Archive of Our Own

Apparently, where Grian’s going, shulkers are illegal.

That’s madness, right? Outlawing shulkers? Who would do such a thing? They’re so useful; practically necessary if you’re going to build anything of great value. There’s no reason to outlaw them specifically.

Well, maybe it’s not them specifically. Grian’s brother, Philza, wrote in his letter that going to the end was forbidden in his world. What, did the lawmakers think it was too dangerous? Many have fought the dragon and lived. Yeah, many have died… but the reward is worth the risk, in Grian’s opinion.

So anything from the end is not to be brought into the country. Grian will have to ask whose bright idea that was.

So for the past hour or so, Grian has been trying to force all of his belongings into one suitcase. This is a pretty long trip. He’s going to need to bring enough clothes to last him a month, his diamonds, a couple of sets of armor, all his tools, and hopefully some things to build with. He can’t just leave all his copper behind, what is he going to do without copper? He can’t even fit his extra pickaxes in the suitcase though, there’s no way he’s fitting the copper.

The reason that Grian is making this visit in the first place is because Phil sent him a letter, pointing out how long it’s been since they saw each other. It must’ve been… right before Hermitcraft’s seventh world? Both of them were on the road, towards bigger and better things. So they met up at a waystation along the way. Phil told him of the hardcore world he’d been living in. Grian spoke of his antics in Hermicraft’s sixth world.

They parted ways quickly. How many worlds of hardcore had Phil done? Three? Four? Grian can’t remember, all he does remember is laughing profusely when he heard Phil had died to a baby zombie in one of those worlds. After five years!

But since then, Grian had only heard from his brother in sparse letters.

It’s odd, they used to be so close as kids.

Sometimes people just go their separate ways in life.

Phil invited Grian over, and Grian’s been needing a bit of a break. So here he is, packing his bags. Though… he goes to check the letter again. He needs to reread the section about the end.

He reads it very carefully, and discovers that Phil only spoke of those laws existing. He never asked Grian to abide by the laws.

Which must mean that it’s okay for Grian to break them. After all, Phil should know better. If he wanted Grian to stick to the law, then he had to write it out or else Grian wasn’t going to.

So Grian happily packs his shulkers, full of all the copper he could ever want.

Before Grian leaves, he speaks to Scar. After all, he’s about to embark on a very long trip. He needs somebody to take care of his cats, occasionally restock the Entity. Plus, he wants to bid his friend farewell.

Speaking to Scar ends up being harder than he thought it would be. Scar seems curious about just who he’s going to visit.

“You have a brother?”

“I do.”

“Does he have wings like yours?”

Grian smiles. “Kind of. His aren’t colorful like mine. They’re black, and a bit larger as well. It makes sense, he’s a couple inches taller than me. A bit older as well.

“Why did you never tell me you had a brother?” Scar asks.

“I just don’t think about him a lot.”

“You don’t think about your own brother?”

Grian shakes his head. “I mean, should I? We lead our own separate lives.”

That makes Scar shrug. “I don’t know, different families are different. It’s just that I’ve known you for so long and I never knew this about you?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“Like what, that you hid shriekers underneath my base?”

Grian sputters. Darn it, he thought Scar hadn’t figured that out yet! He was going to make them emit a custom sound! “Um, no I didn’t. Must’ve been Mumbo.”

“You know that Mumbo isn’t back from his vacation yet.”

Grian should’ve said Doc. Silly of him to make that mistake.

“Anyway, have safe travels,” Scar says.

“Thank you.” Grian grabs his rockets and prepares to take off.

Just as he springs up into the sky Scar says, “Don’t forget to pay me for restocking the Entity!”

Well it wouldn’t be Grian’s fault if he didn’t hear that, it’s Scar’s for saying that while he’s flying away!

So Grian resolves to be hounded about that once he gets back. For now, he’s flying off to a land far, far away.

As it turns out, Grian underestimated just how far Philza lives from him.

He expected to be able to make the journey in one day, maybe a sleepless night as well. But Grian finds himself stopping in a mesa, and taking refuge in a tavern run by a man who looks vaguely familiar.

That man, who goes by the name of Jim (Grian could’ve sworn he knew somebody who looked just like him named Tim) points Grian in the direction of a train line that can take him near where he wants to go. Grian thanks Tim (he means Jim) and goes off on his way.

He flies just a little bit further then embarks on the train. He gets used to the feeling of the train moving beneath him. It’s been awhile since he went on a train. The G-Train was never truly functional.

Grian has no idea how far this train will take him, Jimmy said that he doesn’t know. So Grian keeps a close track of each station’s name. He doesn’t have a clue which name he needs to look out for though.

The train ride goes on for days. It’s a long, long track. Sometimes Grian will pass it with a good book. Others he’ll stare out of the window. He thinks of how much he could be getting done if he was at home right now. Eh, he probably needed some sort of a break.

Grian’s groggy from the change in time zones when the door to Grian’s compartment slides open. It reveals a burly piglin man, dressed in a heavy blue winter cloak.

The man points to the empty space across from Grian. “Is that seat taken? There’s no free compartments.”

“No, feel free.” Grian reaches over to move a couple of his shulkers that he haphazardly threw there.

The man settles down, putting his suitcase to the side. He makes himself comfortable and begins to stare out the window. It seems that he suddenly realizes he hasn’t introduced himself.

“And oh, I’m Technoblade.”

Grian shakes his hand. “I’m Grian. Where are you heading to?”

Technoblade gets this far off look in his eye. “Oh I’m just going to take down a couple governments, don’t mind me.”

“Ah, understandable. And where are you from?”

“Kind of a complicated story, but have you heard of the Dream SMP?”

“Wait…” Grian looks out the window, where the station in the distance is rolling away. “Is that where you just were?”

“Yep, that’s the station.”

Grian just missed his stop.

He tells that to Technoblade, who gives him a sympathetic look. “I guess you’ll have to wait until the next station? I’m assuming you can fly back from there.”

“I could…” Grian runs his hands along the edge of the window. “But do you think this will open?”

Technoblade helps him find a latch and they figure out that yes, these do open.

Grian gathers up his things, and he tosses the less delicate things out the window to collect once he’s out. Then he hoists up his suitcases, and braces himself for a leap.

“Have safe travels, Technoblade!”

“You too.”

It’s a tight squeeze, especially with his shulkers and bags, Grian is able to wriggle his way through the window and jump out. His wings snap out and catch the wind of the train rolling by. He waits until it’s passed, then he goes to collect the things he tossed out earlier. He fastens those together in a bundle, then he’s off.

