub suddenly had a fairly good idea of what Stress had been up to, spotting patches of hasty trimmed quills and a bandage on it’s exposed back.

“That’s…horrible,” Joe whispered. The man wore an unhealthy flush, conflicting with a ghastly pale shade of his skin. He looked queasy, whereas Ren just looked perplexed.

“Dude, I don’t know if I want to chase that thing or kill it with fire,” Ren admitted. He shuddered, grimacing.

“Well boys,” Cub said, clapping them on the back heartily. “Congrats on releasing an abomination to the server!”

“Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick,” Joe said weakly.

“I’ll say. That thing had fleas, man.”

Cub snickered. “I have a feeling this will be very interesting.”

Grian recognized the sudden open darkness. He looked at it and thought: freedom.

The cave was familiar in a sluggish way- yet faster than his mind had been. Things were coming to him, visions and ideas. Little whispers of thoughts that accompanied each movement and action in a way they hadn’t before. In the times before, it would take ages for idea to turn to concept, and transform into action. Now, he felt a gentle narrator in awe of each movement as it occurred.

The wall was gone, the darkness open. An ache in him grew, return to the dark. Out of sight. They cannot watch you there.

They could not watch him in the dark, and he began to move.

The cave was not cold but it was not warm either. It felt like all caves had before, but Grian had never the capacity to so openly recognize the difference. There was no lichen here, no dampness. No soft grass or fluffy fabric. He had not taken the red-blanket with him, he had not thought of it and as such, it was not a potential.

Grian simply was. He moved, clawing and shifting. His body did not hurt as much as it had before. The aches were not bright, did not steal his thoughts. His mind felt lighter, the fog thinning. There was something painful- he had been seen, but it was better now in the dark.

How had he been trapped? He was careful to not walk above the caves where the light would perceive him, where They would see him. (This confused him, why was he so worried? He had been in the light and They were not there-). He had to stay in the shadows, in the crevices and caves for…for a reason.

Why? He wondered thickly. Why am I hiding?

He had to hide, he knew this better than he knew himself. It was important, he forced it into his existence, his identity. More important than a name (I am Grian ) was the urge to hide. 

He climbed, clawing with the hurting bits on the ends of his limbs. He could feel the stone hurt where before he had forgotten how hurting was painful. He dragged himself, limbs were not moving as they once did. He was clean, and now he was dirty (why was he thinking of this?)

Scout, they called him Scout. He was not Scout, he was Grian (perhaps he was Scout and not Grian? Was he Scout now?) He was Grian.

It hurt to think too deeply. Shallow thoughts, simple awareness. He needed to hide, this cave was not safe. There were no holes here to burrow inside and sleep away the fear. There was no crevice, not like the cave before- (the void called to him, it sang it’s song and the Universe cried-).

He would return there. It was a dumb idea to come to this cave where he had been captured. There was something new here as well, something large with strange colours. Red and orange, he was quite fond of red, but it grew in a carving created by the humans. Humanoid, with one eye in its rock skull.

Oh, how had he forgotten? They had told him to Watch, and some old thoughts and instincts forced him to do so. That old fear had controlled him, They said to Watch and he was a fool to ever dare to defy it. They were not here, but it had hurt to defy and it hurt to do so. They forced him to look, and now he was too afraid to look again.

He knew better. He could be better. He had to hide- to stay in the dark where they would not see him. He could wait longer (why? Why was he waiting?) and he would do so where the ground was deeper and darker. He could nestle somewhere safe, waiting until he remembered why he had to wait.

Grian crawled. His wings (they were wings, he remembered they were called wings) dragged and caught. The woman had done something to them, had clipped them and torn them where they hurt the most and now they did not. It was an old ache, something he had been unaware of until its absence translated itself to his thoughts. They had helped him but then they had hurt him. They had fixed him, but he was too broken (wasn’t he?)

He remembered what they said in hideous whispers, in places he wasn't listening but saw their lips move. He did not remember language but knew their tongue. Why is a bird underground? Cave Chicken. Weird monstrosity.

Why did he have wings? He couldn’t fly- he couldn’t imagine it. He knew to glide. He knew how to throw himself forward, to scrape limbs and bury rocks in his soft squishy skin. He knew how to tumble off cliffs- he knew how to fall.

He did not know how to fly, but he knew to survive. He knew how to sleep, to rest and wait for something-.

‘What am I waiting for?’ Grian thought, tucking himself as small as possible in a crevice of stone and andesite. He knew the name, could see the binary figures composing its name. He hadn’t seen andesite before, but knew its touch and coldness. ‘Why was I waiting?’

How joyous and hideously sad it was to recognize himself. To recognize sentience, thought disguised in apathetic lethargy. Had he known he was alive in the months-years earlier? Had he recognized life itself?

‘I’m waiting,’ he settled upon. He closed his eyes, shielding himself and waiting for the drift of the sun and the rise of darkness. It soothed him, a balm to a burnt sour patch somewhere in his heart. The moon was small, a fraction of it’s true capacity. It would cycle, although Grian could not name how he knew that. It would wax and wane, would shine its beauty upon his hideous body in false mockery of a friend. 

It was nighttime, at its darkest, and Grian knew he had to move. He had to crawl, to drag himself further and tumble across ravines where he would flutter and break upon the stone. He had to move forward, to endure and continue. 

‘I know how to fall,’ Grian thought to himself in human’s stolen words. ‘I know how to get up again.’

“Well, what would you know,” Cub remarked. In a rare display of open awe, the man spun around and peered around the vast expanse of FiFi’s lair. “That giant monster actually managed to drag itself out of here unseen.”

“I can smell the mangy mutt,” Ren huffed, his nose wrinkling wildly in the cave. “Ugh, really rancid, my dudes.”

“But it left a trail,” Joe stated. He touched the ground, tracing a small tangible feather that had caught itself in gravel. He held the little feather, spinning it to catch the dawn’s light and shine a small iridescent sheen. “It dragged itself out of here.”

“It’s smart, it waited until night to do so.”

“Wasn’t smart enough to fly,” Ren growled. The man pushed down his sunglasses, squinting with slit eyes into the darkness of the cave. “Hey, how long do you think we have before the others realize we let the big chicken out?”

“Eh, maybe a few hours?” Cub guessed. The man didn’t seem that concerned by the idea, eying the empty box with a careless shrug to both shoulders. “If Scout really is some sort of sleeper agent, it’s better we know what to prepare for.”

“I mean, I get what you’re saying,” Joe muttered. “But I don’t exactly agree with it. We just let loose a wild, terrifying monster on this server. Who knows what it’ll do!”

“Oh it’ll find a nice cozy cave to hunker down in and lick its wounds,” Ren scoffed. His hackles lifted temporarily, lips curling back to flash his impressive sharp eyeteeth. With a wink, partially disguised behind his dark sunglasses, Ren reassured the other Admin: “Don’t worry. It’s still feral, it’ll just go hide for a bit.”

“Yep,” Cub agreed, popping his words. He stretched both arms, shoulders popping quietly with the movement. The man hummed, cracking other joints that Joe was certain weren’t exactly supposed to crack. “Well, boys. I’m off, I have things to do. Stuff to make. The grind never stops.”

“See ya later, my dude,” Ren yipped. Joe waved silently as Cub spread his elytra, conjured rockets and escaped high into the morning sun. 

“I’m not gonna lie, Ren,” Joe said belatedly. “Cub scares me.”

“He scares all of us,” Ren soothed, not actually doing anything to comfort Joe in any way. 

Cub had expected Xisuma earlier. 

He knew of course, that that admin would swoop in with all the fury of a man finding something precious taken from him. Cub wasn’t exactly new to the scene, he had joined the community on the fourth server hop, inducted into the strange little world alongside Rendog, Iskall, and Scar. He had been around a while now, but not as long as some of the others.

That being said, he was well accustomed to Xisuma’s rare rage and more frequent irritation. He knew that Doc would similarly be spiteful for the next few days, and to watch his back in case any occasional redstone machinery were to suspiciously malfunction around him.

When Xisuma stormed into his home, likely tracking his player data ping-point, Cub had just finished setting out the tea and sliced bread and cookies. Cub took a seat, gestured to the chair across from him silently, and began to sip.

“I am…beyond words with you,” Xisuma seethed. The man vibrated, his armor containing the majority of the movements but Cub knew how to read the admin. “You cheeky little man.”

“I guess you found my card?”

“You left a literal calling card,” Xisuma spat, slapping the piece of paper in question onto the table. Cub had to make sure Xisuma knew exactly had jailbroken the little bird. Why not claim the act himself.

“Well, glad to see it worked?”

“You set it free,” Xisuma stormed. He was too angry, too fired up to take the proffered seat. Instead, Xisuma paced, gauntleted hands scrabbling on his visor and fisting the small organic tendrils of his Axolotl skin. “Do you have any idea of what you have done?”

“I have a pretty good guess,” Cub admitted. He plucked at his bread, pulling it apart between his fingers with a violent sort of glee. “I knew you wouldn’t let it out, so I took some emergency measures.”

“I had it under control!” Xisuma roared, spinning on his heels. There was something dangerous in his eyes- a threat that Cub understood implicitly. Xisuma thundered: “You had no right to let it out. This is bigger than you, it’s bigger than this server.”

Cub, for the first time, felt the smallest bits of guilt stir up. He defended himself quietly, “you weren’t going to let it spring the trap-.”

“Because I’m not sure it’s a trap at all!” Xisuma shouted.

Cub stared. He swallowed, then jerkily fished for his tea to take a large gulp. He asked quietly, “what do you mean it isn’t a trap? What else could it be?”

“I…I don’t know,” Xisuma said. Finally, the man wilted. He collapsed into the proffered chair, exhaustedly looking skywards at the wooden roof of Cub’s little meeting spot. “At times, I think its a simple mob but other times…I don’t know.”

Cub had already come to his own conclusion. More often than not, he was right- which meant he had a bit of an ego. He knew this, but trusted his instincts more than he trusted rumors and halfhearted messages sent out by others. He knew Scout was on the server, had seen the thing and knew it was too strange to be intentional. If both Doc and Etho were stumped, then clearly it was made for a purpose- and what purpose was there beyond sneaking into one of the most reclusive protected servers in existence?

“I was talking with Joe and Ren earlier today,” Cub reluctantly shared. “We were thinking about how Scout got into the server.”

“I still can’t figure it out,” Xisuma confessed tiredly. “I’ve looked over the code and firewalls so much, I still see it when I’m sleeping. I had Iskall take a look as well, and he’s got an eye for traps.”

Cub felt the same sort of dread sit heavy in his stomach. He asked: “have you considered maybe…maybe it didn’t sneak in, but it was waiting for us to come here.”

Xisuma immediately shook his head, dismissing the thought. “Impossible, that would be a ridiculously small chance. Nothing would hold out or gamble on such a tiny probability.”

“Well, it isn’t a random guess if it was able to look and find the trends across all previous servers, and make a good prediction on where we’d eventually go.”

Xisuma settled. He contemplated the words, thinking them through carefully. When he spoke, it was gentle and dangerously calm: “that implies that someone close to us has been leaking Hermitcraft secrets.”

“Perhaps,” Cub agreed with a pointed look. “Or, maybe someone has gone missing.”

Xisuma exhaled heavily, wilting under the tired weight of it all. “I’ve reached out to everyone from the previous servers- Biffa has contacted the rest. Nobody is unaccounted for, and Biffa hasn’t been included in selecting new worlds for some time. The only person who helps is Joe.”

“Which means someone here on this server presently has been spreading secrets, or sharing information.”

Xisuma aged at that moment, looking both devastated and weary. The man fished for the bread, tearing it apart for something to do with his nervous energy. He said very quietly: “I know.”

Mumbo Jumbo had been having a good morning, thank you very much. He had just about finished the front of his mega-build, finally mastering the tripwire connections necessary to activate an enormous door behind a waterfall façade. It had been his greatest stress, besides that of a current cryptid on the server.

Admittedly, he had been trying to distance himself a little bit from the big feathery thing. Something about the shared moment they had- with it’s uncanny parroting of Mumbo’s voice and the raw desperation bleeding into Mumbo’s heart…well. Mumbo was a coward, and a darn good one thank you very much.

He had assumed the situation was under control quite nicely, since Scar on occasion gave him updates and Pearl was sulking around quite terrifyingly. Mumbo would much rather attend to his builds and complicated redstone then try and comfort Pearl, who was much more likely to attack him with a pointy stick.

He was fine with it. It was a good arrangement, he would wave to Impulse in the morning, exchange food with Scar or talk about the recent issues in the server. Sometimes Mumbo would take a break and go for a nice stroll all the way towards the outer reaches of the server still untouched by others. It was a nice life!

Except, it wasn’t. When Mumbo woke up, stretching in his bed, he felt a very familiar very unsettling sensation of being watched.

He knew this sensation well, because for a good portion of his time before he dedicated himself to building his megabase, he had actually sought out this feeling. He had wanted to find the creature. And now, apparently, the creature had gone out of its way to find him.

“Oh, no no,” Mumbo moaned, climbing out of bed hastily. He hurried out of the small nook tucked away inside the mountain, scurrying out into his sorting room to peer between each chest anxiously. Fretting, he mumbled: “oh, you aren’t supposed to be here! You’re supposed to be in that big box. Oh, of course you’d come back. I don’t reckon you’re a homing pigeon after all this? Oh, I'm an absolute spoon!”

Above him, echoed in his voice came a quiet timid: “Spoon.”

Mumbo squeaked, spluttering on his words. He pinwheeled his arms, collapsing backwards on his rear. Jaw slack, he stared upwards in startled surprise at the enormous shape of something feathered tucked into a crude rocky shelf. Purple feathers vibrated, ruffling anxiously under his gaze.

“Erm,” Mumbo said, blinking baffled at the sight. “Er, hello…Scout?”

Scout flinched back, tucking himself further into the tiny shelf. Mumbo could have sworn he had a torch placed there previously, lest it become a Creeper nest.

Mumbo scrambled to his feet, craning his neck to stare directly upwards. Scout clearly did not like the attention, but made no movement to actually attack or express his distress. In fact, he was a bit like a pet clam.

“Okay then,” Mumbo said, feeling very off kilter. “You can uh…just…stay there?”

And Scout did.

Mumbo was loathe to admit it, but he had never been so productive before.

It was nice in a strange way to have such an attentive audience. Scout did not always stay hidden in his little crevice. In fact, when it stretched into dusk or when Mumbo willingly turned off the redstone lamps, Scout would slowly venture further out. Twice now, Mumbo had shrieked himself silly when he found the large creature perched on top of his towering stack of chests. The menace was actively preventing him from accessing his materials!

Not to mention the bird had an eye for stealing anything remotely red. Not that Mumbo was building with much red to begin with, and thankfully Scout hadn’t the taste for taking redstone itself, but the monstrosity was purposefully hoarding any scraps of red cloth or bricks it could find. Mumbo had conceded that if he was hiding a fugitive inside his base, he may as well treat his little gremlin friend well.

Scout hadn’t taken too well to Mumbo slowly climbing his way up to the small perch. The creature had hissed at him, spluttering through an assortment of sounds and noises resembling a skeleton experiencing an identity crisis. He heard something which sounded very similar to Cub’s recognizable (and terrifying) cackling, crossed with a creeper’s hiss. Mumbo felt each hair on his arms stand on end, even his moustache felt a bit more prickly then.

“I’m just- just making it bigger!” Mumbo squeaked, trying to defend his actions. A few well timed strikes of a pickaxe against the wall, as well as hastily thrown down stone and andesite made Scout apparently recognize what he was doing. The beast settled, holding itself stiff and shielded with ratty wings and scavenged bits of red fabric. Mumbo really needed to invest in getting some larger swaths, he wondered if anyone would buy his excuse of venturing into making banners.

“I did not make this,” Mumbo muttered, tapping his chin. He squinted, considered getting his spyglass just for a better look. “Mm, nope. I certainly did not make that.”

The little alcove that Mumbo had hastily expanded had simply…evolved. Like an ugly worm transforming into a graceful butterfly, it was difficult to even see where the alcove was before. The ledge simply…did not exist. But Mumbo knew better, because the roof (which admittedly looked quite good) did not exist earlier either.

“Alright mate,” Mumbo warned the ceiling. “I’m coming up! You better be decent with all those…feathers!”

Feeling a bit silly, he threw down scaffolding. He towered slowly, taking time to listen for any angry cat noises as he ascended. Once against the roof, he was able to see the smaller discrepancies in the design. 

“My word, when did you learn to texturize?” Mumbo spluttered, eyes nearly bugging out of his head. Even Scar would be proud of such detail- there was gravel somehow incorporated even!

The hole in the ceiling now resembled an artful crack, a little gap to wriggle inside. Mumbo felt a bit like a bat, hiding out in his own attic. This of course was much darker and much colder than any attic he would want to live in. Apparently to his new feathery mute neighbor, it was perfect.

Scout rumbled from the back corner, alerting Mumbo to where the creature was hidden. Instead of hiding in a little gap in the wall, Scout had… made a new home for himself. And apparently had taken it upon himself to fix Mumbo’s sloppy work.

“Hi,” Mumbo said, still feeling almost dizzy with the revelation. Scout could place materials down. Scout could build. “I uh, I like your work, mate. Very…clean.”

Scout ruffled, something preening without actually moving. Mumbo sat down very suddenly.

He could feel the impression of the creature looking at him, but couldn’t see it. Mumbo didn’t feel that unsettled by it.

Mumbo knew of course, that Scout was sentient to some degree. He had the ability to problem solve, to understand. They asked him for diamonds and he returned with everything similar. They asked him for preferences, and Scout showed them time and time again that he had taste.

“Hey,” Mumbo greeted him. Mumbo wondered, at what point would the others look at Scout and think: there’s a person in there.

“So uh, I was thinking of trying to texturize the front of my base with some leafage,” Mumbo explained. He rambled, barely able to see his hand in front of his face. It was dark, which Mumbo understood was Scout’s preference. Or, maybe, he simply didn’t want to be seen.

“I uh, I love what you did with the stone,” Mumbo admitted fondly. “Do you uh…know how vines work?”

Scout stared at him, watching him. Mumbo did not wilt, because Scout could have left him and ignored him at any point. Yet he didn’t.

‘He’s listening to me,’ Mumbo thought fondly. ‘He’s listening.’

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Mumbo asked gently. He didn’t press himself, didn’t force himself onto the timid creature. “Can I help you in any way?”

Scout shuffled, wings curling around him. Very softly, timid and scared in a way that hurt Mumbo’s heart, the winged beast echoed Mumbo’s voice: “Spoon.”

“I am a spoon, yes,” Mumbo chuckled, grinning despite it all. “My name is actually Mumbo, mate. Mumbo Jumbo, Redstone extraordinaire. You’ve found yourself in Hermitcraft, what a good accident you managed, eh?”

Scout shuffled. He said nothing else, but that was fine. 

Mumbo woke to the sounds of songbirds in his window. He stretched, pulled on his trousers and buttoned his shirt gazing at the bright sunshine and sparkling dew. The gentle rush of his waterfall lulled him into a comfortable level of alertness. A loud mighty clicking whistle of wild parrots greeted his sleepy yawn.

Mumbo paused, scratched his neck and thought sluggishly: ‘I didn’t think I had any parrots?’

The walk outside across his swinging rope bridges was one he truly enjoyed. The humidity was not so insufferable he choked on his words, but no so faint it was not refreshing. As he stopped and surveyed his build, he spotted a snaking green vine trapped between stone outcroppings. There, upon the top of the green vine, sat an unassuming light blue parrot. It eyed him, clicking its beak before it took to the air with mighty wings and long trailing tailfeathers.

Mumbo felt much more awake. He certainly had not found parrots, let alone brought them back to his base. It was not only the single cyan bird, but many exotic avians speckled his synthetic sanctuary. Little songbirds roosted on bits of rope and twine, preening one another with affectionate nuzzles. Larger scarlet macaws bobbed their heads back and forth, squawking with open mouths and flared wings. 

Greenery settled on his rocks, vines and moss compacted between boulders. Different foliage caught the mist of the rolling water, glowing brighter and greener than anywhere else. 

Mumbo thought: this is beautiful. Mumbo thought: I didn’t do that?

He didn’t do any of this. It wasn’t near complete, only one tiny section had sudden vines and topiary incorporated into the boring grey andesite wall. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for Mumbo to envision how to continue and where to leave his marks.

It was…helpful. Really really helpful. 

Grinning, Mumbo spun on his heels. He ran across the floor of his base, cupping his hands to shout skywards to his attic: “oh you’re a true pesky bird, aren’t you!”

Mimicry, with a chattering parrot influence that Mumbo could almost imagine was laughter, Scout said: “Pesky bird.”

Chapter Text

Mumbo K. Jumbo was an intelligent man, according to some. He had created quite marvelous Redstone machines, understood the intricacies of fine wiring and timing down to a quarter-tick.

Yet, Mumbo was… familiar with multiple awkward instances of server-stress. Notable mentions were the ah, pumpkin incident where the lag due to entities within a chunk became so severe, Xisuma had to interfere. Then there was the chunk-blasting incident…then the attempted perimeter without clearing the lava…

Well, Mumbo sometimes had wonderful ideas, but also had very bad ideas. Mumbo wasn’t certain yet if having a large bird monstrosity in his ceiling was considered a good idea.

Scout, for all his oddities, was quite a nice flatmate. He stayed in the ceiling until nightfall, only explored curiously when Mumbo was squinting over torchlight, and somehow managed to deter mobs. Not that Mumbo was upset with that bit, it saved his poor backside from sudden creeper explosions.

Scout came with a hideous amount of dander and dust, coating every surface with a thin grey dust. Mumbo was thankful he had his mustache, if only to filter some of the dust out of the air. He knew that parrots produced a hideous amount of powder-down, but he honestly hadn’t ever expected his new roommate to come with allergies included.

Scout at least didn’t steal things (unless Mumbo gave him permission) and stuck to his section of permitted objects. Only the highest barrels, set aside in his storage room, did Scout awkwardly raid. Deep lines had gouged themselves into the oak surface- thick enough for Mumbo to slide his pinky in to trace the indent. He knew Scout was a large bird, but he hadn’t considered just how sharp those talons could be. (Then again, False had proven time and time again how lethal talons could be…)

Scout so far had taken only small bits of things. It reminded Mumbo a bit of Etho- aloof and lingering just out of sight. He felt the odd sensation of being seen, knowing that Scout was somehow watching his daily activities with a lethargic interest.

Mumbo asked: Do you know anything about leaves? And the next morning there would be bundles of oak leaves crumpled awkwardly around his storage system. He would ask about the benefits of using wood and there would be crudely stripped logs- not birch thank goodness.

In truth, Mumbo was taking advantage of his new neighbor. He was simply curious about the differences between different types of leaves, he wasn’t exactly requesting a demonstration. Initially, Scout had only provided the resources with an uncanny sort of efficiency; it left Mumbo a little overwhelmed. Overnight, a stack of leaves would pop up scattered across the floor nearest the darkest corner. Then another stack, and another, to the point where Mumbo was hastily assigning a barrel to Scout’s odd deliveries. 

It would be much more efficient to have Scout deposit his gifts directly into his automatic sorter, but with how much dusty pollen appeared to follow the creature, Mumbo was worried soon it would break his delicate redstone lines. For now, Scout could keep his thoroughly scratched up barrel.

The server, in Mumbo’s humble opinion, was an absolute mess. 

Scout’s unexpected jailbreak had alarmed absolutely everyone. Hermits who hadn’t believed the creature was a threat suddenly had to reconsider. Surely something sentient and intelligent could break free- Doc had managed to contain Withers . Scout managing to escape and evade eyes only suggested one fearful outcome; the creature was more or less, a player or a player equivalent. 

That then led to the new question of how intelligent. Scout had been restricted in his ability to communicate (as Xisuma explained hastily over the communicators) and supposedly was increasing his vocabulary by the day. This didn’t necessarily mean that the creature was going to attempt to initiate contact, but it did explain why Scout was cheerfully mimicking odd noises in the attic during every night.

Pearl, as expected, did not take this well.

Her anger and stress became a valuable tool, wielded by her callused hands. What fear she felt transformed the mountainside into elaborate and ornate decorative builds. Her mountain, breathtakingly gorgeous, turned itself into a true work of art. Mumbo was struggling to keep up with the speed of her progress, she had quickly overtaken him and finished the environment on her mega build before he had texturized the smallest aspect.

This left him torn between completing his lone mountain, or connecting their rock creations into the single combined build they had roughly expected doing. Mumbo hadn’t the time (or skill) to suddenly patch and bridge between two very different styles, but he happened to know one vexing man who was very capable.

Of course, it always came at a price.

Scar at first glance, could easily be mistaken as four cats shoved into a tall trench coat just barely holding themselves together. The man had an impressive ability to fumble every object in the near vicinity and a true knack for needing a quick respawn. He caught himself in multiple odd places, Impulse stating he found Scar in a rather awkwardly small spot near the bottom of the Boatem Hole.

Yet, Scar was dangerously competent when he needed to be. It was the fact he was so relaxed that led to his hilarious chaotic shenanigans. When Scar was on high alert, when he was tense and anxious he transformed into a dangerous force to be battled. That, and when he was tempted with his true vice and weakness.

Mumbo knew three things. It wouldn’t be long until someone took a look at his base and thought quite openly ‘ hmm, Mumbo doesn’t know how to build this well’. This brought him to his second concern, that hiding a fugitive in his ceiling wasn’t really that good of an idea.

His final idea, the one that would hopefully solve the prior two problems was that which made Mumbo most weary: Scar was a lovely neighbor who had a great ability to bridge his base with the gorgeous mountain range Pearl had finished not too long ago. Knowing Scar, he would leave the inside of the mountain empty (and subsequently a lethal mob farm), and unknowingly create a lovely new enclosure for Mumbo’s friend.

The bird would be out of his roof, his poor nose would stop it’s dusty allergies, and hopefully Scout could texturize the interior of a mountain to his little heart’s desire. 

“Alright,” Mumbo sighed, reluctant to raise himself from the poor sprawl on the stone floor. He had been adjusting his redstone contraption of a sorter system, installing a bit of a buffer and a delay after a few buttons had mysteriously been activating without a trigger. Hopefully, it would help deter his system from having a glitch with a bit of a delay.

He could feel the eyes on his back, piercing straight through him. What once was eerie and unsettling now felt welcome and somehow considerate. Mumbo smiled, wiping his hands on his pants to sprinkle away the red powder. He looked skyward, unable to actually see the feathered creature. He knew he was up there, watching. 

“I’m going to head out and hopefully not get scammed out of my trousers,” Mumbo told his friend wryly. He gestures out of his main gate, currently closed behind the waterfall. “You’re welcome to anything in the barrels on the side, yeah? I placed some more spuds in there if you’re hungry.”

The ceiling did not answer, which didn’t upset Mumbo at all. He donned his elytra, readied his rockets and flipped the delay to open the enormous doors. The spray of water was welcome in the morning light, a bit chilly on his skin but not entirely shocking. 

The village of Boatem was still and quiet in the early hours. Pearl was no doubt sleeping or sulking somewhere out of sight. Impulse was working on yet another building behind the main complex walls of his shockingly sugary emporium. Scar sat on the highest peak of his Swaggon empire, sipping something dark and suspiciously chocolatey with a feline snoozing on his lap.

“Mumbo!” Scar crooned, waving brightly as Mumbo swept by, carefully descending with multiple slow loops to avoid rushing any unnecessary wind which could knock the two aside. It was a far fall to the ground, and Scar was fiercely defensive of his cat.

“Hello there, Scar,” Mumbo greeted, perching like a flamingo on the edge of Scar’s railing. The man cackled at Mumbo’s awkward stance, beckoning him to hop down and sit in the adjacent chair. Jellie, Scar’s cat, opened her eyes and yawned adorably in his lap.

“How may I help you, my mustached friend?” Scar asked, taking a large sip of his drink. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Cocoa? Oh, you British kind drink tea, I’m sure I have a bit somewhere…could I put any sort of leaves in a mug and steam it? Can you make tea out of spinach?”

“Erm, no. That’s just soup, mate,” Mumbo explained patiently, taking a seat in the offered chair. He peered out, breathless at the beautiful view of mountains and the sunrise over the distant ocean.

“Mm, it’s a lovely morning.”

“It sure is,” Mumbo agreed nervously. He fidgeted, squirming as Scar spotted the anxious movement. With a growing grin, Scar slurped his drink purposefully loud, making Mumbo squirm at the noise.

With a cackle, Scar threw back his head, setting the empty mug aside. Jellie yawned once more, stretching leisurely before leaping down, padding off somewhere inside.

“How can I help ya?”

“Well erm, I uh…well…” Mumbo stuttered. He shifted chewing on his lip nervously. “I uh, I reckon this is uh going to bite me but…uh…you know the uh, mountain?”

“The mountain that you’ve hired someone to texturize?” Scar said rather slyly. Scar looked at him from the corner of his eye, strangely intent. A paradox, his leisure and relaxed body with a feral intensity in his eyes. Mumbo forgot Scar’s eyes were vertically slit.

“I uh, I didn’t-.”

“Oh I know you didn’t do that. Vines? Greenery? Mumbo you’ve never touched a plant in your life,” Scar scolded him. The words lacked any direct bite, but held the lazy intensity of someone throwing an accusation. “It was Bdubs wasn’t it? Oh I knew I should have mentioned something earlier! How much are you paying him? I’ll do it for ten diamonds less!”

Mumbo balked, struggling to comprehend what the man was offering. “You…you think I hired Bdubs to do it?”

“Well who else was it?” Scar asked impatiently. He lifted both eyebrows, pupils narrowing. “Was it Cleo? I don’t think I can attack Cleo, but oh she’ll regret it.”

“Uh, no no! Nobody is uh, hired…”

“Oh,” Scar said. He tilted his head, curious and feline. Tapping his fingers on his thigh, the man inquired: “was it a gesture of good faith? I hadn’t thought Tango was around. Did Pearl do it? It isn’t her style, but it is quite lovely work.”

‘You could not be further from the truth,’ Mumbo thought, feeling sweat on his brow.

Scar locked into that instantly, spotting the anxiety with predatory focus. “Oh, oh. Someone is bribing you!”

“No no! Nobody is bribing me!”

“Oh, Mr. Mumbo Jumbo has been working behind our backs! Colluding with the enemy! How dare you!”

“I wasn't!” Mumbo squeaked, wilting under Scar’s sharp cackles and overbearing presence. “I just wanted you to help with the mountain!”

“Me?” Scar asked, cocking his head once more. The man blinked twice, pupils shifting away from vertical slits into something more humanoid. “Oh, oh. You mean between your and Pearl’s base? You want me to bridge that?”

“Please, Mate. I can’t do all that.”

“You did a good job on your mountain,” Scar sniffed, overacting a degree of offense. “Why can’t your mysterious benefactor bridge that gap?”

“There isn’t…I…I just…really got into vines one day.”

Scar squinted at him, then peered around him to the Mountain in question. Only a tiny section had been texturized. Maybe if Scar squinted, he could imagine Mumbo had suddenly developed a green thumb.

“...alright,” Scar agreed, nodding with Mumbo’s frantic nodding. “I’ll pretend that you did it. You want me to fill that gap, but oh dear it seems I’m a little light in my pocket.”

“I knew you were going to charge me.”

“Oh you’re going to have to pay,” Scar agreed delightedly, slapping both thighs. “I know! How about an IOU?”

Mumbo wilted, looking every bit like a soggy bit of celery. With a heavy sigh, he drew a piece of paper from his pocket. “Please don’t make me regret this.”

“Oh you certainly will,” Scar assured, looking absolutely devilish.

For the week and a half that Scar took to renovate and slowly construct the bridge between both mountains, Scout did not leave his attic space. The constant noise of loud chatter combined with music and Scar’s occasional dropping of stone to clatter all the way down the mountainside… Scout was not a happy bird.

The parrots outside had abandoned the roost, flying to a safer location namely Impulse’s candy factory. There, the birds nested in the tall bamboo and sugarcane, nipping at the plant life nervously.

Mumbo assisted when he could, providing the materials and poor suggestions. Scar ignored his words, frequently telling him that his advice was bad, and carried on with his artistic visions.

Scout stayed inside the attic, the dust quality increased tenfold and Mumbo was finding himself worried. 

“Oh, what if he’s gotten sick?” he fretted. Mumbo paced, walking laps around the stack of thoroughly clawed barrels. “Oh, should I just check in on him? Just a bit?”

“Check on who?”

Mumbo jumped, nearly tripping on his own legs. Spinning around, he gawked at Scar hauling inside his storage room a hefty collection of shulkers. Scar set them on the ground, squinting around the room while whistling a cheerful tune. Jellie, the cat in question, sat on top of the shulker pile with a miniature construction hat perched between her ears.

“Hi Mumbo, I need to snag some of your supplies. And oh, we at the Swaggon-Waggon are so grateful for your donation!”

“Wha- you mean you’re just going to take my things?”

“No no! Take is such an aggressive word! I’m just ah, relocating a few things!”

Mumbo’s jaw dropped, he struggled to think as Scar practically danced past him to burrow his face in one of his shulkers. Namely, one filled with chunks of calcite, concrete, and other pale materials.

