Chapter Text
His heart was pounding, his back was aching, and his skull felt as though it might split in two. The void screamed in silence around him and though his wings cried out for some sort of relief - forced to fly while bearing a deep-seated, aching kind of pain that felt as though he had been flying for hours - the skin of his face still burned, the sting as fresh as the moment he had forcibly ripped his mask from his own face.
It wasn’t meant to be irremovable.
It wasn’t meant to be a prison.
It wasn’t meant to be like this .
It was just his luck that the godlike beings who had taken him into their care weren’t like the benevolent deities he had first met, weren’t like the curious and clever and somewhat playful individuals who had kept watch over Evo.
Watchers weren’t meant to be unnecessarily cruel, or so he thought, but the ones who had taken Grian weren’t like their brethren. Grian just hadn’t realized it until it was too late.
They were still after him, still attempting to track him down, still on his tail - he could feel their otherworldly gazes scraping against the void substance around him, missing him by inches, making his skin crawl - and Grian knew that the only way to try and shake them was to leave this realm and find a world to hide in. It was risky. He knew full well that it was risky. He would have to use his (forcefully given) Watcher abilities to do so, and that would only call their attention to him with how close they were. But if he was quick enough, if he could get through before they reached him, then the portal he would make would close behind him and they would have no way of knowing where he was without searching every single server in the universe.
So Grian would just have to be quick.
Not ceasing his flight, he closed his eyes and looked inward, reaching for the warm center of power that he had become more than familiar with since being trained to become a Watcher himself. He tugged at it, molded it, flung it out into the void–
“ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷ ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷ ʖ╎∷↸.” *
Something clawed at the edge of Grian’s wing, something not-quite-solid that sent white-hot pain coursing up the limb. He would have cried out if he had been able, but the sound caught in his throat, and instead a choked, desperate, strangled sort of noise left him. They were behind him. They were right behind him . Struggling to ignore the pain in his wing, he forced himself onward, forced himself to focus . A server, any server, any with a vulnerability. Any that would let him in .
Please .
“ᓵ𝙹ᒲᒷ ⍑𝙹ᒲᒷ, ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷ 𝙹リᒷ. ↸𝙹 ᔑᓭ ||𝙹⚍'∷ᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹ꖎ↸ ᔑリ↸ !¡ᒷ∷⍑ᔑ!¡ᓭ ∴ᒷ ᓵᔑリ ⎓𝙹∷⊣ᒷℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ∴⍑𝙹ꖎᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷ ⍑ᔑ!¡!¡ᒷリᒷ↸.” **
…liars. Liars .
The words were dripping with the same false sweetness that Grian often wished he had never fallen for in the first place, the promise of no repercussions should he obey one that he was no longer as easily deceived by as he once was.
Just a little more…just–
Beneath his hands, beneath his magic, he felt a point in the void give way. It exuded a welcome sort of warmth and the promise of safety, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since leaving Evo in the first place. Despite the metaphorical flames now licking up his back, Grian rushed for it, throwing himself against the code at the server’s border and putting all his strength behind breaking through. It burned to the touch, server defenses fighting against his intrusion, but he didn’t waver. He didn’t have the luxury. It took a few seconds, a few long agonizing seconds during which he couldn’t help wondering if he’d make it before they reached him, but then he was falling head first past lines of code and into a brand new world.
He only had enough time to register that there was grass beneath his burning palms and his knees before his magic gave way of its own accord, the gap he had forced open in this server’s walls sealing up again in an instant. He was safe .
The thought was like a button. The second it clicked into place all the tension and adrenaline left Grian in an instant, and he slumped sideways onto the grass with his wings splayed out, twitching and exhausted, behind him. There was still a burning pain coming from where one of the Watchers had clipped the underside of his right wing, the muscles strained and the skin beneath his feathers feeling as though it might be inflamed. There was a dampness soaking through his feathers in that area too that suggested the attack had broken the skin, something he hadn’t even realized mid-flight. And his feathers - Void , his feathers. He was fairly certain he had lost a decent number in his escape, not enough to stop his flight but enough to cause discomfort. Many were awry, a few feeling as though they might need to be removed, and at some point he was sure he would have to preen before the irritation of unkempt wings drove him absolutely mad. He would also have to get his hands on some new clothing. He usually didn’t have much against purple, but the tattered and abused robes he had once worn had been lost somewhere in his escape and the purple gold-trimmed tunic and trousers he was left in were his last ties to those from whom he was trying to escape in the first place.
But that, he decided, was a problem for Tomorrow Grian. As it stood, Today Grian just wanted to lay here in the grass for as long as humanly possible, only moving long enough to find some sort of easy, temporary shelter before night fell. It wouldn’t do to end up in an endless death loop thanks to hostile mobs swarming him right at spawn.
Assuming this was the world’s natural spawn.
And assuming it wasn’t a hardcore world, of course
Grian sighed, letting his eyes drift shut as his breath made the grass blades in front of his face flutter about. It would be his luck to end up on a hardcore server, wouldn’t it? Hopefully he had enough residual magic in the tank to bypass admin access and check. After what he had just pushed himself to do it would be a few days before he was back up to normal levels.
But…later. Maybe he could get away with a short nap before sundown…
…or not.
Grian was almost asleep when the otherworldly hum of a portal caught his attention. His eyes snapped open and his breath hitched, and despite his aching limbs and pounding headache he forced himself upright to scramble back from the sound on all fours. His wings hung limp and useless against his back, shifting just enough so as not to get stepped on, but Grian paid them no mind. He was too focussed on the obsidian portal that had appeared twenty feet in front of him, perched on a tiny hilltop he hadn’t even noticed until now.