Phil said that he would be found in the north. So Grian flies off in the direction of the snowy mountains in the distance, and hopes he’ll make it.

There’s something about those cabins in the distance that scream Phil.

It’s the way that they stand out so much against the landscape. Two dark, warm cabins in a sea of white. Completely isolated aside from each other. Are both of those cabins Phil’s; one used for storage? Or does Phil have a neighbor? He never mentioned any friends of his. Grian’s brother was always a bit of a lone wolf. Perhaps his son lives in the other cabin.

That’s right. Grian’s an uncle. That’s still so weird to think about.

Grian swoops down to the snow and lets himself glide for a little bit. Cool air runs underneath his wings and he’s able to really take in the cabins. His brother is not a bad builder. These are lovely places to stay. Grian doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

It’s just that when they were younger, Grian was alway the craftsman of the family. Phil was more known for impressive feats of power and bravery.

Grian would like to say that he’s been pretty brave himself recently. So maybe things have changed.

Grian lands, shuddering as snow seeps into his shoes. He should’ve worn a pair of good winter boots. He’ll take them off soon though. So he goes up to the cabins, and finds that he doesn’t know which one to knock on. He chooses one at random.

Grian waits a minute, then knocks again when there’s no answer. He stands there, ear pressed to the door. There are no footsteps inside. No quiet voices.

“Oh, mate, you’re here.”

Grian whips around to find his brother standing in the open door of the other cabin. There stands Phil… Grian did not expect what he was about to see.

Massive, sweeping wings run in the family. Shapes and colors differ – Grian inherited his mother’s colorful mass of parrot feathers, while Phil has wings more similar to a crow’s. He got those from their father. Phil’s wings were always so much larger than Grian’s. At least, they used to be.

“What happened to your wings?”

They look like they’ve been through a ravager’s mouth. Or caught in an explosion, something along those lines. Actually, with the second option… those look rather similar to damages Grian’s wings took at the very beginning of Third Life. The explosion of the creeper that he lured to Scar.

Grian’s wings hurt like hell whenever he goes back to a world like that. He can never use them. Of course, Third Life and its consecutive circles of hell don’t play by the rules. They leave scars, but not the ones that they should.

A dark look crosses Phil’s face. “I was in an accident.”

“An accident? Can you still fly?”

Phil shakes his head. “I’ll uh– I’ll go into more detail about it later.”

By the clenching of Phil’s fists, Grian gets the feeling that he isn’t going to go into more detail at all.

Phil’s looking him up and down, as Grian does the same. Grian’s looking at a man who’s vaguely familiar. Like an imperfect copy of a painting he’s seen before.

What does Phil see when he looks at Grian? Does he notice the flecks of gray in his eyes that weren’t there before? The small knicks and scars across Grian’s face? The worst scars are hidden. Phil probably won’t ever see the worst of Grian’s scars. Not unless they go swimming or something like that. Grian doubts they’ll ever swim in a place like this.

Grian’s worst scars are just above his heart. Three little slashes.

“Sorry, I didn’t know which house was yours.”

“It’s alright. You can come in mate, don’t stay out there in the cold.”

Grian follows Phil in to the small cabin. Phil tells him to set his bags by the fireplace, and that he can feel free to sit down. Phil asks, “How do you want your tea?”

“Dash of cream, no sugar.”

Phil nods and sets the kettle to boil. Grian’s always had his tea like that, ever since they were kids. When he was young, Phil would never ask how Grian liked his tea. Phil always knew.

“It’s been a long time,” Grian says. He toes off his boots and sets them in the corner. The house is so small that he doesn’t even have to get out of the chair to do that, he just throws them a little bit.

“It has.”

Phil turns around, and they stare at each other. That’s all. They stare. Grian finds himself pushing further into the cushions of the chair, a white knuckled grip on the arm rests. Similarly, Phil twitches a little bit. Neither of them can seem to look away.

Phil’s the one to break.

“How long has it been?” Grian muses.

“Couple years.”

“And before that?”

“Five.”

Phil turns back to the tea, rifling through bags and then the ice box. The house is overtaken with a silence akin to dust in the air. Floating around, getting into their lungs. Grian feels like choking on the silence. Or hacking up a lung.

“Which one of us stopped sending letters first?” Grian asks.

Phil stills. “What do you mean? I sent you a letter asking you to come here.”

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t a conversation. When you went off to your first hardcore world, we wrote each other all the time. The second one rolled around, and we were writing our letters at first, and then we kind of stopped. They became less and less frequent. What used to be a conversation became… I don’t even know. Quick messages. Which one of us stopped writing first?”

“I think I sent a letter and I never got one back,” Phil says. “I was asking how Hermitcraft was going. You had just joined.”

“I lived in a sunken ship. One in a bottle to be exact. So the mail carrier probably didn’t know how to deliver it to me.”

“How did you live in a sunken ship?”

“Conduit.”

Phil has this pinched look on his face. Grian’s sure he has a similar one. They’ve always looked pretty similar to each other. People are always able to tell at a glance that they’re brothers even though Grian looks so much younger, and they have wildly different wings.

“You should tell me about the things you’ve made. You love talking about them.”

“I will, I will. But tell me, where should I put my things? Where am I staying?”

Philza goes over to the coat rack, and plucks a key out of the little jar at the very top. “Techno’s out traveling, so you can take his room. It’s the house across from mine.”

“Techno?”

“Yeah, Technoblade. My best friend.”

“I didn’t know Technoblade was your best friend.”

“You know Techno?”

Grian toys with the idea of recounting his story from the train. But he goes with simply saying, “I met him on my way here. Didn’t talk to him much, so I didn’t know he knew you.”

Grian and Phil are apparently so similar looking, but Technoblade didn’t mention Philza once. Nor did he say anything akin to “You look familiar.”

Technoblade must know that Phil has a brother, right?

Well, Scar didn’t know that Grian has a brother. But that’s different. Scar wasn’t literally going to let Grian’s brother stay in his house.

“I guess I’ll go get myself situated then,” Grian says, taking the key and picking up his bags.

“I can help you,” Phil says, picking up a couple shulkers. He doesn’t mention that these are technically illegal. Well, Grian doubts that anybody’s going to come all the way up here just to search the house.

Phil shows him around Techno’s house. There’s not much to see, but the gesture is nice. He helps Grian unpack some of his clothes into the drawer. Then he says, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to see you.”

Shortly after that, Phil retreats to his own house.

Technoblade has a couple of pets. The massive white lump in the corner that Grian thought was a cushion? Yeah, that turns out to be a bear. A polar bear that wakes up, gives Grian the fright of his life, then lets Grian pet it.