“You know, I never managed to have a well organized shulker system,” Scar told him. “I’m such a fan of chest monsters, but they just happen. I can’t seem to help it.”

Mumbo nodded slowly, feeling at wits end. “Uh huh, I reckon Peal is going to lose her mind when she finds it.”

“Oh absolutely.” Scar agreed.

Jellie hissed quietly, drawing Mumbo’s attention. Scar either hadn’t heard it or gave it no bit of attention.

Mumbo rotated, then froze on the spot. He inhaled sharply, suddenly very thankful for Scar’s recent obliviousness. At the bottom of the pile of shulkers Jellie paced angrily, her tail fluffed to maximum size. With her teeth exposed and ears flat, the cat in question growled quietly at her great foe.

Scout perched on a single shulker, hind legs with impressive talons and front legs and wing combination struggled to hold onto the top of the purple box. Claws as long as an axe blade dug into the purple shell, the sight reminding Mumbo a bit of a horse trying to balance on a small target.

Mumbo waved his arm towards the creature. Jellie reinforced his distress with her personal hiss.

“- man, you’ve got a thing for diorite. Don’t let Iskall find this, or he’ll be burning your storage to the ground!”

Mumbo craned his neck back, spewing the first thing that came to his mind. “Yeah! Ah, I haven’t seen him in a while. Have you heard anything?”

“Not recently. I imagine he and Etho are up to something crazy in their mountain base!”

“Yeah, what about you?” Mumbo asked, tip-toeing towards Scout.

The bird creature in question dug its claws deeper. The shulker bent with a small creak. Scout arched his spine, a second set of wings in the middle of its back flared upwards a bit like an owl trying to appear bigger.

Jellie, the largest most terrifying creature in the room, hissed quietly. Scout flinched away as if struck, his tail-wings flaring out like a large spooked peacock.

“-and that’s my plan for the lumber sales!”

“That’s wonderful Scar!” Mumbo shouted, having no idea what was going on. “Tell me more!”

“Oh, I don’t want to bore you…”

“You aren’t! Not at all!” Mumbo squeaked. “Please, tell me more!”

Scar made a small noise of excitement. “Oh man! I have such crazy ideas, okay so…hear me out…what if I started making some custom trees around the edge that…”

Mumbo shifted closer, gesturing aggressively at the birdlike creature. “Go! Go away! Scout, please!”

Scout wriggled slightly, staring at Jellie (assumedly). It was hard to tell anything behind the multiple sets of wings guarding its head. Little songbird wings flapped nervously, the middle set of wings posturing as intimidatingly as possible. 

“-...what do you think, Mumbo?”

“Sounds great!” Mumbo shouted back, having absolutely no idea what his friend was talking about.

“Scout, leave! Please!” Mumbo hissed quietly, taking a final step. He reached out, not thinking of the consequences, and shoved Scout lightly.

Scout’s head spun, or at least Mumbo assumed it did. Scout stilled, looked at Mumbo with the odd intensity of a thousand eyes, and with one set of wings pushed Mumbo away. The force of the movement was not as small as a meek human toothpick- it launched Mumbo off his feet and tumbling to the ground.

“-what was that noise? Are you okay back there?”

Scout turned his head slowly, staring at the backside of the sorting system before in a perfect echo of Mumbo’s previous words, said in Mumbo’s voice: “Great!”

“Oh, good to hear! So anyways, I was imagining the mountain won’t take more than a few more days…”

Jellie grumbled, leaping onto the bottom shulker. Scout skittered backwards, barely hanging onto the top shulker. Jellie persisted, climbing the purple pyramid. Scout clearly was not okay with this, and increasingly panicking.

Mumbo hurried to his feet, using both arms this time to grab Scout’s tail-peacock wings to try and drag the bird off the tower. Scout made something of a yelp, slid backwards with a horrible noise of claws on a shulker shell.

“And- oh! Jellie, stop that! Shulker’s aren’t your scratching post!”

Scout fluttered to the ground loudly, a poof of powder-down exploding upwards. Jellie growled, climbing to the top of the tower where Scout had been standing. Safely behind the pyramid of shulkers, Scar appeared with a collection of glass in his hands.

“Oh Jellie, look at all those scratches!” the man gasped. He set the glass inside the closest box, reaching out to poke Jellie on the nose gently, completely unaware of Scout’s clumsy sprawl right on the other side of the pyramid, completely covering poor Mumbo who couldn’t speak with feathers in his mouth.

“You just wait here a little more,” Scar cooed to his cat, scratching her head fondly before he sneezed slightly. “I need to brush you more! Look at all this dander! Oh you dirty cat, just wait a bit for me to rob that man of all his stone.”

Mumbo sighed through his nose, collapsing back on the ground with an exhausted shudder. 

Sometimes, Scar’s obliviousness truly was a blessing.

“Oh that was so risky,” Mumbo scolded his feathery friend. He wagged one finger in Scout’s direction, pacing back and forth across his sorting room. Scout perched atop his specific set of barrels, now safe from any unexpected guests. The deep gouges in the wooden siding buckled under the long scythed talons. Mumbo would have to replace the siding soon, lest the entire construction buckle on him.

“You are a naughty bird!” Mumbo scolded the enormous entity, running one hand through his hair. Already disheveled, he felt entirely at a loss. Scout watched him, cocking his head with each wing fluttering out like a large eared fox. 

“Oh, Scar could have seen you! And oh dear, that could have been quite a mess. Don’t you realize how risky this business is? I dare say X is going to arrange a hunt soon just to find you!”

Scout ruffled one wing, stretching it out before folding it neatly against his spine. Little sprouts of pinfeathers were beginning to grow back, filling in the absent space from his personal-spa day what felt like a month earlier. They looked like long matchsticks, as thick as one of Mumbo’s fingers. They would eventually grow enough that the waxy covering would peel away and the blood supply would retract inwards. Then, the growing feather would reveal itself to the open air.

“You- you aren’t listening to a single thing I’m saying!” Mumbo spluttered, throwing both arms into the air out of shock and distress. “Oh you big chicken! This is important!”

Scout cocked its head presumably, each wing folding back with a soft ruffle. Scout echoed in a voice eerily like Mumbo’s, accent at all: “important.”

“Yes! Yes it’s important!”

Scout stared a moment longer, then folded himself down into a particularly round shape. He looked very much like a goose, except more round and very colourful.

“What am I saying,” Mumbo moaned quietly t o himself, smacking his forehead with one open hand. “This is utterly hopeless.”

“Hey! He appears!” Impulse cheered, sitting atop an ornate park bench. Mumbo paused in his walk, taking in the scene with a bashful sort of awkwardness.

It wasn’t often that the trio frequented the town of Boatem. Sure, Impulse technically lived there- but Tango was more often a competitor than he was a friend, and Zedaph had run off to the far south for his wild experiments in a relatively stable area. Mumbo knew that lag in the local region interfered enough with his redstone, he couldn’t imagine how the delicate timings of Zedaph would operate with such stress.

“Oh, I ah, I don’t want to be a bother-.”

“I don’t see anyone being a bother, hmm…what about you, Zed?” Tango asked with a impish grin.

“No bothers around, not one bit,” Zedaph assured Mumbo with a gentle sort of wave. The normal lab coat had been removed, exchanged  for a comfortable looking cardigan. Mumbo took a second to notice Impulse’s lack of Top-hat, and Tango’s missing glasses.

“Oh dear,” Mumbo said, wondering if he should have brought flowers or left right then.

“Have a seat, Mr. tall and handsome,” Tango flirted without any true meaning behind it. With a wave towards the end of the decorate bench, or the blanket on the ground Zedaph had claimed. “What have you been working on? I noticed the mountain, or where Scar worked on your mountain.”

“Not totally true,” Impulse gently corrected his friend. “I think Mumbo did the texturizing with some of the greenery on his actual build.”

“Can I just say? The parrots? Huge fan,” Zedaph stated, nodding passionately towards the flock of cyan and red birds barely visible from so far away. Mumbo was lucky they came back after all of Scar’s noise.

“Ah- yes, that. Those birds, certainly uh, bird-like.”

Tango made an odd chuffing noise, something crackling and oddly hoarse like a blaze pressed between two rocks. Impulse rolled his eyes fondly. Mumbo thought it sounded strangely like a purr.

“Well, take a seat!” Impulse urged Mumbo. The man hurriedly fished through his bag, pulling out a collection of sweet berries and little tarts. “Zed made some of these- go right ahead.”

“And no lying and saying you’re full. You’re a toothpick, I could bite you in half,” Tango teased.

Mumbo wondered if Tango actually had any idea of how unsettling his forms of affection were. At least the man wasn’t casually offering magma blocks or wither skulls as a sign of friendship. Or lighting things on fire.

“That could be a fun thing to test,” Zedaph mused, cocking his head curiously as he scrutinized Mumbo. “How much force to snap Mr. Mumbo Jumbo in half. One boulder? Two?”

“How about we don’t break our friend and instead just enjoy the day?”

“Aww, Impy you ruin all our fun,” Tango mock-scowled, slumping against Impulse with a loud sigh.

Impulse rolled his eyes, meaningfully giving Mumbo a fairly obvious look. Can you believe this guy?

“Oh, actually since you’re here,” Impulse said, his eyes lighting up as he apparently realized something. “I was looking through my storage system the other day, do you know if Scar went snooping? I’m missing a couple things.”

Mumbo blinked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “No, not that I’m aware. I mean, he did go through my storage system, maybe if he couldn’t find something? What’s missing?”

“That’s the strange thing, it’s nothing I’d expect him to use in a build,” Impulse said, bodily shrugging. Tango shifted with the movement, lifting and lowering with each jerk of Impulse’s expressive body language.

“Well, maybe I can help?”

“Unless you suddenly wanted to take a chest of bricks, snow, sandstone, and clay… well, I mean I would have given it over if you had asked-.”

“You’re missing what?” Mumbo spluttered, finding no cohesive link across all of those different textures and uses. “I- I mean….honestly I’d assume Pearl took random blocks like that-.”

“Oh I know, if anyone can somehow make sandstone and bricks look good together, it’s her,” Impulse agreed with an easy smile. “I just wanted to ask. We don’t want to keep you if you’re busy.”

“Oh- no not really,” Mumbo hastily explained, rolling the sweet berries between his fingers nervously. “I wanted to see if there were any sales, maybe check my potato storage. I wanted to check on Pearl actually, I haven’t heard from her in a while…”

Tango interrupted him with a loud noise of distress. “I uh, I wouldn’t do that, my friend.”

Zedaph winced, looking very guilty with his red-eyed friend. “Yeah, we uh…we stopped by, and she’s a bit upset right now.”

“She could probably fight a ravager with just her voice,” Tango muttered, shivering visibly. “Sheesh, I never knew she could yell so loud.”

“Yeah, maybe stay away for now?” Impulse said, his voice twisting high on the end to sound very much like a question. “I think she found out that Scout go out…not from me! Cub came around and was talking with Scar about it, I think she overheard.”

“Ah, that would…that would explain a lot,” Mumbo said, blinking quickly. “I was wondering how Scar could possibly finish an entire mountain in a week.”

“Oh yeah, no that was Pearl too. When she gets angry she builds really fast.” 

“Well, that’s good to know.” Mumbo agreed, squinting at his mountain. The section of random texture was remarkably beautiful, even from such a distance. It was inspiring, and filling Mumbo’s mind with more ideas of what was possible with the stone formations he had made.

Actually…maybe it was time to dabble with vines.

Scout knew why he had gravitated towards the specific random objects. It had started simple, small calculations equating to a predictable outcome. Things in chests, not what I want. Look in other chests.

There was a hitch between movements, a chorus of many eyes blinking at once as he stepped- and settled in a different place with many boxes and crates of the things he wanted and did not need. A part of him, swiftly fading, cried out at the thought of obtaining worldly possessions. A venomous part still hissed and recoiled at the touch of wood, at the ideas of ownership. Stay in the dirt. Do not make. Do not own. Stay unseen.

Snow was beautiful to him, bright and gentle. It was soft, cold although he had disabled that sensation and did not care to activate it once more. Snow, ID_80 according to the whispering veil he could see through his skin. He wanted it, because it felt like something else he had forgotten and was beginning to remember.

Clay ached in the same way, soft and gentle. Its tacky texture clung to the long claws and disfigured hands. Contractures and ailment, but he could not remember what it was supposed to be.

He looked at snow and clay and thought of water, of a shapeless building with no blueprint, burned from his mind. Halls with obsidian, with stone and a strange metallic sound and rumbling of carts below the crust of soil. He looked at sandstone and brick, bright and unforgiving, and thought of something more.

He wanted it, so he took it. 

In the shelter of the dark cavern formed below a manmade mountain, he nestled himself in a small crevice of his worldly delights. He placed clay, the cold snow that would not melt so far from the sun. He placed his brick and sandstone in clumsy piles, scratching against one another with shrill aching noise. He looked at it, overwhelmed and frightened and thought: I do not have the hands for this.

Scout paused, shaking his head. Something ached horribly in his head, something that would not leave even as he stretched the wings across his face. Air felt sharp, bristling painfully on skin that had not felt it in- months, days, years. 

(For a moment, in weakness and bright curiosity, he considered opening his true eyes, and hastily closed his wings in fear)

He didn not know how to create, to wrap and manage things like humans did. He was not like them- but he had been once. He had stood like them, walked and spoke like them.

He had been trying, struggling through sounds he knew only faintly. He recalled them distantly, too slow to reciprocate beyond that of echoes of familiarity. He felt distorted and wrong, a reflection on the trembling surface of a pond.

Linear thoughts, goal oriented. He did have the things he wanted, so he found them. He did not have the hands to do what he wanted. He would find them.

Climbing was easier with space, his wings and limbs moved easier now, no longer painful with each step. The painful spots were fading, the old hurts not so hurting. The joints tugged and pulled wrongly, he wondered if perhaps those could be fixed as well. Not in the box, never under so many eyes- never again.

He climbed, feeling the warmth of the moon across the land above him and the sleeping birds and cattle and on him too, so far from the surface. He was not below it directly, but he could feel its gentle light and see its glow. It was waning, arcing in the sky.

He could see the steps to take, trace the direct path across stone and other flooring. He clicked and scratched loudly, scrrt-scrrt with claws on terracotta. Something stank of redstone, not his perch of gouged lines on wooden barrels.

He would find his human- Mumbo Jumbo, Spoon - to help. Goal oriented, linear thought. 

Scrrt-scrrrt, occasional ruffle of wings and feathers. They fit better now, not so disproportionate. He disliked them, but could not remember at what point he decided for it to change. He couldn’t remember the conscious decision, but knew that this was his choice.

It was scary, terrifying in a sense. He had not recognized problems before, but this was interfering. He wanted something, he would do it. Mumbo Jumbo was sleeping with loud rattling noises Scout could not quite understand. He was asleep, and speaking.

Scout settled himself, resting his wings on the floor. His human- Mumbo- was below a fabric- blanket, which was obscuring his vision. 

Mumbo jolted, yelping loudly as he found himself quite suddenly on the floor. He had been sleeping quite peacefully, then awoke abruptly. He scrambled, finding himself at a loss and suddenly quite chilly on the floor.

“What in the- good heavens!” Mumbo shouted, yelping in surprise at the unexpected proximity. Scout looked above him, large enough that his main bulk obscured th gentle glow of his night-light lantern in the corner.

Scout cocked his head, the faint humanoid neck visible below the feathers at such a close proximity. Scout said nothing, staying rather accurate to a gargoyle over Mumbo. If it wasn’t for the fact the creature had woken him up quite abruptly, Mumbo would be worried he had somehow scared the creature.

“Uh, hello?” Mumbo squeaked, still half asleep. He waved one hand, which assuredly was not the thing to do.

Scout inhaled with a whistling noise, tensing suddenly at the movement. Mumbo froze, horrified that perhaps he had scared the creature.

Well beyond the acceptable period to respond, Scout echoed in Mumbo’s voice: “Hello.”

Mumbo wanted to sigh at how uncomfortably odd this was. Scout was an odd fellow, but this was up there in the irritants that came with housing the creature. “Is there uh, a reason I’m awake?”

Scout processed at a snails pace. Then repeated unhelpfully: “hello.”

“Okay, yes hello to you too. Can I help you?”

“....hello.”

Mumbo giggled, the situation too absurd to not find funny. “Yes yes. Can I help? Help? Do you need help? Uh, food? Water? Oh thats a dumb question, theres water outside-.”

Scout stepped forward, and repeated more firmly with a bit of a slight slur: “hello.”

Mumbo laughed, louder this time. He reached out slowly, letting Scout withdraw if he truly wanted to. Laying on his back, Mumbo smiled breathlessly as he let his palm stay outstretched upwards, in front of Scout openly. “You’re really just a goofball. Come on then, hello to you too.”

Scout waited, his body stilled. The smaller feathers ceased their ruffling, his entire body turned still. Then, very slowly, Scout lifted the largest wing on the right. This close, Mumbo could see the painfully thin stretched skin and odd joint fusion of Scout’s right elbow and first wing joint- clearly a mutation or genetic disfigurement. He felt sad, wounded to see such a thing and be unable to help.

“Hello,” Scout repeated, mimicry hazy and warped. Lighter, more airy and gentle and if Mumbo truly tried to imagine it- he could almost picture Scout with a voice of his own.

And then Mumbo gasped, eyes bugging out in shock. Scout settled the long odd hand- clawed and fused in a way no hand or talon should be. Mumbo stared, unable to believe it. 

Scout cocked his head, looking at where their hands touched. He repeated: “hello.”

“Hi there, mate,” Mumbo croaked, feeling oddly tearful.

Scout made an odd noise, a chirrup in his throat. He didn’t withdraw his hand, but twisted it slightly, craning Mumbo’s hand to the side as well.

“Uh, you okay?” Mumbo asked, sniffling. He couldn’t help it, the entire ordeal was oddly emotional.

Scout’s attention was fixed on Mumbo’s hand, and as the creature slowly withdrew his clawed talon he kept his head close to Mumbo’s. If Mumbo closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it as another hermit sitting beside him.

And then, Scout broke.

Something shattered, crushing like an axe through skeletons. Mumbo gasped, hurriedly raising to his knees to scour Scout for any injury. Something had broken- had a mob gotten in and somehow-.

No, Scout was holding his front leg aloft, and the bone structure had simply broke. Shattered, bones were crackling one way and then another, splitting apart disgustingly before gluing back like a hideous art project. Mumbo couldn’t look away, absolutely transfixed.

It was like the intricacies of redstone, the finite connections of small woven networks. It was as beautiful as StressMonster’s loomwork, it was as ornate as Scar’s woodcarvings. The butchered mastery of something that had once been excellent turned atrophied and stagnant. Mumbo watched in awe and open disgust as individual carpal bones snapped upwards like a dove’s wishbone. Snap-sn-crack.

And Scout bowed his head, watching his hand in curiosity. The skin tore apart, little bits rearranging crudely as it struggled to sew once more into place.

“Spoon,” Scout repeated almost fondly, bending bones oddly before he huffed in disappointment. Something crunched, and Mumbo closed his eyes to attempt to lessen the sudden queasiness he felt.

“Scout,” Mumbo said, voice faint. His heart was quite loud in his ears- was he sweating? “Scout, did you just…just break your hand? Oh good gosh, I don’t- I need to- to call Stress or or…”

“Spoon,” Scout stated, withdrawing his hand before shaking it about like a dog’s chew toy, or when someone attempted to gain feeling once more. “Hello.”

Mumbo swallowed thickly, squinting open one eye. Scout waited patiently, mangled and repaired hand (and oh heavens, it turned out Scout had been mangling both hands) outstretched awkwardly like Mumbo had done before.

Mumbo stared, his nausea slightly less. He didn’t dare look at whatever abomination Scout now sported, instead trying to focus on the monumental realization he had come to.

“Oh, oh,” Mumbo breathed, careful to swallow once more. “You- no no. I well, I reckon this is a handshake. Or we could uh, touch hands for a greeting? Hello was more, Hello! I am now in your vicinity!”

Scout curled his hand, thankfully with no crunching or grinding of bones. The creature marveled over it, stiffly opening four individual fingers where he had been brutally struggling with only two larger appendages. Of course, there were remarkably large talons included, and the thumb wasn’t quite where it should be, but if Mumbo squinted he could almost imagine it as a hybrid’s hand. Not nearly as revolting as it was before.

“Oh,” Mumbo said, realizing suddenly what Xisuma had been suspecting. He had theorized that Scout had once been an Admin- which meant the creature had essentially scrambled and rewritten his own unique code. Something even Xisuma was terrified to do, with repercussions as dangerous as instantaneous death.

Scout had innate knowledge of player and world code, but he could rewrite and modify it based on visual alone. 

‘Maybe Pearl was right when she was saying Watchers could scare the pants off of you,’ he thought hazily. ‘Oh goodness, what do I do now?’

Scout apparently looked quite pleased with his progress, opening and closing his new appendages. With a keen gaze on Mumbo ( comparing, Mumbo realized) Scout stretched out his wings leisurely, spreading his tail wings which were steadily growing back long plumes of purple iridescence.

“Okay, okay, this is fine,” Mumbo muttered to himself anxiously. He settled back on the floor, taking a moment to lower himself until he lay on his back facing upwards. Scout shuffled next to him, curious as to what he was now doing on the floor. “It turns out the big feathered monster which I am illegally harboring in my base, is able to self-actualize and rewrite its own code which generally results in spontaneous combustion. This is fine.”

After a long pause, Scout echoed with something close to pride: “fine.”

“Oh off it, you big lousy pigeon.”

Scout shuffled, settling himself. New hands pressed on the ground, clawing carefully with sharp nails. Scout shuffled over, peering down at Mumbo with a strange carefulness. Mumbo sighed dramatically, his breath brushing against the little wings that cradled and hid Scout’s face. Scout snorted slightly at the wind, which led to Mumbo blowing air directly on him.

Like a cat flicking an air, Scout opened one of the smaller wings obscuring his face to smack Mumbo across his mustache.

“Oi! That was rude!” Mumbo stated, trying not to laugh. “Look at you, Mister I have so many wings, perfect to bop my friends with-.”

Scout shook his head, little wings flapping adorably. Settled and content, marveling over new hands and bones, Scout said rather clearly in a voice that was not stolen: “Mumbo.”

Chapter Text

He adjusted himself, placing fabric in the proper position. It wasn’t a bed, but had all the components necessary for it. 

There were aspects that felt right, aspects that he could identify as correct. Then, there were things and incomprehensible moments that he knew was not- but had not the ability to recognize why exactly that was.

He was able to tell that his hands were incorrect, so he fixed them. That rationality was not a fixed thing, it altered and changed. It waxed and waned throughout the day and moments between fitful sleep. At times, he was able to recognize his wings for what they were and his bed as something he made. At times, he couldn’t recognize where he was or the fact he existed. Sometimes, he thought in abstract visions of colours instead of thoughts- and others he comprehended entire sentences with a peculiar calmness.

Mumbo- his human, had helped some. In moments of derealization, the familiar gentle cry of his name accompanied by “good morning! Oh it’s simply lovely outside-” was enough to lull him into wakefulness. It was a soothing balm to the rough raw edges of his fragile sanity. Sometimes, he wondered where he would be if not for Mumbo’s generosity.

The words, the constant conversation…he feared where his mind would be without it. Some words he couldn’t recognize, others he did but only long after the conversation had ended. Other times his focus was razor sharp, keen and cunning for intermittent unpredictable shenanigans. Each time, Mumbo would laugh a spluttering peculiar noise. Once, he choked on his drink, spraying it as a fine mist over the ground. 

Mumbo sometimes wore an odd expression. He couldn’t place it, but something about the soft twist of his eyes and the fond yet wavering smile made him feel odd. It looked painful, quiet and nostalgic. Mumbo would stare upwards, unable to see him with that odd face and he always felt much worse about it.

Guilty, but for an unknown cause. Longing for something he could not identify. Once, Mumbo had cried out in his sleep a name he identified and promptly forgot- although Mumbo awoke sad and distressed, sobbing for long hours.

He had an odd inclination to believe that the crying was due to him, but there was no evidence to suggest it. Sometimes, Mumbo would watch him with a soft fondness, offering him fresh bread and apples while working on redstone. Mumbo would talk to him gently, pointing out things that he didn’t understand with a patience far longer than him.

He was learning to use his new hands. Instead to clawing and destroying tops of wooden crates, he was shown how to open them clumsily. New bones moved in unfamiliar ways, constantly mystifying to watch. Stone crushed below his hands, much quicker compared to Mumbo’s loud tools. He clawed apart shelves of rock as Mumbo watched in sputtering confusion. He equally destroyed careful redstone lines by accident- either by the long dragging parts of his tail-wings brushing across the stone, or by his own curious prodding. 

He…perhaps had broken more than a few buttons secured to fascinating machines that made the most interesting lights and noises. Mumbo was not exactly… upset, but had apparently created protocols against that quickly.

“You’re a handful, aren’t you?” Mumbo told him fondly. They were settling at lunch break, he was poking and playing with a chunk of sandstone dyed the most interesting shade of orange. Mumbo was wiping aside redstone powder from his fingertips, shuffling aside gadgets to find their daily mid-day snack. “Are you going to make some sort of prophetic carving in that block there, mate? Some sort of wise scripture from the gods? Oh blimey, don’t make it about me or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He struggled to understand everything Mumbo said in the speed at which he said it. Thankfully, Mumbo never appeared to mind how slow his processing speed was, and the delay in his reciprocating action. Mumbo never judged, never made fun of him for responding too late or not at all.

“You’re doing a good job,” Mumbo told him, smiling crookedly. There was a piece of bread trapped in his mustache. “Here, if you shave the top just a bit you can get a harder crust- we like to call that carved sandstone for some ruddy reason.”

It took him a moment, and he followed the directions slowly. Clumsily, he did see the appeal and change in structure and colour. He made a noise, not quite speech but a croaking gargled thing somewhere in his throat.

Mumbo’s expression was fond, watching his new hands. He fumbled a bit, but ultimately got the idea.

“You’re really just a gentle big kitten, aren’t you?” Mumbo asked rhetorically. He reached out- not to touch the claws, but instead to help dust away bits of sand. “You’re a friend, and I know that doesn’t sound like much but…well, I suppose I don’t have many friends.”

He chirruped, a bit confused. There were humans here, living in close proximity. Were they not his friends? It had taken him a long time to comprehend or remember what a friend was- surely the others fit within that category?

“Oh shove off, I know what you’re thinking. The others are friends,” Mumbo clarified. His smile turned sad again, his eyes softening in the way that felt upset. “But…well…I suppose I don’t have a good track record with keeping friends, eh? One way or another…well, I’m glad I have you, Scout.”

He blinked, although Mumbo would not see it. He hadn’t ever considered how he always saw Mumbo, with his face covered. He simply did. 

Then, the words processed and oh, that was quite sad. Mumbo believed he could not have friends for some reason. That simply was not true, because he was Mumbo’s friend.

‘How do I show I am a friend?’ he thought to himself, and saw what others did. Mumbo twitched slightly next to him, perhaps due to a chill or a cold that he could not feel with all his feathers. He searched briefly, skimming across sights of friends with friendly behaviours- there. The zombie woman with the other man ( an admin ) gentle words and body contact- an embrace.

It seemed logical, and very possible. He shifted, adjusting himself and creaking the bones and muscles in his back that were sore and atrophied. With one wing outstretched- his middle pair that were not hindered by his front limbs- he clumsily slapped it across Mumbo’s side.

“Ouch!” Mumbo cried out, reaching up to protect his head from the heavy limb. The man bent forward, trying to fathom what on earth had struck his back.

A quiet croon alerted Mumbo that no this was not a targeted attack. The wing fluttered, bending at avian joints and a hooked articulated thumb joint caught somewhere on Mumbo’s suit jacket. The man laughed, spluttering as he did when overwhelmed but not upset. Slowly, Mumbo allowed himself to be pulled in like a duckling towards the nest.

“Scout- Scout, oh good heavens, this is not necessary-,” Mumbo protested with a wide grin. Slowly, constant pressure won out and Mumbo accepted his fate as he was tucked very awkwardly against Scout’s side. The wing did an admirable job covering his upper torso, but failed to consider the long legs that protruded out quite comically. Mumbo sneezed at the powder down and bits of fluffy feathers against the soft underside of the second set of wings. Jammed almost into Scout’s armpit from his primary set of wings, Mumbo wondered if this was truly his fate.

“Scout, this is indecent,” Mumbo teased, poking the creature against his sensitive side. Thankfully, thick feathers coated across the torso of the creature extending from the bottom of his ribcage to his pelvis. Mumbo wasn’t certain he’d survive if faced with such nudity so close. False had taught him once the names of the feathers- afterfeathers? Down? Mumbo couldn’t quite remember. The little things looked like ornate vane fans, each about the size of three of Mumbo’s fingers angling all the way down to the little tufts around the start of his thigh. These too had feathers, and some sort of odd grooved lines like scales for a mysterious reason.

The underside of Scout was a soft odd-white, speckled with dark bits and little spots. Like an owl, or something else. Mumbo wondered yet again what sort of Avian the creature had once been.

“Scout, this is fine,” Mumbo complained, patting the creature on the side of his ribs. They weren’t quite so pronounced now that the creature was consuming vast quantities of food regularly. “You can let me free! It’s fine!”

Scout warbled, his voice suspiciously similar to mocking Mumbo’s every word. Mumbo gasped dramatically. At once, Scout opened his wing worriedly and craned himself to peer at the little human.

“Got you!” Mumbo teased, reaching out to softly poke the creature on one of the facial wings. Scout froze, unable to process such a clear hideous offense on his modesty. With a loud shriek of a parrot trying to scream, Scout slumped dramatically downward- wing smacking Mumbo to the floor as well. The man made a hideous squeak- a bit like a mouse as the limb covered him completely.

Mumbo flailed the smallest bit, realizing quickly how futile the attempt was. After a moment of consideration, the man groaned and went still. Weakly he asked from below the feathers: “can I at least have my lunch?”

And sometimes, memories were not kind. Sometimes, he found himself wishing so desperately for what could not be, he imagined a world with different things. He imagined he walked as the humans did, that he was invited into their conversations and did not have so many eyes and limbs across his skin. In his dreams, he imagined he was wanted and loved, and he imagined that meant something.

It was not always so kind and sweet. He did not know the words, but could feel the tone and emotion conveyed at him with human posturing. Hands on hips, pointing and waving a sword. Rage, anger- irritation over something small. The hiss of gunpowder, the dampness of a breaking fragile boat. He breathed smoke in his dreams, felt the papery covering of a human invention that burned hot and dangerous. He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t recognize the faces of those around him. He saw so much, but only things cast in shadow. He imagined traveling to far places, building with sticky clay and frigid ice. He dreamed of abandoned railtracks that were not rusted and ruined like those abandoned deep below the ground. 

There was a name there he was too afraid to think of. There was a voice there, that he could not quite manage to speak. Mimicry was his art, but what was art when he had no passion or inspiration to guide his words.

He was more, he dreamed of being more. Unobtainable, beyond his potential. And oh, he hated that word. It came with something violent and angry, something cold and brutal that coaxed hideous horrible things-.

You have potential, little creature. Why do you shy from that which you are?

No, he did not want to think about this. He had a choice, and he was deciding to no longer dwell on dark shadowed-.

You believe yourself to be above us? You think your little tricks are working? Oh, you are mistaken, little creature.

No no, he did not want to think on this. He did not have to. He did not need to imagine the cold, the bitter gangrenous thing that grew and made him so ill. He refused he refused-.

If you want to leave so badly, then by all means. If you want to be feral and wild, then allow us to indulge you.

No. No he did not want-.

If you believe sight is above you, then allow us to take what you do not want. And if you cannot comprehend that of higher beings, then allow us to take that as well.

He shrieked- they had been so cruel. So violent, they pulled and plucked and he with all his tricks and secrets had fled. He had not slipped below their gaze, but allowed them to watch as he hurtled from the sky as a comet, as a falling star, as a forbidden thing outside their many wings-.

And he had been born in fire, blazing in the light of dragon’s breath and baptized into a new hideous monstrosity in the darkness of the eternal night. And he had been born in fire, hurtling desperately through the void with glimmers of code and multiple servers vague and indistinct. He had careened pitifully, burning violently and brain atrophying- the seed, the seed that Mumb-.

And he had been fire, crashed hot and wild and desperate in a grassland. He had thrashed about, burning like lava as identity was stripped like skin from a birch log. If you want to be a feral thing, then allow us to indulge you.

Scout was different, Mumbo noticed it instantly.

The creature had taken to the large hollow mountain like…well, countless idioms. Scout had created a nest on a half-shelf of rock, building it of wool and sticks and other clearly avian things. It was much messier than standard avian nests, resembling more of a desperate simple mattress of wool than a nest- but Scout had built it with adorable pride. Then, he had gone on to pack clay and snow in weird formations in one section of the cave. Mumbo wasn’t particularly sure what it was supposed to be, but he couldn’t blame the creature considering he just got his limbs back.

Scout was friendly, outgoing and kind. He was gentle, and today was different. 