A sudden anxiety rocketed to life in his chest at the sight, all the air leaving him and his eyes going wide. His arms shuddered beneath him and he could hear his heart hammering rapidly in his ears. Portals. It had always come down to portals. Every statue, every tower, every bedrock-decorated monument in Evo had led to a portal, had led to an update, had led to the End, had led to them. Portals had turned, in Grian’s experience, from harbingers of change to harbingers of destruction.
But there was a difference this time. It took him a tick or two longer than it should have to notice it, but notice it he did. Unlike Evo’s portals, this one stood alone, lacking the signature broken bedrock frame that every Watcher-placed gateway was outlined with. It wasn’t placed by them . At the realization, Grian’s panic lessened, but only a fraction.
A lone, unbroken portal could only mean one thing.
Players .
And while Grian had been a player himself at one point - and technically still was - he hadn’t been expecting company so soon, if it all. Dammit. He should have checked that first, despite his exhaustion. He should have pulled up an admin panel to see what he was dealing with before lowering his guard. Maybe the admin of this server had noticed his name on the player list? Maybe someone had come looking for the intruder in their world? Though a part of Grian couldn’t stop his overactive imagination from spiraling and imagining what else could go wrong for him today, he also acknowledged that whatever he might deal with here would be incomparably better than what he had left behind.
As the first shadows of players began to form in the purple light of the portal, Grian dragged himself to his feet, immediately on the defensive and wishing he had something to protect himself with. For a moment he contemplated flying to safety - but after what he’d already put his wings through today, that didn’t feel like an option.
The first person to step through was a man in a brown jacket. He looked friendly enough, his expression one of bright curiosity as he looked around the little coastline the portal had appeared upon. He didn’t notice Grian at first, though when he did he looked just as surprised to see Grian there as Grian was to see him. Perhaps his suspicion that someone had come looking for him wasn’t quite accurate?
“…oh. Uh–”
The man was cut off by someone else coming through the portal, a guy with a stockier build and a beard. Grian barely caught sight of green and brown clothing before the second stranger collided with the first, both of them tumbling into the grass.
“Scar, what–?”
“Sorry! Sorry Iskall, there’s–”
“Why are you right in front of the portal, dude?”
“I got distracted! There’s a strange man here, and he looks hurt!”
“A strange–” The second man, Iskall apparently, detangled himself from his friend and peered around, going silent when his bionic eye fell on Grian. “…oh. Hallo there.”
“Uh–” Grian barely got the sound out, too exhausted and worn and tense and on edge and out of it to form enough words to make a sentence. He took a step back, then another, thinking maybe he could sneak away the moment they were distracted.
But then another person came out of the portal, and another, and another still. Two men in lab coats, one with a beard and one who looked like he might be a creeper hybrid. Then someone in a suit appeared behind them both, half-hidden by the growing crowd before the portal.
What the hell was happening here? Who were these people?
“Oh - oh hello!” The more human of the two lab-coat-wearers perked up, waving slightly but looking confused. He turned to the creeper hybrid. “Doc, did Xisuma say something about a new member at the last meeting?”
“No, he did not,” the man called Doc denied, eyeing Grian with a calculating stare that was made all the more menacing by the red-lit bionic eye he, like Iskall, apparently had. He looked like he might have a mechanical arm as well, but from this distance it wasn’t clear and - frankly - Grian was too focused on other things to ask.
“We can ask Xisuma when he gets here,” Iskall suggested, helping his friend - Scar, was it? - to his feet.
“I’ll go let him know. Be back in a tick,” another voice chimed in, and though something about it was familiar, Grian didn’t have the presence of mind to pinpoint exactly why.
He felt like he was intruding on something here. He wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, technically, so he sort of was intruding. These people were all friends, clearly, and as more people appeared from the portal - a man with dog ears, a woman in a pink cardigan, someone who looked like a red creeper, a blue humanoid slime - it became even clearer that Grian didn’t belong.
He may have escaped to this server for refuge, but that didn’t mean he intended to intrude upon the players who already called it home.
A few more hurried, stumbled steps took him further back still, but then his foot slipped when the terrain beneath him changed and he found himself falling backward onto sand, his aching wings flailing out behind him to try and slow his fall. His burned palms chafed against the course ground when he landed and he let out a sharp hiss of pain, the sound coming out more avian than human. By now, three more people had appeared, a blond in a brown wool sweater and a brunet in a yellow and black tee bookending the third member of their little party, a man with flame-blond hair who didn’t look quite human…though Grian couldn’t quite decide what he was. All he knew was that, of the three of them, he was the one to stare and gesture to Grian while loudly demanding:
“Who‘s this guy?”
“Tango!” the blond next to him admonished, whacking him on the shoulder. “Don’t be rude!”
“What?” ‘Tango’ held his hands up, feigning innocence. “Just asking! I think we all wanna know!”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, you don’t have to be rude about it, do you?”
“Zed’s got a point, man,” the third of their trio smirked. “You’re not making a good first impression.”
“Ganging up on me, Impy? Really?”
“Wha - Impy?! ”
The trio kept bickering amongst themselves, laughter rising from them, and they were nudged away from the portal by a sighing Doc who was muttering something under his breath about “Bickering like children”. Around them, everyone else began to murmur and chatter amongst themselves, many of them glancing in Grian’s direction while trying - and failing - to be discreet about it. The volume grew slowly, conversations creating a continuous babble that Grian couldn’t even begin to decipher. He felt as if he couldn’t get enough air, the edges of his vision blurring slightly–
“Who are you though?” the slime hybrid asked Grian, drawing his attention, and Grian - who was still sprawled out on the sand and had managed to back away enough to feel seawater lapping at this fingertips - stared wide-eyed up at the stranger who had been so quiet in his approach that Grian hadn’t even noticed him.
Or maybe that was his exhaustion impairing his perception and reaction time. That could be it.