He runs his fingers through the bear’s thick fur, then leans his head down to rest on the bear’s massive back. The heat of the bear and the roaring fireplace helps detract from the cold seeping in from the outside. It’s nice. A little antiquated, but nice.

Grian sits alone in an odd house with an odd pet, staring out the window towards Phil’s house.

Should he be with Phil right now?

Should he ask Phil for a tour of the server? Or should he have told Phil about Hermitcraft? He could’ve told Phil all about the friends that he’s made and the builds that he’s completed. Surely that’s what he should be doing with his time instead of… cuddling with a polar bear.

Because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you visit family, right?

Grian doesn’t know. Their mum and dad are off who knows where. Occasionally Mum will send Grian a letter and some cookies. He makes sure to send some back. Grian offers to visit them, but Dad says there’s no need, so Grian never really does so.

He was always closer to Phil than his parents.

There’s no proper way to do things, is there? It’s up to him and Phil. They can be brothers in whatever way they like. It’s an odd thing; being somebody’s sibling. That’s never a part of his identity but it’s somehow all that Phil is to him.

Logically Grian knows that Phil is so much more outside of being his older brother. For one, apparently he’s a father. He’s a great fighter as well. Not to mention a capable builder.

It’s hard to see him as anything else though.

It’s hard to see him as a man who would go anywhere near explosives, ravagers, or anything else that could get his wings torn up like that.

Grian’s been trying not to think about it, but he’s still so caught up on his brother’s wings.

The family jewels.

Although Phil moves the same way, speaks the same way, acts the same way, there’s something different.

What’s different about Grian? What has Phil been noticing?

Should Grian push the envelope? Should he ask Phil what he thinks is different about his baby brother?

Maybe. He’d have to see.

If there’s a button, Grian’s gotta press it. If there’s a lever, Grian’s gotta pull it. As such, if there’s an envelope, Grian has to push it.

He slept in Technoblade’s bed, marking this place as his temporary home. He’s supposed to stay here for a month or two, so he has quite a lot of time to make a bit of a name for himself. He wants to build something. A little marker that he was here. For now though, he should be catching up with his brother. Phil must know this too. Phil calls him over, and shows off the breakfast that he made for the two of them.

Phil has always been a great cook. Actually, no, Grian spoke too soon. Phil became a good cook. He was often the one making dinner for Grian, and Grian wouldn’t accept his shoddy cooking. There had to be some effort. So he watched Phil get better over the years, and now Phil’s cooking is to die for.

Today, Phil has a much lighter look on his face. He cracks some jokes and smiles a lot, just like he used to. Grian doesn’t mention his wings even though he’s burning with curiosity. He doesn’t want to wipe that smile off Phil’s face.

There is just a tiny bit of hesitation behind every word Phil says. That’s what tips Grian off that something is just a little bit off.

Phil’s aware of the elephant in the room, Grian’s not crazy for seeing it.

He puts a bit of leadup into the question. Well, question, statement, he doesn’t know how he’s going to word it yet. But no matter what, he’s not launching straight into it.

“This is making me nostalgic,” Grian says. “Just the two of us, chatting over french toast.”

Phil smiles. “It’s nice to have you back.”

“I can almost pretend things are the way they were before.”

“What do you mean?”

There was that hesitancy again. Phil eyes him oddly – he understands what’s going on now.

Phil seems like the type to stand in a room full of levers and not pull a single one. Not only that, Phil would stand there, guarding the levers so that Grian couldn’t get in and flick them. Grian would wriggle under his arm of course, but the point stands that Phil would be a bit of a killjoy.

At least, Phil’s like that now.

But Grian remembers a time when he would’ve been able to pull Phil along with him. He’d get Phil to press a button or two.

Grian sighs, leaning back in his seat. “So much has changed! I mean, I’m sure I’m quite different from when you last saw me. You don’t even know the half of what I’ve gone through. It’s been a lot, let me tell you. I took a page out of your book and tried the whole hardcore lifestyle. Not for me, not for me in the slightest. Anyway! It’s obvious that you’ve changed.”

“It is?” Phil raises an eyebrow.

Grian doesn’t want to point out the obvious… so he just stares at the obvious. Intently. Phil’s wings are oddly still. They used to flutter every so often as he talked, just like Grian’s doing now. But Grian needs to get on with things. “You have. In a lot of ways. And wow, seeing you now…”

“What are you saying?”

“I can’t believe that once upon a time, you were like me.”

Phil’s silent for a long moment.

Then he just goes, “What?”

That’s Grian’s point. Once upon a time, Phil would’ve argued. He would’ve fought back, asking “What’s so different about us now?” Then Grian can go on to list all the little differences that he’s picked up on in less than a day.

That’s one of them. If Grian was in Phil’s position, he would’ve asked that question.

“Things are different. We’ve gone our separate ways. I never could’ve imagined how different those paths would be.”

Phil stares, boring into Grian’s eyes, as if they’ve changed. Oh wait, they have. Grian forgot about that. They’re gray; they used to be green.

“I guess things are different.”

This world that Phil lives in looks so peaceful.

Grian will be honest, he wouldn’t want to live in a place like this. It looks like the wrong combination of boring and suffocating. Phil lives out in the middle of nowhere with just one person around. Now he and Techno probably have an amazing friendship, but living with just one other person and seeing nobody else is Grian’s nightmare. If it was one of his best friends, he would get sick of them eventually. That was proven with Scar in Third Life, then again in Double Life.

And this land in general? The Dream SMP? Grian was flying over it, it’s a mess. Nobody cares for art or architecture here. Creeper holes are littered all over the server.

Those laws that Phil mentioned? Those are terrible! Who wants to abide by them? If Grian was Phil, he’d become some sort of anarchist. He’d do something about those laws. If the politicians are going to be dumb, they shouldn’t have countries to be politicians of.

Is Grian going to get anything out of this conversation if he continues it?

Or is it just going to devolve into something frustrating? Something that makes Grian want to march all the way back to Hermitcraft?

He’s not taking that chance. He’s supposed to be here for a long time.

Grian keeps eating his french toast and starts asking about all of Technoblade’s pets. He learns that the polar bear is named Steve. He learns about Techno’s horse; he supposes it’s smart to have a horse on a server like this. No elytras.

Changing the conversation does leave a bit of a bitter taste in Grian’s mouth. He doesn’t like switchups like these. He’d rather face something head on.

But Phil doesn’t, and it’s not like Grian wants to antagonize him.

So for now, Grian leaves things be.

He doesn’t realize just how much he’s dredged up.