Mumbo entered the enormous cave he had deemed to be Scout’s. He peered around, wishing he had brought a torch simply to see. It was a blessing that Scout’s mere existence had some unexplained ability to mobproof the area. Mumbo was getting spoiled on the lack of creepers blowing up his things.

Then, he paused. There was something grey in the furthest corner, built into the wall of a cave. Mumbo hadn’t seen the creature in a day, and hadn’t actually intruded into the cave before. He felt guilty, somewhat off kilter as he carefully avoided a tiny puddle of water.

“Scout?” Mumbo asked, gnawing on his lower lip anxiously. “Are you in here?”

He squinted, trying to find the large feathered creature somewhere along the roof. He approached the grey blob, about as tall as Pearl’s ship-starter base. It was difficult to determine the actual shape, the silhouette swallowed in the dark. 

Mumbo squinted. He asked: “is that you, Scout?”

Approaching the shape, Mumbo realized two things. The first- the enormous grey blob was not actually a giant slab of clay and snow adhered to the cliff walls. There were outcroppings, indentations and alcoves either carved into the stone face or clawed with misshapen hands. It was…surprisingly detailed, carefully constructed although lopsided. It was beautiful, unrecognizable but somehow…familiar.

The second thing Mumbo realized, was Scout’s position. He sat on the floor of the cave, tail wings spread behind him and lower wings half flared. He was looking forward, presumably gazing at the creation with no movement in his posture.

“Scout,” Mumbo said with audible relief. “I was looking for you! This is beautiful- Scout? Scout…are you alright?”

Scout did not move. He sat, looking forward. There was a gentle shift of his breathing, but beyond that there was no recognition. Clay had matted a few feathers, stuck below the long talons and hands. The creature had finished its great temple, designed in spectacular fashion.

Mumbo approached, and realized slowly the true scale of the build. Surely even some Hermits would be amazed by the size and scale, although the block palette could use improvement. Clay and snow, shades of grey and white hidden in the shadows of a cave. Messy, built with no blueprints but only the vision of an idea. It was beautiful, it was hideously sad.

“Scout?” Mumbo asked softly, too worried to touch him. “I…are you alright? Were…”

Were you a builder? He wanted to ask, but knew better than to voice it. Some days, Scout was unresponsive for hours. Some days, Mumbo worried if any sentience existed within the horribly lonely brain. Scout clearly had been a builder, and as crude and odd as this building was- it was a mimic of something Mumbo didn’t recognize.

Mumbo knew he was going to get quite a bit of lip for this- but at this point it was undeniable that Scout was once human. Maybe a hybrid, but he had once been someone. Xisuma was worried that Scout was more Watcher than player- but at this point you could not deny that Scout was leaning much more in the other direction.

Mumbo was worried, because an actual build was different to being friendly and nice. Creating was different- and what Scout had done to his hands alone spoke of something much greater than admin abilities.

Scout had been hidden for long enough, it was time Xisuma could be informed on what was actually happening. 

“Okay,” Mumbo said gently, waving his one hand in front of Scout. The creature did not shift, hypnotized by the sight of his build. “I err…just…stay here?”

Scout did not respond. Mumbo wilted, unsure on how to proceed. He glanced back at the building (and good lord, were there pillars as well?) and reminded himself to come back with a lantern to actually see it next time.

Mumbo had hardly put his elytra on after finishing getting dressed when a message spread across the global communicator channel. It was very early in the day- not too many people would be up. Impulse and Scar would be sleeping at this time, it was mostly luck that Mumbo had risen so early.

“Oh dear,” Mumbo muttered, flipping through the chat link. “Doc sent something?”

<Docm77> Can anyone help wither escape needbackup

<Renthedog> dude

<GeminiTay> pearl and i are coming

Mumbo’s heart instantly shot up, he read the message twice just to be sure. He inhaled slowly, exhaled it gently. He was peace love and potatoes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t visit and at least help his fellow hermits with any injuries. He glanced towards the direction of Scout…Xisuma wouldn’t be able to do anything until an escaped wither was found.

<MumboJumbo> I’ll come with some supplies

The others didn’t respond, meaning the wither was certainly something to be feared.

When Doc messaged saying a wither had escaped, for some reason Mumbo hadn’t been expecting two.

The machine that Doc had created already looked like a mad scientist's dream. There were pistons, cauldrons filled with water, far too many minecarts for Mumbo to spot. That alone wasn’t the worst part- it all took place in the sky thousands of blocks above a mooshroom island. At least there would be no mobs, but it didn’t exactly instill Mumbo with much confidence when the battle was an actual air battle.

On the server, many people were excellent fliers. Gemini was proving to be an excellent acrobatic, flipping around she fired arrows through the sky. Pearl was taking a more direct approach using her sword as she dove from high altitude. Ren was looking a bit worse for wear, yawning dramatically until his leg shook. The poor dog looked half asleep and in no way ready to fight. Cub had shown up at the last minute, taking glee in attempting to chop one of the heads off between strikes.

“Dude,” Ren muttered grumpily. His sunglasses were partially tilted on his snout, like he threw them on in the dark. “I am going to give Doc a stern talking to after this.”

“I can believe he let both of them out at once,” Mumbo confessed, wincing as one of the explosions barely missed the flying creeper. “Oh that was close, oh dear.”

“I feel like I should be rooting for the wither,” Ren muttered, sniffing pointedly. “Hey uh, man? Why do you smell like a chicken?”

Pearl shrieked like a banshee as the wither unexpectedly slammed her with one open maw. She flinched, tumbling through the air with her elytra smoldering black under the decaying touch.

“No!” Ren shouted, suddenly wide awake. He lunged forward, reacting far faster than Mumbo could. The man gasped, fumbling through his chest for healing potions and milk. Pearl dropped from the sky, heading towards the water.

They hadn’t considered the second wither. The entity hadn’t yet ascended as they tended to do during battle. It had been preoccupied chasing cod- now invested in a new falling target.

The second wither, barely above the surface of the water, peered upward with a loud rattling hiss. Eyes white, smoking of something nether, it reared back with a venomous breath.

And-

Building is part of a process- I know that! And I like the shifting of gears but…It’s definitely a work in progress-.

He had built with snow and clay, struggling through decisions on the spot. There was no planning, no drawing and schematics. There was only stone, rudimentary things. He developed it, figuring it out. He needed a break- oh it looks so weird! It’s so flimsy-.

He built a spire, twin supports for the center tower. He had made it with his hands, but his hands had carried empires.

‘Oh,’ he thought. The word rung like a bell in his skull, echoing correct and new with memories of something old. ‘An Empire. My empire.’

He built it with clay and snow, and made frameworks with dirt. Alone, so far away from those he loved. He had done so much, had created so much. He played with gunpowder and paper, laughing at the gentle bickering of friends. He was so much more-.

He remembered (but did he?) building a box of explosives to market it for sale. A horrible idea.

His empire, his home. He did not remember but he knew, he could feel it, see it in a memory tinted oddly with- beta. 

He couldn’t- he didn’t know what to do with this information. This is my TNT shop! All TNT free, all proceeds to the Grian Empire!

Grian Empire.

He stared at his building, snow and clay that once housed the solitary lonely inhabitants. Or rather, it’s single inhabitant. He stared, blankly, and whispered his name: “Grian.”

It did not have the echoing voice of mimicry. It was him, and he was it. He built his home with his hands, and his hands had done horrible things for those he called home.

“Grian,” he repeated, the word feeling sacrilegious in his hoarse throat. He had a voice, a name. He was- he was…a thing. He couldn’t understand it-.

Where was Mumbo? Mumbo would know. Mumbo comforted him in his screaming, when the thoughts were cruel and dark and whispered to him. He did not leave when so many eyes watched him, when he stole and took like a greedy little creature. Mumbo was safe, Mumbo was not here. Grian would find him, and would go to him.

Grian shook himself, joints moving. All his wings cracked- and oh, oh there were far too many, why did he have so many wings? He opened his eyes, blearily overtaken by the confusing sight of everything all at once. He saw snow, clay, and too much all at once. He saw the identification number of the server, of the world seed that sprouted into enormous mountains, fifi the cave troll, of beautiful flowers and houses shaped like the moon. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling brokenly with a sob. 

Too many things all at once. Apathy had left him with bright anxiety. Had the sun always been so dangerous? How could the sky simply stretch forever?

No, he needed to find Mumbo. He opened his eyes, feverishly bright and bold and saw-.

“No!” and there fell Pearlescentmoon, plummeting through the sky. Elytra black- [status effect withering, 19 seconds]. Another dove to catch her- would do so in the time and sight he could see.

Another creature, the rattling noise of death. Black and poisonous, hissing a breath as below across the ocean’s surf it reared itself to bite.

“No!” Mumbo shouted, hands tight around potions that would do nothing for a corpse. “No! Pearl!”

And Grian saw.

“Oh…just dodge and weave,” he had once said, holding a bow. Frantic, desperate across an obsidian floor. The disgusting entity, primordial and unperfected. Far too strong, far too terrifying with its lethal touch. “Oh it’s relentless!”

He remembered it: a wither. 

He remembered it: deadly.

Grian saw, and with a flicker of something not correct, he thought: what is more dangerous than a wither?

Grian opened himself, mind circulating across flashes of things too confusing to gather. Mumbo was in danger, Pearl was in danger- the wither too strong and already wounded. He was fury, he was a creature- you always wanted me to be a mindless animal, eh? Well, how do you like this then?

Grian stepped- and with a shrill shrieking noise his plummeted. He flared his wings, enormous and beautiful, and broke free something limiting him. There were no restraints to stop his all consuming rage, there were no limits to what he would do to protect those he deemed family. 

His hind claw, enormous with talons, pressed inwards on a wither’s skull with the ferocity of the dragon. He stretched, elongated and foreign- I am a dragon and you dare to touch my hoard?

The wither, in one dumb second comprehended one new threat- and promptly exploded in fragments of binary and code as Grian crushed it to deletion below his claw.

Distantly, he heard someone yell a noise of fright. Ren snatched Pearl, banking sharply to avoid one enormous wing. There was blood, oozing from a torn bit attaching arms to joints they should not be.

The last death cries of a wither above rattled, a single star falling forgotten into the ocean.

Grian scrambled, body weak and aching under such tremendous effort. He retracted, bones shifting oddly into something humanoid- human. He was human- he is human. He’s human.

“Ren!” Mumbo shouted, taking no time at all to dive. The mooshroom island was made of mycelium, soft and squishy under his shoes. He couldn’t run as easily, but he didn’t notice. He heard Doc land beside him, cursing something in his native language. Cub circled above them, presumably sending a message that buzzed in Mumbo’s pocket. GeminiTay was nowhere to be found- perhaps she had flown off instantly instead of a simple message.

“What is that thing?” Doc gasped, puffing air. He had been fighting for some time, reaching the end of his endurance. Ash and other things adhered to his cheek, there was bright red blood as well.

“Don’t,” Mumbo gasped between heaving breaths. He was horribly out of shape. “Don’t hurt him!”

“What? Me?” Ren asked, cradling Pearl close. The woman was stirring, briefly unconscious from the sudden surge of vertigo and multiple ties of gravity on her small body. She slurred something, coming close to awareness. Her elytra, unfortunately, was beyond saving.

Scout rumbled something, the noise altered between moments as if replicating human speech. Scout staggered around, wings spread awkwardly as his head bowed inwards out of sight.

“Dude, I don’t think you gotta worry about me hurting it!”

“Get away from him!” Mumbo shouted, throwing himself between Scout and the two. Ren stepped backwards, ears pinning down. The dog hybrid briefly bared his teeth, a silent snarl making Mumbo’s mouth dry. 

Cub landed beside Pearl, peering into Ren’s arm to assure that the woman wasn’t affected by the withering effect. He gave a nod, waving to Doc who was marveling at Scout’s obvious mental breakdown with open admiration.

“Look at it’s claws,” Doc said with open awe. “Dude, they changed.”

“His name is Scout, and don’t treat him like an animal!” Mumbo snapped with no little hostility. Scout jerked, whining low and frantic. “Even though he…sometimes…acts very animal!”

“I don’t know,” Cub said with a little bit of impish curiosity. “For a moment it looked like he shapeshifted into a dragon thing. I thought I saw teeth.”

“Okay well, sometimes he does that too!” Mumbo defended. “Although…I may not have known that- but he’s harmless!”

“Harmless?” Ren asked shrilly. “Dude, it just…just melted a wither!”

Pearl groaned, her eyes opening. Slowly, she realized her situation. Admirably she did not scream. She remained silent, her eyes widening and face paling. She made no aggressive movements, instead she slid from Ren’s arms and made herself smaller, a less visible target. She whispered, signing something Mumbo didn’t understand but Cub clearly did.

“Dude, I don’t think he’s going to attack you,” Cub said, not indulging her open paranoia. “He’s like, having a panic attack.”

“Oh, pants,” Mumbo gasped, spinning to try and comfort him in some way. “Oh- oh bloody- did you tear your arms? Oh Scout! Scout you’re bleeding- Cub, please can you get the bandages? Oh pants you tore your arms free!”

Scout shook his head, whining, gargling something with bits of human language. Between that, Scout breathed with loud panicked breaths, sobbing quietly as his hands flailed about, unsure of what to do. Too weak to protest, Mumbo hurriedly grabbed both wrists in a soft grip and held them aloft, checking the elbows where a gruesome wound existed on both side.

Scout’s hands flexed, then grasped his wrists with a weak grip. Nervous, desperate, Scout sobbed like a child.

“Scout, Scout can you hear me?” Mumbo asked, rubbing the back of Scout’s hands with his thumbs. “Scout, please can you- oh pants.”

“Help, help,” Scout spoke, voice altering too high and then too low. All wings flared, suddenly clumsy and uncoordinated. Mumbo nodded fervently, trying to reassure him.

“Fascinating,” Doc said, circling Scout from a great distance. 

“Can you give us a moment!” Mumbo shouted, making Doc step back. Hurriedly, Mumbo agreed with Scout: “I’m right here, I’m helping you. I’m helping you.”

“Help,” Scout gasped, shaking his head from left to right violently. “Can’t- stop. It- I- it hurts.”

“Scout I’m right here, you’re okay,” Mumbo tried to sooth, transitioning to release Scout’s hands. They fell limply to Scout’s side. Mumbo reached up, his longer hands cradling Scout’s face and jawline with callused fingers. “Scout, Scout listen to me. I’m right here.”

Pearl stepped closer, keeping her body sideways. She looked at Scout oddly, looking at his neck and exposed shoulders. There was something strange to her focus, determined but no so violent.

“I’m right here, Scout,” Mumbo repeated gently. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Mumbo,” Scout said, in that voice from before. The same voice Mumbo heard days ago- that he forced out of his head due to guilt. It was only natural he heard the voice of his friend where he no longer was. He should appreciate Scout for Scout, not for the parallels to-.

“Mumbo,” Pearl muttered in a low voice. She stepped closer, oddly focused. “I need you to step back.”

“No no, I’m not leaving him-.”

“Mumbo,” Scout repeated in that twice darned voice. “I- help. Help.”

“Mumbo,” Pearl repeated with slightly increased urgency. “I need you to listen to me-.”

“I’m not leaving Scout!”

Pearl bit her lower lip, inhaled slowly, and stepped forward. Her shoulder bumped his, her hand reaching out and hovering above the mess of feathers. She did not touch, but hovered uncertainly as Scout trembled and shuddered in Mumbo’s arms.

“Help,” Scout croaked, and it made Mumbo’s throat tight. His brain was yelling and he refused to listen to it, he refused to think about it. “Mumbo-.”

“What’s your name?” Pearl asked Scout with a flat affect and monotone. “What is your name?”

“Pearl why-.”

“Hurts,” Scout said, trying to jerk his head but unable to in Mumbo’s soft hold. “I- hurts.”

“What’s your name?” Pearl pressed urgently. “Tell us. Tell Mumbo!”

“I- hurts,” Scout repeated, limbs limp. There was a horrible crying noise, wings vibrating. Slowly, they tried to open. Stiff and uncooperative, they tried to spread and curled weirdly, flopping around nervously like a phantom limb. Slowly, they began to unfold like a flower, like the waves of water on a darkened pool- like the crescendo of a song nearing it’s finale.

“Help,” said a voice on a face hidden by scars and shadows. Dark eyes, brown hair filthy and long. Familiar lips, gaunt cheeks with a thin nose- a mimic it had to be-.

“Help me Mumbo,” Scout said, crying from eyes dotted along cheekbones and two dazed glassy eyes set below familiar eyebrows. “ Help me.”

Mumbo felt sick. His hands were numb, he couldn’t think. There were no words, only static buzz and unending horror. It overwhelmed him, filling him with black dark feelings. 

It was Grian. His friend who had presumably died- who had vanished years ago after a server had closed due to an unfortunate collapse. The server which Pearl reported was destroyed by Watchers-... which they thought Scout was.

“Oh god,” Mumbo whispered, not hearing his voice. Everything felt dazed, sickly wrong. He was cold, yet his heart was too quick. There was a pressure between his eyes. He had felt so guilty that Scout sounded like him- Mumbo believed that it was his mind playing tricks on him. They had never found a body, but that meant little.

Scout was an admin. Grian was an admin.

“Grian,” Mumbo whispered, feeling like the worst person in all of existence.

“Mumbo,” Grain said, ( Grian, after all this time- ). “ Help me.”

Chapter Text

“So this is Grian,” Impulse said, eyebrows lifted and skepticism clear. He frowned a bit, squinting to try and peer at the enormous bird-monstrosity with a different sort of sight.

“Apparently,” Tango agreed. The man twiddled a bit of his hair, sparking occasionally from static electricity or something distinctly nether. The man exhaled quickly through his nose, narrowing his red eyes at the creature pointedly. “I’m not saying that this is all awefully convenient, but…doesn’t it rub you the wrong way?”

“Oh absolutely,” Impulse agreed. The man sighed, settling heavily on his rear next to Tango. “It’s all strange timing. I mean, when it was just Scout there was some degree of possibility of us finding…well. You know.”

“What, Mambo’s mysteriously presumed-dead friend?” Tango asked a little sarcastic. There was a dark bite to his words, a level of cynical acidity behind every tonal inflection. “That man was a mess for months. And we’re supposed to just…accept the fact he’s here? And a weird freaky bird monster?”

Impulse didn’t want to agree, but there was some truth to his words.

This is what the story was. A number of years ago, Mumbo wouldn’t stop talking about his good cheery friend! They had met…somewhere Impulse didn’t quite remember, but after hitting it off the poor mustached Hermit would not stop talking about him. It was always what Grian was doing- hosting cute little competitions, running into old friends. Visiting Mumbo’s personal server and messing up his redstone. It wasn’t all shenanigans, Mumbo had spoke and praised Grian’s architectural eye and ability to build to the high heavens. He had claimed to many people that Grian was hermit material, just waiting to create the next masterpiece. With Grian’s talents, he undoubtedly had worked for public servers before- but then, right when Xisuma was actually planning on visiting the man to truly interview him for the esteemed hermit position…Grian vanished.

As in, actively vanished. His ID in server logs were removed, his name blanked out. His last visit was long past the last time Mumbo talked to him. In between day cycles, Grian simply vanished to the world, in all resemblance to a permadeath. The fact that Evo, the pet project Grian had loosely explained to Mumbo before his long absence, was a closed private server…well, they all presumed the worst.

Mumbo, of course, took it hard. It wasn’t typical mourning, because mourning did not come all at once and resolve cleanly. It came unassumingly, sneaking into all things until Mumbo would stay quiet and distant for weeks at a time before being filled with a manic energy. He built things, attempting his hand at creating in mimicry of a style no hermit had seen before. Mumbo had talked about Grian, and when Grian vanished Mumbo made sure that he was remembered in chiseled stone and quartz. Mumbo built an enormous thing that season, fueled by tears and spite, and in truth- it was gorgeous.

That was seasons ago, and time evolved. Mumbo built a living base, incorporating styles he had never used before. Impulse didn’t want to admit it, but Grian’s passing had made Mumbo into both a better builder, and a better person.

And now? Grian had crashed conveniently into their server with no evidence to support how, wearing the face of a man Mumbo recognized in the middle of an anxiety attack. Impulse was ready to draw his sword and call out Scout for his lies.

Except, and Tango had grudgingly mentioned this before, Scout wasn’t exactly cognitively able to even try to fool them. The poor thing was so daft and simple, it probably would spook at the sight of a pumpkin. The creature was clearly not an animal, but forced into the worst case of code manipulation and torture any of them had ever seen.

Putting a name to a face didn’t change the fact that Scout deserved kindness and sympathy. Even if it all was quite suspicious. If it had been only Mumbo, then Impulse would have argued it was a ruse. Scout had demonstrated an odd unsettling ability before to make even the bravest people cower with strange paranoia and anxiety, poor Etho had looked hideously uncomfortable as he explained his personal experience. Phantom’s were able to detect how long it had been since you last slept. Some void-creatures were able to scent you out and see you even if invisible. How impossible would it before a new species or type of hybrid to casually read your mind or mimic those from your memories?

But then, it was Pearl who had grudgingly confessed in a monotone that yes, it was indeed Grian. Multiple odd things had been lining up, bits of suspicion she had for years finally coming to light. The recent visit from Jimmy and Martyn gave her the opportunity to really reflect back on her past, and identify some areas of concern. Grian had never been found, and the server eventually collapsed. The void was a deep hell pit of endless darkness, but Grian had been an admin- he could have found a way to escape somehow. 

Unless something had stopped him, unless something had taken him.

Scout was a Watcher, easy enough to understand. Scout was a horrible Watcher, even easier to understand. Xisuma was a horrible voidwalker, normally his species was made of nightmares and consumed the beginnings of new worlds to sate their appetite. Xisuma walked around mimicking an axolotl. It wasn’t that ridiculous to accept that all Watchers weren’t exactly good at being terrifying.

Scout was a horrible Watcher, Scout had also had his code snagged and tangled into a disgusting violation of basic rights. The basic ability to comprehend language, and subsequent memories and cognitive processing, was stripped from him violently. This was not consensual because no person in their right mind would ever consent to wasting away into nothingness. 

“This whole situation is the worst, ugh,” Tango muttered. He stretched his legs out, then stretched his toes until his entire limb vibrated. With a yawn, he curled himself back up and scowled. “And this all happened because Doc let two withers escape?”

“Apparently,” Impulse stated. “Cub said that Scout teleported or did something, and just…appeared. One-shot killed a wither on contact.”

Tango whistled, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “Dang, not so wimpy then?”

“Apparently not,” Impulse agreed.

Everything started at the Boatem Hole, where Scout had lived deep in the depths and first interacted with Impulse. It felt so long ago that they were throwing him offerings. It felt like a different time, long beyond their reach. It had started at the Boatem hole, and apparently it ended there as well.

“We should have known Mumbo didn’t make those bush things,” Tango complained, waving one hand to a very nicely decorated section to his mountain. “And here I was, ready to compliment the guy!”

“Shouldn’t have trusted the potato man,” Impulse teased. His heart wasn’t in it, neither was Tango’s.

Instead, the two sat beside each other on one of Boatem’s little benches. Overlooking both the Boatem Hole into the void, and the new opening to a thin alcove in a base of a mountain. Thinner than Fifi’s lair, the crack spiraled upwards until smaller than a block. Scar had filled the gap between Pearl’s unique granite mountain cliffs, and Mumbo’s more geometric mountain edges. It felt ironic, and somehow fitting that Scout, the Boatem Mascot, had been sleeping so close to home.

Currently, they were watching the bumbling awkward creature occasionally flutter oddly through the small crack in the rock. They passed a spyglass back and forth, not willing to get closer but too curious to leave. 

“What sort of name is Grian anyways?” Tango complained, passing the spyglass back to Impulse. “He looks like a bird. Or a chicken. Poultry.”

“Poultry man is a horrible name,” Impulse said. “I think he looks more like…a Charlie. Charles?”

“Dude, never get a dog,” Tango said, laughing heartily. He grinned, canines poking into his bottom lip. “Seriously though, how are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Impulse said, smiling. At times, Tango’s earnest concern was blazingly obvious. At first glance, you’d never expect it, but the man did care deeply for his friends. “I’m doing okay.”

“Are you sure you want to come with?” Xisuma asked, offering Pearl one last moment.

“Yeah Pearl, you don’t need to be here,” GeminiTay tried to console her. The shorter woman smiled softly, her ears batting around. 

Pearl inhaled carefully. She exhaled in a measured smooth breath. Rhythmic, just as all box breathing exercises taught her. “It’s fine. I need to be here- who else can confirm his identity?”

Gem and Xisuma shared a glance, then looked at Pearl with yet more concern.

“Pearl, you don’t need to be here,” Gem tried to tell her. “I mean, I saw when he popped out of nowhere! And I took off to tell X here, but you don’t have to-.”

“I saw his face, Gem,” Pearl said bluntly. “There are shapeshifters out there, you know that. So either that is G-Grian, or it knows where Grian is.”

“Pearl, you may not get the answer you’re looking for-.”

“I want to know how he died, Xisuma,” Pearl stated, smiling in a forced grimacing snarl. “I want to know, and- and I deserve that. After all these years, please…Let me have this.”

Gem exhaled quickly, shifting her weight. The stone flooring outside the recently excavated mountain clattered against her hooves. If the rocks were any smaller, they could have gotten stuck in the soft sensitive parts between her toes. “I say let her in, X. I don’t think he’s going to do anything.”

Xisuma closed his eyes for a moment, before he opened them with a heavy resignation. “Pearl, you may not find what you’re looking for.”

“I have to at least try.”

Xisuma held his words. He wasn’t so cruel to tell Pearl the true depth of the code damage. It had been a good sign all together that Scout had relocated, it meant he was capable of learning and capable of change. There was no promise that the creature had memories left, and had not simply latched onto Mumbo for his illegal help. That- oh Xisuma had words for the man. Once he had recovered from his depressive hibernation. Stress had snuck in and was handling that mess the best way she could.

The mountain at least, had been decoratively excavated via Scar’s silent sympathetic help. The man was also struck, a little off kilter from the potential that this was Mumbo’s friend. Everyone remembered the man Mumbo had described so boldly and excitedly. Everyone remembered the mourning that came after.

“Fine, but I’m going to ask the questions,” Xisuma said to her. He didn’t approve, but he also knew the woman was steadfast and ambitious. If Xisuma told her no, she would simply come back when there was no person to filter the damage and pain. Here, at least he could do something.

Pearl didn’t relax, but she stood strong. She nodded once before pulling her hair back with a tie. The cave was cooler, significantly so. Gem shivered as she trotted ahead, tossing her antlers and flicking her ears. She squinted upwards, trying to spot any shape in the gloom. “Oh I smell him! Smells like a bird alright! No bats thank goodness!”

“Thank goodness,” Pearl echoed in a monotone. She scoured the rocks below, trying to spot any discrepancy in the dark ground. “There should be mobs in here with how dark it is.”

There weren’t any, Xisuma had been keeping a sharp eye on the entity count. Scout still did not show up to his scans.

“Oh, look here!” Gem shouted, waving them over. Approaching her, Xisuma spotted the remnants of something grey on the stone. Pearl squatted, pressing her fingers into the moldable surface, leaving an imprint. 

“It’s clay,” she stated needlessly. “Why is there clay here? Scar didn’t use any in the mountain.”

“Hmm, maybe Mumbo left it?” Gem guessed, tilting her head. “Oh, I think I heard something.”

The three straightened, peering around the cave. Forming a triangle, Pearl drew a torch and ignited it easily. She held it aloft, fire reflecting off her skin. Gem tossed her head, antlers silent as she had removed the small ornaments and chimes before joining the crew. Xisuma steadied his breath and formed his resolve. He was here not as a friend, but as the admin of his home.

“Hello?” Pearl asked, voice flat yet demanding. “Show yourself!”

Something jerked, startled by the sudden noise. Gem squeaked, leaping high as Scout faltered from his curious inspection. The creature had been hanging from the roof, jolted by the unexpected noise and fell quite awkwardly onto the cave ground.

“Pearl! That was so loud!” Gem complained, her ears pinned back to her skull. “Oh, well…it worked.”

“It worked,” Pearl echoed, taking a bold step forward.

Xisuma cut her off with one arm, splaying it in front of her. With a pointed look, she grit her teeth and backed up. Xisuma nodded, silent as he turned to face Scout, who was clambering to his odd quadruped state.  Xisuma settled to one knee, lowering himself until his face was approximately the same height as Scout. Scout flinched away, not expecting Xisuma so close- a second set of wings near the base of its torso flared in surprise like a bird. 

“Scout,” Xisuma stated formally. “My name is Xisuma, I am the admin of the server you are currently on.”

Scout did not respond. He stayed still, affixed like a stone gargoyle on the top of Bdub’s buildings. The silence lingered, and Xisuma wondered if he should repeat himself. As Xisuma was opening his mouth to repeat his words, Scout slowly tilted his head- little wings and feathers rustling, and stated in an odd echoing rasp: “Exss- eye-suma.”

“By Nox,” Xisuma whispered, absolutely stunned, “you are learning.”

A wing on Scout’s back opened and stretched, folding itself clumsily. The lack of facial expression wasn’t as uncomfortable as the admin had expected, there were countless clues that signified the confusion and keen interest Scout currently held. The creature rumbled, playing with odd hisses and noises before repeating once more: “Ex-eye-suma?”

“Xisuma,” he corrected. There was a slight sway to Scout’s words, mimicry lingering in the space between unique voice and stolen.

“Ex-eye-suma,” Scout settled, sounding almost amused. The creature flared his main set of wings- they trembled past a certain point of spread. There was an injury, symmetrical across a joint recently separated. Poorly done, torn free, little splashes of colour indicated the skin and tissue below. Scout truly had torn his body apart, just as Cub had reported. Desperation to save those he had imprinted on.

“You’re injured,” Xisuma said carefully. “Can we help you?”

“Help,” Scout repeated near instantly, voice unlike any hermit Xisuma knew. It was boyish, childish although not young. Something accented, like Mumbo’s own cadence. “Help, yes, help help-.”

“I want to help you,” Xisuma stated. “Do I have your permission?”

Scout waited. The time passed longer as the creature attempted to understand- at some point it faltered and failed. Scout turned away, chirping something to himself and casually ignored everything Xisuma said, or perhaps forgot it.

“X,” Gem whispered, watching the multiple feathers and odd long pines protruding like porcupines in awe. “X, the wings. His feathers are growing back.”

Xisuma had never seen pin-feathers. He hadn’t realized they actually resembled long sticks instead of actual feathers. They looked a bit like matchsticks, sticking out longer than Xisuma’s arm. Scout ignored them, fussing with something on his hands, which were significantly different to what he had when in captivity. 

“He trusts us, for now,” Xisuma stated after a small moment of thought. “I don’t want to press further and upset him.”

Pearl scoffed, gripping the torch tightly. “We still don’t know he is who he claims to be.”

“Hmm, true,” Gem agreed, tapping her chin. “Uh…how do we test that if he doesn’t understand us?”

“He does,” Xisuma said. “Only simple words. I presume he’s trying to adapt to suddenly being able to think. Think of him as a child, learning the world.”

“Aww, he’s a baby bird?” Gem teased, reaching out. Scout hastily pulled his wings away, craning his neck to presumably look at her. Gem flinched, wincing and glancing around. She had the least exposure to Scout, and likely felt the odd paranoia that came with his gaze.

Scout shuffled backwards, seemingly finished with their impromptu meeting. Gem made a small noise of protest- Scout swiftly avoiding her outstretched hand. He spread the largest set of wings, wincing once opening past previously forced muscle shortening. Compared to a parrot, Scout’s wings were incredibly stunted in movement.

“Grian,” Pearl stated in a deadpan. Scout paused, cocking his head nearly sideways before slowly folding the wings and craning around. Like a curious dog, he shuffled oddly, long hands pawing at the rock ground. 

Pearl swallowed, backstepping as Scout advanced, feathers scraping on stone. Scout clicked, a loud popping noise like an activating observer. He repeated in a voice- the voice Xisuma was starting to wonder if it was his actual voice, “hello. Hello. Hello.”

“Hello,” Pearl said with an impressively dead voice. “Where is Grian?”

Scout paused, comprehending. It was almost like talking to a hideously complex redstone mechanism. There was almost a calculating time between understanding and response. Doc could likely time it with ticks, know exactly when to respond.

“Hello,” Scout repeated dumbly. “Hello. Hello-.”

“Yes I know,” Pearl snapped. Scout retreated back, alarmed by the sudden shift of voice. Pearl bared her teeth, slowly the long tail-wings began to lift like an intimidation. Gem muttered something, Xisuma decided to step in.

“Scout,” Xisuma stated, drawing the creature’s attention instantly. The man winced under the sudden anxiety, doing his best to shrug it off. “You’re hurt. Let me help.”

“Help,” Scout echoed, but made no step closer. 

“Your arms,” Xisuma said, waving one hand towards Scout. Then, he realized the problem and winced. “Er…your…arms.” 

Xisuma gestured to his own elbows, then waited and did the same movement again. Scout’s wings ruffled, trying to fold but unable to do so from old muscle stiffness. Scout watched him, and made Xisuma feel like a proper idiot.

Something clicked, and then Scout mimicked him in Xisuma’s voice- “arms.”