As it was, Grian was left gaping at the blue stranger with his mouth opening and closing with no words forming. He barely managed to get a strangled “I-I…” before a new voice cut through the chaos.
“Everyone settle down!” At the command, the chorus of voices began to quiet, and almost like magic the sea of people parted to reveal a man wearing the strangest armor Grian had ever seen. But based on the way he settled the crowd, the way everyone seemed to be deferring to him, Grian could only assume this was the server admin. “Why don’t you all step back a bit, alright? I think we’re sending our guest into a bit of a panic.”
A panic? Was he panicking? Ah. Perhaps he was. That would explain the shortness of breath if nothing else, but as being on edge had become the norm for longer than Grian would care to admit, he hadn’t even realized how quickly his heart was pounding in his chest or the way his wings - useless though they were - had hunched up around his shoulders with puffed feathers in a show of defensive intimidation.
The admin approached him while the rest backed away, his eyes smiling beneath his helmet, and he crouched before Grian so they were almost on eye level with each other.
“Well hello there stranger,” he greeted, his voice gentle and friendly. “Sorry if we startled you. We’ve just moved servers, you see, and we didn’t realize this one was already occupied.”
“Oh, is it?” a voice cropped up from over by the portal, where a few new faces had appeared. The woman who spoke was clearly a zombie, her patchwork skin and bright ginger hair standing out in the crowd. “Ah, that’s it then. Wrong server everybody, back in the portal! Think we got turned around!”
A spattering of laughter arose from the crowd, and Grian’s eyes flitted between the newcomers. A man dressed as a knight, a woman with goggles, the glimpse of that same familiar suit from before–
“Hey now, ignore them,” the admin chuckled lightly, waving a hand in front of Grian’s eyes to drag his attention back to his face. “Cleo’s having a bit of a laugh. Why don’t we start with introductions, yeah? I’m Xisuma, the server admin for this lot of fools. Mind if I ask your name?”
His name? …which one?
“Can’t–” Grian cleared his throat, the word coming out hoarse and quiet. “–can’t you check the…the whitelist?”
“True, I could do that,” Xisuma conceded. He tilted his head to the side. “But it seemed a bit more polite to ask in person first.”
It was beginning to dawn on Grian that maybe, just maybe, he had no reason to be so defensive in the face of these new players. They seemed friendly enough, their bright sense of humor was already apparent, and the admin - Xisuma - was being immeasurably kind. It was a genuine kindness too, not the sickly false-sweetness with which the Watchers had tricked him into an even falser sense of security. Surely he could entrust Xisuma with his name, right?
“I…I’m–”
“ Grian? ”
Grian’s head snapped up, that same familiar voice from before drawing his attention. He knew that voice, he just couldn’t put it to a face or a name. Then the creeper hybrid - Doc, right? - stepped aside, and the familiar suit he’d kept seeing moved into his line of sight along with the player who was wearing it, and–
“M-Mumbo?” Grian breathed, his eyes wide as saucers, the sight of his friend he hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly cementing the sentiment that he was safe here. If Mumbo was among them, they had to be good people. They had to be.
Mumbo was crossing the distance between them in an instant, dropping to his knees beside Xisuma and not hesitating to reach forward and help Grian sit up better when his shaking arms struggled to get him upright.
“Grian - oh Void, what happened to you? Where have you been ? Gods, your face –”
“It’s - it’s a long story,” Grian whispered. “I - how are you here? ”
“How am I - Grian, how are you here? Last I saw you–”
“Was before I left for Evo, I know,” Grian agreed, all but clinging to Mumbo’s arms to keep himself upright. Now that the tension had mostly drained from him, exhaustion was setting in again and it was becoming harder and harder to keep his eyes open. “I - I’ll explain later, I just… Void am I glad to see you.”
Grian let himself fall forward, trusting Mumbo to keep him upright while he clung to him in as good of a hug as he could manage with his limbs so worthless right now. He pressed his face into the shoulder of the familiar suit and took a breath, finally letting go of his paranoia for the first time in years, at least for the time being.
“I didn’t even look when Scar said there was a stranger,” Mumbo was babbling now, hugging Grian back and muttering into his hair. “I just went to tell X about it. Void, I didn’t even realize - I hadn’t seen - I mean if I’d realized it was you , I would’ve saved everyone the hassle and vouched for you right then and there!”
“You’re vouching for him now, then?” Xisuma asked, a crinkle of humor in the corners of his eyes.
“I - yes, of course!” Mumbo immediately confirmed, smiling sheepishly over Grian’s head at the admin. “Goodness me, yes . He’s a friend. A good friend.”
“Then I assume it would be alright for us to stay on this server?”
The question was directed at Grian this time, who shrugged infinitesimally.
“Not my server. Go for it.”
Mumbo huffed out a quiet chuckle, and Grian smiled against his shoulder while Xisuma got up from the sand.
“You all know the drill!” he called out, drawing the crowd’s attention. “It looks like everyone is through the portal. So whenever you’re ready feel free to make your way to the district you’ve chosen for your base, and Mumbo and I will ensure that Grian gets the lay of the land. Alright? I’ll try and keep you updated if the situation changes.”
There was a wave of varying agreement and thanks from the crowd at large, and while some - Scar and Iskall and Doc - lingered for a moment to ask Xisuma some questions, Grian paid it no mind. He felt safe - truly safe - for the first time in over a year and the relief was palpable. He knew it wasn’t permanent, knew there was a chance he would have to keep an eye out for problems later down the line, but for now it was all he could do to throw thanks to fate or the Void or whatever deity might be looking out for him that he had landed in the same server as Mumbo of all people. After everything that had happened, having a friend at his side was more than he could have asked for.