Philza has a son. Grian knew that. He knows that his nephew’s name is Wilbur. Wilbur’s in his early twenties now; wow, the time flies. Feels like just yesterday that Grian was Wilbur’s age.

Then again, Wilbur’s apparently part human. Humans age quite a lot faster than avians. So mentally, Wilbur’s probably not that much younger than Grian.

Phil tells Grian that Wilbur’s probably going to show up one of these days, and Grian foolishly had an image in his head of what Wilbur would look like. He thought that Wilbur would be this young blonde fellow. A little bit scrappy, probably not much taller than Grian.

Grian is flying around, stretching his wings when he sees them. Two people heading in from a nether portal. Why the portal is so far away from Phil’s home, Grian does not know. But the two people are trudging through the snow, talking to each other. Grian perches on a tree in the nearby spruce forest and tries to get a closer look at them.

One of them is a man about Phil’s age. Technically he’s probably closer to Grian’s, with humans aging faster. But physically more like Phil. He’s got salt and pepper hair, and ugh, this awful scent that Grian can smell all the way from up here.

Then Grian looks at the shorter man, and wow, that’s exactly who Grian imagined when he pictured Wilbur. He doesn’t have any wings, but if he’s a human hybrid, then that makes sense.

Hey, at least he and his father can be pretty chill together. After all, they are very down to earth.

Grian shouldn’t tell that joke to Phil. It probably won’t go over well.

Grian decides to swoop down and introduce himself. He conveniently forgets that there are very few avains in this world, and no elytras at all. So both of the strangers jump back with a scream when they see him. Grian has to hold his hands up in surrender.

“What the fuck?” exclaims the older man.

“What did you just say?”

The man’s eyes go wide, meanwhile the younger one begins to swear up a storm, asking Grian where the heck he’s coming from and what the fudge is he doing here. Except the kid uses much different language than “Heck” and “Fudge.”

He couldn’t have learned that from Phil, could he?

The older man calms down a lot quicker. Which is odd, Grian would’ve thought that his nephew would be the one to come to terms with Grian’s entrance sooner. After all, his nephew was raised by an avian.

“To answer your… strongly worded questions, I’m Grian. I’m visiting my brother, and thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

“Who the fuck is your brother?” the younger asks, and Grian cringes. There’s that word again.

“Wait– you’re uncle Grian?”

Grian turns to the older one. He must know this Wilbur kid’s family. “I am.”

The man gets this odd, twisting look across his face. Grian’s actually seen Phil wear that expression multiple times throughout this visit. Just like it always does on Phil, this expression evens out into a smile. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, man! I never thought it’d be like this. Dad was always talking about you, when I was younger. I always thought I would meet you someday, but the time just kept flying by, and I started to think he was joking when he talked about my Uncle Grian. It thought it was some sort of joke about bread and he was mispronouncing grain.”

Grian’s confusion must show on his face, and the man steps back. “Oh, I never introduced myself, did I? I’m Wilbur. Philza is my father.”

“Wait, you’re Wilbur? Not him?” Grian points a thumb towards the younger kid.

Said younger kid looks taken aback. “What?”

Wilbur looks between Grian and the kid, and laughs. “Oh, I’m guessing that Tommy looks a lot more like what you pictured. I do take after my mother.”

“I just didn’t think humans aged so fast. Especially human-avian hybrids.”

“Did you just insult his age?” Tommy barges in, pushing Grian backwards. Only then does Grian realize that Tommy is not wearing clothing fit for these elements. He looks like he’s taking a walk on the beach, not going to the arctic.

“Well– I–”

Wilbur laughs it off. “I know, I know, you were expecting somebody a lot younger looking. So, this is a long story, kind of funny actually. But for a while, I was dead.”

Everybody goes completely still. Grian suddenly wonders if he should’ve not even mentioned it.

But eh, it doesn’t look like the topic is particularly sore to Wilbur. He has a completely straight face on, like it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Basically, I… made a few mistakes when I was younger. A lot of mistakes, actually. And it all ended in a bang. I lost all three of my lives, and I landed myself in limbo. I was dead for a long, long time. At least that’s what it felt like to me. It was different for you guys, right Tommy?

Tommy looks like he wants to bolt out of this conversation, but he does nod. “A– A couple months.”

“Yeah. They felt like it was a couple months. To me? It was thirteen years Thirteen and a half, actually. Six months can make a difference when you’re stuck in a boring place like that. But anyway. I’m supposed to be just nearing my thirties. But instead, I’m forty one.”

“That… sure is a long story.”

“It gets even longer,” Tommy says.

Grian doesn’t have time to think about the implications of that. But he’s stuck on a detail in that story. “You said you lost all three lives?”

Wilbur nods. “All three.”

“I guess different servers work in different ways… where I come from, we can die as many times as we want. We always wake up back in our beds.”

Tommy and Wilbur look between each other, exchanging a look. This look communicates many things that Grian is not privy to. But he’s familiar with those types of bonds. The ones that only grow between best friends, like him and Scar. Or… the bonds that grow between brothers.

He used to be able to have a whole conversation with Phil in just a couple of gestures. Apparently, those bonds can fade and they can fade quickly.

But Tommy and Wilbur seem close. Good for them. It’s important to have friends that you can trust. Friends are what makes life worth living at the end of the day. Well, friends, and the satisfaction of having built something great.

“I was in a server with three lives once. Twice, actually.”

“What happened then?” Wilbur asks.

“I died and woke up back in my bed.”

Grian decides to leave out the nature of how one of those deaths happened.

And how all his deaths in double life were either definitely or technically his fault.

“Welp, I’m going to go back to see Phil. Was that what you two were doing?”

“We can head back if you would like to spend time with him,” Wilbur offers.

“No, no! We can all hang out. Spend some time as a family.”

“Family and friends,” Tommy says.

Ah, right. Tommy’s here. Tommy, who introduced himself by spitting a bunch of insults at Grian. Lovely.

Wilbur is shooting him a death glare, so Grian ends up saying, “Of course. Family and friends.”

From Tommy’s hiss of, “Oh fuck yes,” Grian already knows that this is going to be a long afternoon. But there has to be a reason that Phil is friends with this kid, right?

He’ll find out soon enough.

But he does get a good minute or two alone as he flies back to Phil’s house, leaving Wilbur and Tommy in the dust. Such a great uncle he is.

Eh, he isn’t here to make any good impressions. Call him Scar, because he’s just here for a good time.

Somehow, hanging out doesn’t really turn into sitting around Phil’s living room.

Phil obviously knows that Grian… Well, he isn’t the most comfortable around Wilbur and Tommy. Especially Tommy. Not by a long shot. They’re of very different sensibilities, what is Grian meant to say?