“Arms,” Xisuma said, trying not to shiver under the odd sensation of hearing his voice. “Let me help. Help, uh, arms.”

Scout waited, then very slowly bent his neck to look at his own limbs. Scout chirped a little noise of surprise, eying the mutilated backside of his elbows and upper arms. Xisuma wondered if he had even noticed.

“Help,” Scout repeated, unable to bend in a way that allowed him to see the true damage. “Help arms?”

“Yes,” Xisuma said, feeling instant relief as Scout hesitantly stepped closer. Pearl chewed on her tongue, saying nothing as she obediently set down a redstone lamp- Mumbo had mentioned something that Scout may be more agreeable to those than an open fire before he had gone back to cry in bed. 

Scout didn’t react the lamp, although he did claw and paw at the lever a few times. Gem happily drew forth her bucket of water and potions, as well as bandages. Xisuma saw no signs of infection, he doubted Scout could even contract one, but the open wound would be hurting. Scout chattered along, poking and plucking at a scrap of bandage he tossed. The feel of skin was waxy and thin, bones noticeable under the skin. Sadly malnourished, Xisuma wondered what else was injured.

‘How long has he been here?’ the admin wondered. ‘How long has he been waiting for us to hop to this server? Months? Years?’

Scout chattered something, ignoring Xisuma’s hands on his forearms and elbows until the man tried to touch his wings. Scout shrieked, flinching back. Xisuma retreated, Scout kicked the bucket of water and thoroughly soaked Pearl’s shoes.

“Guys?” Pearl asked calmly. “I’m getting really irritated.”

Scout stepped aside, walking oddly as he attempted to not get too wet. One feather smacked Gem in the face, making her stumble on the wet stone. She tripped shortly after, looking equal parts surprised and annoyed.

“Scout,” Xisuma called, trying to think of anything that could prove the man’s identity. “Grian! I- where did you go?”

Scout of course didn’t listen. The creature flapped oddly, struggling to fly but lunged forward off the little rock. Deeper into the cave they hurried after. Pearl tore apart the redstone lamp, gathering her torch to chase. More mud and clay caked itself into the ground, bits of rock carved apart. Gem yelped, tripping on something that looked suspiciously like a brick. Xisuma swore he stubbed his toe on something that looked like sandstone.

“Scout!” Gem called, waving her hands. “Scout, come here! Please? Scout!”

“Grian,” Pearl demanded, lacking all the gentle warmth of her female friend. “Grian!”

Xisuma was starting to get a headache. He should have recruited Mumbo for this, if only to lure Scout out into the sunshine. Or he should have brought Scar, who had at least created the mountain they were trekking below.

They hastily attempted to find the creature, only hearing occasional rocks clatter. Gem handled the terrain the best, able to adapt and find traction on the hardest of surfaces. She did notice that the temperature was chilling quite rapidly into something cool.

“It’s freezing in here,” she complained, huddling close to Pearl’s torch. “Brr! What did Scar do?”

“I don’t think it was Scar,” Pearl said. She stepped forward, holding her torch aloft.

Once, Mumbo had confided in Xisuma. He had claimed Grian would be an excellent hermit- a gentle kind soul, a prankster on occasion. But oh, what a marvelous builder. His shapes are truly unique, able to turn boring blocks into a work of art. Xisuma had been skeptical, and had intended years ago to truly investigate whatever ability Mumbo’s friend had.

And oh, how dearly Xisuma regretted his skepticism.

“Put down the lamp,” Xisuma ordered, staring at the faint outline of a frozen pillar, carved with snow and layered with grey clay. 

Pearl did so, assembling the light and two others in silence. Slowly, the illumination spread and outlined the silhouette of an enormous facade. A building, extending from the cave itself. At some parts, clumsy and awkward, at others made with the smooth dedication of a master craftsman. Enormous pillars stretched upwards, rounded archways and a high dome made of snow- grey and white composed into an ornate cathedral hidden below the mountain.

“Whoa,” Gem said, stepping forward. She didn’t touch the building, but marveled at the shadows and arches. It was not something to call pretty, it was something to call art.

“It’s him,” Pearl whispered, her voice thick. Xisuma turned his neck to look at her- worried. Pearl stared at the build, eyes wet and tearful. She was crying, inhaling and laughing something of anxious disbelief. “I- It’s him. It’s Grian.”

“What?” Gem asked, startled by the sudden change in heart. “What do you-.”

“This is his base, his build,” Pearl repeated, gesturing upwards to the creation. “It- I never forgot it, it’s his. It’s what he made, the Grian Empire. The- the idiot only used snow and clay and…Xisuma it’s his.”

The flutter of wings didn’t startle Xisuma this time. The little scratches of talons pattered closer, the anxiety increasing until Xisuma could feel the eyes on him. He turned his body, stepping aside as Scout approached nervously. There was something odd to his step, a sway and pull on him. If it was one of his hermits, Xisuma would wonder if they were drunk or concussed.

“Whoa, careful-.” Gem said, stepping to the side to avoid the weird side-trip that Scout admittedly recovered from. The creature whined, a low grumble and moan whilst shaking his head. Little wings spread, flapping hastily as Scout grumbled and muttered in pain.

“Grian?” Xisuma tested. Scout didn’t react- Grian didn’t react, now that Pearl had confirmed it.

Grian crawled forward, flinching bodily. Little tremors jerked him one way, little inconsistencies to his movement. 

“Grian,” Pearl repeated, staring at him with wet eyes before the creation of his former home. “Grian, it’s you.”

And- perhaps it was something else. Factors Xisuma hadn’t considered, but the image of Pearl standing in the entryway of the Grian Empire, well, it was a familiar nostalgic thing. And nostalgia is a powerful force, stronger than many will ever accredit. 

She stood in the backdrop of something out of time, out of place. Shadowed in the cavern of somewhere light did not touch, and eyes did not see. She stood, torch aloft with a steely determination no other could ever dare replicate- could never try. Pearlescentmoon glowered before a potential foe and asked the universe: I dare you.

(And how could Grian ever forget that?)

Grian stilled, inhaled a loud pained gasp and asked shrill, just shy of sobbing: “ Pearl?”

In one world, destroyed and lost to time and decay and the end, he remembered bits and fragments of things that happened. Tiny things- the shape and feel of bricks in his hand. The simple pleasure of using a boat finally equipped with oars. He remembered the feel of snow in his hand, the shape of clay molded by his careful movements. He remembered the warmth of the sky and feeling of exhaustion pulling on his bones from hard effort.

He had tried, driven by an unknown ambition, to replicate it. Desperation was a wild thing- if he placed one more handful of clay, if he arranged it just so- perhaps then it would mean something. Maybe then he could make sense of it.

It hadn’t gotten worse since his panic, his fear stricken flight and absence of rationality. Mumbo had seen something in his movements, in his violence . The man had visited him once, speaking the name that ached and hurt but felt right for an unknown reason- Grian, and left him. He did not mind it, too many sounds and lights made his brain ache. He understood the healing that came in silent moments, he too needed to rest.

And he had expected to do so in peace. He knew of course the other humans lingered and watched him suspiciously. He could see it, easier than ever before. There was something free- the removal of a shackle he had never known. His limbs moved easier, weak and hurting, but not the hurt he had long since known. If Mumbo was around, he would have gone to him, shown him the new hurting spots on his limbs and shown him the strange new movements he could do. He wondered if it would upset Mumbo, but a small part of him thought maybe Mumbo would be pleased.

Except, Mumbo was not there. Mumbo had seen him once, so upset and distressed, and left him. When he dared to look, Mumbo slept or cried out in his bed, barely eating and simply living. He wondered if Mumbo would stay there until the lichen grew and mud caked him into the earth- then assured himself that no, he would never allow anyone to do the same. 

He would continue to move, he would build, because that is what Mumbo did when the thoughts were not kind and gentle. He did not understand things, but there was a silence and peace that came from clay and snow. Sandstone and brick spoke to him, whispering silent secrets into his brain in the visage of tall buildings pressed against a high cliff. Empty inside, awaiting residents. 

And so, he did what he wanted to. He slept, rearranged his blankets and things and eyed the shiny baubles he had taken. He toyed with the little quiet bells that glitter and clicked together nicely that Mumbo offered him, the little switches with a nice little click to the end. It wasn’t as nice as Mumbo’s many buttons and the bright redstone lines, but it kept boredom away.

He worked, because the times where he couldn’t think at all were becoming fewer. He found more time to lay and think, to examine a wall and scrutinize each detail and try to assign a name or a title to each new thing he noticed. Wall became rock wall, which slowly evolved into his own style of categorizing it. 

Time moved on. He was hungry so he ate the food that Mumbo showed him at the start, and still stayed true. If he was thirsty he had water, more than he would ever need. If he was dusty, he had hot water warmed by magma blocks and soft bubbles. If he wanted to preen (and the memory of learning came in fractured screaming bits, sharp claws yanking and rearranging feathers and his own timid hasty attempts) there was a waterfall with soft mist to coax out the sharpest bits of gravel.

He did not know how to fly, and still felt his stomach twist at the idea of it. His wings moved, easier than they had before. Some wings were not necessary, the little bird wings that sprouted from the largest sets. He hadn’t realized they were so odd before, but now with new awareness came recognition. When he slept and woke, they too had vanished.

Days passed but not as fast as before. Mumbo did not visit him, and when he looked the man was still sad and isolated. He wondered if he should visit, but his wings were large and body too odd to try and wriggle up the stairwell into the man’s room.

He waited, attending to his cave. The birds outside had returned, clicking at him and crooning new melodies. He did his best to replicate them, sometimes delighted by how they danced and picked at his feathers. He did not have a beak to return the favour, but his long talon-fingers scratched the hardest to reach places.

He was not bored, because there were so many things in the world. He simply hadn’t noticed them before.

When three humans entered his cave through the new opening (and what a noise that was. It was not a threat, it was the man-with-a-cat who had helped Mumbo make the mountain. Who had been here since the very start.) calling for him, at first he hadn’t known how to react. He watched them for some time, then watched them with many of his eyes. The one human with long protrusions from her skull hadn’t liked it, but hadn’t fled like he worried they would. The other humans he knew, had seen before.

His memory was not good, but a handful of scattered images alerted him slightly to their presence. He had seen the human in armour before- fear, curiosity, help? And the other human with long hair, currently tied up loud, angry, familiar?

He crept closer, soft on his limbs and mindful of his hurting front appendages. They walked around, loud on the stone carrying a torch burning hot in his many eyes.

They called out, loud and jarring. He couldn’t help the startled slip, his grip loosening as he jumped reflexively. He scrambled a bit, unharmed on the stone. The humans spoke, each voice so different from Mumbo's voice. Why did human’s all sound so different? Some had different ways of saying words, annunciating them. Which way was correct? How was he to know.

He attempted to process, struggling under the sudden overwhelming haze of information. The three humans- no, that was wrong. Two humans and an admin, but was an admin a human? No, this one was a voidwalker. What was a voidwalker? How could he know that?

The voidwalker, the armoured one, introduced himself and he tried to mimic and understand. “Exss-eye-suma?”

Clearly that was wrong, they were upset. He couldn't understand, everything was so much but he wanted to try. He didn’t know what was wrong, his head was a loud buzz of sounds and wasps clouding his thinking. Something was wrong. Something was wrong-.

‘Think, think faster,’ he urged, struggling. It hurt somehow, pressing his face between heavy stones. ‘Something is wrong, this is not right.’

It was familiar, but different. It didn’t feel like Mumbo did in the morning, like the soft way he spoke. It felt different, warm like hot air but cold and tight in his bones. It ached, horribly and made his chest and throat tight. He hadn’t eaten anything rotten, he had drank enough water. He felt ill, unbalanced.

The humans noticed. He was unwell, they must leave. He could sleep, yes. Return to his bed, lay down and rest for another day, week, sleep for a decade until the mountains claim you and you rot between dreams-.

‘No!’ he thought hastily, shaking his head so abruptly he felt his body stumble sideways. A human squeaked in alarm, he ignored them. He refused to think those thoughts again.

It hurt, so painfully. Between his many wings on his skull, where his true eyes were. It ached and stung, and oh, he was crying. He did not cry often, only his true eyes were able to cry and he did not like it, despite not using them often. 

Something was so wrong. He was here, in his home built of clay and snow. Something nostalgic for a place he had never been. Mumbo was not here but something was right about this. The humans were not- the one human she-.

“Grian,” she said and he thought ‘yes, that’s me. How did I forget again?’. She said, crying like Mumbo did but somehow sweeter, sadder. “Grian, it’s you.”

He opened his eyes, something crying and blind below his feathers. The others peered through the darkness, providing a kaleidoscope of colours and images, silhouettes and fractals of design. He gazed: ‘oh, I know you.’

There were sunsets, sunrises. Lights and fire illuminating her with a backdrop of an old forgotten place. He saw her, knew her freckles and scars. Recalled her accent and unique drawl on words he didn’t know the meaning of- just the cadence of her voice. There were things there, bright and colourful. A woman who fell from the sky, dropped into a server with no reason or knowledge how. Plummeted to the world, from the heavens with a loud surprised cry before respawning in front of him with a baffled but bright: oh, hello there!

“Pearl, the Grian Empire needs you!”

“Me? Well, I’m sure we can work something out! We’re neighbours!”

“Grian? Gri- Gri you put that sword away right now mister!”

“So, has anyone here actually fought the dragon before? No?”

“Go through the portal in pairs! I’ll see you soon, Grian!”

He remembered her, he remembered her. He had found her- or she had found them all. Dropped into the middle of a chaotic land, constantly watched. Gentle, bright and bold. Their special star, their guiding light. Pearlescentmoon.

Grian, he was Grian, and how could he have ever forgotten her? His family- Jimmy, Joel, Martyn, Netty-

He was crying, when did he start (when had he stopped?). He remembered them, already fading fast, plucked from his weak leaking mind like how they plucked him so carelessly and-.

Grian croaked, recalling: “Pearl?”

Chapter Text

Scout, blissfully unaware and rightfully entertained, was absolutely ecstatic at the new supplies and surplus arranged outside his little cave. 

Well, little was an underestimation. The cavern opening stretched high, a single skyward split large enough for a hermit with an elytra to fly through. It would theoretically be large enough for Scout as well, once he learned how to fly. Until then, donations had been given- some with hopes of seeing the creature. It wasn’t like people were in short supply- and from what Xisuma had gathered, Scout hadn’t the best ability to actively gather materials. Well, besides shrubs, leaves, and the ability to apparently draw the interest of every parrot in a hundred chunk range.

Xisuma had spread the word, only in blunt somewhat vague words. Scout is no longer a threat to our server. Scout is deemed passive and friendly, if you have concerns bring them to me.

A few people asked, only those with a vested interest. Doc couldn’t help himself, after seeing a strangely human face below the feathers his curiosity had spiked. Cub and Ren equally had a lingering interest, but were able to be redirected with a bit of effort.

Stress had inquired as to what exactly had happened, and if she needed to come by to ‘clobber any thick skulls’ which wouldn’t help. Shockingly, even Wellsknight messaged Xisuma, offering politely his personal assistance if it was ever needed.

Xisuma found himself struggling to understand and arrange all the information he had gathered over the past few weeks into a single cohesive pile. He felt that at every moment, he found a new fact that shook the foundations he had hastily built. Either his metaphorical walls were made of sand- constantly collapsing downwards, or Scout had a gift for TNT.

Original base facts all seemed too obvious or simple for him to even think about again. Scout was male, understood English, and had mysteriously been able to predict where the Hermits were going to settle eventually- which all seemed a little too ridiculously easy now.

Xisuma wasn’t going to barge into Mumbo’s base when the man was so clearly a wreck. That being said, he would have to have a discussion with all his hermits about spreading information outside the server. Xisuma knew that Mumbo likely never ever intended for it to be harmful, but the fact a friend from years ago knew enough about Hermitcraft preferences to accurately predict which server they would eventually settle on? Well, it made Xisuma’s persistent anxieties and paranoia bubble to the surface. At this rate, he should swap his suit for one much more fierce- maybe a Dragon with hopes of somehow embodying the bold brazen strength. (Notch knows he needs it daily when dealing with his messy little family.)

Xisuma knew when a problem was beyond his somewhat capable hands. He knew enough about a wide variety of things- more than most Admins he’d admit a bit shyly. He wasn’t exactly human, not even hybrid. He was a ball of ‘sentient void-goo’ Keralis affectionately told him time and time again. The man wasn’t exactly wrong, but he wasn’t exactly right.

Xisuma was a voidwalker, which some players could be but most voidwalkers kept to themselves. They dotted the endless static of the end isles, roamed out of sight and died out of sight. They were born in a haze of whispering unintelligible words that most weren’t meant to hear. If servers and worlds were the bright gems of existence, then the void and walkers were the dark matter unable to be seen between it.

Xisuma of course was not particularly good at being a voidwalker, nor was he particularly good at being a player. He was, however, really good at the difficult game called adaptation and innovation. Xisuma was not born recently, he was old and his blood was filled with fizzled codes of empires and dynasties that had spawned and died far before the birth of the oldest Hermitcraft member. At the birth of this new eon, he had been greeted with friendly smiles and asked by now-legendary Devs: what ideas do you have? Too many people forgot that Xisuma, cheeky silly little shy Xisuma, had created one of the more violent brutal games still championed on Hypixel, using of all things a bloody bed.

Xisuma was innovative and adaptable. He could work just as well as the rest of them, maybe even better than other Admins. He could venture out between the stars, warily pressing towards the hideous world-eaters and leviathans that fed docile on the decaying lines of broken worlds. The void was not meant to be harmful, it gave way to gentle creatures that glowed as bright as any star or comet.

It was easy for a player to look and forget their origins. It was easy to look at Scout and forget that he too was born from the universe.

“Man, he’s really going wild in there, isn’t he?” Scar mused, tilting his head. Comically, Jellie, sitting quite properly on his lap, similarly tilted her head. The cat watched with a lazy sort of entertainment, tail twitching ever so slightly from where it curled atop her mighty paws.

Pearl lingered, too nervous to stand closer and too reluctant to take a seat on the bench. At some point, Impulse (likely at Tango’s request) had bodily picked up a small bench and carried it across the yard to sit directly in front of the cave. It clashed hideously with the beautiful aesthetics of Boatem, but did a wonderful job of providing seating to watch a very strange creature.

Currently, Scout was entertaining himself with something that Scar could not quite identify. On occasion, a flash of purple and magenta drew their eyes before feathers faded into sight and long talons scratched on stone and clay. There were little noises as well, squeaking and echoing slightly as Scout presumably busied himself in whatever he had found fascinating. The parrots, normally sleeping and roosting in the tall vines of Mumbo’s megabase exterior, chirped with shrill cries on occasion. Pearl still held some doubts that the two species understood one another.

“He’s been doing that for some time,” Pearl confirmed Scar’s words. They watched, seeing another splay of feathers and wild reckless amusement within the cave. “He found something and has been like this since.”

“He’s like when Jellie gets a ball of yarn,” Scar said, smiling at his cat. “Maybe he’s just bored. What to do…hm…”

“If he’s bored,” Pearl said with a small shudder. “Grian should just come outside.”

Scar’s smile faltered. There was an odd tension with the use of that name- Grian. Using it around others could make them wince, could make Mumbo cry. Scout was a safe name, a simple creature now flapping around with newly freed wings and long feathers. Scout had been their friend, then a poorly mistaken monster locked in a sad place. Scar knew Scout, he had yet to comfortably meet Grian.

“Scout will come outside when he wants to,” Scar said, trying not to let Pearl know just how odd saying the name Grian made him feel. “Maybe he’s afraid of the sky.”

“Why would he be afraid of the sky?” Pearl asked a little bitterly, crossing her arms. She drummed her fingers on her arms, tapping smudged dirt on her outer elbow. “He has wings now. He may as well come outside and stop being a ruddy bin-chicken.”

“I don’t know what a bin-chicken is,” Scar informed his friend slowly. “And also, uh, why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you know, all angry! You annou- wait. A-nun-... Wow that’s a hard word to say.”

“Annunciated?” Pearl guessed, scoffing lightly. “Well, maybe I just speak like that! Bet you didn’t think of that, mister.”

Pearl rolled her eyes as Scar complained, spluttering consonants. After some time, he pouted. Jellie stretched in his lap, little paws scratching softly on his skin. She yawned, displaying her long fangs and tiny serrated molars. With a long sleepy blink, she stood, stretched her back, and hopped down to vanish somewhere into the grass. With a now empty lap, Scar decided to stand instead of sit. He stretched, one hip giving a quiet little click at the movement. Pearl gave a small glance before she fixed her gaze once more at the cave opening.

“You know,” Scar said, a little dry. “For him being a Watcher, you’re doing quite a bit of staring yourself.”

Pearl scoffed, scowling openly. “I’m just…confused. Everything is just an odd mess.”

“You can say that again,” Scar agreed. From inside the cave, Scout gave a loud chattering shriek that faded slowly as the creature scrambled somewhere in the back recesses. It was endearing, the same sort of childish delight a panda displayed when offered fresh bamboo. Scar would never admit it to Pearl, but he thought Scout was adorable.

“Maybe he’s afraid of coming outside,” Scar stated, looking up at the sky with a curious thought. “I mean, with all those Watcher jerks. Well, wouldn’t it be realistic that he’s afraid of being seen? I thought Etho first tricked him with a blindfold.”

Pearl blinked slowly, letting out a small startled noise. “That…that would make sense. I mean, he got along with Mumbo because that man’s too nervous to make eye contact. And same with XB from what I’ve heard.”

“He’s an anxiety magnet,” Scar said, chuckling a bit at the end of his words. “He comes out at night- wouldn’t Watcher’s be able to see in the dark?”

“Oh absolutely,” Pearl confirmed, staring at the cave. “Truthfully, I don’t think Gri’ is thinking that logically.”

Scar held his tongue. He said a little casually: “what if we wait until night? We could maybe lure him out here, throw a little party?”

“A party?”

“Yeah!” Scar said, brightening up. “I can tell Impulse to bring some of his candy! See if Mumbo would like to come out! Oh, I’ll get some lights and music oh, it’ll be amayzin’!”

Pearl blinked before she shook her head, resigned yet fond. “Fine, fine, yes. I’ll bring some snacks too, maybe some blankets. Do you know if there are supposed to be any shooting stars?”

“I’m not sure,” Scar said, nearly glowing with delight. “I can call Zed and see if he knows.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Pearl said. She wiped her hands on her pants, throwing one last look towards the mountain crack. “I’ll reach out to the others.”

“Okay! Bye!” Scar said, waving enthusiastically. The man sighed, stretching happily whilst Scout continued to flutter about, blissfully unaware. “Oh we’re going to get you a big pumpkin.”

Sunset was a beautiful time of day. They gathered the small population of Boatem, setting out blankets and thin layers of slime to cushion the ground into a soft padded floor. Strips of fabrics and cloths, some directly from their bed, lay across a large square. Baskets of food and barrels of water and juice rolled to a stop on the outer edges. Impulse had brought a huge number of pillows, filling a shulker to the brim.

Scar had brought Jellie, as well as his own little things. A couple melons, with a blunt wooden axe to hack them apart. He came as well with a jack-o-lantern, lacking the typical candle inside. When asked, Scar merely winked and said it was a surprise for later.

Pearl took the step herself, making sure she arrived at Mumbo’s door with blankets in her arms. His front door was unlocked, and although it took a longer time to walk along the swinging bridges instead of flying through his enormous waterfall door, Pearl didn’t want to make any large noises. 

Inside his base was damp and cool. The various redstone lights placed into the walls were not lit, leaving the hallway dark. There were no creepers or skeletons, the undead stayed away from Boatem ever since Scout’s arrival. All of them had become a bit spoiled by this.

“Mumbo?” Pearl asked gently. She pulled a lantern from her inventory, holding it aloft. The light was warm, guiding her onwards across carpeted floors to where she knew Mumbo’s main bedroom was. It wasn’t that far from his storage room- and not that far from where she learned the man had been harboring Scout. She was sure- knowing Grian, he had abused that little fact a handful of times.

“Mumbo?” She asked once more, prodding herself into his bedroom. At once, she identified he was there based on the radiant heat of a single person staying in a room for extended periods of time. “Oh, Mumbo.”

The man in question clearly was awake, he very awkwardly fished around for his blanket to pull over his head.

“No, none of that,” Pearl scolded. She walked to his bedside, hesitating before sitting on the very edge of his mattress. Initially she was worried she had sat on one of his large legs- but once he adjusted it was clear she managed to skirt away from it.

“We’re all outside,” Pearl told him softly. “We were hoping you’d come.”

Mumbo said, slurred and muffled below the blanket. “I don’t want to.”

“Well I’d love to see you,” Pearl soothed. She paused, then very slowly reached out to pull the blanket down. Mumbo let her. As the blanket withdrew, she hummed softly, lulling him into wakefulness.

They sat there a few moments before Pearl gently broached the topic. “We were hoping to have Grain outside of the cave.”

Mumbo flinched, turning his face back into the pillow. His hair was stringy, unkempt. Pearl was sure his moustache similarly was a hideous assortment of splayed hairs. 

Mumbo said into his pillow: “Don’t call him that.”

“Grian?” Pearl asked, biting back a bit of an indignant noise. “Why not? It’s him, it’s all confirmed. Why shouldn’t I call him that-.”

“People change,” Mumbo muttered, finally rolling. The blanket slid from one shoulder- he was dressed in his undershirt absent of his suit vest. It was clear the man had simply walked into bed and slowly shed the unnecessary fabric over the course of many days.

Pearl blinked slowly. She said, a little confused: “Well, that may be true, but it’s Grian.”

“No, Pearl,” Mumbo said, chuckling dark and saddened. He sat up, shifting Pearl from the edge of the bed. She stood, taking a healthy step back as Mumbo came to sitting upright in his bed, clutching the fabric covering his knees. His lip wobbled, eyes red and cheeks gaunt. He said hoarsely. “That may have been Grian, but not anymore.”

Pearl balked. She asked: “What are you talking about-?”

“Grian’s dead, Pearl,” Mumbo deadpanned, sniffling softly. “Scout isn’t the same person as the Grian we remember. And maybe, maybe he’ll remember things but…it isn’t fair to treat Scout as if he’s G.”

Pearl shook her head. “No, that’s Grian-.”

“ Grian,” Mumbo shouted, voice crackling painfully. “Is dead! He died Pearl! He isn’t going to just- just wake up and recognize us! He’s gone! There’s nothing that can be done!”

Pearl’s mouth shut, she looked in horror as Mumbo once more fell into quiet sobs. The man held his head, pressing his thumbs against the hollow of his eyes. “He’s dead. And I- I left him to…”

“You did not,” Pearl snapped. Finally, a direction for her righteous fury. “Listen here, Mumbo K. Jumbo. You did not have any hand in that. It was messy business, but you know what? Somehow he got away, and he went to the first place he thought he’d be safe.”

Mumbo wilted, looking devastated. “X is going to be so upset with me-.”

“You saved him,” Pearl urged. “Look- he’s been all…weird. Anxious I think. He hasn’t seen you-.”

“Oh no,” Mumbo moaned, before giggling anxiously. He slapped one hand over his face, starting to cry once more. “Oh, Scout is going to think I hate him.”

“I doubt it,” Pearl argued. “Look, even if…even if Grian is… dead, then why don’t you let Gr- Scout know that you’re okay?”

Mumbo scowled. Pearl winced a bit by the somber hostility. He swallowed thickly and said: “Pearl, I…I don’t think I can look at him. Every time I see him I just think…Pearl he was begging me to help him.”

“Well, you’re not doing a good job of that right now, are you?” Pearl said. His mouth dropped open- briefly an expression of betrayal overtook him. She swallowed, hastily adding on with an air of displeasure: “I mean, you’re laying around in bed! Poor G- Scout is off waiting for you to say hello.”

Mumbo’s lip quivered. “Pearl I can’t- he isn’t who I remember-.”

“Then go outside and meet him again!” Pearl snapped. Mumbo winced, eyes wide at the sudden explosion of noise.

He looked at her, baffled and uncertain. After a small moment, Mumbo looked down, toying with his blanket anxiously between his shaking fingers. 

“Pearl?” He asked meekly. “What if…what if he…he doesn’t like me?”

“What? Why on Earth-.”

“Because I didn’t help him sooner,” Mumbo explained. He gasped abruptly, shuddering and shaking through his shoulders as he began to cry once more. “Pearl he was begging me- and…and I’ve just been up here doing nothing and-.”

“Mumbo,” Pearl soothed, feeling the guilt creep into herself as well. Gently, she placed one hand on his shoulder, trying to meet his watering eyes. “I…I also…I also messed up. But…but we can start now to make it better.”

Mumbo sniffed, shaking his head adamantly. His hair flopped around, his sniffles slightly louder now. “No no, I failed him I can’t-.”

“Start right now,” Pearl urged, feeling very sad herself. “Come on, Mumbo. Impulse and Scar are waiting for us. We can just sit outside for a little bit.”

Mumbo sniffled, hanging his head. Quietly, he asked: “are you upset with me?”

For not realizing sooner. For not finding him. For not bringing Grian home?

“No,” Pearl said honestly, patting Mumbo on his greasy head. “I’m actually very proud of you.”

“Look at who it is!” Impulse cheered, waving around a sparking torch spitting off little bits of green light. Scar looked personally quite pleased with the contraption, offering both Pearl and Mumbo an unlit torch. 

“Light it!” Scar cheered, offering a well used flint and steel. “I dusted it with some copper flakes, it makes the nicest colour! Oh, but don’t sniff it!”

Mumbo of course sniffed it and retched. Pearl laughed, patting him gently. Mumbo set the torch aside with a wince, wiping his nose. He knew he likely looked horrible with tearstains and red eyes, but the fresh air admittedly was quite nice.

“We have juice for you, Mister,” Scar teased, plucking out a selection of three different bottles. “I have some melon juice, some berry juice, and I wasn’t sure if you were feeling for something thicker like pumpkin-.”

“The melon is fine,” Mumbo said, coughing to try and remove the rasp in his voice. “This uh…this all looks wonderful.”

Scar lit up, happily providing the drink. He bounced over- quite literally bouncing across the blankets. Mumbo blinked twice, testing the ground and found it shockingly comfortable. 

“Slime under the blanket,” Impulse told him, a wide happy smile lighting up his face. “Pretty neat, huh?”

“Very,” Mumbo agreed, sipping the melon juice quietly. He settled himself on his knees, then flopped over dramatically once Pearl gave him a little nudge. He groaned a bit into the slime- smelling slightly of limes. The blankets felt cool on his skin, chasing away the faint sweat that still clung to him. There were no phantoms above them, the sun had set previously, and the moon was beginning to crest over the sky.

“How are you feeling, man?” Impulse asked, nodding gently. Mumbo always found that silly- you nod downwards to friends but nod upwards to others. Such strange costumes.

“I’m okay,” Mumbo lied, still feeling quite terrible. “How have you all been?”

Scar rolled his eyes, smiling playfully. “Oh you know, just minin’ and craftin’. I found a new spawner the other day, and managed to block it off perfectly.”

“Good job,” Mumbo said, looking down at his shoes. He hadn’t tied them, and there was dirt on one side. The juice was nice, he couldn’t quite recall when he had last eaten anything. 

Pearl settled herself, stretching her legs quite happily. “Aw, it’s nice to have everyone here. It’s been a while!”

Nobody looked at Mumbo, but he knew that all three meant him. Mumbo felt himself sink a little further into himself. 

“Well, shall I go see if our final guest wants to join?” Scar asked, standing slowly. He wiped his hands on his trousers, sprinkling little bits of cake crumbs on the ground. Jellie stealthily advanced to curl up in the warm imprint he left behind.

Mumbo felt his heart rate increase, beating frantically in his lungs. He watched, mouth turning dry, as Scar walked jauntily towards the cave.

“I- I can’t-,” he spluttered, starting to get up.

“You can do this,” Pearl said, grasping Mumbo’s hand although her eyes did not change from where she watched the opening of the cave.

The stars were shining, little bats flickering above them like redstone signals as they chased insects. The sky was gentle, no cloud in sight as Scar entered the cave. Slowly, minutes passed. Impulse tired to soothe both Mumbo and Pearl (who was very anxious despite her hasty denials) with bits of gilded melon.

Slowly, Scar emerged from the cave, looking quite pleased with himself. Illuminated only by his enormous hat of which he placed a lantern (balanced precariously on the very top), the man held a moderately sized pumpkin.

“What is he doing with that now?” Impulse asked, recognizing the pumpkin as the jack-o-lantern the man had brought initially to the party. “Don’t tell me he’s going to throw it…”

Scar did not throw it. Instead, the man continued to walk quiet happily with his pumpkin before he turned around and held it out. He stood there, waiting patiently with arms outstretched. 

“Scar must have arms of steel,” Impulse teased, watching as Scar began to sweat. Pumpkins were not light, and clearly Scar had not considered this in his equation of pumpkin experimentation.

He did not need to wait long. In the murky darkness, illuminated by the occasional light hidden below carpets, a large shape very anxiously crept out. Like an enormous nervous cat, slowly approaching an outstretched fish, Scout crawled.