While the sounds of other Hermits began to fade away behind him, Mumbo held his friend close to his chest and rubbed a comforting hand up and down Grian’s back. At one point he had gotten a bit close to the joints of Grian’s wings, and the resulting tension and sharp intake of breath was enough to keep Mumbo’s hand from straying any closer. From the twitching of pearlescent feathers, he could only assume Grian was in some kind of pain, though Mumbo couldn’t fathom what might have caused that without asking Grian himself - and since Grian looked like he’d been through the wringer Mumbo figured he could wait to ask him anything until things had calmed down a bit.
Grian hadn’t said much yet of his own accord either. He had mumbled something about “It’s a long story” and “I’ll tell you later” , but that had been about it thus far. Between what looked like burns on Grian’s face, his potentially injured wings, his clear exhaustion and the state of his clothes - strange purple clothes that didn’t seem like the kind of thing Grian would normally wear - Mumbo couldn’t help but assume that it wouldn’t be a very pleasant story when Grian finally opened up to him about it.
His shorter friend was also practically in his lap at this point. It hadn’t escaped Mumbo’s notice that he was pretty much the only thing keeping Grian upright at the moment, so he wasn’t about to complain. But it did mean that Mumbo was pinned where he sat unless Grian chose to get up or someone else helped him do so.
Mumbo had been sitting in the sand with Grian in his arms for a few solid minutes by now, awaiting Xisuma’s return, when he registered just how quiet and still Grian had been for the past minute or so.
“Grian? Mate?” He murmured his friend’s name quietly, waiting for some kind of answer, but when he received none he sighed. He craned his neck to try and glance over his shoulder. “Hey - X? You nearby?”
“Hm…?” Footsteps approached from behind him and Xisuma’s armor-clad legs came into view. “How can I help, my friend?”
“Ah - I think he’s fallen asleep,” Mumbo admitted, squinting against the afternoon sun to smile sheepishly at the admin. “I reckon he’s been through the wringer recently.”
“I’d come to a similar conclusion myself,” Xisuma hummed thoughtfully, crouching near the pair and leaning forward to get a better look at Grian’s wings without touching. “I’ve just received a bit of a recap on what I missed prior to my arrival. Scar said your friend seemed anxious from the moment he and Iskall stepped through the portal, and that the growing crowd seemed to exacerbate things, but he made no move to fly out of range. So either he was too panicked to do so, or…”
“…or he couldn’t,” Mumbo finished, a grimace appearing on his face. “I’m thinking it’s the latter. I almost touched one of his wings a bit ago, and he reacted like it was going to hurt him.”
“Hmm.” Beneath the visor of his helmet, Mumbo saw the admin’s brow pull into a frown. “Nobody has a base yet. There isn’t anywhere we can bring him to just yet, and I hesitate to bring him through the portal to the previous season in case the trip agitates any injuries he might have.”
“He - I mean he can stay with me,” Mumbo blurted out. “Once I build up a starter base, that is.”
“Scar?” Xisuma called out, and Mumbo heard footsteps approaching from behind.
“What’s up Xisuma?”
“Where are you settling down this season?”
“Oh!” Scar came into view, and Mumbo caught his bright smile out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve got my eye on Pirate Island.”
“That’s not too far from the Futuristic District,” Xisuma mused, and Mumbo began to see where X was going with this train of thought. “If I teleport you along with us, would you be able to help us set up a starter base for Mumbo? He’s keeping an eye on our new friend while he’s recovering, and I’d rather get him somewhere safe before nightfall.”
“Yeah, o’ course! I’d be happy to!” Mumbo saw him give Grian an inquisitive look, his curiosity palpable, but thankfully he didn’t pester about the avian directly. Scar may have had a horrible poker face sometimes but at least he had tact. “…d’you want me to start gathering resources before we go, or–”
“No need.” Xisuma got to his feet, brushing sand from his knees and reaching out into the air, pulling up a holographic admin panel. “I don’t exploit my administrative abilities too often, but I figure summoning in some building supplies might make this a little easier.”
Mumbo gaped up at him, spluttering out half-formed protests before he finally managed to compile them into sentences.
“Nono, wait - X, you don’t have to do that,” he shook his head, frowning up at the admin. “Truly. You already have to teleport four people to my starter island as it is, and we jumped servers today. I can just help Scar collect materials. It’s for my starter base, after all–”
“I appreciate the sentiment, my friend,” Xisuma chuckled, “but don’t fret over it too much. Supplying something as simple as wood and a few beds to ensure our guest is well taken care of isn’t going to wear me out.”
“I was gonna keep it modest anyway,” Scar added with a smile and a shrug. “It’s only a starter base, right? It won’t take that much to make it!”
…and Mumbo couldn’t really argue with that, could he? Building was the one thing Scar knew better than anything else in the world. He sighed, shifting Grian slightly in his grip, and he stilled when he heard a quiet noise leave the sleeping player. It wasn’t one of pain exactly, but he would definitely classify it as one of discomfort, and Xisuma pulled his eyes away from the admin panel to exchange a worried look with Mumbo.
“...I’ll get us to the island,” he murmured softly. “Then I’ll see if I can take a look at him while you both work on a shelter. Alright?”
“Yeah,” Mumbo agreed on a breath. “Yeah. Alright. Thank you.”
The admin nodded, then with a few practiced hand motions across the admin panel, the four of them vanished without a sound.