But through their conversations in Phil’s home, Grian does learn one thing that interests him. Wilbur considers himself a bit of a historian. He likes to document the history of this place. He says that it’s especially important to him since he missed out on a good chunk of history.

As such, Wilbur offers to give Grian a tour. Phil and Tommy would tag along, of course. But Wilbur is willing to take Grian around and explain to him the significance of everything he’s seeing.

Now, this server does look like a bit of a mess. But Grian never gave it a proper chance, did he? He’s making all these assumptions about the people based on these two citizens who have a bit of a bad swearing habit. And Tommy’s humor is a little bit annoying. But that’s just two citizens, and Wilbur isn’t bad. He’s just… obviously a very different type of person from Grian.

But Technoblade was lovely. He’s sure that there’s a lot to this server that he would appreciate if given the chance.

So he walks over to the nether portal — which is still way too far away in Grian’s opinion – and lets Wilbur lead the way around the Dream SMP.

“This entire land is technically called the Dream SMP, but not all the places here live under Dream SMP law,” Wilbur explains. Grian didn’t ask about it, but he’s happy that Wilbur’s going over it, because that was his main point of interest. “It used to be that way. When not a lot of people lived here, and all the settlements were relatively new. But I came to this server, and you know what? I saw a change to be made. I saw places for improvement. I saw all the ways that things could be better than they were. The ruler of the SMP, Dream himself, didn’t want me to see out these improvements.”

“So we went to war with that bastard,” Tommy says with a wicked grin.

“You started a revolution?”

“Not just a revolution, but a country. A place that was meant to be a utopia.”

Interesting, so there were people with a like mind to Grian here. These people had a like mind to him. Yes they may be a bit brash, but maybe he misjudged them. It takes a good bunch of people to be able to stand up to tyranny.

“We called it L’Manberg.”

Okay… Grian’s heard stupider names, he will admit. The hermits are an interesting bunch.

“We won the war,” Wilbur says. “But soon we were questioning what it was all for.”

This entire time, Grian has been following them down a path. But now Grian notices something in the distance, high in the sky. A dark obsidian grid, floating in midair.

Grian has seen similar things in the past. There’s redstone, at the very top, hidden behind vines and overgrowth that dips down into the ground… no, not the ground, there’s nothing there. Grian discovers that as they pace forward. A crater comes into view. It’s starting to be overtaken by wildlife. Flowers bloom at the edges. A bridge stretches across the length of the crater. Are they stepping onto it?

Wilbur’s heading that way. Tommy has stopped in his tracks. Grian doesn’t know who he’s supposed to follow.

He goes with Wilbur.

Wilbur speaks. It goes in one ear and out of the other. All Grian can think is that something horrible happened here.

There’s a flag at the very bottom of the crater.

It’s slanted, as if it has fallen from the top and somehow stuck itself there in the rock and the muck.

Grian considers himself one for chaos. He loves a little bit of war. Friendly competition taken a little bit too far. In his mind, there is no ‘too far.’

But he believes in preservation of beauty at all costs.

Protect art, because the best art will outlive the artist.

“Who did this?” Grian asks.

“Who blew it up, or who preserved it?”

“What do you mean preserved it?”

“I’ve been told that this place didn’t clean up on its own,” Wilbur says. “Somebody needed to come along and make it a bit more pretty. How do you think the vines got up on the obsidian?”

“Tell me both.”

“Phil’s the one preserving it,” Wilbur says.

That makes Grian turn, because he suddenly realizes that Phil is not on the bridge with them. No, Phil is off at the edge of the crater. He’s turned away, talking to Tommy. If Grian listens closely, he can hear them muttering, but he can’t make out what they’re saying.

His own brother was the one to pretty this place up.

“And who destroyed it?”

Like father like son, Wilbur has hesitation in his voice. Wilbur’s taking great care to pronounce every word.

That must not take him a lot of effort, because it’s only two words.

“I did.”

“What?”

“I blew it up.”

Wilbur looks him dead in the eyes, and his eyelid twitches. Just like Phil’s sometimes does.

Grian peers over the edge of the bridge, and he looks out. He has keen eyesight; it’s the avian genetics. Way down at the bottom of the pit, he sees a couple sticks of TNT.

He looks back at Wilbur. Wilbur has a grin and a far off look in his eyes.

The sight of TNT brings back something grizzly.

Visions of white sand stained red. Shards of glass ripping apart his feet as he tries to drag himself across the battlefield. The feel of his best friend’s name in his throat as he screamed it.

A crater where the base they shared used to be. An entire desert ripped apart.

The same destruction striking an ugly cobblestone base in the south of Last Life’s map. Then a burning build far below him, as he watches from the skies.

Not all of those were Grian’s fault. In fact, the only one that can really be pinned on him was the fall of the desert. Even then, it started there, it ended there, they saw that out until the end.

Yet that’s still destruction on Grian’s conscience.

So he keeps looking between Wilbur and the pitiful flag. He thinks of the three lives Wilbur supposedly lost. He wonders what events led him to this decision.

He doesn’t know if he wants to hear that story right now though.

“So what else has happened on this server?”

“Well, I don’t know. I could hand you off to somebody who was here for longer. I’m sure Tommy could introduce you to Ranboo or Tubbo. Ranboo, probably, he’s seen a lot. Not as much as Tubbo, but I think he could tell you what happened.”

“But you don’t know yourself?”

Wilbur shrugs. “I mean I know the gist, but I wasn’t there for it.”

“I think I’ll ask Phil.”

That makes Wilbur cringe. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t know if Phil will tell you everything that you want to know.”

So Wilbur also recognizes that his father is holding things back. Grian’s glad that he’s not alone in that.

How much time does Wilbur spend with his father? Phil barely mentioned him in his letters. Then again, Phil barely sent any letters.

“I don’t think I need to know much more though. Thank you, though. For taking me here. It was interesting.”

Grian can tell from Wilbur’s body language that this man is somebody like him.

Maybe the genes for mischief have skipped around a little bit. Passed from their father through Phil, right into Wilbur. The affinity for TNT too. Perhaps it’s just a coincidence that that affinity runs in the family.

No matter what, it means that there’s a dangerous scheme going on in that mind of Wilbur’s. Grian knows that expression, he sees it in the mirror.

It just makes him think about Phil, and that spark of mischief that used to reside in his eyes.

Was that spark always there? Perhaps Grian was just an imaginative kid.

Grian leaves his nephew there on that bridge. Grian doesn’t wait for Phil, he flies home.