Low to the ground, the enormous creature crept. With each long wing outstretched, it pulled itself forward with a body so low, it surely was scraping its belly on the ground. Long feathers flopped as he crawled, looking a bit like a very gangly enormous decorative fish suddenly on land.

Mumbo watched, mouth dry, and the first thought he recognized was: well, he’s certainly awkward enough to be Grain.

“Hey Scout!” Scar shouted, lifting the pumpkin above his head. Scout froze, turning still as he presumably looked at the pumpkin.

“Oh that mad man,” Pearl whispered, cluing in moments before disaster.

Scar grinned, a wide insane expression as he hurled the pumpkin up into the air. Driven by an instinct seen n some avians and most hybrids, Scout shrieked a loud thrilled noise before lunging. He didn’t so much as jump forward as he did upwards, colliding bodily with the pumpkin above Scar like a large thrilled cat.

Scar cackled, lightly jogging his way back to the the blanket. The three watched as Scout bounced twice on the mossy grass, curling around the pumpkin and kicking it with enormous talons. The pumpkin exploded, unable to endure the wrath of a very curious large creature. With a sudden flare of wings and limbs, Scout scrambled and hurriedly craned his head around in search of more pumpkins.

“Over here, Scout!” Scar called, before once more cackling loudly. Impulse reached over, giving Mumbo an encouraging thump on one shoulder.

Mumbo had expected Scout to get nervous and hide- vanish into the cave once more. It’s what he would have done before, the creature still was too nervous around people.

Except, against all expectations, Scout cocked his head and flapped his second set of wings before slowly advancing over. Somewhere between crawling with front legs extended and walking on bipedal legs with wings flapping. Everything was incredibly awkward and poorly coordinated, Mumbo found himself in awe.

“Aww, you’re just a precious bird monster,” Scar cooed, looking for another pumpkin. He failed to find one, instead presenting one of the two melons he had brought. “Here you go!”

Scout lingered back, then slowly reached out with one humanoid hand- thoroughly scarred and mutilated around the elbow. The limb didn’t reach all the way, catching somehow from anatomical injury, but he did touch the melon and attempt to grab it. Being too large for one hand to grasp, Scout inched forward until both front limbs cradled the melon and he found himself standing on large hind talons.

“Good job!” Scar enthused, nodding his head vigorously.

Mumbo felt like he had been punched. How long had Scout been able to stand? Since when did he understand so much English? 

Scout settled on his…ankles? Feet? Somehow, Scout balanced himself. The two main sets of wings flared, constantly jolting to maintain poor balance while the lowest tail-set simply rest on the ground. This close, being able to see Scout’s torso unveiled more secrets. His lower limbs truly were avian with thick talons, vague scales across the lower leg and fluffy down feathers. Gorgeous abdominal feathers sprouted somewhere just below his sternum, arcing downwards as if he had true tail feathers and not just an oddly placed pair of wings. His ribcage was obvious, thick scarring and discolored patches from lack of sunlight. Distinctly humanoid body structure, made to walk instead of the awkward crawling.

Scout also was thoroughly fascinated by the watermelon. He sat back, like a begging cat, and pawed the fruit between his front limbs. Bending his neck downward, he lacked the flexibility of the sudden still unexplained dragon-wither incident.

“He’s like a baby panda,” Impulse whispered, nearly vibrating. 

Scout grumbled, a low churrup in his throat before picking up the fruit and bodily smashing it on the ground. The slime did an adequate job of protecting it from actually exploding- Scout clearly did not enjoy this. With a mighty shift of his body and flapping from four wings, Scout reached out with one leg and crushed the melon in his claws.

Pearl squealed, bits of melons flying into her lap. Mumbo felt his jaw drop in surprise, Scar cackled madly beside him, catching Jellie who all but jumped into his lap.

“You naughty bird!” Impulse laughed, wiping aside bits of melon. He held one hand aloft, wagging his finger scoldingly as juice dripped down his face. “You’re a menace!”

Scout cocked his head, looking at the group. It was easy to forget just how close they were- so close if Scout took one more step he’d be standing on the slime and blankets. If Mumbo reached out, he’d be touching feathers and warm skin.

Scout made a beautiful chiming noise, rattling before arcing high and shifting into somewhat human laughter. A loud giggle, emanating from a feathered protected face. Scout said, in that voice which made Mumbo’s heart skip its beat: “Pesky bird!”

“Yes yes, you’re a pesky bird,” Scar agreed, seeming far too casual for being this close to what they had once considered a threat. “Sit down, enjoy some cake! There’s no chocolate in it, I checked.”

Scout cocked his head, turning around and stared. Slowly, the wings on each side of his head opened up like large ears, pointing outward with delicate little feathers. They shook slightly, unaccustomed to the movement. Scout’s hair was long, unkept. Bits were trapped in the wings, others framed the human jaw. Purple feathers glimmered in the moonlight, sparkling like stars.

“Spoon,” Scout said clearly, presumably making eye contact with Mumbo himself. Slowly, Scout lowered himself to resemble less of an iron golem and more of a curious horse. He crept closer, bouncing on slime as he brushed against Scar’s basket and bits of melon.

“Mumbo,” Scout corrected himself, voice throaty and odd. So close, Mumbo could feel the warmth radiating from the feathers, could feel the bits of dust clogging his nose that ultimately would make him sneeze. Scout tilted his head once again and asked rather clearly: “are you okay?”

Mumbo felt his chest give and his shoulders jerk. He was crying before he realized it. 

Scout rumbled quietly, uncertain. Mumbo leaned forward and threw his arms around the neck of Scout, tugging him closer. Scout squawked, allowing himself to be pulled forward as Mumbo continued to cry into his neck, leaking water down across dusty feathers.

“I’m so sorry,” Mumbo sobbed, shaking his head frantically. “Oh- oh heavens, I am so sorry. I- I should have found you sooner, I just- I don’t know. I thought you were dead and-.”

Scout stilled, then very carefully reached up with now free arms, and wrapped them around the lanky man. The grip was weak, trembling and exhausted, but Mumbo recognized a hug when he found one.

“I’m so sorry,” Mumbo sobbed, clutching his once-friend close. He didn’t want to let go, not again. “I am so sorry, my friend. I should have- have done something…”

“Spoon,” Scout teased gently, taking a second to flop his head equally against Mumbo. They stood there, Scout wrapping his wings up to lazily cradle Mumbo happily against him. “Silly man.”

“I’m the silliest,” Mumbo agreed, sniffling wetly. “I’m so sorry.”

Scout rumbled gently, nuzzling against Mumbo once more. Slowly, they separated, Mumbo sobbing but unexpectedly wearing a smile. 

“There, that's better?” Pearl asked, lifting one eyebrow. Scout glanced at her curiously, flapping one of his little ear-wings at her before glancing around. The creature found a bit of melon, holding it between his claws gently before feeding it below the two pairs of wings still shielding his face. Based on the chirp of surprise, Scout presumably enjoyed it.

“You’re looking good, buddy,” Impulse said gently. Scout looked at him, flaring a set of wings for a presumed better look. They had seen the small eyes dotting the many wings Scout had, it still felt odd that each movement of his wings was to actually see them.

“I like the new arms personally,” Scar said, giving a little wave. 

They lay there, cleaning melon bits off of them. Scout didn’t talk much, but did lay in a long stretch across slime blocks and fabric. Mumbo hadn’t realized how much Scout had missed him until the enormous entity stretched a single wing to drape over Mumbo’s lower legs. Impulse teased that Scout wasn’t letting Mumbo escape. Mumbo wondered why he still felt so guilty.

“I needed this,” Pearl confessed, letting out a relaxed sigh. “Just…laying here, with friends.”

Scar agreed with a sleepy noise, his arms behind his head as a pillow while Jellie slept on his stomach. Impulse elected to lay on his side, still staring upwards at the night sky.

“Oh! A shooting star!” Scar gasped, pointing sleepily. Mumbo followed his gaze, staring upwards as sure enough, little bits of light shot across the sky.

“Scout, look,” Mumbo whispered, the word feeling odd. Scout did not budge, potentially asleep. With a gentle press, Mumbo awoke the larger entity.

“Look,” Mumbo repeated, drawing Scout’s attention before pointing skyward. “Look at the comet!”

And.

Grian had not ascended humbly into the ranks of the Watchers. He was not blinded by awe or potential for grand revelation. Grian had smiled, withheld bitter words and his cruel thoughts as wings were sewn into the code of his being. He had thanked them, as demanded with venom dripping from his mouth, and in every way possible conveyed his utter disdain. He allowed his feathers to be shaped, limbs to be arranged. When Grian left, there was no decision to betray- he had never formed allegiance or loyalty to something so malicious. Grian had laughed as they plucked his feathers and drove thin swords into his very being, modifying his code. He laughed, cackling wild and free and they said: oh you are a wild pathetic creature, not fit for us.

Grian did not see his death as a tragedy, because he knew from the very start what would happen. He knew the moment feathers were pulled from his being that they existed only to burn. 

And.

Scout stood, staring upwards as fire burned the falling rocks that pierced the atmosphere. He saw the light, bathed in recollection and said: “I laughed.”

“Hmm?” Pearl asked, rolling over before she realized who had spoken. “Scout?”

He didn’t respond. Slowly, the four glanced at one another before Pearl asked quietly with thick tension: “Grian?”

“I laughed,” Grian repeated, voice haunted and flat. “When I fell.”

“Oh,” Scar said, realizing quickly that this was descending into a different sort of territory. 

Grian thought: I knew the agony I would feel, burning. I knew the pain, the suffering I would endure as I chased the void to find the server I needed to- and I did it for my family.

“I laughed,” Grian repeated, mystified and wondering as he watched meteors burn in the sky above them. “When I fell. I saw hope where others saw my death.”

“Grian-,” Mumbo started, the name catching in his throat and lodging there, staying trapped unspoken.

Scout turned, the pairs of wings on his skull unveiling like a flower. A human face, thin nose, exhausted eyes glassy and vacant with purple glimmering where there should not be any. Grian spoke, whispering: “You wonder if it was worth it, and yes. It was.”

I would fall a hundred more times, for the single chance to be here with you once more.

And like that- keen intelligence and awareness. The glassy confusion returned, and wings shut themselves in exhaustion that came with knowledge.

“I’ll keep waiting then,” Mumbo choked out, crying once more as Scout settled himself dumb and simple on the ground. “I’ll- I’ll keep watch for you buddy. You take a good break, eh? Just- just get your strength back. Just- I’ll keep watch.”

Scout made a quiet sleepy chirp, unaware and tired. He nuzzled low, wings splaying out like an animal. Mumbo felt himself sob harder.

Impulse cleared his throat, feeling out of place. “Not to uh…you know, ruin this scene but it’s been bothering me all night…does the moon look… big to anyone else?”

Artwork created by Artfool on Tumblr!

Chapter Text

Xisuma stood at the front of the meeting room. It felt like ages ago, he had gathered his hermits off the coast of the Big Eye shopping district to first broach the topic of Scout. Now, everyone gathered once more for his new declaration.

Information had been provided on an as-needed basis, yet this couldn’t last any longer. New revelations had changed his preferred strategy.

“Hello everyone,” Xisuma greeted warmly, drumming his fingers on the top of the nearest wooden table. The surface had been well maintained, Keralis had done a wonderful job.

A chorus of greetings rang back at him. Some louder than others. Many eyes were tossed towards one table in particular, where Mumbo K. Jumbo looked absolutely miserable.

“I wish I had asked you all to attend for something fun, but, well it seems I’ve made a bit of a pattern as of recent.”

A few eyes glanced around, nervous or curious. Pearl stood with her jaw tight, eyes daring anyone to say anything. Impulse shrugged slightly, avoiding Tango and Zed’s open concern. Scar sat, petting Jellie who curled in his lap blissfully unaware.

“Yeah, but that’s not your fault, X!” Joe said, smiling warmly. “It’s nice to see everyone, even if just for this.”

Cleo sniffed, rolling her eyes. She muttered something under her breath, sounding suspiciously like ‘kiss up’ to which False smiled slightly.

Xisuma nodded. He folded his hands in front of him, then, after a moment of thought he wilted dramatically. Guiltily, he faced his friends and confessed: “I made a mistake.”

Multiple people blinked in confusion, some exchanging small broken words, unable to even process what the man meant. 

“Uh, we may need a little more to go off of here, X,” Tango said, voice straining high as he tried to hide his clear anxiety.

Xisuma nodded. “A…while ago, I lowered the server’s firewalls to allow two guests to visit from a different server. They stayed only a short period of time before leaving.”

“Yeah, I remember them,” Tango said, voice still shrill. He shifted his weight, gnawing on one lip with very pointy teeth. “Was that…a bad thing?”

“Normally, no,” Xisuma stated. “Unfortunately, I have reason to suspect that the moment our firewalls were down, we were hit with corruption.”

Joe coughed, hacking violently. Cleo pounded his chest with one of her hands, helping him through his sudden asphyxiation on spit. Cub’s jaw had dropped, stunned silent for words. The others began to mutter- Stress turning to Iskal with confusion and worry. Iskall on the other hand, had a stony expression that spoke of former experience.

“Corruption, ay?” Iskall asked rhetorically. “What sort? Can’t we just…delete the infected chunks?”

“Xisuma would have already done it,” Cub said automatically. The man tilted his head, eyes sharp and nearly glowing. “It’s something else, isn’t it? Outside of admin abilities?”

“Nonsense,” Doc sneered, stamping one foot for emphasis. “There is no way a hacker could have done that much damage in so short a time!”

“Do we gotta do something?” Bdubs asked, snapping his head around to look for Etho. “Etho! Get your lazy butt over here! You gotta beat someone up for us!”

“Eh? Why me?”

“Because you’re being lazy and-.”

Xisuma clapped his hands. The noise settled, eyes back on him. Xisuma cleared his throat, wet his lips and said as calmly as he could: “the corruption has occurred outside of my abilities. I firmly believe that only a Developer at this point can stop it.”

“A Dev?” Doc gasped, shaking his head. “No way, man. It takes months to get in contact with them.”

“Yeah, I’m with Doc on this one,” Iskall agreed. “Like, most people can’t even find a Dev. Doc’s a freak to even have met one before-.”

Xisuma nodded, waving his hand. Once again the volume settled. Keralis looked at Xisuma with open worry, eyes round and somewhat glassy. The man was far too emotional, or maybe he simply had a soft spot for Xisuma.

“It was Impulse that noticed the problem,” Xisuma said, beckoning towards the somber quiet man. “In his words, moon big.”

“Moon…big?” Bdubs squawked, blinking rapidly. “What the heck does that mean?”

“X, surely you don’t mean tha’ moon is gettin’ bigger,” Stress said, placing her hands on her hips. “I mean, it’s a stinkin’ moon! You can’t change that- that’s just toxic behaviour!”

“Moon big,” Zed repeated, looking flummoxed. “How do you even make a moon big?”

“Oh,” Doc said. He stared blankly, and stated damningly: “It would only look bigger if it’s coming closer.”

“Eh?” Stress yowled, waving her arms frantically. “I don’t wanna get hit by the moon!”

“How much time do we have? How does this even happen?”

“What sort of hacker could pull that off?”

“Are we changing servers then? Is there one set up?”

Xisuma waited until the various noises and conversations settled. All eyes once more turned to him, occasionally flickering to the silent Pearl, Impulse, Scar, and Mumbo. It was very obvious that the Boatem crew had come to some sort of realisation, one the others had yet to know.

“The easiest way to avoid this, is to simply change seasons early,” Xisuma stated. Thankfully, nobody argued outright. They were hermits- they were used to travelling and restarting anew in a different land. That wasn’t a problem.

“So…what’s the issue then, X?” Doc asked, lifting both eyebrows.

Xisuma said: “I don’t believe Scout, or Grian as we have discovered, can come with us.”

XBCrafted jolted, standing abruptly. iJevin nearly fell as the man bumped his leg, so abrupt the slime couldn’t quite catch himself.

“Xisuma, I’m staying then,” XB stated boldly. His voice was quiet and calm, but resolute. 

“XB,” Keralis gasped, reaching out with one arm although not far enough to actually touch. “No! The moon, you cannot fight the moon!”

“Oh, I get it now,” Tango said slowly, rotating his head to look at Impulse. “ We all can leave, but Scouty can’t. Wow, that hacker must have really had it out for him.”

Absolute silence. Slowly, the hermits realised the gravity of the situation.

There was only one thing in existence that would despise Scout’s continued survival- one which had enormous abilities to not only destroy a server, but the track record proving that it could.

“Ah, shit,” Cub said, swearing for the first time in what felt like ages. “Well, this is a crappy situation.”

Gem tossed her head, visibly anxious. “So…what? We just leave the server? And then Scout gets stuck here and the moon…”

“Will result in a permadeath,” Xisuma stated.

The hermits mumbled, speaking amongst one another. Worried faces all around, nerves and tension at a record high.

“I understand that this situation is not optimal,” Xisuma stated, elevating his voice so all could hear him. “I have already found the next server for our new season. I haven’t yet mapped it, so you’d be heading into it blind, but any hermit who does not want to stay is more than welcome to move on.”

“Bah, don’t be so silly, Shashwammy,” Keralis scoffed, flinging one arm around his armoured friend’s shoulders. “I'm staying here! We’re a family, no? We will stay and help!”

“Just say the word, X,” Joe agreed, bobbing his head with clear determination. “What do you need us to do?”

Xisuma gazed around the room, slightly overwhelmed and greatly touched. He knew his hermits well, each unique and special in a way he couldn’t describe. Even his hermits who had not yet come into direct contact with Scout stood firm in their opinion, for he was now something they all unanimously agreed upon: family.

“Do we have to stay in the overworld?” Cub asked, arching both his thick eyebrows with an impish suspicious grin. “I mean, last time I checked there isn’t any moon in the void.”

Cleo cracked her fingers, a rather unsettling habit in lieu of cracking her knuckles. “I mean, I know that I’ve done it before. Staying in the void for a long time isn’t exactly…pleasant.”

“No no- that’s what they want,” Pearl very hastily shouted. Waving her arms for emphasis, she drew Xisuma’s eye and pleaded. “Don’t do that! They’re likely just waiting to snatch him!”

“Don’t worry about that, I won’t let it happen,” Xisuma assured her. Behind his visor, he smiled simply. “You’ll find that those unfriendly-folk aren’t the only ones experienced in the void.”

“Ooh, Shashwammy is taking off his big-boy-pants,” Keralis giggled, squeezing his friend’s shoulder with a wide toothy grin. “Oh, I am excited to see this!”

Xisuma huffed, his shoulders shaking slightly in gentle laughter. He shook his head fondly, trying to assure the group of both curious hermits and resigned friends. “Ah, no. Nothing too crazy. I’m thinking of creating a firewall in the void, just around the main island. It’ll cut down on our movements for a while so no End-Raiding.”

“That’s fine,” Cub stated rather dismissively. “I don’t think anyone needs any elytra.”

“Who needs elytra,” Bdubs muttered jokingly, sparing a fond glance towards his horse, tied up to a nearby post. 

“Mm, I just want to see you get all squishy,” Keralis crooned, giggling mischievously. “It’s been so long, Sashwammy!”

“I you- well- I’m not squishy,” Xisuma defended, looking adorably baffled and a tad embarrassed. “I just, you know…oh stop laughing already!”

The end portal was not in close proximity to Boatem. This wouldn’t be a problem since almost everyone traveled great distances by flying, nether portal, or on horseback.

All three of those options of travel had great problems with them. Scout had yet to actually fly, and at this point many people were skeptic he even could. Scout was made of very flammable feathers and had yet to demonstrate any sort of awareness of potential hazards. Scout was much too large to sit on a horse, and there was some concern the great creature would try to eat it. 

Mumbo adored Scout with all his heart, but he was not quite willing to put his prized motorized donkey in the same room as a creature who had eaten twelve melons in a matter of minutes.

Transporting Scout wasn’t as simple as just…coaxing him with a pile of shiny blocks or glistening diamonds. At times, Scout operated with a scary level of intelligence, capable of building with an ornate level of detail. Impulse confessed that sometimes Scout created beyond what even he could make, venturing closer into territory of Pearl, Scar, or Bdubs.

And then, there were days where Scout was simply a creature. No thoughts, all instinctive reactions and odd chirps and chattering noises that the parrots of Mumbo’s megabuild all responded to. There was no pattern to the shift, some days were good days and some days were not. When Scout was intelligent and patient with a gentle compassion, Mumbo brightened until he radiated joy and happiness. On days when Scout could not recognize one face from another, Mumbo crawled into his bed in a horrible depressive state and Scar occupied hours of his day to tend to Scout as if he were a hurt wild cat. Vex were generally cruel mobs to players, but a simple knack for animals came naturally to the man.

They could spend hours working on creating a safe nether tunnel towards the end portal, but in the nether even the smallest things could spark a flame. Feathers were simply too big a risk until Scout was able to carefully and rationally navigate the dangerous realm. Even on his good days, there was no promise he wouldn’t simply revert once panic struck. False admitted that her avian brain struggled at times when in close quarters with magma blocks or open fires, and she had only one set of wings to use.

“What if we put a lead on him?” Impulse asked one night when some of the group had gathered below the darkened sky. Since learning Scout tended to creep out from the shelter of his cave only when night fell, they had gathered daily to both survey the moon and see the state of their friend. Today was a good day, and Scout had been gazing skywards with all wings partially spread. Occasional phantom shrieked in the sky, swooping with no specific target. Occasionally, Scout tilted his head and echoed an admirable mimicking cry. A few phantoms squawked in open surprise, before chattering amongst themselves perplexed. 

Scar gave Impulse an expression of devious delight. “A lead, you say? Well, I would hardly say no to such a fine opportunity!”

“Oi, no stealing my favourite bird,” Pearl teased, watching Scout lumber awkwardly across the soft grass. “I don’t think he’d be up for it, he’d run off and you’d be dragged behind him.”

Impulse considered the idea. Leads weren’t necessarily to restrain, they simply were meant to guide. Most animals didn’t know where they were going, but some animals like llamas would follow their own. Scout was much more intelligent than a llama, he would surely be able to follow them if not for his aversion to the sun.

“Well, how about we ask him?” Impulse said, cupping both hands around his mouth. “Scout! Can you come over here for a minute?”

Scout’s upper body snapped around, the two lateral pairs of wings on the side of his head flared outwards like an axolotl before the creature began to haul himself awkwardly over the distance. He hadn’t yet quite figured out how to crawl, he was much better climbing on vertical rock faces or cavern roofs.

Pearl mumbled something to herself, clearly not expecting Scout to listen or even understand. Scar made a little hum, whistling a jolly little tune. Mumbo, presumably, snored somewhere inside where he had gone to bed. 

“Hey there, buddy,” Impulse greeted the large feathery monstrosity. He outstretched one well muscled arm, letting Scout stare at it and process something. After a long pause, Scout twitched and unleashed an absolutely deafening cry identical to a phantom amplified by four. Scraaa!

Impulse jumped, Scar cried out a delightful little noise of shock. Pearl cursed something layered thick by her accent. Scout’s little wings flapped, folding back against his skull as he vibrated in open silent amusement.

“You’re such a little prankster,” Impulse said with a fond little smile, going so far as to ruffle the tips of the little wings that permanently covered Scout’s actual face, Grian’s face. “So we were thinking. We want to get you somewhere else, if we put a lead on you, would you follow?”

Scout remained still, frozen as he attempted to process. Clearly this was too much to ask for, and after a moment of pause Scout warbled something like an unhappy bird. Impulse rubbed the back of his neck, disappointed at their new challenge.

“What if we just put it on him?” Scar asked. Slowly, the man rose to his feet and drew a leash from his bag- one of the many he used on Jellie or other livestock he had gathered over the many months. With little care or pause, he created a loop and tossed it expertly over Scout’s head. It rested low, where humanoid scapular blades and the base of the first largest set of wings sprouted, nowhere close to a choking hazard.

Scout didn’t look down. A strange prickling anxiety overtook them all, Pearl shuddering bodily and slumping against the ground with open fear. Impulse held steady, slowly adapting  as Scar simply trembled as he stood. Scout slowly opened wings along his body, further back and even further to where the most hindquarters pair spread open like a peacock. In  the darkness, Impulse swore he could see the glow of a hundred blinking eyes.

Then, it faded and Scout huffed bodily. He jerked away from Scar, dragging him across the ground. Helpless to stop him, Scout carried on bodily dragging Scar until he realised he was dragging the man- at which point he assuredly began clambering quicker and caused Scar to scream. Soon, it appeared more that Scout was leading Scar, with a bit more screaming than expected. In fact, the man bore resemblance to a rather loud kite.

“Yeah, that plan didn’t work,” Pearl muttered glumly, shuddering still on the ground. “I hate Watchers.”

There were various factors to consider in operation Get-Scout-To-The-End. One main limitation was Scout himself, who had an aversion to the sun or an odd allergic reaction the others had never heard of before. The other limitation was the end portal itself, which had been carefully and lovingly transformed by Jevin and Welsknight. 

Jevin had interacted on occasion with the Boatem crew, always polite albeit a bit slimy and damp. The man was pleasant although always a bit nasally when speaking due to the huge quantities of slime pressing on his poor sinuses. Jevin didn’t have many bones in his body, but almost everyone knew that he hadn’t a mean one. He was a bit of a prankster, a unique personality that many people came to love over time. 

Welsknight on the other hand had the strong steady personality of a gentle king. His trademark armour had evolved over time, but notably included the silver gleam. Originally, it had been silver leaf painted onto armour with awkward brushstrokes. As his skill improved, it elevated into iron plating, then borders or inlay made from awkwardly hammered fuller grooves. Welsknight now of course was more than a young experimental man toying with ideas and fantasies of precious metal. 

Truthfully, Impulse and Mumbo had brainstormed multiple times as to how the man had accomplished it. Netherite was incredibly difficult substances to work with, most hermits went without using the difficult metal in their traditional gear. Some hermits wore diamond armour to avoid the challenge of smithing the metal. Creating netherite ingots alone was a pain, but incorporating each ingot into their armour? Some hermits avoided using armour entirely (Scar) and others preferred lighter more comfortable forms of wear (Bdubs).

Welsknight of course entirely contradicted this. How the man had figured out how to permanently stain netherite silver, even Doc couldn’t fathom how.

Initially, Impulse wasn’t so sure how to broach the subject to both Jevin and Wels. It was Pearl who rather abruptly plucked his communicator and sent a direct message to both men. She brazenly plowed through his reluctance, and led to the eventual meeting that had been slowly approaching.

The slowly increasing dread only heightened as the moon seemingly appeared larger, and Boatem grew more busy. The original picnic spot outside what had been deemed ‘ Scout’s Cave’ had slowly transformed into more of an outdoor patio. Permanent chairs were constructed in a circle, capable of viewing any of the Boatem monuments. A large firepit with a few metal accessories rested above the ashes, still smelling of recently grilled lamb and fish. The blanket-covered slime lawn had been disassembled to avoid ruining the blankets themselves when it rained. Easy to reassemble, depending on what audience would be present for moon-gazing and interacting with Scout.

Mumbo could recognize that realistically, there was nothing to be nervous about. He wasn’t not friendly with Wels, but quite honestly hadn’t interacted much with the man. The man in question was simply so… respectable, it made Mumbo want to make sure the night was absolutely splendid. Impulse shared his anxieties, going about with far too much care whilst plucking dead leaves and wilting flowers from the various scattered pots. Scar hadn’t an idea why the two were so nervous, but gleefully leapt into planting and decorating even more. Pearl did none of this but did supply plenty of food, half of which were baked potatoes stolen from Mumbo’s storage.

Welsknight and Jevin arrived not on horseback (as would fit Welsknight’s aesthetic), but instead from the sky with the smell of gunpowder. They descended carefully, one as regal as an enormous bird of prey and another like a blue-tinted flying slime. They chattered, commenting politely and complimenting the various builds about the valley. In the setting sunlight, Wels’ armour glimmered as if on fire.

“Mumbo, how is he so…” Impulse said, his words trialing off as he exhaled shakily. “Just- so dreamy?”

“I don’t know, mate,” Mumbo agreed, recognizing his voice as being a tad shrill. “He just is.”

Wels removed his helmet, setting it politely on the side table Pearl walked the two towards. Jevin, rather polite, thanked her for the warm invitation. Wels smiled, his expression soft and lovely. Impulse nearly swooned.

“Ah, hello Impulse, Mumbo,” Wels greeted the two. He smiled politely once more, offering one outstretched arm to shake. His accent, similar to Impulse’s, rounded slightly more on each accent and entirely changed the way he spoke into something hypnotizing. “Thanks so much for inviting us over. Pearl explained the situation a little, do you mind giving us a refresher? Xisuma explained a little during our last meeting but I’d hate to be on the wrong page.”

Scar made a little eep, sitting heavily into the chair nearby. Wels glanced at him with open worry, Mumbo swore he saw Scar’s eyes twinkle wetly. 

“Ah- no no, thanks so much for coming by,” Impulse hastily explained. He waved his arms just a little bit more than necessary, accidentally smacking wetly into Jevin. The smile watched the entire situation with open amusement, nearly laughing at the predictable response. 

“Simp,” Jevin said under his breath, coughing with a squelch to hide his words.

Mumbo spluttered, not accomplishing anything within the English language. Impulse flushed hotly, but didn’t act on it or acknowledge Jevin’s snickers.

Welsknight settled himself into one of the proffered chairs, gently shifting a nearby lantern so that he could remove some of his vambraces and set those aside as well. Below his shimmering armour, he wore something akin to a shimmery cashmere material. Silk, for all its luxury, was a fabric capable of stopping an arrowhead.

“If I may be so bold,” Wels said politely. “Are we meeting at dusk because we may have Scout join us as well?”

“Yes- well, er, maybe?” Mumbo said quite weakly. He found himself stumbling over his words, hastily drinking some cold water offered in large audible gulps. Scar had mercy on him, although the teasing light of his natural vex heritage glimmered in his eyes.

“Yep! We’re trying to figure out how to move him to the void,” Scar stated quite cheerily. “I tried to use a lead, but he’s a little too big for my little ole’ self.”

Wels hummed at that, tapping his fingers across the wooden arms of his chair. “I see, you’re hoping to use the end portal that Jevin and I built?”

“Well, we didn’t make the portal, but we did pimp it out,” Jevin stated quite bluntly. “We don’t really have a nether-path to get there.”

“We aren’t taking him to the nether, no way,” Impulse said with a visible shudder. “It’s far too much fire for all the feathers. Not Scar-safe, not Scout-safe.”

“Scout-safe,” Welsknight repeated with audible amusement in his voice. His lips quivered, eyes glittering with laughter. “That’s a new one.”

Jevin chuckled, the movement rippling the exposed soft blue slime of his body. Both men were in good humour, kind and curious as they settled in the various chairs. Scar started a fire, feeding it kindling and larger branches until a healthy campfire blazed brightly. Phantoms swooped above, calling to one another without desire to attack the group of well-rested friends.

The moon indeed, was getting larger. Pearl watched Wels stare at it with a sombre expression, sighing softly into the dark. Jevin made no indication that it bothered him, however the man made no movement to look upwards into the twinkling darkness of space.

“There are multiple stops along the way to get to where we have the portal,” Jevin explained. He toyed with a cork in one hand, absorbing it and rejecting it from his squishy skin. “I’m sure you could use Tango’s cave again, but after that you’ll have to make little spots to rest for the night. Maybe Bdub’s horse course has something?”

“We’re all going to be travelling on foot for this,” Wels murmured quietly. “It’ll slow us further than you think, Jevin.”

The man visibly wilted, reconsidering his plan. Getting to Fifi’s cave in one night already was pushing it without the aid of wings or horses. Scout was becoming bolder in his actions, but had yet to attempt to use the feathery appendages beyond the fateful wither-incident. 

“What about my Swaggon?” Scar asked thoughtfully. “I mean, some of them are a bit cluttered but I could easily make space. The path Bdubs made is a bit bumpy but could work.”

They all exchanged looks, then slowly turned to Mumbo. The man spluttered, moustache quivering. “What on- why on earth are you all looking at me!”

“You’re the man with super-speedy donkeys!” Scar addressed, a small grin twisting his face. “Come on, don’t you want to go for an adventure?”

“With you? Surely not!”

“It is a good idea,” Wels stated. He redirected them back to the topic at hand, sharing a look with Jevin. “We would have to create some sort of ramp to lower into the end fortress-.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Scout is an avid cave-climber,” Impulse corrected them. “He’ll easily get into the pit. We just need to actually encourage him to do that.”

“You still can’t talk with him?” Jevin asked with morbid curiosity. “I thought X said he had removed some sort of language block. He doesn’t know words?”

Awkwardly, Mumbo shifted. Pearl’s expression darkened, her grip curling into fists. She stated coolly: “It changes based on the day.”

“Huh,” Jevin responded, blinking twice. “That’s…too bad.”

The fire dwindled and Welsknight helpfully tossed another log on. Little sparks burst forth, trailing upwards in dynamic alternating movements. The shadows of phantoms drifted between the lazy sparks as the ascended high into unknown territory. A phantom shrieked, and a responding noise called from the ground.