Grian’s player code was unlike any Xisuma had ever seen. Large chunks were familiar, of course, as all player coding was built up from the same groundwork. The lists of former servers, the traits of hybridity (or lack thereof), current health status and hunger level and XP level and inventory contents and on and on and on. But while Xisuma could scroll through the average player’s coding with practiced efficiency, muscle memory bringing him to exactly the right line of code more often than not, Grian’s coding text was a disjointed and semi-incomprehensible amalgamation of common and galactic, the galactic - more often than not - showing up as a distorted and corrupted mess of letters that would take a long time to decipher. The admin pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and sighing against the oncoming headache he could feel building. His helmet sat off to the side on a spare spruce log he had summoned there temporarily, his admin panel expanded before him and illuminating his chosen spot as well as the bed that had been placed beside him. Running a hand through his hair, Xisuma cast a troubled look toward said bed and the still-unconscious avian who was asleep upon it. Grian was lying on his front with his wings neatly folded against his back, his face turned toward Xisuma and a blanket pulled up to a point just below the joints of his wings.
Not long after arriving on the small island Mumbo had chosen for his starter base, Xisuma had summoned a few stacks of blocks for Scar to begin building with and had set about laying out a foundation alongside him, its placement loosely guided by Mumbo’s instruction. It was only once the first room was partially complete and a bed had been laid down that both X and Scar had hurried over to help move Grian off of Mumbo’s lap. Between the three of them, they were able to migrate Grian to the new bed without waking him, Mumbo taking it upon himself to carefully arrange Grian’s wings in a way that wouldn’t become uncomfortable for him in the long run. The moment they were done, Xisuma had pulled up a seat at the avian’s side and the other two had dashed off to complete some semblance of a house before the sun had a chance to set.
Now, with the muffled sound of blocks being placed reaching Xisuma’s ears from somewhere overhead, the admin took a moment to eye the newest addition to the server (temporary or otherwise) with a heavy dose of concern. Even though it had been hard to distinguish certain aspects of Grian’s code - a massive mystery to be sure, but not the most pressing matter at the moment - Xisuma had managed to track down his health status fairly easily amidst the chaos. Scar hadn’t been wrong about his initial assumption that Grian was injured. Some of his injuries were minor, of course. A few scuffs and scrapes, exhausted muscles, a bruise here and there. Wondering what had caused them was a concern without a doubt, but healing them would be simple.
But there were others.
The burns on his face were odd. It wasn’t a sunburn, even if it looked it from a certain angle. Bright, angry red discoloration blotched across his cheeks, his forehead, his nose. It created a shape that was far too distinct to be accidental, an oval-esque outline that traced the very edge of Grian’s hairline and trailed down around both temples. The burn gave off residual magical energy, and if Xisuma didn’t know any better he would have immediately pegged it as void magic. He was more than familiar with that sort of thing, and he was more than a little inclined to still follow that assumption, but jumping to conclusions without speaking to Grian first would get him nowhere.
One of his wings, too, had a similar burn, though Xisuma wouldn’t have been able to spot that one if it hadn’t appeared in Grian’s code. It was buried beneath unkempt feathers, the skin warmer to the touch than it should have been, and it, too, gave off a similar energy to the burns on Grian’s face. Similar, but not identical. Void-based, again, was his first assumption.
And then there was the entire right side of his body, patches of his shoulder and arm and torso and face (some of which X could see, some of which he only knew was there because of Grian’s code) that had a distinct pattern of light burning that Xisuma identified immediately. Tiny galactic symbols appeared here and there across the burn marks, clear signs of somebody forcing their way past a server wall that had been meant to keep unfamiliar players out. Burns like those hurt , were meant to hurt to dissuade hackers and intruders, and yet here Grian sat with massive patchworks of them woven across his skin. The worst of them covered the palms of his hands, and Xisuma reached over to gently lift the avian’s wrist to examine his injury in the warm light of the temporary bedroom. A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. Only someone who was truly desperate would withstand that kind of pain to bypass a closed server wall.
Footsteps and the opening of a door alerted Xisuma to someone approaching, and he looked over his shoulder to see Mumbo ducking his head into the room. He looked a little unkempt, his suit jacket missing and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Clearly he had been hard at work. The redstoner’s eyes darted between Xisuma and Grian for a moment, lingering longer on the latter than on the former.
“How…how is he?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.
“I imagine he’s been better,” Xisuma sighed softly. He summoned a second chair at Grian’s bedside and gestured for Mumbo to sit. “He has quite a few burns that will need treatment, some of which he gained when he bypassed Hermitcraft’s border. Various bruises, minor surface injuries…potions can take care of those. But this–” He stood, reaching out to carefully lift Grian’s closest wing with gentle movements. Grian scrunched up his face in his sleep, a sign of his mild discomfort, but he didn’t wake. Xisuma shifted the limb until the underside of the wing was visible to Mumbo, a patch of the feathers noticeably darker than the white and purple ones around them, a dark reddish-brown that had Mumbo gasping sharply and going a bit pale.
“Oh my word,” he breathed, making an aborted movement with his hand as though he wanted to reach out.
“Mmm.” Xisuma hummed in agreement. He carefully tucked Grian’s wing back against his body and stepped back, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s…well. It isn’t the worst injury I’ve seen, but it needs attention and I don’t know enough about avian anatomy to even attempt medical treatment. At the very least I can treat the burns, and his leg, but–”
“What happened to his leg?” Mambo blurted out, looking as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
The question added another layer to the tension behind Xisuma’s eyes and he took a slow breath. He reached forward for a second time, this time leaning across the bed and tugging back the blanket covering Grian’s other leg. The cuff of his pants was already rucked up to reveal a canvas of mottled purple and green bruising around his ankle, half-healed lacerations leaving marks up and down the bottom half of his calf.
“ Void …” Mumbo pressed a fist to his mouth, looking ill. “That’s - that’s not fresh, is it?”
“Unfortunately, no.” With the flick of a wrist, the blanket was back where it belonged, and Xisuma sank back into his chair with the air of a man who was at a loss for answers. “I’ve already asked Stress to come meet us here, but I imagine I may need to reach out to False as well. I’m unsure how knowledgeable Stress is in regards to wing anatomy.”