On his way he passes a land of mushrooms and beautiful architecture. A little while after that, he flies through a flurry of snow in the desert. Isn’t that ironic? The city in the desert is quite beautiful. He hopes its residents are enjoying the snow.

This server does have a couple good builders, it seems. Just a lot of creeper holes.

Grian eventually goes home. He has this odd feeling in his chest. One he picked up while flying through those beautiful landscapes. A sort of tightness. Unease.

In Hermitcraft, there are some people who are able to bring life to their builds. They can make a city with a population of one look like a bustling hotspot. When Grian walks through Scar’s eleven village, or Bdubs’ castle, or anything by Cleo, he instantly feels less alone.

Over those lands, it was the opposite.

He saw people down below.

He couldn’t even see their faces, but he could just feel that they were the most lonely, miserable people he’s ever seen.

How Phil survives in this place, he doesn’t know. It makes a little more sense now why Phil holes up in the arctic. Everywhere else is isolated too.

Maybe that was why L’Manberg was blown up. When Wilbur was talking about it, Tommy smiled. It was like he warmed up, fondness swelling in his heart.

If Grian had to hedge a guess, he’d say that L’Manberg was the one place on this server where people felt alive.

The only land that could die was the land that was living in the first place.

That night, Grian takes the time to write Mumbo a letter. He pens one to Scar as well. The entire time that Mumbo has been on vacation, Grian has been writing to him. Only makes sense to reach out to Scar as well now.

He does it without thinking. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until Phil comes into his cabin to ask if he’d like to eat dinner together.

Phil sees him hunched over a letter and his face falls.

According to Phil, Grian was the one who stopped replying first. Grian can’t refute that, he doesn’t remember how their exchanges ended.

Grian goes to eat dinner with Phil. Afterwards, he finishes up his letters, but they end up a lot shorter than he planned.

He frowns as he seals them shut, but this is the best he can do.

Grian has to ask Phil where the post office is. Those are some awkward words to force out.

They can’t go on like this, can they?

Something has to change.

Somehow, this time, Grian doesn’t want to be the one to bring it on.

In the back of his mind though, he knows he always will be.

Grian doesn’t have anybody to spar against.

Usually, Mumbo’s always up for a good boxing. False is too, but she’s busy so often. Occasionally he’ll go hand to hand with Ren, or Doc, or really anybody willing to fight him. That list is long.

In the past, Grian didn’t care. He would let exercise go to the wayside. The only muscles that really mattered were the ones in his wings.

But then he learned what it was really like to be in a fight.

He decided that he would rather not be blindsided. He wanted to learn how to defend himself. So he picked up an art that he used to see his brother practicing in the backyard when they were young. Phil was a teen and Grian just a little boy. He would spend hours out there, boxing with thin air. Or against Dad. It never turned out super well for Phil when he sparred against Dad. Dad was a strong man.

Grian doesn’t have anybody to spar against, and he’s not about to go ask Wilbur or Tommy. Nor any of the other people he met within the last week or so.

He’s also not going to let his skills disappear. These things take practice or training.

So just like his brother once did, Grian goes outside and practices moves against thin air. He goes beyond just boxing. He brings out his knives and practices a couple tricks with those. He’s gotten quick with them. He’s gotten precise.

There’s only so much one can do against thin air though. Maybe there’s a reason Phil always sparred with Dad.

Grian hasn’t thought about asking his brother to spar, and he’s not going to. It’s not even a question. It only briefly crosses his mind.

It’s fine to go a little bit out of practice. False is going to wipe the floor with him when he gets back, but that’s okay. She does half the time anyway.

Grian practices and he gets his wings involved too. He swoops and dives and batters this imaginary enemy. He gets into the heat of it.

He doesn’t notice the door to Phil’s cabin opening. Nor does he see Phil standing out on the deck for a good minute. He glances over that direction but he doesn’t even notice Phil.

It’s only once Phil calls Grian’s name that he stops, dropping the knife. He’s sure he looks like a deer in torchlights right now.

“Since when did you learn to box?”

He’s going to have to explain it all, doesn’t he?

Grian lets Phil come out into the snow with him. Grian sheaths his knife and puts together a haphazard answer. He realized the importance of keeping himself in shape, and it was also fun to be the best in competitions, yada yada yada. He’s always been a competitive person, it’s believable.

“I thought you hated boxing?”

“Well, I never tried it, did I?”

“You refused to try it, because you hated it.”

“Sounds like I didn’t like it! But I’ve grown a bit. I’ve realized what’s worth putting my time into. So I practice this regularly.”

“I haven’t boxed in… well, I sparred with Techno a little bit before we left, but that was kind of for nostalgia’s sake,” Phil says.

“What do you mean ‘For nostalgia’s sake?’ What, do you not do it anymore?”

“Well… Techno went away for a little while. No, I shouldn’t say that. He didn’t go away. But I’ll get into that in a second. We used to spar all the time. We’d have fun with it. It got our blood pumping, got me feeling young again. Techno knows how to go just far enough that it’s fun, but never hurts. Anyway, he was forced to stay away for a little bit and it was no fun doing it without him anymore.”

“What happened to him?”

With hatred laced in his tone, Phil says, “He was locked away.”

“Why?”

“Some people got all high and mighty and thought it was the best for him. They said he was too dangerous. So they put an innocent man in prison.”

“What did he do?”

That gives Phil pause. “I… I don’t know if I should tell you the whole story.”

“Oh come on, spill it.”

“I don’t know if it’s my secret to tell.”

“Well figure it out!”

Phil seems to start thinking it over, but frustratingly, he doesn’t immediately give Grian his answer. Instead he asks, “Do you want to spar?”

“What?”

“Do you want to spar with me? You looked a bit bored out there. Well, you got into the groove of it. But for a while you were sagging. Your form wasn’t that great, don’t worry, nobody’s is when they’re bored.”

Grian still ruffles his feathers at that. His form is fine, thank you very much.

“Anyway, it’s always more fun with somebody else, so do you want to go?”

The only reason Grian says yes is because he simply can’t think of an excuse to say no.

So he squares up, raising his fists. He braces his wings behind him for balance. Phil does the same, though he doesn’t seem to be able to raise his wings very much at all. Grian’s caught glimpses of some sort of brace Phil wears underneath his outer green cloak. Whether he wears that all the time or just sometimes, Grian doesn’t know. Either way, it can’t be comfortable.

That’s not the point right now though. The point is that somebody needs to make the first punch.

Grian was squaring up to do it himself, but it ended up being Phil. He catches Grian off guard, and he just barely has time to dodge. Grian gets himself out of the way, and then he quickly returns a bunch into Phil’s side. Phil blocks, tries to attack yet again, and a cycle forms.