“Ah, the sleepy bird has woken up,” Scar announced unnecessarily. There was no dramatic arrival, no sudden explosion of movement. The group gazed towards the opening of Scout’s Cave expectantly.

In the darkness, it was hard to see anything different. Perhaps something moved or changed, or maybe it was a figment of their imagination. The transition existed in two facts: Scout had left his cave, and Scout had crept towards the group.

A hideously nauseous weight appeared. Jevin wilted, blue skin tinting to something akin to olive. The man shuddered, queasy and overwhelmed as anxiety burst forth and transformed his world to something dull and vapid. Welsknight shivered, his armour rattling with a musical tremor as he too felt the insidious plague. The man squeezed his eyes shut, stiffened his jaw and forced himself to endure. Between carefully forced breaths, Welsknight stood on frozen legs. 

Above the others, he peered into the darkness with a battle-ready intensity. In the faint darkness occluded by the night, he perceived what seemed to be dozens of misshapen glowing eyes. 

Cats held eyes that glowed, a membrane within their eye structure itself that reflected light to provide better vision in the dark. It was eerie enough with only one feline creeping about, but Scout held eyes too numerous to count. All affixed and blinking with an arrhythmic timing that turned the bravest man to a trembling child.

Then, it lifted. Sudden panic left them all with a cold barren awareness of what had been. Jevin wilted, losing height and resembling a cube for mere moments before he reappeared in true shape. Welsknight closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of relief before he too, returned to normal appearance.

“God, that was horrible,” Jevin moaned bitterly. He shivered, his entire body rippling. “Man, I can’t believe how bad that was.”

“You kinda get used to it,” Impulse said weakly, offering little bottles of water. Jevin accepted his quickly, Wels declined his with a small wave of his hand.

“That was…” Welsknight trailed off quietly, staring into the fire with a distant expression of thought. “How…sad.”

“Sad?” Scar asked, voice quirking in surprise. “Why would that be sad?”

“Well, it’s quite hard to make friends when meeting them leads to that,” Wels stated quietly. “It’s…cruel, isn’t it? You’d scare every person you meet. It must be such a lonely existence, to be a Watcher.”

Pearl twitched. For the briefest of moments, she appeared ready to argue. Wels looked at her with a soft sincerity that melted her quiet rage. He clarified with a gentle voice of someone thoughtful of others. “From what I have heard, Watchers are not born but made. And I did wonder why any person would stay with others who are supposedly so cruel and vicious. I know there is likely more to this story, but there is always a perspective in every battle that we are not privileged to know.”

“Well said,” Mumbo spoke under his breath, holding his empty bottle of juice quite tightly. “Grian was- is- well…he is a prankster, but he isn’t cruel.”

“I never believed otherwise,” Wels said warmly. 

Scout did linger around the fire. He preoccupied himself with other things, appearing on occasion as the group spoke logistics. On one occasion, Scout returned and entered the perimeter of orange light, providing Wels and Jevin an approximate idea of his true size. Jevin’s eyes bulged, Wels stilled himself quietly. Scout had crawled his way closer, playfully thwacking Mumbo’s back with one enormous feathery wing. The man stumbled and fallen from his chair, only to stand and scold the enormous beast. Scout chirruped something similar to a parrot, then mimicked Mumbo’s voice with uncomfortable accuracy. “Scout, no, naughty, you!”

Mumbo ran one hand through his hair. “I- alright listen here. It’s not polite to knock a bloke over like that! I could have fallen into the fire! It’s not funny if that happens!”

Scout chattered, then echoed in broken words: “funny if that happens!”

“No it isn’t!”

“Fallen bloke over here. Funny if happens!”

Mumbo groaned, slapping his forehead. With an expression of suffering, he gestured to Scout with both arms and tiredly glanced at Jevin and Welsknight. “You see what I have to deal with? And he used to live in my ceiling! A true pest!”

“Pest,” Scout replicated fondly, wings fluttering a bit, stirring up a small wind. It whipped against Pearl’s hair, tossing her braid upwards before it knocked back down against her shoulders. Scar blinked quickly, eyes tearing up briefly at the gust. Jevin’s form ripples slightly, as if someone had given a curious slime a firm pat on the head.

“You are no pest, my friend,” Welsknight said quite courtly, He smiled, standing from his wooden chair with a single stately movement. With one arm, he braced it across his chest and clattered small bracelets against the metallic shine of his breastplate. The man bowed his head politely, offering a kind smile. “In fact, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Welsknight, It’s an honour to be here.”

Scout rotated his upper body, bending sideways to tilt towards the group. The fire had dwindled down from its former hearty blaze, leaving reddish embers and coals. It was enough light to see Scout in all his glory, but not enough to silence all doubt and dread from growing. In the darkness, Scout was an imposing form with a truly scary ability to leave most men sobbing with fear. 

With a small flap of little wings on the outer edges of Scout’s face- reminiscent of an elephant’s movement, Scout chirruped a little babble. A cacophony of noises unlike any bird or phantom or song Wels had heard before. It was primitive and wild, a construct of syllables and broken whispers of perhaps thoughts trapped behind a broken skull.

Welsknight waited patiently, like he would for a startled horse. Eventually, Scout approached with one front limb dragging an enormous avian talon. It stirred the dirt, piercing through cloth and splintering wood. Longer than a Raveger's tusk, those talons looked able to pierce diamonds.

“Hello,” Welsknight repeated himself politely. He still stood, allowing Scout to have some semblance of who was addressing him. Wels wondered if perhaps Scout, for all his many eyes, had terrible vision when not surveying the world around him.

Scout grumbled a little, wings flapping about. Mumbo bent and ran, avoiding one set from knocking him askew. Impulse waved at the birdlike beast, Pearl captured Scar in a conversation although the two watched with a cautious sort of protectiveness. Jevin, capable of maneuvering his body into many shapes, resembled a small cube of nervous tension.

Scout slicked his tongue or unseen beak, echoing that of a large bird. After a moment of feathery movements, potentially coming to terms with an unknown trail of thought, the creature settled more comfortably and spoke with a raspy uncertain timber to his voice: “hello.”

Pearl’s head snapped about, recognizing the different voice. Welsknight didn’t understand the significance, but he could identify the voice not belonging to any hermits sitting within the circle.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Welsknight continued, allowing time to stretch as the beast struggled to understand. It bobbed oddly, head lowering almost to the floor before lifting tall. After a moment of small utterly nonsensical noises, Scout said with strangled curiosity: “You. Sh- hiss- h ssss.”

Scout paused, freezing before he began to hiss. Odd noises dropping as it struggled through some sort of turmoil. It mimicked the noise of creeper on last moments before detonation, then the high whine of some sort of cat. It bounced between different noises, patching them together like an ancient quilt implying something significant. “ Hsss , riiiii, nuh, m’reee.”

Welsknight hadn’t the sort of knowledge to understand what Scout had tried to say. Instead, it was Jevin who reformed with a visible head and barked a single wet noise of amusement. “Yeah, you got that right big guy. Wels’ is always shiny, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without armour.”

‘Ah, he was saying shiny,’ Welsknight realised with a fond sort of endearment. He was smiling, aware of the inlay of metal and precious stones across his chestplate. 

Scout appeared pleased, settling himself and gazing around. He looked at Jevin for a moment then lost interest, potentially dismissing him as a slime and not a player. 

“Shiny,” Scar repeated, marveling over the conversation. “Well, consider me impressed! This is one of his bad days, you know? Sometimes we get whole sentences- but look! He came up with a word all on his own!”

“This is a bad day?” Jevin asked, shock easily read across his expression. “But- but he like… talks?”

“He’s a real chatterbox,” Scar explained unhelpfully. The vex stood up, stretching wide with a dramatic yawn. Then, looking at Scout he lifted both arms wide and stretched and called out. “Yoo-hoo! Scoutie! Can you do big-bird? Stretch real big- oh aren’t you just lovely-.”

And to both Jevin and Welsknight’s surprise, Scout did just that. Scout squawked slightly before obliging and spreading all his wings far out until they trembled. The furthest set of feathers which Welsknight had presumed to be tailfeathers like a peacock spread open. A horrible placement, potentially vestigial wings, but sure enough they moved independently. Each set spread wide open, revealing what seemed to be the visage of a horribly thin male torso poorly covered by a very filthy reddish scrap of fabric. Scar explained something- potentially the origin of the oddly constructed toga of a covering, but Wels instead tried to understand the anatomy. Some areas were bruised and battered, joints in places that looked painful whereas others had moved to something better. The back of the sadly atrophied arms had thick scars suggesting they had been stuck to the largest set of wings. 

“We’re planning to go to the End?” Welsknight asked rhetorically. He knew the plan well, he was simply trying to understand how it would help. The End had little gravity, a tad disorienting if you were not quite used to it. With the thin sickness and protruding bones across Scout’s body, it was a marvel the creature was capable of moving so quickly at all. Welsknight understood now why he couldn’t fly, but perhaps in a world where each step was a leap to a different island, Scout could finally ascend.

“I think I’m going to have to work on the portal room, make it a bit bigger,” Jevin stated. Scout lowered his wings, satisfied with Scar’s attention and compliments. Welsknight still felt lost in thought, overwhelmed by all the information before him. He had been to a hundred different worlds, bound by limits and abilities far beyond Hermitcraft. He had been to servers with creatures and pixelmon, to worlds entirely in rock with no sky at all. He had seen things and explored new terrain- and if he didn’t know which world he stood in, he would have imagined Scout the victim of a cruel curse.

“He’s a player,” Mumbo told Welsknight, reading the horror and deep sense of pain on the man’s face. “Xisuma ran all the checks, and at times he’s not…like this.”

“He was your friend,” Welsknight said, barely remembering the scraps of information he had been fed before arriving. 

“He is my friend,” Mumbo corrected him sternly. “He’s just…a bit lost right now.”

“As are you,” Wels confided. “You are a brave man, perhaps one of the bravest men I’ve ever known to help someone without recognizing the pain you subject yourself to.”

Mumbo watched Scout, exploring off into the darkness. It was simple, mindless. It hurt on a level deeper than any sword or axe could cut.

“It’s not that bad,” Mumbo lied.

Welsknight shook his head, clasping Mumbo on his shoulder with one calloused hand and a firm grip. “It is okay to grieve, my friend. He is still here, but you have lost something important as well.”

Chapter Text

Transporting Scout was not easy.

Scar had brilliantly realised that by using one of his Swaggons, he could create a much larger travelling cart. Scout of course was too large for the cramped interior most of the time- so by removing the walls and roof simultaneously the crew of Boatem now had a transportable wheeled platform. Throwing on some very long bendy sticks of bamboo lashed together as carefully as possible, the crew had assembled something similar to a covered wagon. On the interior, it was nice and dark with squid-ink saturated coverings, but light enough to roll quite easily over the trodden paths built by Bdubs. The horses, large and quite daft, were blissfully unaware of what cargo they hauled in the morning hours. At night, Scout poked his head out quite curiously and adventured short distances from his movable cave. In the morning when the large feathered beast returned, he stashed away little gems procured from the night. A handful of very shiny stones, a button made of emerald lost by someone along the road, a very large hat suspiciously not Scars. On days where the sky became bleak and overcast, Scout grew more restless. The horses refused to pull them, stomping angrily in muddy puddles and tossing their snotty noses. Scout chattered animatedly, only daring to peek his head and neck from the cloth coverings when the heaviest rain painted the world hues of grey.

Scout wasn’t too keen on the water. It didn’t hurt him- his feathers had a waterproof coating on them although some vanes did split apart oddly, but being wet gave him a strangely fluffy appearance. The usual feathers were no longer glossy, they clumped a bit like locks of hair or a shaggy dog and made little flashes of pale white skin peer from between each quill. Scout grumbled about, preening only with long thin fingers still gangly and disproportionate, combing bits of dirt and water from between each layer. He hadn’t used to do that, no hermit was quite sure when he remembered how to preen.

The long trail between builds stretched out. Travelling on horse generally was much faster than escorting the large covered swaggon. What could have been reached in one day turned into two. What should have been a simple ride turned into a small journey filled with flies, dirt, and a weary tailbone. Hours stretched on, small hiccups came far too quickly. A horse stepping on a rock and nearly tripping resulted in Scar nervously checking the poor equine’s ankle and hoof. An unexpected thunderstorm halted the road for two days when the dirt paths turned particularly boggy.

Mumbo hadn’t ever spent so much time living on bare necessities. He enjoyed his rather elaborate plumbing systems and piles of baked potatoes. He enjoyed sleeping in a warm comfortable bed at night with redstone lamps operating under a single switch. It wasn’t as if he had never camped before, but travelling so slowly was horribly demotivating once the small crowd barely reached Fifi’s cave. A hard day of flying would have Mumbo back at his megabase. They had barely made any distance at all.

“Aww, don’t be so sad,” Scar told him cheerfully. “We’re living on the high road! We’re enjoying life! Come on Mumbo, it isn’t all bad!”

Mumbo sighed, his entire body shuddered with the force of his movement. Sitting on the back of the swaggon, he let his legs overhang and dangle above the trampled road. Suit jacket was lost (which was a polite way of saying Scout had stolen it at some point), his shirt was rolled above his elbows and spattered with dirt and dust. His trouser pants were looking a bit more grey than black and his shoes a bit more matte than he remembered. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Scar teased fondly. The man plucked his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as if swearing to speak the truth. “We’ve gotten to the Big-Eye coast! Go take a dip in the water, Papa K spent time making those coral coastlines you know!”

Mumbo had a suspicion Keralis spent far too long working on grooming the little underwater reef. The last time he had seen it, when all the hermits met along the pavilion to first discuss Scout, the waters hadn’t been touched. Once Scout had been contained within the rude enclosure, Keralis had been busy working up to his neck in the sparkling water.

By now, Keralis likely had built an entire lagoon of underwater caves, tropical fish, and a swim-up bar. Fully stocked with alcohol, of course.

“I’m not sure,” Mumbo said. It felt odd to go swim and enjoy the day. He had started to turn into a nocturnal creature at this point- normally due to his concern for transporting Scout. It wouldn’t do to have the large feathery fiend become motion sickness. Especially since the group had only seen Scout’s actual mouth a rare few times.

“You worry too much,” Scar said. He playfully patted Mumbo’s shoulder before leaping down off his swaggon. The horses were grazing off the path around a few long tufts of foliage just outside Tango’s tree farm. “Relax! It’s a long trip to be anxious the whole time!”

Mumbo considered arguing that if he grabbed some rockets and an elytra, he could be home by nightfall. Scar cheerily ignored him and bounded off, pursuing something that caught his eye. Bdubs had been busy- the trees were all modified this far into the Big-Eye territory.

Fifi’s cave had once again been renovated. The enormous glass and redstone enclosure had been torn down, no sign of it remaining. The bits of cave that had been remodeled were fixed once more. The interior, to Mumbo’s surprise, glowed brightly with orange pools of unearthed lava and large bits of magma stones from the nether. It looked like an entirely new realm, unlike anything Mumbo had seen before.

“Looks pretty good, yeah?” Tango asked him, startling Mumbo from his quiet thoughts. With a loud noise of surprise, the taller man nearly fell upon his rear in surprise. Tango cackled, his hair flickering a bit like a very energetic tail. The shorter man grinned toothily at him, large glasses absent but eyes glowing in the faint light. Despite nether-mobs and nether-hybrids having a notorious reputation, Tango was one of the friendliest people Mumbo knew. 

“Are you doing okay?” Tango teased with a wink. “I hope that bumpy wagon ride hasn’t bruised your butt too much!”

Mumbo groaned, now very aware of the dull throbbing. “Mate, you don’t know the start of it. I swear, if it isn’t the wagon it’s Impulse’s horrible snoring!”

Hastily, Mumbo backtracked. For the smallest of moments, he had forgotten the relationship between Impulse and the man in front of him- even if they were currently in a playful little rivalry. Mumbo spluttered embarrassed: “I mean, not that I’d know at all-.”

Tango cackled, throwing his head back. With hearty guffaws, the man wiped aside two small tears from his eyes. “Oh man! Mumbo it’s been too long! I’m just messing with ya!”

Tango chortled again, before offering one hand. Mumbo grasped the proffered limb between both of his, shaking it earnestly in an awkward greeting. “I ah- yes? Glad to erm, be here.”

“Always glad to have you, buddy,” Tango said enthusiastically. “You look a little dirty, maybe just a bit behind the ears? Scar start trying to play travelling games with you yet?”

“Oh goodness, I don’t think my two brain cells can handle playing even one more round of ‘what block am I looking at?”

Tango’s grin twisted into an endearing little crooked smile. Genuine and open, Mumbo found himself smiling in return. Tango shook his head fondly, swiping one hand towards the main attraction of Fifi’s cave in an easy gesture. He said: “Well, we can’t have that brain turning into mush! I just made a new shulker unloader design- let me show you.”

“Oh, please,” Mumbo said with open relief. Tango cackled, escorting the taller man across the winding path of deepslate and blackstone.

Tango talked the entire time, narrating his thought process and other decorative decisions. For the first time in quite a while, Mumbo found himself relaxing. Tension he didn’t know he had slid from his body, releasing from his neck and behind his ears. The smell of redstone came and went depending on the activity of powered lines, but after so long on the road Mumbo dared to call it refreshing.

“And here is where everything gets unloaded,” Tango told him proudly. He smacked a small area boldly labelled input- likely for Keralis who had little to no experience with finicky systems. “And it gets sent out to all of the chests. It isn’t a one-item per chest system, more a catalogue for wide assortments.”

“Do you have a bulk storage then?”

“Don’t need one,” Tango said with far too much delight. “Bdub’s keeps stealing all the cobble so really I don’t have to jam it in anywhere. Never thought I’d love having that shorty around but man, it’s convenient.”

The two men talked for far longer than Mumbo had expected. It was easy to lose track when fully overwhelmed. Slowly, bits of redstone and systems and t-flip-flops lulled him into an easy content state of existence. Hours passed unnoticed by the two.

Night fell and with it, Scout finally emerged from the thick cocoon of the caravan. He shook off bits of fabric still clinging to him, and stretched leisurely. Once more, he found himself awake in a strange new place. One more, he was struck by the smallest sensation to explore and investigate.

The skies were dark. The world was silent with exception of a few prowling mobs that paid him no mind. It was quiet and peaceful in all ways that day was not- and better yet, it was bitterly difficult to see.

Not that it bothered him. Scout could see in any state- underwater, underground. He could see anything and anyone, although at times the discomfort it brought others wasn’t worth it. Sometimes he didn’t notice, but he was paying more attention as of late.

The grass was soft below his wings and arms. It still hurt to stand on only lower legs, but he knew this should not be the case. There were things that needed to move and shift and previously he didn’t understand how. There was a creature that visited them recently- a human skeleton encased in blue slime, and it was then he began to wonder how to correct his clear anomaly.

He crawled. Old hurts were hurting less and some pains had left him completely. There was no itching agony between his bones or on his skin, the old feathers finally removed and new ones growing in. Some bones still felt strange, but he was accustomed to them.

It was nice outside, damp but not so muddy that it soaked between his wings. There were bugs outside, rattling and singing music that he felt in his vocal cords and echoed to mimic. There was a song to be had here, and he felt so inspired.

Opening one set of eyes, he struggled to perceive. He hadn’t chosen wisely- the faint image provided was fractured into a kaleidoscope of colours. Grainy and off putting, it left him disgruntled from such a lacklustre response. It had confirmed enough to satisfy his innate curiosity- there were no humans around.

He spread his wings, exposing the better ways to see. Eyes opened, the world exploded brightly in a thousand shades of knowledge. Colours beyond that of human sight. The glowing awareness of mice and warm bodies running through the grass. The glowing hue of things only seen with screens or devices. Millions of numbers, simplified into something barely different and yet held the secret to all that existed: 01000110110011101.

He allowed a small moment to simply see, to scour and view the sights of the land around him. Constructed of so many different colours, some not native to this area but carefully hauled and crafted into their new forms and shapes. Beautiful, an artist among the humans residing here. He stretched his eyes further, seeing between imagined boundaries set by human perception.

Further- and then he saw. 

With a chirp and a song humming deep in his throat, he closed his wings and allowed his vision to recede. It was not necessary here, not when he had seen the location of his friend. Mumbo was within the cave, below the ground with the constructed beast shaped with clay and mud. He was not a fool- he recognized the cave. He understood now how some of it was necessary.

He did not fly but he did flutter. Moving was easier sometimes with heavy flapping and awkward leaping. His joints moved easier, hips aligned and not bent and warped. The talons on his hind feet were reshaped in his sleep, adequate for grasping ground and not bent so unruly. 

He scrambled, clattering and scratching. Bits of bark torn free from long claws and feathers left in place. He hummed, keeping an eye surveying the buildings and terracotta in the moonlight. He thought: this is beautiful.

The cave opened before him. Anxiety festered at the sight with reminders of his last entry. He had been scared then, unsure and looking for a new place of hiding. He hadn’t known better, he was only curious. He had been foolish and naive but it had rewarded him with help instead of hurt. He had been lesser. He had been shackled by something without a name and without words and without that- he had no knowledge of any alternative.

He didn’t like this cave, but recognized its benefit. He had fallen for a trap once and more than likely would fall for a trap again- but now he knew the signs and marks against stone that indicated something unusual. The walls were different, the glow of the cavern floor burned bright of a different molten heat. He stretched open the many eyes across his skin and looked for the unusual indicators of something malicious in the works.

“Gah!” cried a new unfamiliar voice, unique and rasping. It crackled, emanating from a startled angular face with sharpened teeth. He saw glowing eyes and unruly hair eerily reminiscent of fire. The longer he observed, the more the creature shuddered and trembled below his sight, skin paling and golden vibrancy dulling below the rock.

“Tango?” asked Mumbo. The sound was quieter, echoing off rock walls and hanging stalactites. Peering wider, he spotted his friend shudder within his sight. Apologetically, Mumbo grasped the creature’s shoulder and he read Mumbo’s lips. Sorry about that, I hadn’t thought he’d follow me here.

The words rang audibly a second after Mumbo spoke them. The echo delayed itself, trapped in the limitations of soundwaves where his eyes had no such restraints. He watched curiously, briefly investigating the lines of red wires and machinery he could not understand. So many boxes and containers, but he couldn’t see inside those that were completely full.

Mumbo was speaking once again, mouth moving an entire second before the delayed muffled voice registered through ears. Tango? Are you alright?

And yes, he did recall that name. He knew the name, he knew the face. Nights with Impulse outside of his cave, sitting on blankets or on a bench with the two creatures that accompanied him- the small blonde human that talked quickly and the other angular one with a hoarse rasping laugh- Tango.

Suspicion and anxiety slowly relaxing, he closed his eyes. He knew where they were, and knew that distress came with his sight. Mumbo was here with Tango. The two were friends, they were calm and gentle with one another. There was no fear or threat to be had inside this cave, no markings of a trap or box. The stone floor of the cave was warm on his limbs, not uncomfortable but enough he lifted what joints he could to avoid any strange burning. Mumbo and Tango were in the middle of the cave below the statue of something larger than life. He stretched what weak bones and muscles he could and glided with large bounding leaps. On silent wings, he scrambled inside across carved stone and forced himself within the small interior.

“Oh my-,” Tango shrieked, hair stiffening like the hair on a cat’s neck. He jumped, arms spinning around him frantically to remain standing upright. Mumbo assisted, grabbing Tango quickly around the ribs to keep him upright.

“Oh! Oh that got me, that definitely got me!” Tango shouted, voice comically high in pitch yet maintaining a distinct rasp. He blinked below the feathers, unnoticed by others. Cocking one head, he gazed at Mumbo with silent judgement.

“Oh, don’t look at us like that,” Mumbo stated, looking a tad embarrassed by the entire ordeal. “You caught us off guard! I thought you’d be out exploring the coast, not this cave again!”

“Yeah buddy!” Tango squeaked hastily. “Didn’t think you’d be back here anytime soon!”

He hadn’t wanted to either, but he had been curious. His throat and jaw did not feel correct, still undeniably wrong although he didn’t know how. Words did not come easy to him, but names and sounds were easier. He could steal a voice but he knew there was still an alternative. 

Awkwardly, he stated in a rasping brutal noise: “Tango.”

The shorter man blinked quickly, eyebrows lifting in open surprise. “Oh! Yeah uh, hey there little buddy! That’s uh, that’s me!”

“You’re very social today,” Mumbo told him, his moustache quivering in amusement. “You having a good day then?”

It took a moment to process, for the meaning to set in. Recognition and response came quicker now, it was something he was proud of. “Yes.”

“That’s good to hear!” Tango stated, bouncing on his toes. “You wanted to see my storage area? We all share it here, little guy. I’d offer you something but not quite sure what you’d like.”

“Don’t let him go pillaging, you’ll never find your resources again,” Mumbo stated. Reaching out with one hand towards him, he reached back with a smaller feathery wing adhered to the side of his skull. He stretched it, letting it brush lightly against the human knuckle. He chirped, for emphasis.

“It’s great to see you so lively, bud,” Tango told him sincerely. “It’s a little cramped in here, how about we make our way outside. Is that okay?”

“Fine with me,” Mumbo said easily. That meant it was fine with him.

Tango laughed, smacking the back of his hand against his thigh. The man beamed widely, face alighting in bright thrilled glee. Each tooth was serrated on the lowest point, yet still flat enough to not leave his mouth an awkward mess. A bit like a shark, or a dog.

“Come on you two!” Tango cried out, guiding the path along the magma blocks and climbing stairs. “Don’t slip! It’s real lava!”

“I figured that one out the hard way!” Mumbo shouted, looking a bit worse for wear with sweat gleaming across his brow. The cave was stuffy, warm and humid despite the thick heat and only a scarce amount of water. 

Fresh air felt blissful across their warmed skin. Night had dropped the temperature lower, letting puffs of breath exhale into the sky. Tango watched with some bafflement as little wisps of vapour danced between hundreds of feathers obscuring Scout’s head. 

“You look like you’re trying to stop a leaking bucket with a pile of leaves,” Tango said before winking. “Except the leaves are your feathers and uh, the water is all that steam heading upwards.”

“Kind of a complex analogy,” Mumbo joked, patting Tango on his shoulder. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, Mumbo stretched both arms boldly above his head. In the night, the man’s fair skin practically glowed.

Tango gazed across the bay of the Big Eye crew. Lampposts had been constructed at strategic locations across the stone pavers and coral siding. Each stucco and terracotta façade gleamed a different colour in the darkness, still gorgeous and unique in its own way. The ocean was calm and gentle, sea pickles illuminating the coral reef and tropical fish below the swell of each wave. Towards the pagoda built near the floating houseboat which framed the nether portal, Pearl and Scar were fiercely in battle with two men wearing floatation devices on each arms.

“I see Keralis broke out the water wings,” Tango teased with a small giggle. “That’s how you know he isn’t playing around!”

The water splashed, dolphins leaping into the black surface. Illuminated only by occasional lanterns along the coast, the night blanketed the bay with an exotic gentleness. 

Yet, it was not all serene. Mumbo gnawed on his lower lip, unable to resist temptation. With a shudder of dread, he turned his head to stare upwards into the starry sky.

Tango noticed his resignation and with a small sigh of his own, he too offered an expression of sympathy. “I know, my man. It keeps getting bigger, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mumbo agreed quietly. 

The moon had gotten larger, approaching at a rate that was quite horrifying when considering the actual astronomical distance. It had once been able to be obscured if Mumbo closed one eye and held up the pad of his thumb. Now, he didn’t want to test it out of fear for what he would find.

“We still have time, it’s all good!”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mumbo agreed lamely. He swallowed thickly, unable to stop the fear he felt. 

Scout shuffled, rustling next to him. With an odd slur to his words in a voice uniquely his yet reminiscent of only pain, Scout said: “moon big.”

Tango nodded sagely. “Moon is big.”

Scout rumbled, chirping a bit like a chicken. With a little sound of disgruntlement, the creature began to oddly crawl his way down the initial rock steps until he found himself a stone bench carved from blackstone and andesite. He hauled himself up, curling enormous talons around the lip of the stone seat. Tango joined him- there was not enough space to sit considering the wings and feathers, but the sentiment was obvious.

“It’s nice to see you so talkative, buddy,” Tango said. His curiosity quite evident, the man asked a little teasingly: “so uh, how have you been doing? Eat any interesting seeds? Smash any pumpkins?”

Scout shifted, rotating his hidden head as if a dog. He shuffled about, flexing and curling his toes while he considered Tango’s question. “Good.”

“You’ve been good?” Tango asked, trying to clarify. “And that’s your voice, right? Not like, some weird mix of crazy sounds smooshed together, right?”

Scout paused. After the appropriate pause, he responded. “Good. Mine.”

“Yours!”

“Mine,” Scout agreed simply. “Yours Tango.”

The man blinked twice before he comprehended. “Oh, I get it! Yeah, I mean, I’m Tango if that’s what you mean.”

Scout hummed a gentle noise, clearing his throat as he repeated a tad more clearly. “You are Tango.”

“I sure am,” Tango agreed, smiling so wide it looked like it would split his face apart. “Do you know where you are? Like, this cove?”

Mumbo opened his mouth, about to protest. It might not be the best idea to remind Scout of all his potential-trauma. Even if Scout was having a good day, it wouldn’t be nice to upset him.

Yet, Scout didn’t appear upset. He spread a pair of wings- his middle set located at his lower back. Lifting the smaller wings and spreading them only gave Tango the smallest glance of a thin waist and pale skin revealed below an oddly shaped red toga of fabric. The wings spread wider, exposing the pale underside and bits of moulting down. Some bits shifted oddly, wiggling under a movement of their own.

“Oh, those are eyes,” Tango squeaked. Mesmerized, the man failed to look away. One rotated in its socket to stare directly from the apex of Scout’s wing- the eye almost as large as Tango’s fist. 

“You’re looking at me,” Tango said. “Oh, oh I don’t know if I like that at all.”

“Hi,” Scout said, blinking the eye in question. Tango made a small noise, his hair once more standing up on end.

Scout closed his wings, folding them with a more graceful movement. They nestled against his back better, no longer asymmetric or gangly. Tango was unsure if he should say anything out loud, but Scout looked entirely new.

“The box,” Scout said quite plainly. “Bright. The box here.”

“Uh, yeah,” Tango said, the truth of his question turning his voice a bit uncomfortable. “Sorry about that bud. It was for a good reason but-.”

“Yes,” Scout interrupted him. “Thank you.”

Tango went silent. Mumbo felt something sit heavily in his chest, too burdensome to fight. It left him mute, suffocating his words. 

Scout looked upwards, presumably staring at the large moon in the sky. With a small ruffle, his tail-wings fluffed slightly as if attempting to intimidate a foe. Scout huffed, a small expression of such normal irritation it felt surreal to hear. Mumbo felt like crying.

“Thanks,” Scout said after a pause, still looking upwards. “Was…hurt. No words. Thank you, the box. No hurt.”

Tango swallowed thickly, his eyes shiny. “Oh, well…it- it wasn’t just me.”

Scout hummed a small curious thing, such a Grian-esq noise it ached to hear. Mumbo felt his breath catch, his chest tightening beneath his sorrow. 

“Thank you Tango,” Scout addressed directly. “Thank you Mumbo.”

Mumbo nodded, unable to speak. Tango similarly nodded, babbling random words as if to dismiss the gratitude all while sniffling noisily. Scout huffed once more, somehow endeared. 

He still stared at the sky.

“What er- what are you looking at?” Tango asked once recovered. His voice remained wet, nose sniffling every odd minute or so.

Scout said rather damningly. “Eyes.”

“ Eyes?” Mumbo asked, squinting into the starry sky. “I don’t- are there any phantoms out?”

“No,” Scout said dismissively. “ Them.”

The word came with such unexpected loathing, it stunned Tango into silence. Mumbo felt as if he was hearing a voice from a ghost, whispering in his ear with the same scathing irritation. The same emphasis, slight accented curl to each vowel. Them! Oh they’re the worst!

“...Them?” Tango asked worriedly. Squinting to look above. “I- I’m sorry I don’t…”

Scout’s last set of wings bristled, fluffing up. The creature opened one set of wings bracketing his face, then after a moment spread another. Only one set of wings hid his expression, curled protectively as if palms against each cheek. He said unprompted: “I see you.”

Tango shakily locked eyes with Mumbo, looking both frightened and confused. Hastily, the man fumbled for his communicator, fishing it out nervously. “I- I’m going to message X.”

“And- and tell him what exactly?” Mumbo croaked. “That- that there are invisible eyes? What- what would he even do? ”

“Well there’s gotta be something there!” Tango argued, hissing just above a whisper. “Maybe something snuck onto the server or has been following you or-.”

“Eyes,” Scout stated ominously. “ Them.”

“What are they doing?” Mumbo asked.

Scout spoke with rage, fury, and undeniable pain. “Watching.”

“Oh god,” Tango said, looking ill. He clutched the communicator in his hands, grasping it subconsciously. “They found him.”

The hermits hadn’t particularly taken efforts to hide Scout. They had believed in some aspect that if Grian hadn’t been found for so long, then surely the server was well hidden. Generally it was, but at some point they had messed up. At some point, either entering or exiting, the firewalls had lowered and clearly that was enough for all the unwanted attention.