“Good plan,” Mumbo agreed hoarsely, pulling his eyes away from Grian. He swallowed, shaking himself slightly. “D’you know when she’ll be here?”
“Soon I imagine.” With a brief glance toward his admin panel to check the time, Xisuma nodded to himself. “Yeah…soon. She’s a bit far - she and Iskall have set themselves up in that ice biome to the south - but I messaged her not long after we moved your friend indoors. I’m planning on summoning in the potions and supplies she’ll need, so she volunteered to boat here herself to save me the trouble of teleporting her over.”
A knock at the door drew both Hermits’ attention, and this time when Xisuma looked over his shoulder it was Scar who was ducking his head through the door.
“Hey there Xisuma!” he said brightly. “Hi Mumbo! I thought I’d find you here.”
“Afternoon my friend,” X greeted him with a tired smile. “How goes the building?”
“It’s goin’ amazin’! I’d normally do a bit more detailing, but I figured that function over form was a little more important for right now.”
“Scar, it was already fantastic before I came inside,” Mumbo informed him in fond exasperation. “It’s already leaps and bounds better than my starter base was going to be. I was going to settle for a compact tree house before Grian came along.”
“There’s nothing wrong with appreciating aesthetics!” Scar defended himself. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, Mr. Jumbo, and I intend to live up to it!”
“Alright, alright!” Mumbo held up his hands in surrender. “I never said you couldn’t add detail, just that you didn’t need to.” There was a pause, and he smiled softly. “Thank you though. For your help. I couldn’t’ve built anything this complete this quickly without you.”
“Nah, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Scar waved it off with a smile of his own. “I’m just helpin’ a friend.”
A beep sounded from Xisuma’s communicator, and he pulled it from his inventory to read the message.
“Stress is close,” he told them both, rising from his chair. “I’m going to flag her down and fill her in. Keep an eye on our guest for me, would you?”
He was out of the room before either Mumbo or Scar could answer, but he didn’t really need one. From what he had seen thus far, Mumbo was already worried for Grian’s wellbeing, and Scar was one of the most caring people on the server. Their newest resident avian would be in good hands for the brief span of time Xisuma would be out of the room.
“Mind holdin’ this for me, love?”
“Oh, of course!” Scar took the open bottle of fire resistance potion from Stress, holding it carefully while the other player gently dabbed a potion-soaked cloth against the harsh red burns all along Grian’s shoulder and arm.
They had carefully removed the purple tunic Grian had been wearing not long after Stress arrived, leaving him uncovered from the waist up so she could better treat his wounds. She had already applied healing potions and bandage wraps to the avian’s ankle, and his bloodied feathers had been carefully cleaned in the area around the wound. Stress had also shot out a message to False to ask if there was anything she needed to be mindful of when handling a wing injury, and seeing as the other avian hadn’t responded just yet Stress had taken it upon herself to focus on the burns she could treat without fully disrobing Grian.
She was still a stranger to him, after all. The rest of his burns would need to be seen to eventually as well but they weren’t serious enough to warrant emergency treatment. She would ask Grian for permission to help him once he was awake again.
“...is that galactic?” Scar asked, squinting from where he was standing across the bed to try and make out the odd pattern on the side and back of Grian’s shoulder.
“Mhm.” Stress winced, glancing up at him briefly. “Yeah, that’s what Xisuma said. ‘S what happens when someone forces past a server wall they’re not meant to get through. X finks Mumbo’s friend must’ve been real desperate to try an’ bust through like ‘e did.”
“Oh gosh…” Scar frowned, worry crawling up his chest. He was beginning to see why both X and Mumbo had looked so concerned when he had come in earlier. Neither were in the room at the moment, Xisuma having pulled Mumbo out into the main part of the little starter base so he didn’t have to stare at his injured friend while Stress tended to his injuries. “D’you think he was running from someone?”
“Some thing , more like,” Stress agreed. She held a hand out for the fire resistance potion and Scar handed it over so she could resoak the cloth she’d been using. Then she handed it back with a sigh. “Now - I know we don’ ask questions, and that everyone’s allowed their secrets on the server, but I can’t help worryin’. Poor love’s been through a right mess I’d bet. Lord, the tension in ‘is back alone tells me he’d been stressin’ for a long long while before he showed up here.”
“Lucky he ended up on Hermitcraft then.” Scar’s smile was strained but genuine, one he shared with Stress when she looked up at him. “He could’ve ended up anywhere. There are some pretty awful servers out there, but he managed to get into one with people who’ll actually help him out. Plus what are the odds that he ended up on the same server as someone he’s friends with?”
“Astronomical,” Stress told him sagely, an exaggerated depth to the word that had Scar snorting out quiet laughter.
“Definitely astronomical,” Scar agreed, grinning. He tossed a look toward the closed door, thoughtful. “D’you think Mumbo has any idea what happened to Grian?”
“I dunno…” With careful hands, Stress brushed some of Grian’s hair out of his face so she could reach the burns there. Grian winced in his sleep, his face screwed up in mild discomfort and a quiet whimper leaving him. “I know love, I know–” Stress murmured quiet reassurances, and once the soothing aid of fire resistance met his skin, Grian settled again with a content sigh. To Scar, she said, “I don’t fink Mumbo knows much more ‘n us, honestly. You saw ‘im at spawn. He was completely thrown by his friend even bein’ there. I think he wants answers even more ‘n we do.” Scar nodded, watching Grian bury his face more deeply into his pillow. Stress huffed and shook her head. “S’ppose I’ll have to wait to finish treating his face ‘til he wakes up. A bit hard to put potions on a burn when it’s covered wif’ a pillow.”
A quiet ping drew both of their attention and Stress leaned over toward the bedside table, reading the message that was lighting up her screen.
“Is it False?” Scar asked, and Stress nodded.