They get into the thick of it. Grian lets instincts take over. He doesn’t see his brother in front of him. Just like he never sees Mumbo, or False, or Ren, Pearl, Etho, anybody he spars with. He sees his own two fists and his opponent’s body.

He rarely hears much of anything when he gets into this flow, so it takes him a moment to process that Phil is talking.

How does one carry out a conversation while sparring?

“So, believe it or not, Techno and I are quite feared on this server.”

Phil delivers a sharp right hook into Grian’s side. He reels back, wings flapping and carrying him away. Now he has the advantage, space and time. Phil keeps talking.

“We’ve been involved in quite a lot of conflicts on this server. As it turns out, we’ve never been on the losing side. We play it smart. We can fight for ourselves, we’re very capable. But we know that a large enough group could take us down. So our most important asset is that we stockpile. We have every weapon you could ever think of?”

“End crystals?” Grian manages to ask as he goes in for an uppercut. Phil blocks his punch.

“We have better than end crystals.”

“But end crystals are the best explosive.”

Phil lands a punch. It doesn’t hurt him much, aside from his pride. “Well, end crystals don’t keep firing and firing.”

“Are you talking about withers?”

Phil grins. “You know me too well.”

What Phil’s talking about, all this strategy… It sounds so much like Last Life. Third Life and Double Life as well. But Last Life? It was the most vicious of them all. Twice the bloodshed of Third Life, four times the bloodshed of Double Life. It started off so great. They had so many lives left to spare. Yeah Grian wasn’t given many at the very beginning, but he considered himself capable in… the art of persuasion, yeah, he would call it that. He could make his way up through the ranks and get a couple of lives to spare.

That did not work out well for him.

Nothing really worked out in Last Life.

Grian still has nightmares about what he did to Mumbo. Well, he calls them nightmares, but they’re never distressing in the moment. Each time he relives those events, he feels nothing. Just like he did when he stabbed Mumbo in the back.

Nothing compares to Last Life. Certainly not this world. Phil wouldn’t settle in a world like Last Life of all places.

But then Phil goes on. “They were all so afraid. Afraid even though we were just teaching them a lesson. You see, nothing goes right here. They don’t know what to make of themselves. They always seem to make a mess of things. So I needed to clean things up. I needed to set things straight. None of them appreciated it.

Grian knows the face of men who have seen too much.

They always stare too much, or they cannot stare at all.

That must be why they’re able to lock eyes for so long.

“They especially don’t like Techno. They act like he did it all on his own.”

From what Grian can tell, Phil doesn’t sound particularly resentful as he says that. It’s like Grian when he talks of Scar. Everybody pictures Scar as the chaotic one. But who stole all the doors in Hermitcraft’s seventh world? Hmm? Wasn’t Scar, his door was stolen the most.

He smiles a bit, just thinking about that. Phil pulls him in all too soon with a punch that he didn’t expect. Grian isn’t given much time to recover, Phil sagged for a little while, but now they’re back in the thick of the fight.

“So a man named Quackity and his associate Sam decided that they were going to lock Techno up. I don’t know how they thought they could do it. I don’t know how they succeeded. But Techno gave me this little brown book filled with instructions on how to get him out. I misheard and thought I was supposed to open it in three months, not three days. So it took me a little while to get him out.”

“Wait, so you just left him there for three months by mistake?”

“It was an honest mistake, alright?”

Okay, okay, Grian won’t question it. He will, however, try to throw another punch. Phil blocks it easily, of course he does.

“I got him out eventually. That led us on a chain of events that eventually led us here. It’s been a long time coming, and that’s not even half of it.”

“Well what’s the other half then?”

“That’s the stuff that I would need my associate’s approval on telling you about.”

Grian rolls his eyes. “What, have you formed some sort of secret society or something? I’ve done that before.”

He says it as a joke, but Phil stops. Grian’s able to get a hit in, that’s how Grian knows that he’s stunned his brother.

“Wait, have you actually?”

Phil hesitates, letting Grian get another hit in. But he does say, “Accidentally. Maybe a little bit. It was mainly Techno’s idea.”

“You’re a little less boring than I thought you were, old man.”

“Oh now you sound like Tommy,” Phil laughs.

“I would never sound like Tommy. He swears up a storm every other sentence.”

“I remember the days when you would do that too.”

Grian stares him down. “I would never.”

“Oh I remember Grian, I remember.”

Grian does not like to be reminded of his dark past.

Phil sighs, throws a halfhearted punch, and says, “It’s called the Syndicate. We’re… I don’t know, we’re a bunch of misfit anarchists–”

“You’re an anarchist?”

“It wasn’t obvious?”

Looking back, maybe it should’ve been. Phil never took too kindly to authority. He was always polite, but never really kind with people in positions of power. Grian remembers the day that a teacher made him stay back and scrub the classroom floors from something small that Grian did wrong. Phil had some words with her that day. Some polite words, but words nonetheless.

That was something he always admired about his brother. Something he aspired to be like.

He’s pretty sure he’s achieved that, by now. He can manipulate his words to serve his purpose.

“Phil, you’re gonna win this fight, how long are we going on for?”

“You might win.” Phil says that as he lands a punch to Grian’s gut.

Grian stumbles back. “I surrender, I surrender!”

“Do you? Do you really?”

Grian shoots him a confused look. “Yeah, I do surrender.”

Phil drops his fists, and Grian wasn’t going to do this before, but come on, the opportunity is right there.

Grian socks his brother right in the jaw. It’s nothing to be worried about. He didn’t hit him too hard. Grian turns away satisfied. “Never let your guard down.”

“That’s the oldest line in the book.”

“Yes, because it’s true.”

It turns out, Grian is terrible at following his own advice.

Phil gets him with a great kick right to the center of his back, between his wings. It sends Grian down to the ground, and he can’t help but laugh.

It’s almost like they’re kids again.

If he forgets the grim topic of conversation.

It wouldn’t be a talk between the two of them without some allusions to death and destruction.

Time has been flying and Grian never really realized it.

He’s been passing the days, well, living. As he always does. He’s started a bit of a project in Phil’s backyard. Or front yard. More like a side yard, because Phil’s house faces Techno’s.

But he’s started something that’s… well, it’s kind of a statue? It’s certainly not a normal building. It’s not like anything on this server. It’s a statue. Or better yet, a monument.