Mumbo very quickly sat down. He settled himself with legs crossed on the dirt, suit trousers already dusty from the ride. Normally a tall man, sitting down, his head came just level with Tango’s ribcage.

“They found him,” Mumbo repeated numbly, struggling to either understand or process the information. “So…they- they’re just going to…to what? Break in? Attack us?”

Scout tensed, feathers ruffling. He exhaled in a scoff as if offended by the words. The bird bristled, peering upwards at the sky. Tango ran both hands through his hair, looking rather distressed by the idea.

“Is it smart to go to the End?” Mumbo asked, babbling at this point. “Isn’t that closer? Is that even safe? Oh pants- what do we even do?”

“Well, they can’t be that powerful, right?” Tango asked shrilly, rapidly typing on his communicator. “Like, X just said that we’re safe on the server. We should be safe but-.”

“Safe,” Scout stated abruptly. Something in his demeanor changed. It shifted, tensed and straightened into something dangerously focused and serious. Still looking skywards, the wings and feathers pulled away. Mumbo had seen every emotion on Grian’s face- or he thought he had.

Grian had never looked so determined before. There was no rage or twisted fury. No furious flush or tensing of his jaw. The man looked upwards, unremarkable beyond an exceptional bedhead and feathers sprouting from random patches of his face. He looked almost serene, with a flat unaffected expression and the gentle parting of old chapped and cracked lips. His eyes were closed, which potentially was the oddest fact of it all. The two eyes, the boring ones that all people had right below their eyebrows in the middle of their face, rested blind.

“Scout?” Tango asked, shifting worriedly before trying with more open anxiety, “uh…G-man?”

Mumbo trembled. He didn’t stand. He stared upwards at his friend’s face, so absurd and surreal to see on the neck and body of something feathered and odd. It felt uncomfortable, wrong.

“Grian?” Mumbo asked, his voice wavering in and out. “I-...are you okay?”

Those eyelids opened, only half lidded. They were remarkably glassy and somewhat dull looking. More concerningly, they radiated an odd hue of purple not unlike crying obsidian. Glowing in the night, they gazed upwards at the stars and the ever-approaching moon.

Grian smiled, something wry and bitter that curved one side of his mouth into an expression Mumbo had seen a dozen times- when Grian’s buildings weren’t working, when he tried hours at an idea and made no progress. When he struggled again and again but refused to back down. 

Grian stated, bitterly and uniquely himself: “all they ever do is watch.”

Chapter Text

The sleepy occupants of the large eye crew remained generous and open minded. They supplied whatever resources were necessary, then went above and beyond. Bdubs had boasted time and time again about his famous Horse Course, further down the trodden path. He had assured the group that there, they would find animals ready to replace their tired horses. Bdubs had even implied the existence of surreally powerful and strong donkeys, or mules, which Etho had been breeding as of some time. 

The caravan received patches where necessary and multiple feathers removed from the slightly dusty interior. Keralis coated the blank canvas in layers of woven cloth, blocking out more light and making the entire wagon something to behold. Pearl returned, looking significantly more refreshed after a glorious night swimming in a warm lagoon. She had braided her hair back neat and tidy into two little crescent rolls that gave her an impish design. By the small smirking she threw their way, she was well aware of her hairstyle.

Onward the caravan rolled over bumps and rocks stamped under hooves. Each horse had an iron shoe nailed gently through the animal’s foot, leisurely washed and covered in a shiny resin Mumbo thought looked a bit too similar to a manicure. Or a pedicure. Or a hooficure if he wanted to be specific. 

The horses were strong, well bred, and well trained. Bdubs would have shouted excitedly ‘oh there’s good stock from these ones!’ or something similar. The man had always been the resident horse enthusiast, Mumbo was a tad frightened to think of how obsessive poor Etho must have gotten with his donkey-breeding.

Tango waved them goodbye, perched on a rooftop and waving a strip of fabric which may have been a mimic to that of a maiden wishing farewell to a seafaring vessel. Impulse of course responded appropriately, with his own dramatic waving of Mumbo’s shirt (the only white thing on the wagon) and fake sobbing. Scout, somehow, slept through the entire ordeal.

The road south stretched. Serene times mixed in memory with the gentle images of birds flying and dolphin pods off the bay leaping in unison. Mumbo too found himself lulled into a relaxed state. Before he knew it, his eyes were drooling and he found his limbs quite heavy. He fell asleep to the passionate ramble of Bdubs explaining to Scar the benefits of botany and other shrub greenery.

When Mumbo next awoke, it was to a starry sky and a moon missing a sliver off one side. Miraculously the cart was still rolling, bumping away with golden hanging lanterns suspended before each horse head on long poles. Bdubs, snoring loud enough to rattle the floorboards, lay entirely oblivious to Impulse’s gentle hand. The horses too appeared to not care for all the racket, marching onward at a steady pace.

“Oh, hey,” Impulse whispered once his eye caught Mumbo’s shifting form. “You were sleeping for a long while there- feel any better?”

“I didn’t know I had been feeling off,” Mumbo admitted. He shuffled, squirming out from below a thick dusty blanket. In the darkness it took too long to identify its colour not as a deep grey, but instead a dirty red. 

“Ah,” Mumbo said, finally freeing himself from the red fabric. “I see Scout left then.”

“Mm, he’s somewhere,” Impulse said passively. With one hand, the man gestured to the right where the mountainside was slowly fading into a sprawling landscape of trees. In the distance, only visible from their high altitude, Mumbo could see the glowing specs of light that dotted the southern swamp. Beyond that, somewhere, was the shared end destination.

The wagon creaked below Mumbo’s weight. He bent himself crookedly, ducking below the canvas roof and clumsily stepped over both Pearl’s body and Scar’s sprawled legs. Bdubs snored near Impulse, who only chuckled in response. The seat at the front was large enough for many people to sit, the footrest hung low but it gave Mumbo the option to ignore it completed. He sighed in relief, stretching out his aching knees to dangle his bare feet above the trodden ground.

“I forgot what it felt like being so cooped up,” Mumbo admitted.

Impulse shrugged, rolling one shoulder. He glanced skywards, a smile spreading across his face. “Mm, maybe. I always forget how nice it feels to keep moving. To keep going forward, never stopping. I think I could get too caught up in it If I tried to settle down.”

Mumbo couldn’t relate. He was afraid if he tried to always be moving- always grinding for resources or making something next- he’d be so overwhelmed he’d simply combust. He’d be one baked potato, or a messy one.

“These horses are fantastic,” Mumbo said instead of addressing his personal work ethic.

“Aren’t they?” Impulse said, “I can’t believe they’re still going. I always wanted to tease the shorty back there on his horses, but honestly? I’m impressed.”

One horse, as if understanding, decided to chuff particularly loud. The other tossed its head, flicking one ear towards them.

“Dang, Bdubs you taught them English?” Impulse teased, glancing over his shoulder at the snoring man.

Bdubs said nothing, nuzzling deeper into his mossy jacket with a loud rattling exhale of relaxation. Mumbo found himself smiling at the serene sight.

“The little guy sleeps the entire night, If I didn’t know better I’d guess he was part villager,” Impulse stated, continuing with his mindless smalltalk. “Actually, I think he’s a little too short for a villager.”

“He certainly has the work ethic of one.”

“Oh absolutely, I think he’d get too fed up eating bread all day,” Impulse joked, chuckling softly.

The two settled into a comfortable silence. The horses continued onward, whining to one another softly. There were no phantoms in the sky as of yet, the moon still bright enough to see the path before them. After a long bout of thick trees on their steady mountainous descent, Mumbo found himself a bit nervous.

He hadn’t heard Scout anywhere nearby. In fact, Scout clearly must have left some time ago. In the mountains, the creature could scale any sort of rocky outcropping with open ease. Normally they stopped for the night- but here they could be hours away. What if Scout needed them? What if something had happened? Impulse was a wonderful friend, but did he know Scout’s limitations as well as Mumbo?

“So uh, when was the last you heard Scout?” Mumbo asked, trying his best to remain and appear casual.

Impulse smiled broadly, almost a self satisfied smugness oozing off of him. He grinned at Mumbo, clearly thrilled by Mumbo’s poor tact. “I wondered when you were going to ask!”

Mumbo spluttered, choking on his words in a spectacular fashion. Impulse heartily chuckled, in no way cruel.

“Don’t worry about it. If you’re super curious, the man’s been up there,” Impulse explained, gesturing one thumb skyward.

Dumbfounded, Mumbo squinted into the sky. He couldn’t see anything, and the night was quite bright. He could see the grey outlines of clouds and sparkling stars. There was no Scout to be seen in his perspective.

“No, you goof,” Impulse scolded gently, “look further- on the wagon.”

Mumbo rotated in his seat, craning his neck. Perched on top the covered wagon, a large feathered friend presumably watched the world around them. 

“Oh,” Mumbo said rather dumbly. “I hadn’t thought Keralis did that good a job at reinforcing that patchy thing.”

“It’s super impressive, granted I don’t think Scout weighs that much, but the guy’s been up there the entire night. I think he likes the height.”

Scout ignored the two, craning his neck around. The enormous crooked talons had punctured through the cloth, although he somehow found a rib supporting the fabric and turned it into his personal roost. Some wings were partially open, flapping silently with instinctual demands to righten himself when teetering to far one direction. The other wings stretched on occasion, bathing in the moonlight.

It was an odd thing to see, especially after Scou- Grian’s sudden open irritation with the sky. Here, he appeared at peace and quite enjoying the gentle breeze. 

“Anything exciting happen?” Mumbo asked, a little distracted by Scout’s gentle movements.

“Eh, not much,” Impulse confessed. “We passed a small group of sheep sleeping on the road, the horses scared them off but it wasn’t a problem. We’ll be coming up on the Horse Course soon- that’s what Bdubs and Etho named it.”

Mumbo admittedly hadn’t been paying much attention to the name of their target. He knew that they were supposed to reach it before nightfall, but with so many Hermits in a closed space, ruckus always ran amuck.

So, the two settled in for the ride. Slowly, the trees fanned out and mountainous rock formations became rolling hills and open grassland. In the dark, a large building blazed warmly just ahead.

“There’s the course,” Impulse stated needlessly. “Wow, Bdubs wasn’t lying, that’s gorgeous!”

Mumbo himself was more intrigued by the random splashes of redstone scattered around. Large contraptions barely disguised into the shape of hay bales and other things. As they approached, Mumbo came to realise it wasn’t so much a racetrack for horses to run on as it was an obstacle course whilst on a horse. Truly, he shouldn’t have suspected anything otherwise.

Impulse steered the horses left, following the wooden sign and arrow dictating where to pull in. The road became a bit more bumpy, rattling the axles and startling Pearl into squeaking into awareness. The woman spluttered, mumbling grouchily in the back before readjusting and collapsing back to sleep.

Mumbo held tightly to his seat, disliking the way it bounced about in poor resemblance to any sort of shock support. Scar made beautiful works of art, but they were never exactly comfortable.

Gently, they halted. The horses knickered, stomping excitedly at the sight of the enormous stables and smell of horse manure. Impulse shushed them, leaping down from the wagon. Without the bulk and weight, the bench overcompensated and nearly sent Mumbo from his seat, cursing Scar’s decision to use springs.

“Whoa, careful there!” Impulse whispered, voice nearly too loud. Mumbo gulped, swallowing down the choice words that almost burst free. With a hand for assistance, Mumbo found himself solidly on firm ground with a bit of wobbly knees. It took him a moment to find his footing, only then did Impulse wander to the front where the horses were stomping impatiently.

“I’m going to be honest…” Impulse whispered to Mumbo, “I don’t know how to take this off.”

“I- It’s a bit of a puzzle isn’t it?” Mumbo stated, finding himself quite bewildered. There were many clasps and buckles, bits of rope that hung quite loosely and didn’t seem to have a purpose. It all looked confusing and complex- knowing Bdubs a good portion of the additional bits may very well be decorative. 

The two men stood, silently processing and digesting the enormous chore before them. One horse twisted its head to the side, pinning its ears back with a loud braying noise. It’s lips flapped, flashing long teeth.

“Whoa there,” said a relatively unexpected voice. Mumbo found himself once more nearly on his rear, caught at the last moment by a firm grip on his arm. Impulse swore, grasping one of the thick leather straps of the horse’s harness whilst his other hand pressed against his heart.

“Etho!” Impulse hissed under his breath, looking sheepishly terrified. “Don’t scare us like that!”

“Awe, but you looked so cute,” the man teased. He winked once at Mumbo, red eye glowing like a redstone torch in the dark. “Don’t worry about that mess, ole Bdubs likes to add all the glitter to the horses. I’ll unhook them.”

“Oh thank heavens, I didn’t know where to start,” Mumbo confessed, still feeling his heart pounding in his neck. “I reckon my hands wouldn’t be steady enough for a single buckle.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I got it,” Etho consoled. He steadily made work of the large clasps, swatting the horses onwards fondly. The two marched off in the most direct path towards the stables, as fast as they could to obtain water and fresh oats set out for them.

“Thanks, Etho,” Impulse said. He smiled genuinely at the man, expressing his sincerity. “I forgot what it’s like with horses.”

“Yup,” Etho said a little too brightly. “All big and gentle, then you get the ones so ferocious they could take on a creeper! But not those two guys, nah they’re some of the nice ones. Bdubs stole them off me, it’s nice to have them back.”

“It was nice to have them get us here,” Mumbo admitted, pointing towards the Swaggon. “I think we worked our one horse half to death!”

“Mmm, maybe,” Etho said far too casually. He squinted at the swaggon, tilted his head and asked: “should we wake them up or just ditch them? I’m all for leaving Bdubs behind.”

“Eh, we can just leave them,” Impulse said with a far too sneaky smile. “Scar and Pearl can yell at us all they want, we were the ones that got us here! We deserve the beds!”

“I’m not arguing,” Mumbo said, feeling just as tired as he sounded.

Morning came with the loud angry noises of Pearl shouting at a rather loud, frazzled Bdubs, and the cry of a rooster. 

This all was to say that the sleepy crew had awoken rather spectacularly to the sound and sight of a large chicken being thrust inside the swaggon. Scout, having vanished to explore his new environment and likely finding a new place to hide, left a large area for Etho to place poultry. The action was so effective, it not only awoke the three hermits but left Scar shrieking and running circles as the rooster attempted to chase him down.

“Etho!” Bdbus shrieked, pulling feathers from his hair. “Oh! When I get my hands on you!”

“You may need some help getting to my height there,” Etho teased.

Bdubs shrieked once more, playfully lunging to tackle the taller man to the dirt. Pearl huffed, groggily rubbing her eyes as she stared at the sun miserably.

“Say, do you have any tea? Coffee? Snacks?” She asked, sniffling miserably. “I think I caught a bug from that wagon. Or a flu. Oh oh, the avian flu!”

“This bird wants to eat me!” Scar howled, swatting behind himself desperately. Jelly, entirely bored of the entire thing, continued to sleep on the driver’s seat thankfully above any potential harm.

Mumbo glanced around, a tad worried at the lack of their feathery friend. Etho, having noticed Mumbo’s not-so-subtle looks, rolled his eyes and pointed above them. Craning his head back so far Mumbo worried he might topple, he gazed upwards. The man had slept quite well in a beautifully ornate clocktower Bdubs had built directly into the stylistic challenge of the Horse Course. Strikingly, the hollow area behind the clock hands looked a tad more feathery than before.

“Don’t worry about him,” Impulse said, suddenly very close. So close in fact, Mumbo wondered if he’d need a new pair of trousers. “Scout’s fine. Why don’t you take the day to just relax- race a horse or something!”

“I- well I’m not so much one for racing-.”

“After all the work Bdubs and Etho put into this?” Impulse scolded him teasingly. “Relax! I’ll watch the big guy for you, maybe some racing is just what you need!”

Mumbo seriously doubted that. He felt far more comfortable on the ground with two feet firmly on dirt, not dangling uselessly at his side when a horse decided what to do. This wasn’t a common opinion in his caravan of comrades, as it took very little persuasion before Etho, Bdubs, Pearl, and Scar were tearing up dirt and bits of grass under the sound of trampling hooves. Impulse had vanished during a small water break, claiming to want to see the elaborate noteblock monster that Etho had built to announce the start of a race. Mumbo too had some urge to see the contraption, but a nervous worry had yet to leave him.

Something about all of this felt nostalgic, although that didn’t quite make sense. Mumbo felt a wistful sadness for it all- knowing somewhere in his heart that something important was coming to a close. Something he dreaded, and tried his best to ignore.

Yet, every day it loomed more and more. Every night, when a fire was lit and the group chatted about on log seats roasting bits of potato and steak, Mumbo wondered how long they all had left.

It took little time for the group to settle into a careless state of indulgent. It took less time for Mumbo to find himself relaxed in all ways he had nearly forgotten. He had missed the loud cartoonish laugh Scar let free in moments of odd surreal situations. He had forgotten the quiet giggles Impulse made when sneaking away from a well-made prank. He had forgotten the argumentative yet gentle nature of Pearl’s warm admirable passionate self. He had forgotten many things, but perhaps it was alright to remember them once more.

“I refuse to believe you can breed super-donkeys,” Pearl argued, waving her potato-on-a-stick violently in the air. “I mean, I don’t think you can make a super-horse even.”

“Hey! I have good stock!” Bdubs protested, leaping boldly to his feet. “You should see some of my jumpers! They’re a five block jumper! That’s all specially bred!”

Etho giggled, his eye glowing ominously in the dark. “Careful Pearl, you’ll wind him up and he’ll go for hours.”

“Hard to imagine there’s that much juice in such a little guy,” Scar teased, giggling wildly when Bdubs spun to unleash his wrath in his general direction.

Impulse nudged Mumbo, trying to invite him into the conversation. Mumbo shrugged, his heart truly not in the right place. It still felt wrong, painfully sad despite all their efforts. The night was kind to them, gentle and special. The moon was waning towards that where they could forget it’s growing existence. A campfire constructed lovingly crackled around their semicircle orientation, facing outwards across the rolling sprawling meadows that skirted along the sea. Beyond a certain point, there was no distinction in the darkness. You could not determine at what point land and water met, or where the horizon bled into cracked dirt and tall grass. Shadows stretched with long flickering tongues, and yet there was no fear or concern.

Mobs did not spawn where Scout existed. It was something thoroughly used, otherwise such a trek as this would surely be impossible. They would have hardly left Boatem before a lone skeleton would somehow pick out Scar and send him to a hearty respawn. Yet, it had nearly been two weeks and they were growing lazy and complacent. 

Surrounded by friends and laughter, warmth from a fire and warmth from the company he held, Mumbo thought: ‘Oh, It may be alright to be lazy for now.’

They hadn’t expected yet another escort on their way to the south. Bdubs, politely and loudly, had informed them that he had plenty of work to do on the horse course- yet he didn’t want to send them off without a good stead. Etho had proudly connected a pair of strong muscular donkeys to the front of their caravan, not too subtly winking when one tried to take a bite out of Scar’s hat.

“These are my pet projects,” he stated far too smugly. He alone rode a donkey, offering one for the others to ride and to rotate through when the beasts pulling the wagon wanted moments of freedom along the path. Each donkey did resemble one another faintly, yet held differences. Mumbo thought his donkey was peculiarly fast- faster than the average horse.

“Well I'd say,” Pearl muttered, safely seated in the driver's seat as she coaxed the large beasts to pull the wagon. “They’re tricky, that’s what they are. Dangerous at both ends.”

“They can kick sideways actually,” Impulse brightly informed them.

“Ah,” Pearl corrected, “dangerous all around then.”

Etho looked far too smug, giving his particular beast a happy pat on the neck. The donkey in return flicked its ears around, gnashing on the bit. Mumbo remembered distinctly one horror story he knew, in which a horse had rather proudly eaten an entire chicken. He wondered if one of the donkey’s would be satisfied eating a wolf.

They pranced onwards. Dust stirred and shifted into boggy soil. The heavy stink of the swamp rose and slowly their advancement stilled. The wagon wheels tore through the sludge, at times not turning and instead carving deep furrows. Etho appeared unperturbed. He clicked his tongue and the donkeys pulled with new determination. Impossibly, the sweating panting beasts pulled the caravan with brute strength and determination.

“Dude,” Impulse stated, jaw dropping with sheer awe. “This is amazing.”

“I can’t believe he did this,” Mumbo stated. “I mean- I feel like he just revolutionized the donkey breeding industry. Is that an industry?”

“I have no idea,” Impulse said.

They carried on, gentle and steady. The closer Mumbo came to the End Portal, the more it became apparent that someone had worked quite hard at redecorating it. What had once been quite a humble little structure vanished under the impressive jagged archways and copper facades. A dirt path had been excavated, remade with deepstone bricks that clattered below each donkey’s hoof. The plant life existed now in carefully crafted decorative side gardens. Everything gleamed against the purplish hue of deepslate brought to sunlight. 

“Well, this looks a little different,” Impulse said casually. He peered around, unbothered by quite a heavy redecoration. “Someone must have spent some time on this.”

“Well, I’ll say,” Pearl agreed, squinting at a whitish patch decoratively perched on the side. “Are- are they using coral? Dead coral?”

Indeed, dead fan coral had been placed. In fact, the entire decorative front appeared so overwhelming, Mumbo hadn’t even noticed the grand design. It wasn’t something he’d make- well perhaps the long spindly vaguely mechanical supports he could fit in- yet somehow it did look quite nice.

“Uh, guys?” Scar asked, perched atop the wagon, sitting on the passenger platform next to Pearl who held the reins loosely. “Is it just me or uh…does this all just scream Doc to you?”

“Actually, Ren is part of the Octagon too,” Etho stated. The man bounded ahead, absolutely unbothered by the land transformation.

“Oh no, this is the work of the Octagon?” Pearl asked, eyebrows raising high. She peered around once more, skepticism oozing into her facial expression. “If they rigged something to explode, I’ll be really mad. A really mad pile of goo, and I’ll still kick ya’ somewhere.”

“No goop,” Etho promised, looking amused. “They actually wanted to decorate for a while. The previous hole down was a bit too small…and Doc maybe wanted to see Scout again.”

“Ah hah! I knew he was up to no good!” Scar crowed, pointing dramatically upwards at the sky. “That evil man just wants to steal our friend again! Oh don’t worry Scout, we’ll stop him!”

“He isn’t stealing Scout, he just wants a peak,” Etho corrected. He pointed to the side where the path veered and split. “Over there, I got a message that we go left here to get to the beds for the night. Otherwise this just goes down in a really slow spiral to the portal.”

“I’m good to get off the donkey,” Impulse agreed, wriggling eagerly. “I mean, no offence to the donkey but my thighs are killing me.”

Mumbo too believed his bottom would be bruised. He had been riding for so long, he wasn’t sure he could stand. Impulse hadn't the same body build as Mumbo. Impulse was made short and stocky, he looked rather miserable with his legs spread so far his thighs were nearly parallel to the road. Clearly, after a period of time, Impulse simply couldn't go on.

The caravan creaked itself along, slowly pulling into a decorative dramatic little hostel. A hitching post had been set up, a strange mix of steampunk and western. In some portions, Mumbo could almost feel the decorative flair of IJevin poking through the futuristic layer of Rendog and Doc. It was a confusing sight- although not an unpleasant one.

“Oh, thank Notch,” Impulse groaned. He slumped to the ground, sitting heavily on the dirt. He sat there, staring somewhere further than the horizon. He confessed, quietly and reverently, "I don't think I can stand."

The donkey scoffed, tossing its head and stamping one foot indignantly. Etho, absolutely unbothered by the hours of riding, casually collected the lead and led the creature to its corral. One free, the donkey immediately went to roll itself in the fine grass, itching the feeling of Hermit from its back. Returning to where he left both Mumbo and Impulse, he offered one hand to Impulse.

"You okay down there?"

"I think I tore my pants, and myself." Impulse said almost wistfully, "I think...I'm going to just...go lay down."

"You sure?" Mumbo asked, chewing on his lip nervously. "I mean- I can come with you-."

"No no, I'm fine," Impulse said, wincing badly as he stood on wobbling legs. "I uh, I think I'd rather fly next time."

Etho hummed a flat tune before assisting him with directions to the nearest bed. The two men watched as Impulse limped away, making small noises of embarrassed pain. 

"Huh," Mumbo said, rather uncertain how to feel about the sight.

"Some people just can't handle the open road," Etho said with a shrug. "He'll be fine. Not his pants, he'll need new ones."

“Alright Hermits!” Scar shouted, standing on the wagon’s seat. The wagon had yet to unload, instead rolling and settling carefully on the path beside them. Both Pearl and Scar had watched Impulse limp off, yet had some degree of respect to not acknowledge it for the man's own pride. Scar stood atop the driver's bench of the wagon, he used one hand on Pearl’s head to keep himself steady, ignoring her rather pinched expression. “Time to find a bed! I am exhausted!”

“Aww, you’ll miss the cookout,” Etho teased, winking his red eye. “I heard we’re going to have guests even. I was going to save you a steak.”

Scar hesitated, then yelped as Pearl playfully pushed him. Stumbling, Scar fell off the wagon into a conveniently placed pile of hay, landing uninjured but very surprised. 

“I like a cookout,” Pearl said innocently before winking. She giggled mischievously, her trickster spirit burning brightly. “Are you going to cook for all of us? Eh? Some nice chicken? Maybe some shrimp on the barb’e?”

Etho laughed a little nervously, taking one step backwards. He lifted both hands defensively, fluttering his fingers. “Well, uh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m that good of a cook. Last I heard, Ren was the grill master.”

“Aww, he isn’t here?” Scar asked from a much lower placement on the ground. “I wanted to try some dog-tastic steak. Can you put in an order for take-out for me?”

“Sorry Scar,” Etho said “Only Doc stuck around. No steak for you.”

For those who were not used to Scout in any way, the sudden presence of a large feathered creature was quite terrifying. Not in the sense of impending doom, but more in the sudden shock to awareness of wind, noise, and a vast creature far too close far too quickly. 

Etho, for all his hijinks and calmness, inhaled sharply and rose suddenly to his feet. Doc unfortunately spluttered a collection of foreign words and rocked backwards on his seat- a fallen log placed around the fire, ending up in the dirt. Iskall, who had chased Etho lovingly on the back of a donkey from the shattered savannah, fell sideways in silent bafflement.

Xisuma made a lackluster noise of alarm, although the degree of which rivalled the sudden surprise of having rain splash into your eye- not the arrival of the feathery creature.

“Ah, Scout,” Xisuma greeted pleasantly with one hand pressed against his chestplate. “You gave me quite a fright, my friend.”

Still laying on his side, Iskall blinked both eyes quickly. His cybernetic implant gave a quiet little wrrr with the movement, flashing bright green like a taunting firefly. He spluttered, exasperatedly crying: “I- you- a fright?”

“Dude,” Doc said, clambering slowly back atop his stump. “You’re scary, man.”

“I think you’re doing that on purpose,” Etho accused, squinting teasingly at Scout. “Naughty bird, aren’t you?”

“Ah, actually, he prefers pesky bird,” Scar corrected, holding a kabob of chicken dainty between both his hands.

“I like calling him a rubbish chicken,” Pearl said unhelpfully.

A huff of sudden exhale filtered through Xisuma’s respirator, venting into the open air. Behind his visor, the corner’s of the man’s face crinkled with obvious laugh lines. The man waved awkwardly, moving as if his suit was fitted too large for his body. “Well, wonderful to see you! I hope you are doing well?”

A shuffle of feathers rattled across Scout’s body. Each wing- some enormous like appendages fit for the End Dragon, other’s as small as a sparrow growing from odd locations across the creatures skin, rattled and flapped with one movement. Collectively, a disorienting mesmerizing kaleidoscope of shadows and reflective orange firelight glimmered across iridescent purple. Then, with almost coy shyness, Scout said: “ Yes.”

“Oh? What’s this?” Pearl asked, voice ascending into playful territory. “Are we having a good day, then? A little bit talkative are we?”

Iskall had never seen something with no obvious face give such an expression of disappointment. Doc chuckled, tossing his head back and forth, flashing his horns without conscious choice. “Oh man, you’re so bratty now.”

Scout huffed, wriggled once more, and flared the hindmost wings upwards. They spread skywards in open display, arching high like a peacock behind him. The purple visage glimmered faintly, echoing with distant speckles like the infinite stars in the skies above.

Then, to many onlooker’s confusion, both Iskall, Doc, and Etho all shuddered and looked away. Iskall shook his head, rubbing at both mechanical and organic eyes, repeating what sounded like neigh. Doc chuckled uncomfortably, tossing his horns and hissing below a rumbling baritone noise deep in his chest. Etho grimaced and said simply: “ugh, don’t look at us like that, mister.”

Scout hastily dropped his wings, folding them away. He said after a pause with a more discernible voice: “Sorry, sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologize,” Etho argued instantly, “that’s my gig. We just weren’t expecting to be you know, uh, flashed.”

Iskall, on cue, moaned miserably: “my eyes! My poor eyes!”

“Uh, pardon me,” Mumbo said a little stiffly “but Scout is wearing a blanket, quite a nice blanket if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah!” Scar argued, pointing his kebob. “And he’s got feathers! You don’t go around claiming Jellie is flashing you!”

“That’s because Jellie is a cat,” Doc said with open exasperation. “And Scout literally flashed us! Dude! How many eyes do you have?”

Pearl straightened, her joking expression wilting. “You saw them?”

Mumbo felt something wilt in his chest, tugging downwards. Iskall gave a hasty nod, mumbling to himself in his home language. Mumbo knew he shouldn’t be upset- it was only natural for Scout to do things like that. Yet, the more Scout behaved in such ways, it felt like Grian slid further below the surface.

“Yeah, they uh, pop up sometimes,” Etho said awkwardly. “I mean, you all can’t see it. They’re in a different light spectrum.”

“Hold on here, mister apologies and ice-skating,” Scar accused boldly. Etho blinked quickly, unsure how to respond to that title. Scar ignored him, continuing with his accusation: “Are you meaning to say that you can see all those eyeball things all the time?”

“Err- yes?”

Mumbo blurted impulsively: “and you never said anything?”

Etho gulped, giggling nervously before confirming their disbelief. “Ah, uh…no?”

“It’s like, we made these to see things normal people can’t,” Doc tried to restate. He slapped Etho on one shoulder, nearly knocking the willowy man to the ground. “Like, I made my eye for a reason.”

“Is it the same light as the end rods?” Pearl asked suspiciously. She glanced between the two, worrying one lip between her teeth. “When Scout was in the box. You used an end rod and the eyes appeared.”

“Exactly like that,” Iskall agreed, finally recovering from his apparent run in with indecent exposure. “Players do not, ah, often look in that spectrum. It would be odd.”

“Huh,” Mumbo said. “So…what else can you see?”

“Flowers look very cool,” said Iskall.

“What I’m curious to see,” Xisuma stated, pointing his fire-poking-stick towards Scout who had taken a partial sprawl on the ground. The man had his visor on, yet somehow gave the impression of squinting his eyes. Continuing his previous statement, he said: “Can Scout here  copy one of your eyes? I mean, he has so many. Surely they must have come from somewhere?”

“He does have some ability to replicate,” Doc agreed. He glanced around the group, observing the confused expressions. Stamping one foot in a small anxious movement, the man chuckled low in a rasping rumble indicative of his self-insecurity. “I mean, come on. Do you not remember when the Wither’s escaped? The dude looked like a freaking dragon for a moment there. And- and the eyes change and move. And what about the fact he’s smaller than he used to be?”

“He is smaller,” Iskall agreed, tilting his head. He tapped his chin with near comical movements, overdramatic to the very core. “Hmm, still Scout. I wonder if he can copy Etho’s eye, since it’s the most organic of all of ours. I mean, it would be pretty cool to have mine but we can’t all be epic”

“I’m also the most advanced,” Etho teased.. He looked at Iskall with a smug expression, visible through his mask. 

Scout huffed, feathers shuddering along his body. He adjusted, shifting uncomfortably as if the soft dirt was now too hard for his sore bones. After a moment of attempting to find a more relaxed position, he huffed a loud whistle through presumably a nostril. Then, he opened his wings slowly with obvious care not to startle any of the Hermits once more- stretching to the furthest they could go.

At some point it became a spectacular sight. Each feather somehow glimmered uniquely, yet still within a spectrum of his general colour scheme. Occasional little eyes winked from below thin vanes and quills. Some more vibrant than others, some glimmering like little beetle shells or gemstones. Then, simultaneously, the eyes all squinted and Scout stretched further, to the point his body vibrated and Mumbo imagined the sight of a large yawning mouth. It shifted from regal into something Xisuma would generally consider: derp.

“Oh my, what big wings you have,” Scar muttered under his breath, giggling quietly at his own joke. Scout, overhearing the joke, conveniently stretched to smack him gently on his cap.

“Naughty naughty,” Etho teased with a small huff. Pearl rolled her eyes- it was only natural to retaliate to such a blatant thing.

Finally comfortable, Scout curled himself into a spectacularly pointy loaf. Wings covered his front body, some feathers less angular and more…decorative. In fact, quite a few feathers looked remarkably different under closer examination.

“Scout,” Mumbo asked quite spooked by the realization. “Are those…peacock feathers?”