“Mhm. She’s comin’ our way to help. Says it’s a bit hard to explain unless she can see his wings in person.”
“...should I let Xisuma know?” Scar took a step toward the door, but Stress shook her head.
“Nah, I already messaged ‘im,” she said with a smile. “Besides–” She came around the bed to take the fire resistance potion from Scar’s hands, “–I think we should leave Xisuma and Mumbo be for a bit longer. Xisuma’s doing that whole Dadmin thing he does, an’ I reckon Mumbo needs it at the moment. Poor man looked frazzled when I got here. Let X work his magic, yeah?”
With all the pacing Mumbo was doing on the main area of the little starter house - the storage room, really, though if Mumbo had anything to say about it that would be changing as soon as he started in on his mega base - Xisuma wouldn’t be surprised if the wood plank flooring ended up looking well-worn before the day was up. Xisuma knew his Hermits, knew his players, and he knew what Mumbo looked like when he was lost in a mess of complex thoughts. The pacing, the quiet muttering, the way his hands fiddled with the repeater in his hands that X had managed to summon and pass off to him without Mumbo even noticing. The sight was a familiar one, though it was one Xisuma normally associated with Mumbo being stuck on some sort of complex redstone project. This time there was no redstone in sight and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what Mumbo was up in his head about this time.
Xisuma sighed, pushing the holographic admin screen slightly to the side so he could better see the pacing Hermit. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the crafting table he was sitting beside, and when his eyes followed Mumbo’s circling path for the third time in a row, he spoke up.
“Mumbo.”
It took a beat for the redstoner to register the sound of his own name, his movements stopping abruptly and his focus shifting to Xisuma the moment he did.
“Yes?”
“Sit. Please.” Xisuma’s tone was gentle, but there was an air of parental insistence to it that wouldn’t allow for an argument. “I know you’re worried, but we both know Stress is a more than capable healer. You’re helping nobody by fretting yourself into the ground.”
“I trust Stress, I do,” Mumbo insisted. “It’s just–” He made a gesture using the repeater in his hand, blinked in surprise as if he had only now noticed he was holding it, and banished it to his inventory with a little shake of his head. Then he opened his mouth to continue, only to be met by a pointed look from Xisuma. With a huff he dropped into the chair on the opposite side of the crafting table from X before starting again.
“That’s the thing though, isn’t it?” Mumbo muttered. He reached up with fidgeting fingers to loosen his tie. “You said it yourself. I’m helping nobody, and I’m certainly not helping Grian. I’m not doing much of anything and yet I feel like I should be. Shouldn’t I be? Doing something?”
“All you should be doing is letting Stress do what she does best, and perhaps looking after yourself in the meantime so we don’t end up with twice as many Hermits in need of potions and bedrest.”
Xisuma offered Mumbo a raised eyebrow and an amused smile, one which Mumbo sheepishly returned.
“Right. Sorry.” He huffed out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I just haven’t seen him in so long, and I can’t help but worry.”
“I’d expect nothing less from a good friend.”
They fell into a peaceful sort of silence for a moment or two, perforated by the quiet indistinguishable murmurings coming from the other side of the bedroom door. Xisuma returned his attention to the admin panel for a few minutes, taking the time to check on the statuses of the other Hermits before turning back to the chaotic mess that was Grian’s coding. He didn’t get very far into it before he heard Mumbo pull the repeater out of his inventory again to fuss with the slide switch.
“You said you and Grian have been friends for a while?” X asked him, hoping to offer a sort of distraction while also trying to get some more information about their guest.
“Er - yes,” Mumbo said hoarsely with a jerky nod. He cleared his throat. “Yes, we - well. We’ve been out of contact for a while - few years, actually - but yes. We met in the Server Hub, not too long into the third season of Hermitcraft.”
“Season three?” Xisuma repeated, a small smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “That long ago?”
“Season three, yeah.” Mumbo returned the smile, and X saw some of the tension melt from his shoulders. “I was just doing some exploring to get some inspiration for my base, and he ran into me - quite literally - while on his way to a BuildSwap server. He knocked me over and we had a bit of a laugh about it. It turned out Grian was looking for someone to play against on BuildSwap, and I was looking for building advice, so…he invited me along.” There was a soft look on his face, one of nostalgia, and Xisuma found himself smiling right along with him. Mumbo glanced up at him, puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
“We don’t have a lot of information about where Grian came from or how he got here,” X told him. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers in front of his lips. “Seeing as we can’t ask him directly at the moment, then currently our best person to ask until he wakes up..is you.”
Recognition lit up Mumbo’s eyes, a quiet determined light sparking behind his gaze. Xisuma didn’t have to outright say what he was doing for Mumbo to catch on. Mumbo felt like he wasn’t helping, like he should be doing more, and in a roundabout sort of way answering Xisuma’s questions was a way that he could help. Mumbo smiled to himself, the corners of his mustache curling up ever-so-slightly.
“Ah - right, of course.”
There was a moment of silence, during which Xisuma returned his focus to the admin panel and scrolled through a few lines of text, pausing when he came across yet another block of corrupted galactic that sat near the bottom Grian’s server history list, just above his present location of Hermitcraft .
“Mumbo…if you don’t mind me asking - you said you and Grian have been out of contact for a while. Why is that?”
Mumbo’s expression shifted a few times, from blinking surprise to understanding to pensive in the span of a few ticks.
