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Grian was having trouble adjusting. Sure, the infinite lives were handy, but he still found himself panicking whenever helping Mumbo fight off a horde of zombies, or whenever his armour broke.
No one else seemed to remember Third Life. Once they lost their final life, it seemed that they all had woken up in their Hermitcraft spawn point, with several months of their life missing from memory. They woke up in weird outfits, battered and torn with no explanation as to why . They were dirty and bruised, but had no idea the cause, so they brushed it off. It didn't take them long to recover, and they all seemed to be fitting right in with the rest of the Hermitcraft server, as if they hadn't just spent almost an entire year in a death game. To them, of course, they hadn't.
Grian remembered though, his dreams were plagued with visions of failed traps, a desert mountain, Scar, a llama that hated him and a bee whose life was too short. It was difficult, re-learning how to be used to the feeling of Netherite armour over the top of a comfy sweater, ginormous bases to mill around in, and infinite resources and lives. He had spent so long with his guard constantly up, always watching his and Scar's backs. It was weird for him to go back to his base alone every day. It was weird when other Hermits looked at him in surprise whenever he used foul language. Scar had occasionally forced him to go outside and scream curses into the sky when they were back in the desert, as a way to release pent up energy, and the habit had grown on him. It was weird for him to wake up cold and lonely in his bed, weird for him to not have to constantly yell at Scar to remind him to put his fucking clothes back on. It was weird, the absence of the desert heat, and the sand that got absolutely everywhere, no matter how hard they tried to get rid of it. It was weird .
Grian tried to socialise with the other hermits, pretending that nothing was wrong. It would be terrible if they asked questions. After all, how was he supposed to respond? He just pretended to be like the others, knowing nothing of a world of which they had all been taken to. Sometimes he got odd looks from Mumbo when he slipped up. He would let slip a joke that the others would never understand, and would try to brush it off as a failed meme. He wasn't often successful at diverting the attention away, but the slip ups were so few and far between, that he was able to hope that no one really paid attention to them. To him .
It had been unnerving when he had first arrived back. He had woken up in his starter base in Boatem, still wearing the well-worn leather jacket that he had acquired on the other server. It was a muted maroon colour, which although was less comfortable than his signature sweater, stood out far less, and was much stronger. It allowed him to hide much better, and didn't rip or stain at all. Practically over comfortability. That had been their life.
He had slid the jacket off, running his fingers over the smooth leather before storing it in the chest next to his bed. Weeks later, he was pretty sure that it was still there. He was scared of going back to it. Scared of the memories he would undoubtedly be faced with if he ever dared to touch it. Best to leave it there for now, where no one will see it.
Grian flew over to a small pool of water, sitting down and watching his reflection. He looked... clean . It felt weird. In the desert, they were never properly clean. The only water supply that they ever had was the three buckets of river water that Scar brought up from the base of the mountain every morning. It didn't go very far, but they didn't have enough iron to spare in order to make more, so it had to suffice. Sacrifices were made, in the form of showers. They could have gone down to the river and washed up there, but that left them far too exposed and out in the open for Grian's liking. Consequently, the cleanest that he or Scar ever were, was right after they lost a life.
Noticing ripples in the pond, Grian looked up. Xisuma's worried expression stared back. Grian forced his facial muscles to smile. He didn't know if he had properly smiled since... Never mind. He shouldn't dwell on a past that barely existed. No one else remembered, so what good could thinking about it possibly do? "Exeyezooma! What can I do for you today?"
"Are you okay? " Grian froze at the question. He had been expecting a question about pricing on the G-train, or possibly some news about the Big Eye Crew plotting revenge against Boatem's latest epic prank. He hadn't been expecting this.
He turned his head to the side, disguising his surprise. "I mean, I think so? Is there any reason that I wouldn't be fine?"
Xisuma looked doubtful, like he didn't fully accept or believe that Grian was telling the truth. Well shit . "Are you sure? You've been acting kind of weird lately, Pearl told me that you've been making some of us worried, and I can't help but agree."
Grian laughed nervously. Oh fuck . "Whaaaaaaat? That's crazy. I've never been better!" His voice cracked. Real convincing . What would he do if Xisuma continued pressing the matter? Grian never claimed he was a good liar. In fact, it was one of the things that he was terrible at, alongside redstone, building the backs of bases, and not pressing mysterious buttons.
For once in his mother fucking life, fate decided to not continue to spite Grian for absolutely no reason. Xisuma looked extremely doubtful, but decided that dropping the topic was for the best. "Alright then. Well, as long as you know that you can come to me about anything. I would be a pretty crappy admin if I didn't notice things wrong with the player's mental states. My door is always open alright?"
Thank fuck. Grian nodded. "I know. Thanks for the talk, Exeyezooma! I'll come to you if there ever is anything."
The Admin nodded, seemingly pleased with Grian's answer, however vague it may have been. He turned around and set off a couple of rockets, propelling him into the air, and away from where the avian sat.
Once he was out of sight, Grian sighed, hanging his head in his hands. He wasn't doing a very good job, was he? He would have to be more careful, at least for a while.
Standing up and flying back to his base, he rummaged through his ever-growing chest monster until he found what he was looking for. A lead and a name tag.
He and Pizza the Llama, had had a love-hate relationship for the entirety of her first life. He knew where he could find her. Hate him for bringing back the three lives system, but if no one remembered the server, she was one of the few things that he could bring back to Hermitcraft. If he did something like rebuild the castle on monopoly mountain, people would find it weird. Void knows that they were already concerned enough . Besides, if Scar's cat Jellie was able to be brought through servers, who's to say that Pizza was any different? Besides, Grian was incredibly lonely. He needed someone. He needed Scar's llama.
Grian scoured the landscape, looking for a wandering trader. It was rather ironic, the moment you want one of them, they seem to vanish from the face of the server. He kept searching until he stumbled upon an untouched desert village. Jesus, had he really travelled that far? Any village in any reasonable distance from a spot of land that any Hermits had ever touched, was either burned, exploded or abused for emerald farming. Finding one as perfect as this was rarer than finding a three-vein of Ancient Debris on your first bed. The chances were really fucking low.
Nevertheless, Grian found a village. It was a desert village, because of course it was . There was a wandering trader though, and he had a Llama. A white Llama that spat at Grian when he approached it. Maybe the universe actually pitied him . He leashed her, and started the long trek home.
He occasionally fed her bundles of wheat and she thankfully stayed rather docile. The sun was setting by the time he arrived in Boatem. He saw the silhouette of the Gigabase carving a dark path through the orange coloured sky. He took a minute to breathe deeply. Pizza decided to take it as the perfect opportunity to become uncooperative, sitting down on the ground right there, in the middle of the open field. Grian feebly tugged at her leash a few times, but she didn't budge, instead choosing to nudge at his pocket with her nose, searching for treats.
Grian begrudgingly gave her some, and sat down next to her. He rested against her side as she ate, and imagined someone next to him. A tall figure, with a smile as bright as diamonds, and wit as sharp as a Netherite blade. Grian’s eyes welled up with tears as he thought of the man with enough strength to paint the colours of the evening sky. The man whose laugh was far more beautiful than any sound that amethyst could dream of making. The man who was probably standing within render distance at that very moment, anxiously trying to get into bed before phantoms started attacking him.
The man Grian had hurt, over, and over again.