Scout turned to look at his friend, taking an increased amount of time to process. Eventually, the creature puffed proudly. He awkwardly attempted to splay his wings, finding it now impossibly considering his new position.

Scout paused, considering. The metaphorical cogwheels turned, dozens of actions filtering through his brain.

“To get up, or to stay comfortable,” Xisuma narrated with a small chuckle, “what a difficult decision, my friend.”

Scout huffed, more of a scoffing clatter before an accompanying whistle like a very irritated parrot. With a squawk, and a bit of a self-satisfied chirp, Scout shook his upper body as if shaking off water.

Iskall squeaked, jumping to his feet. Clicking and whirring, his eye shifted like the diaphragm of a camera. Doc inhaled as well, eyebrows lifting before he spluttered in incredulous laughter.

Etho simply blinked quickly, his red eye glowing something brighter in the darkness, a crimson glow amidst the orange fire. “Huh,” he said simply, resting his chin on one palm.

Mumbo wanted to ask, feeling anxiety grow. Yet, before he could say anything- Scout chirruped proudly and presented what appeared to be a small feathery plume. Initially white, the feathers rapidly shuddered- almost organic like little purpling tentacles from a small octopus. They opened from a tendinous spiral, unveiling like a bouquet of rosebuds. Soft purple and violet shifted, altering through a spectrum of light before settling on emerald green and something else. Little eyes opened in half-lidded slits, then fully open and blinking.

“My gosh,” Pearl gasped, stunned. Scar spluttered, unable to say actual cohesive words yet did attempt to make some sort of noise. Mumbo felt his anxiety putter out, something else overwhelming in his chest.

“Oh you cheeky little brat,” Xisuma said before shaking his head. The feathers, miniature and stunted but undeniably peacock-esq sprouted from around Scout’s head and neck akin to a halo. The eye-spots were not purely decorative, instead shaped by living eyes, some of which were instantly recognizable- one in particular with horizontal goat pupils.

“That’s creepy,” Iskal l stated, before guffawing as an eye shifted to stare directly at him, human yet glowing a fluorescent green. Unable to copy anything mechanical, Scout had settled on a humanoid eye with an impossible colour. Mumbo found one staring directly at him, unblinking and dark and uncomfortably him.

“That’s remarkable,” Etho confessed, caught in a staring match with a red swirling eye that clearly was determined to win their impromptu battle. “Xisuma, is he shapeshifting?”

“Something different, I fear,” Xisuma stated, smiling politely at the two eyes not quite settled on anything- shifting weirdly between a black writhing void and a normal blinking eyelid. “My friend, do not bother with me. You might just give yourself a headache.”

“That’s insane,” Doc marveled, squinting at the goat-eye which blinked at him boldly. “Dude, you’re so cool.”

“I see why you’re such good friends,” Iskall told Mumbo directly, fondly waving towards Scout with one hand. “Gah, what a little menace, how has your redstone survived?”

“Oh, I'm not sure it all has,” Etho said a little too easily. 

“Oh it definitely hasn’t,” Pearl confirmed instantly. “Grian’s always been like this.”

“Nowhere is safe,” Scar agreed, winking at his mirrored eye.

There was something familiar about the way Scout puffed up, feathers on his chest bristling outwards proudly. Mumbo had never associated Grian with a bird before- when he knew the man (human, cheeky, but undeniably without feathers) he had no characteristics Scout did. For reasons mostly related to his mental health, he had considered Scout and Grian two separate people.

Yet, as time started to blur, it was difficult to do so. It was easier to think of Scout simply as Scout, but there were aspects which had infected him. Ways that Mumbo could imagine Grian’s little laugh, his impish grins when behaving mischievously. He could nearly hear the unique giggles and wild howling laughs when he truly found something funny. Now, he could almost see the way Scout’s body shook and feathers trembled. The way he would flex and curl his talons when thinking of something sassy. The way he would easily reach out with a wing, or knock him aside with one appendage instead of a hip.

It was harder to differentiate the two, and in some ways, that terrified Mumbo.

Chapter Text

Going through the portal was a logical decision. The problem came from the sheer number of Endermen that would manifest.

Xisuma explained it simply- the number of Endermen that manifested was approximately proportional to the number of people within the vicinity- ignoring Scout. Already, a large crowd intended to visit the “first flight”, but some people elected to stay back for personal safety.

The entourage talked in the morning light. Long beams of sunlight stretched across the campsite and enormous platform covering the pit to the portal. Ultimately, a certain number of people could serve a better purpose on the outside, or simply didn’t need to go.

Discussions landed with a small party venturing into the End. At first, some bickering stirred up, then faltered under a quite intense game of using a dispenser to eject small snips of paper to determine who was going and who wasn’t. Doc appeared far too excited and relieved with being left to check the portal for stabilization, along with Iskall who although initially seemed quite interested with the journey, had gotten quite a distressed call just before dawn. Mumbo wasn’t certain on the entire situation, but the man had jabbered something about a different world where he built elaborate “vaults” and would likely need to pop off soon to manage an ongoing issue.

Mumbo didn’t care so much about that. It was always sad to see a friend go, but he understood the circumstances.

“Okay, so Mumbo is absolutely going,” Pearl stated rather happily, “and me too. Otherwise I’m gonna toss one of you into a cauldron!”

“Nope, no cauldrons today!” Impulse stated, quickly glancing at the dispenser with a grimace. He opened the back, digging around before hastily yanking two papers out of the machine. He crammed them into his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck nonchalantly. “Alright! So far, Xisuma, Mumbo, and Pearl are going. So we need…how many more people?”

“Wait, I have a question,” Etho said, raising his hand from where he was seated on a nearby log. “Is the dispenser shooting out names of people who are going now? I thought it was saying who is staying behind?”

“Hey, I’m just happy I’m on this side,” Doc said, lifting both arms innocently. “Don’t change the rules now.”

“No no, you can stay here, Doc,” Xisuma soothed with a friendly smile. “Iskall has to leave a bit early, so there’s…seven of us left? Not counting Mumbo and Pearl of course.”

Scout ruffled his feathers, rumbling low in his throat before settling. Xisuma smiled at the feathery ball, saying, “well of course you’re going too, my friend!”

“Okay so, seven of us left,” Impulse said, tapping the dispenser with one hand absentmindedly. “Doc is staying out here, you three are going in. How many other people should go in?”

“Five?” Xisuma guessed with a shrug, “so we’re pulling two more names?”

“Fine by me,” Joe chirped, looking far too awake for how early it was.

“Okay, two more then,” Impulse said. He pressed the button, waiting for the small click and a tiny piece of paper fluttering. He snatched it up, opening before turning and grinning at a certain sleepy man.

“Aw man,” Etho groaned, slumping on his log. “I mean, I do want to go, but…it’s so early.”

“Have fun in there,” Doc said, giving the man a hearty slap on the back. “Don’t fall into the void.”

“Who else gets to go?” Cleo asked, cocking her head. “Hit it already, Impulse!”

Another paper fluttered out, and with a hoot, Impulse pointed dramatically to a man casually polishing his sword to the side.

“Congrats Wels!” Impulse shouted, “you’re going to the End!”

“Oh,” Wels said, visibly surprised, “well, thank you.”

Cleo and Jevin groaned, collapsing backwards onto the soft grass. Joe hopped over, offering comforting words which they only teasingly declined. Scar whined, leaping over to hug Scout (who flinched away in surprise) while crying dramatically.

“I’ll always miss you, Scoutie!” Scar sobbed, rubbing his face against the long feathers, “I’ll tattoo you on my heart! So I’ll never forget you!”

Dramatically, the large sliding door opened, revealing a dangerous drop into a glimmering pit. Initially, Scout peered out curiously before flinching back warily. Only with Pearls gently coaxing did the creature tentatively appear over the edge.

“Alright, everyone have Elytra?” Xisuma asked, running diagnostics as he typed in the air.

“Not me,” Etho said calmly, “I’ll just hop in.”

“You’re going to do what?” Mumbo asked, appearing alarmed.

“Bye guys,” Etho said with a smile, visibly through the distortion on his mask. He waved one hand and wiggled his fingers, then casually stepped over the edge and plummeted.

Scout shrieked, lunging forward and missing the man. One moment, he was on the edge, then the large feathery mess was tumbling forward.

“Scout!” Pearl screamed, jumping after. Mumbo and Xisuma followed a scant second behind.

Scout shrieked, his high pitched noise echoing off the smooth carved walls. It was a symphony of distress, rattling their brains as the noise escalated into terror.

“Scout!” Mumbo shouted, struggling to hear over the noise. He cupped his hands around his mouth, diving downwards as fast as he could. “Scout! Grian!”

Then-.

They landed, sprawled limbs in various arrays of splay.

“Ow,” Etho said, pinned under the largest bulk. “I- uh, fancy you guys dropping by.”

“You wombat!” Pearl shouted, struggling to get up. After a moment, she lunged under one of Scout’s wings, fidgeting around before a muffled thwak was heard. Then muffled noise, and a resounding noise of Etho shouting. The two scrambled out, running like mice as the woman attempted to attack him with her open hands.

“Well, that’s one way to get here,” Xisuma said, standing with a slight groan. When Mumbo stood, his back popped somewhere near his hip.

Slowly, Scout appeared to gather his wits. The feathers moved, sliding back into alignment as the wings folded. He groaned, a low baritone noise as talons scraped on obsidian. Slowly, Scout recovered.

With a faint whisper of particles, Wels appeared. He stood in a low crouch, elytra still spread. The man looked amused, trying to comprehend the sight of Etho running and Pearl determined to attack him.

“That was quite an eventful fall,” Wels said politely, “It made quite a stir up above.”

“Wasn’t quite what we had planned,” Xisuma said lightly, “but we’re all in one piece.”

Mumbo swallowed, anxiety churning. It wasn’t that he hated the End, but it always left him…uncomfortable. Something that made his skin crawl- plus the Endermen weren’t the nicest.

“I’ll keep you company,” Mumbo said nervously, sticking close to the other two. It wasn’t at all related to his pacifist mindset. Or how quick Endermen could run.

Almost on cue, Etho and Pearl shrieked. There was a loud crackling noise of an angry End resident, and the echoing noises of swords being drawn. Thankfully, no dragon was flying above them, ready to breathe poisonous fumes.

“Those two never change,” Wels said, chuckling quietly. “Well, we’re here to teach Scout how to fly, right? Any plans on how to do this?”

“I think Pearl mentioned building a staircase up to the top of a pillar, and having him glide,” Xisuma stated, gesturing to one of the taller obsidian monoliths. They were standing, some in states of deconstruction for various hermit needs, but most were intact. 

Slowly, both Etho and Pearl returned. Both looking a tad exhausted, but no wounds visible on their clothing. Etho smiled, returning his sword to his inventory. Pearl had hers still out, wary of any distant mobs. 

“I’ll go activate the Endermite,” Etho said, gesturing to a small man-made building off to the side. “The Endermen are getting pretty thick with spawning.”

The man ran off, giving a small wave. Her purposefully kept his eyes low, wading between the tall black creatures.

Mumbo faced Pearl, then pointed to a closer pillar. “You were going to have him glide down?”

“Well, yeah,” Pearl said with a nod, “it’s how we learn Elytra. I figure it can’t be that different.”

“What do you think, Scout?” Wels asked, “want to try to spread those wings a bit?”

In cue, Scout spread the smaller set of wings on his back, taking the shape of a rather enormous peacock.

Wels chuckled, offering a small assortment of dirt blocks he had gathered in preparation. The mobs dismissed slowly, racing off in the opposite direction to fall through a false floor into the void. When Etho returned, he happily took his share of the blocks, then divided it with Pearl. Wels gave one glance to Mumbo and offered a sympathetic encouraging smile before jogging off and giving a friendly wave to Scout.

Scout ruffled, turning his body smaller as he peered around nervously. The few Endermen that spawned nearby didn’t seem to detect his glance, potentially not registering it as a human. At one point, Scout reached out with one thick clawed hand- more humanoid by the day now- he even touched an Endermen as it drifted nearby him. The creature ignored him, catching sight of the Endermite then racing off with anger.

Xisuma watched Scout with a small smile for a moment before glancing at his wrist once more.

“So,” Mumbo asked quietly, trying to not draw too much attention. He fidgeted, struggling with his words. He had so many questions, so many concerns, but no idea how to voice them. He found himself more conflicted recently, old wounds and heavy repression surging to the surface. Old feelings were returning, and he wasn’t so sure he liked it.

“As far as I can see, all of our firewalls are intact,” the Admin said casually. If Xisuma knew his feelings, he politely did not voice it.“Iskall stated he’ll be leaving the server, but he’s agreed to wait until we have checked more thoroughly. There haven’t been any attacks, no hackers- no damage points.”

“So, what does that mean?” Mumbo asked quietly, anxiety rising higher. There was an odd paranoia in the air, thick and choking.

Xisuma sighed, then grasped Mumbo’s shoulder gently. It helped, reducing some of the stress. “Think of it like a soap bubble. Our server is strong, multilayered- nothing can come in from any other server and nothing has been poking us. We’re secure, Mumbo.”

Then why did Mumbo not feel secure?.

Slowly, once the staircase became around four blocks wide, it began to spiral. It took larger turns, wrapping higher and higher with scattered torches to be properly lit. Mumbo sat with Xisuma, listening to the soothing tap and rattle of an Admin panel he couldn’t see. Scout had succumbed to his curiosity and had begun to clamber the staircase himself, only needing gentle guidance from Wels to slowly reach near the top. One there, the three waved down as tiny miniscule caricatures of their true size.

“I talked with Etho more in depth about Watchers,” Xisuma said gently. He closed his Admin panel, watching the three and speaking quietly to Mumbo. “Etho is…older than you may think. He’s existed for many years, and he’s seen a few things. We like to think of worlds as…thousands of little soap bubbles. No, more like hundreds of thousands little bubbles. And we can leap across to some that are open or undiscovered. Some of us have our own little worlds, with our own protective measures. Etho and I were suspecting the Watchers live in the gaps between these bubbles, and can interfere in those worlds that are weaker.”

Mumbo swallowed dryly. “And...all the worlds they destroyed?”

Xisuma said: “they popped the bubble.”

At the top of the pillar, Scout emerged. He stood, nearly taking up all the space on the Obsidian platform. Talons scraped on stone, and he struggled upright. 

“You can do it,” Etho coaxed, hastily expanding backwards on a small platform he built. He grinned, lines reaching up high enough to smile around his eyes. “Spread your wings, Scout!”

Wels grinned, saying nothing but spread his Elytra as well. Scout glanced in his direction, staring at the Elytra for an extended moment before his wings spasmed.

Pearl laughed, equally building a small platform to stay clear. Wels leapt to her small amount of stable ground, taking cover. He folded his Elytra, shielding her from any debris.

“Get down, Pearl!” Wels said, delight twinkling in his eyes. He reached out one arm, grasping her and holding her securely as slowly- the wings opened.

The largest set of wings unfurled slowly- unfamiliar with the movement. They raised outwards, spanning roughly the side of the Ender Dragon’s wings. If not for Wels’ arm around Pearl, the sudden jerky limbs may have brushed them off the tower by accident. Pearl relaxed, mesmerized by the amazing sight (and partially from the muscular swoon of having Welsknight hold her so tightly.)

Scout stretched, jerking oddly before seeming to understand the movement. It became more fluid as slowly, he flapped. Once, twice, then three times. Like a well oiled piston, each movement became easier- adapting to old atrophied muscles and repairing damage he didn’t realize he had. In synchrony, some sort of instinct reared its head and the second set of wings opened. They moved at the same time, then split into a carefully staggered movement- the first set flapping into the larger set of wings. The lowest set- almost acting as tailfeathers, began to stretch and rotate as if he were opening and closing his fists.

“You can do it!” Pearl screamed, loud enough for Mumbo and Xisuma to hear, “Fly, Grian!”

Scout stepped forward, awkwardly so. Uncertain if he should be on his hindlegs or use his arms. He walked with a staggered step- leaning to one side then overcompensating the other way. He looked like Scar with too many boxes in his arms, wobbly and unbalanced.

“One more step!” Etho shouted, laughter in his voice, “It’s okay! We Hermits have got your back!”

Down, hiccupping through silent tears. Mumbo shouted with a crackling voice- “Grian! Fly!”

And-

Scout struggled. His once fluid movements jerked in alarm as he tumbled briefly, wings flaring but clipping the obsidian pillar. Pearl and Wels leapt after, Elytra spread wide as they glided, shouting commands.

Mumbo stepped forward, ready to sprint- only for Xisuma’s hand to grab his bicep, holding him back.

“I have to-”

“No, he’s got this,” Xisuma said. He stared, unblinkingly at the tumbling sight. “He has it.”

The wings spread- the smallest set on his back. They caught air, jerking wildly upright. Then, the largest set spread and caught air sending the tumbling fall into a sudden uncontrolled forward glide. A pillar loomed, damaged and dangerous. In a moment, the furthest set flared and tilted and Scout turned, rotating with grace that came with years of practice. He soared, swerving around obsidian and above the endstone.

“Whoo!” Etho cheered on top of the obsidian obelisk. Both hands thrown into the air with enthusiasm, the man was waving frantically. 

Wels and Pearl glided, hastily swerving around the tower having followed Scout in his sudden fall. Mumbo swallowed, feeling near dizzy with panic as Scout vanished behind a pillar out of sight.

“He’s fine,” Xisuma said, sounding fond and proud. “You said Grian was an avian, of course he’d remember how to fly.”

And suddenly, Scout emerged high. Above the pillars, he gave a powerful flap of wings sending his body upwards. There were no drafts in the End, but it did not seem to hinder him. The feathers spread, those that were broken seemed to repair themselves before their eyes. Purple particles fluttered around him, restoring broken vanes and primary feathers torn beyond repair. Muscles reshaped, adjusting under pale skin like eels writhing in the mud.

A spark of fireworks sent Pearl higher, twirling over Scout with trails of embers. Scout looked upwards, trilling out a noise like an enormous parrot.

“Avians don’t forget how to fly,” Xisuma said a tad smugly, grinning beneath his mask. 

Mumbo stared, unable to think. The sky glimmered, shades of blue and purple reflecting off feathers and pale skin. Each flap sent memories of laughter, cheeky words and the thought ‘brother, brother, brother,’

From a distance, Etho ran in a slight jog. His boots were wet, leaving a trail of prints from the base of the obsidian obelisk. A puddle of water lay at the base of the tower- evidence of his fall to the ground. Etho brimmed with delight, panting as he came to the two. He said, breathless and excited: “He’s a sight, isn’t he?” 

“It’s not everyday you see something like that,” Xisuma admitted.

“Hah, maybe not for you, but for Hermitcraft?” Etho teased, “well, this is just another world breaking feat!”

Wels and Pearl twirled, dodging between towers and around Scout. The sound of each wingbeat thrummed, echoing into the abyss. Each firework sparked with dazzling colour, shooting one person higher which Scout raced to catch up to.

‘Do you see me?’ Grian seemed to say with each twirl in the sky. ‘Pesky bird!’

“I see you,” Mumbo whispered. He didn’t know when he started crying, but he felt it. Something deep in his chest was aching, thrumming with sobs he couldn’t express. ‘I’m here Grian, I’m here.’

“Wait,” Etho said. He stepped forward, body shifting. His previous joy drained, something clinical replaced his previous emotion. He looked up, not at Scout, but past it. He said, “Xisuma, what’s the firewall?”

Xisuma snapped to attention. His smile faded, leaving him calm and serious. “Intact, no attempts to breach it.”

They paused, and suddenly Mumbo had a very bad feeling about this. A heavy weight, pressing on him and spilling across his thought: wrong, wrong, wrong.

Etho reached up with one hand and covered his normal eye. Mumbo realized quickly that he had activated his modified vision. He scanned about, staring upwards into distant space.

“What do you see?” Xisuma asked.

“I’m…not sure,” Etho said. One hand curled into a fist, tightening until it shook. He shifted, pulling a shulker from his inventory. Then, he pulled an additional one, kicking it open to reveal dozens of eerily glowing end rods.

“Mumbo, help me load these?” Etho asked, kicking his other shulker open. It was packed with dozens of crossbows, purple sheen indicating enchantments.

“Triple shot?” Mumble asked, recognizing the thrumming magic under his fingers. Etho grunted quietly, loading three rods per crossbow. Xisuma pulled his admin menu once again, running through statistics.

“No additional entities,” Xisuma reported, flicking through something else. “I’m sending a message to Pearl and Welsknight to come back.”

Etho nodded, gathering a dozen crossbows, stacking them in a rotating spiral on top of the empty shulker. He glanced around again, grimacing into the sky.

“What’s wrong?” Wels asked, landing neatly beside them. Pearl stumbled slightly, catching herself on the next step.

“What is happening?” Pearl demanded, hair askew from her flight. “What is going on?”

“Grab some crossbows, aim them in the sky,” Etho ordered, “on my word.”

They grabbed crossbows, Mumbo holding one in a shaking grip. Etho kept his stack of a dozen near his hip, experienced with some sort of quick-change automatic firing technique. 

Scout soared out from the pillars until he was over the void. He clued in to some sort of problem, circling over them curiously. Etho waited, watching and waiting until he was in safer territory.

“Now,” Etho said calmly, and let the end rod fly.

Dozens soared, multiplied and shot in rapid succession. They glowed in the air, spanning high in a graceful ark. Scout twirled below them, his wings illuminating with bioluminescent crescents of closed eyes.

“What are we looking for?” Pearl hissed under her breath. Mumbo shrugged, nervously scanning the sky. Wels drew his sword, holding it tightly.

“Oh snap,” Etho muttered, none of his usual chipper attitude present.

And the sky, above them and above Scout, glowed. The flickering lights of the End gave shape, bioluminescent lines and details. Sclera growing in the depths of the cosmos.

“No,” Pearl gasped. She dropped to her knees, Wels hurrying to her side with an arm for support. Mumbo swallowed, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

“That- it’s outside our server,” Xisuma stumbled over his world, horrified.

Etho clenched his jaw, glaring with a glowing crimson eye. “I know.”

Then, the paranoia hit. Deep lingering fear, drawing old horrors to light. The knowledge of being seen from every angle, every dark shadow drawn to the light. Every moment Mumbo could remember. Laughing at times where Grian suffered. Laying in bed wasting for weeks on end. Rejecting friends for the guilty comfort of self-sabotage. It weighed on him, harder than it ever had. For a moment Mumbo felt the sweet allure and whispers of the deathly drop over the endstone ledge. The crooning sight of an audience compelling him, fall into the void. Fall out of your world.

You pathetic simple thing. Fall into our sight.

Across the  sky, deep in the glimmering light of the End, hundreds of enormous eyes watched them. An assortment of shapes and sizes- some were slit like a cat while others were the size of a mountain. They watched, some blinking while others gazed with fixed attention. Silent, they stared.

“They just watch,” Pearl whispered, horrified. She shook, breathing the heavy panting of an exhausted dog. “All- all they ever do is watch!”

Scout, in the sky, rotated.. His face looked upwards, gazing silently into the sky above the void. It was not difficult to understand when he spotted and comprehend that which was above him. The crescent marks on his eyes opened, a small mirror of hundreds of eyes staring into the great beyond. With a sudden silent signal, all the hundreds of eyes rotated to stare at the single flying creature. Spotlights, attention focused on a single poor soul.

There you are.

You have fallen and should have stayed fallen.

You pitiful thing, undeserving of our gift.

You dare to laugh as we cast you out? Allow us to make you the beast you are. 

You do not deserve that which you have learned once more.

We have found you.

We see you, Grian.

Scout screamed. A loud wailing horrified noise. Wailing and shrieking through a combination of noises. Some echoed, some stolen. A shout that echoed Scar running in terror, a scream of Bdubs being scared by a creeper. The noise of a startled cat, the cry of a phantom. A dozen birds, an angry horse. And finally, most heartbreaking, the scream of a human Mumbo would never forget.

Mumbo, horrified, screamed: “Grian!”

“No!” Xisuma shouted. He was not unaffected by the heavy panic, the heavy paranoia. The man gritted his teeth, shaking as he struggled upwards to stand strong with such resonating agony. Xisuma reached up, and undid the seal of his helmet.

“What are you doing?” Etho shouted, struggling to remain somewhat upright. Etho’s mismatched eyes widened at the sight of their Admin removing the protective suit. A seal hissed, vacuum pressure releasing and dissipating into the air of the End.

Xisuma smiled, his teeth shifting and warping in Mumbo’s eyes. His face distorted, darkening into hues of purple. Under the agony and ringing in Mumbo’s ears, Xisuma shouted: “Mumbo! I’m clouding up our soap bubble!”

Xisuma began to disintegrate. The gaps in his suit released thick dark purple gas. It thickened into a dark fluid, bubbling out and unaffected by gravity. Floating and spreading, bubbling out and distorting into the air. Xisuma’s suit dropped, clattering empty onto the ground.

“Go!” Etho shouted, grabbing Mumbo’s arm and hauling him to his feet. Welsknight struggled upwards, dragging Pearl. Pearl was shaking, retching bile and remnants of breakfast onto the endstone. Welsknight shook, a heavy sweat on his brow. He had dropped his sword, unable to hold it in his trembling fingers.

Etho dragged them, occasionally looking over his shoulder. It took Mumbo a short distance to suddenly realize over his instinctual panic- “No! No! We can’t leave Grian!”

“Xisuma has him!” Etho shouted, hauling him further towards the portal. “Trust me! He’s got this under control!”

“How?” Welsknight shouted, now opting to throw Pearl over his shoulder and carry her limp body. He shouted, “Etho! Do we need to go back and help?”

Etho shook his head, then pointed ahead with his free hand. From the sky itself, an enormous black raindrop dripped from the sky, warping and rippling off trails of black water that defied gravity. Slowly, dripping from the sky a certain limp form began to drip.

“There!” Etho pointed ahead, still running. Mumbo stumbled along. With a hiss under his breath, Etho turned and similarly hauled Mumbo over his shoulder. Mumbo stared, unable to stop the racing thoughts through his brain. ‘You’re seen, we know what you’ve done. All that time wasted. You should have been looking for your friend, but you never did. Did you ever care?’

“Is that him?” Welsknight asked, gasping in shock. He kept running, as black tar gently dripped Scout down and into the portal. “How? What?”

“Xisuma is a Void Walker!” Etho explained, shouting the words through his heavy panting. Mumbo was not a light man to carry. “That’s his true form! He’s going to cover our boundaries, hide us from sight! We don’t think they can see us in the Overworld!”

Welsknight blinked quickly, not quite comprehending all of the information. He shouted back, “fine! Okay just tell me what to do!”

“Get out of here!”

They sprinted, leaping through just as Scout was gently sent through the portal. The world flashed, warmth returned to their limbs, and they lay splayed on the ground in spawn.

The heavy weight evaporated. All the synthetic fear faded as quickly as stepping out of a cold shower. Warmth slowly returned. Welsknight panted, simply laying on the ground for a few moments. The gentle lights of lanterns around the spawn area alit the ground. Gentle flowers gave comfort, a sweet whisper in the air that felt so different to the stagnant expanse of the End.

“We’re back,” Etho said aloud, his voice hoarse. He sat, only sitting up to try and recuperate.

Mumbo slumped, staring at the sky. It was so similar, yet different to the End. The stars did not move, they stayed stationary and gentle in the sky. The sounds of insects of the night chirped in his ears. The thoughts, perhaps his own or implanted by so many eyes, kept echoing in his skull.

‘All that time wasted. You should have been looking for your friend, but you never did. Did you ever care?’

“Mumbo, hey,” Etho said, shaking him gently. Etho had a rattle to his breath, fear distorting his voice. He persisted, gently shaking Mumbo’s shoulders, “Hey, you’re okay. We’re all okay. It’s okay, we’re all safe.”

Mumbo sobbed, heavy thoughts populating his brain. He lifted his head, turning to spot a limp collection of limbs askew. He crawled, too overwhelmed to stand.

Etho stepped back, a horrible feeling in his heart as he watched Mumbo crawl. Each elbow dug into the ground, hauling him further. The knees on his dress pants tore, scuffing through and dirtying his skin. The elbows were stained, fraying each pitiful movement.

“Grian,” Mumbo sobbed, reaching out to touch limp feathers. Grian did not move. Mumbo sobbed harder, dragging himself closer, until he could grab a fistful of small feathers, yanking on them in a way which would be painful.

“No no,” Mumbo sobbed, voice catching and only half the word escaping. He couldn’t see through his sobs, terrible thoughts cycling. ‘It’s my fault. I should have known. I should have been faster. I shouldn’t have left him.’

“Grian, please please,” Mumbo begged, hauling closer. He ignored limbs and claws. A sharp talon tore through the side of his sleeve, soft downy feathers sticking to his jacket. “Grian, wake up, please please.”

He crawled, until he pushed on the largest wing which flopped weakly to the side. He crawled, until he could grasp a pale shoulder. He crawled further, until his fingers found the rough skin of a collarbone and neck with small pinprick feathers being pushed the wrong way.

“Oh God, oh God, please,” Mumbo begged, fingers skating under the small feathers to press against skin, frantically checking for a pulse. When he found it, he sobbed harder, thick disgusting snot dripping from his nose and mixing with his moustache.

‘This is my fault. All of this is my fault. I’m so sorry, it’s my fault-.’

“Pearl is okay,” Welsknight said, checking on the unconscious woman. Etho stepped away, giving Mumbo as much privacy as he could.

Mumbo wiggled closer, touching as much as he could. He wiggled below, pulling Grian towards his chest. Grian’s body moved slightly, pinned down with the heavy weight on his back. Mumbo pulled him further, grabbing what little he could of the avian’s waist to pull him closer, Grian’s head on his chest.

“I’ve got you,” Mumbo sobbed, shaking hand running through Grian’s hair. It was brown now, still speckled and warped with the small wings across the side of his skull. Mumbo tried to pull them back- finally limp and pliable. Grian’s face was still distorted, wrong in various places with errors to basic human anatomy. His eyes were wrong, there were too many speckled along his cheekbone and where his eyebrows should be. His mouth had incorrect number of teeth, lips split like a cleft palette arching up and down at the corners- like he couldn’t determine what a normal mouth should be.

‘He doesn’t remember what he looked like,’ Mumbo realized, and another wave of agonizing guilt hit him.

He sobbed, shaking and clutching Grian close. He kept crying, so far that his throat felt tight. His nose wouldn’t stop running. His face felt like he had been hit by a falling box. He was exhausted, rattled and still scared despite everything.

The pressure changed, something heavy that manifested. It made him flinch, ears popping in a way that made him whimper. Grian flinched too, an unconscious moan of pain made Mumbo clutch him even tighter.

“Snap,” Etho muttered, hastily stripping the armour he had on. In another world it would be obscene. Welsknight similarly chucked off his helmet at Etho’s prompting, tossing it into a pile with boots, armoured pants, a chestplate, and helmet. When Etho asked Wels to take off his gloves as well, he did so without question.

From the ground, something black and heavy seeped up from the ground. It was thick, gelatinous and moving like a slime block sometimes did. Welsknight took a step back, horrified and fascinated as the thick ooze snuck itself into the discarded armour with tentacles. Slowly, it built itself together with the care of an octopus collecting a clam shell.

“What that…” Welsknight said, his words trailing off. The armour gathered, connecting itself together by the living tar. It built a body, filling in the voids of the clothing and leaving odd slimy looking black strands that undulated in the gaps. Finally, it snatched the helmet in a thick tentacle and coiled it above the chestplate, revealing two glowing purple spots where eyes would be.

“Xisuma,” Etho greeted exhaustedly, saying hello to the monstrosity as if it were a friend.

Welsknight stepped back, taking a protective stance over Pearl’s unconscious body. The helmet rotated, looking at Etho in all its horrific glory.

“They left,” said the thing, with a high hissing voice, not too different from drawing a sword on a grindstone.

“I had no doubt you’d manage it,” Etho said tiredly, “we’re all okay. Great save with Grian.”

The helmet nodded, glancing at Grian’s body and Mumbo’s obvious devastated state.

“They cannot enter here,” the thing- Xisuma?- said. Welsknight shivered, the voice felt ethereal and disgusting in his ears.

“They know where he is now,” Etho said tiredly, “we’re going to have to hide him.”

“We’re going to hide him?” Welsknight asked. He was entirely overwhelmed, too many things in such a short period of time.

“Of course we are,” Xisuma said. Staring at the fallen feathery form. “He is one of us- he’s a hermit.”

Welsknight fell silent, and then felt entirely guilty. ‘Of course he’s one of us, what was I thinking?’

“The Watchers are powerful, it is not your fault,” Xisuma comforted him, in the absolute worst bodily shape to do so. “They know they cannot enter, so they have done something I cannot prevent. Something dangerous.”

Etho inhaled slowly, then let it out. He asked, calm and flatly: “What have they done?”

Xisuma’s borrowed armour rattled, scraping where he did not coordinate his blackened tendrils properly. The borrowed gloves twitched, taking a few attempts before managing to curl so only one finger pointed. Then, he pointed upwards into the night sky.

“The moon,” he said.

And Mumbo looked up at the sky, because he knew what it was. He knew, deep in his heart, what the problem was.

Mumbo whispered with a ruined voice, “Moon’s big.”