“Er - well…” He thought it over, folding one leg over the other and tugging at one of his rolled-up sleeves to straighten a crease. “To my knowledge, other than minigame servers, Grian’s only been on three long-term servers before now. The first he doesn’t like to talk about, but it’s where he went to school. The second is one he used to run with a few friends of his, called Wynncraft if I remember correctly. I believe that one is still around. And the third–” Mumbo sighed, letting his hands fall into his lap. The repeater he had been holding vanished back into his inventory again. “Grian and I…we became pretty good friends for the few years we were in constant contact. But a few weeks before he left, he kept talking about an idea for a server he wanted to start. It was a fascinating concept really. The players would all start in an older update, one of the first, and slowly work their way through each update until they caught up with present day again. The idea was that players who missed the nostalgia that came with older versions could experience them again with others who wanted to relive the ‘Good Old Days’.” The last few words were in air quotes, and Mumbo chuckled. “Grian hadn’t played a day in survival in years when I met him, so he definitely fit the bill. And he’s a creative mode nut, this one. I’ve seen him build things like you wouldn’t believe even with the limited block palette we used to have.”
“I imagine he’d fit right in on Hermitcraft then, if he wanted to,” Xisuma commented, a smile brightening his features. Mumbo grinned back with a soft laugh.
“Oh, he most definitely would.” The grin faded slightly and he glanced toward the bedroom door. “...regardless. He had been applying for solo admin status of his own server for months, then one day we met up on BuildSwap and he had the biggest smile on his face. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t wait to tell me the good news, because his application had finally been accepted.” Mumbo ran a hand through his hair with a sheepish little laugh. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I was absolutely thrilled for him! He’d wanted this for so long, and I was just chuffed to bits to see him so excited about it. But o’ course, the downside was, since the server would be in an older update for most of its existence–”
“He wouldn’t have been able to contact you while he was there,” Xisuma finished for him, understanding the problem immediately. “The versions wouldn’t synchronize and messaging wouldn’t work.”
“Exactly.” Mumbo winced. “Void, I was beside myself when he explained that bit. He’d pretty much become my best friend outside of Hermitcraft and here he was, about to go off to some out-of-contact server for about a year, where I wouldn’t be able to visit him and he wouldn’t be able to leave.”
Xisuma stared, perplexed.
“He wouldn’t be able to leave?”
“Part of the experience,” Mumbo rolled his eyes. “Grian’s idea. People would stay on the server for a year, live through all the updates, then go home when it was all over. A bit like an extended vacation I suppose. But it also meant he didn’t have to manage inventory compatibility if people couldn’t hop back and forth between the server and the hub, so…it was kind of smart actually.”
“You say he was meant to be gone for a year,” X pointed out, eyeing Mumbo carefully. “ And yet you mentioned that it’s been much longer than that since you’ve spoken. ”
Mumbo faltered at the admin’s words. He deflated a little, a slightly pained expression on his face, and he wrung his hands in his lap as silence stretched between them.
“...we haven’t,” Mumbo agreed finally. “Something happened to the server, and Grian–” He trailed off, swallowed, and snapped his eyes over to the bedroom door again as though to reassure himself that Grian was still in there.
“It isn’t pressing, Mumbo,” Xisuma spoke up, leaning forward to touch a hand to the other player’s knee. “You can tell me later if you need to.”
“No, it’s–” Mumbo shook his head. He seemed to steel himself, his jaw tense, then turned his focus more squarely upon X. “I used to check what version Grian’s server was on. It’s public information, you know, in the case of cross-version server hopping. So I’d check to see how close they were to catching up and going home. They were getting close actually, quite close. But then one day I went to check and…there was nothing to check. The IP supposedly didn’t exist or was no longer connected. The server had completely vanished. And I thought - well, must mean Grian’s already out, right? Must mean he was the one to shut it down? Except the first message I tried to send him got kicked back as undeliverable.
“So I got clever,” Mumbo went on, standing from his chair and pacing the room again, his hands gesticulating emphatically with his words. “I thought I’d check and see if another member knew what had happened. I had met a few of Grian’s other friends in passing, so I reached out to the few who I knew had joined - same result . Undeliverable.”
Undeliverable? Xisuma frowned, staring off into the middle distance and pondering what Mumbo was telling him. If there were major incompatibilities between versions, then any messages sent would tell the sender that that was the case. But a message being ‘undeliverable’...well that was entirely different. There were very few ways a player could become completely unreachable. The most obvious, of course, was permanent player death, but seeing as Grian was both right in front of them and very much alive, that clearly wasn’t the case. Grian’s friends though–
“Now - well I thought, if it was universal across all the players, it must be nothing then, something to do with the server being slightly disconnected from the hub,” Mumbo went on, almost muttering to himself more than Xisuma at this point. “I asked server management, and they claimed Evo simply wasn’t in their system anymore, that there was no connection at all. And I’m well aware some people have worlds they choose not to connect the hub, even though multiplayer servers rarely work that way, but the Evolution concept was entirely unique so I wouldn’t put it past Grian to–”
“Mumbo.”
“–hm?”
Mumbo’s pacing stuttered to a stop, his eyes snapping up to lock on Xisuma. X was standing at this point, a hand on Mumbo’s shoulder and worry in his eyes.
“I’ll look into it,” he told the younger player. “Why don’t you message me the other player names you know of and I’ll see what I can dig up. But in the meantime–” He nodded toward the door with a tired smile. “–Grian’s here, and he’s going to be alright. And you can always ask Grian what happened in person when he’s awake again.”
Mumbo took a slow breath to calm his nerves and nodded, returning Xisuma’s smile with a weak one of his own.
“Of course,” he nodded. “Of course he’ll be alright. He’s in good hands, right?”
“Exactly.”
A ping sounded from across the room, from X’s helmet, and Xisuma summoned his handheld communicator to check his messages. His eyebrows raised slightly and he gave an approving hum as he read what had been sent to him.
“Apparently Stress did end up reaching out to False,” Xisuma told Mumbo, who gave him a questioning look. “For Grian’s wing. She’ll know how best to help him.” He squeezed Mumbo’s shoulder reassuringly. “Like you said, Grian is in good hands.”