Grian has started to build a giant wing sweeping over the mountains that shade Philza’s cabin. Made of deepslate and blackstone, the wing stands out against the snowy landscape. Yet its shape conforms to the land and compliments it, forming a lovely contrast. In due time, snow will fall onto this monument and it will succumb to time.

That only feels fitting for this server.

Yet another build that is doomed. Grian will never get to enjoy this place. Such a shame. It’ll join the Red Velvet Keep, and that sweet little base in the sand.

Hopefully Phil will like it. Or at the very least, feel bittersweet when he looks at it. He’s going to test that. He isn’t going to put it off; that’ll only lead to a very awkward letter from Phil once he leaves. There’s no way Grian can just hide this and go.

Grain’s just worried that this might bring back bad memories. He’s a bit afraid of Phil’s reaction.

Phil still hasn’t told Grian what happened to those wings of his. Grain’s started to put the pieces together.

He brings Phil outside and tells him, “I have a surprise.”

Phil places his hands over his eyes to look off into the distance. “Is it that odd platform?”

“It’s a wing.”

“Oh.”

Grain has made absolutely sure that Phil hasn’t seen it. It’s relatively hidden; you can’t see it from the windows of Phil’s house. Grian has also spent most of his building time in the late evening into the night. Each night, a new layer of snow would fall down and envelop what Grian had built. That way, Phil would be unlikely to see it while wandering around. Grian went around with a shovel and a torch this morning just for this moment.

Now he’s presenting his hard work. He’s waiting. He’s hoping. He doesn’t know what for, but he knows he’s hoping.

He’s hoping for something other than silence.

Whenever another hermit sees what he’s done, they’ll say something. They’ll point out a great choice in material, or an interesting structure. At worst, they’ll offer some criticism. The criticism is sometimes the best part. It’ll show that they took in the build; they cared about it. They realized it could be even better.

They’re never silent. That’s what Phil is right now. Silent.

Then something changes – Phil sighs.

Grian tries not to let himself get too disappointed. A part of him expected this. But he just can’t help it. Grian tried. He tried so hard. And Phil is saying nothing.

Until,

“I can’t believe I forgot how talented you are.”

It may be foolish, but Grian lets himself feel a little bit of hope. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like this, are you kidding?” Phil stares at Grian like he’s gone mad.

“I wanted to make my mark here,” Grian says.

“You sure have.”

This sparks a thought. “You know Phil, it’s odd. I keep staring at all the things you built. Your house, your… Well, I guess the thing back at L’Manberg is not really your crater. But your bridge. Meanwhile I’ve been practicing hand to hand combat.”

Phil locks eyes with him, and this doesn’t need to be said, but Grian does so anyway.

“The opposite of our childhood.”

Phil shakes his head though. “But you’re still building. And I haven’t let my skills fall to the wayside.”

“I know, but still.”

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Phil asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I’ve been thinking. Ever since you got here, I’ve been thinking about what you said to me. Something like… ‘Once, you used to be like me.’”

Grian sucks in a short breath. “I said that.”

“But now, looking at this… Grian, are we not still brothers?”

The answer is on the tip of his tongue. “Of course we are.” It’s easy to point out the obvious and ignore the point that Phil’s making. He could say that Phil is reading too far into things.

Because he is never satisfied, Grian prefers to do things the hard way.

He asks yet again, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you’ve realized just how much I’ve gone through.”

Grian scrambles to find his words. “Well— Well, enlighten me.”

“I think we’ve both been through a lot, and I don’t even know half of what that’s been like on your side–”

Grian laughs, because Phil’s right. He doesn’t.

“So that’s something we have in common. And you pointed out that we both like to build. We both work hard to know how to fight. You said we’re so different but I’ve really been trying to figure it out for the past few days. What you meant by that, I mean. Because all I see is my little brother.”

Phil doesn’t want to know what Grian means.

He doesn’t understand how wildly different the paths they’ve taken are. Phil cannot comprehend that yes, Grian still shares his sandy blonde hair and the shape of his eyes and the same little laugh. He cannot comprehend that there is so much more behind Grian.

There’s a limit to this conversation that Grian has been pushing, and he’s not going to stop anytime soon.

Grian’s about to cross the line, isn’t he?

“I was in a death game, Phil.”

Phil freezes. The world around them is still.

“You– you were?”

“I won a death game.”

Phil sprouts a tight lipped frown. “I’ve heard of games like that. I’ve witnessed them. It’s always the losers who are the luckiest.”

Somehow, the line is even further. Grian has to make some leaps and bounds to cross it.

Grian’s discontent must show through his face. Usually, Grian keeps his cards close to his chest. When Third Life comes up though, his hand trembles so much that the cards usually fall right out.

Honestly, it’s his own fault for bringing up Third Life. Sometimes he can’t help but sacrifice his own wellbeing for amusement.

The point is, Grian can handle Third Life, Last Life, Double Life, and whatever’s coming next. What he cannot handle is the memories.

“What did you have to do to win?” Phil asks.

Bitterness claws its way up Grian’s chest, because Phil asked just the right question.

“My best friend and I were the last people left. And well, the spirits? They wanted blood.”

“... I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Surprisingly, that gets to Grian. Maybe it’s the heartache in Phil’s voice. It makes the platitude feel sincere. As if it’s not the most classic line in the book. Maybe it’s that this is the same voice Phil uses when he cries.

“He’s still around,” Grian clarifies. “That word… I guess it wasn’t on the same plane of existence as us. So we woke up safe and sound. As if it never happened.”

“But it still hurts all the same?”

“It does.”

And it hurt when he killed Mumbo.

And it hurt when he killed Big B.

And neither of those were called for. Neither of those were justified. Neither of those are things that Phil should be able to write off so easily. Phil shouldn’t be able to write off any of this. And yet, he is.

“I’m so sorry.”

Grian coughs – he means to just clear his throat, but it turns into a terrible, hacking cough. Phil tries to come over and help him, but Grian ushers him away. He doesn’t need it. He gets a grip of himself.

“That’s why we aren’t the same,” Grian says. “I stand by what I said.”

“Oh, Grian…”

“What?”

Phil’s hand grips his own shirt, just below his heart.”

“We are the same.”

Grian shakes his head. “With what I just told you, we can’t be–”

“I killed my son.”

Every thought leaves Grian’s mind.

“What?”

Phil laughs, looking away. “You know, it feels nice, making you confused for once. You do it all the time to me. This is some payback. But yes. It… It was when he had just blown everything up. Wilbur had just wrecked everybody’s lives, including his own. He injured countless people, and at the time, I thought he had killed some in the explosion. On top of all of that, I just arrived at the server that very same day.”

“And you were thrown right into that?”

“Right into the thick of it. In fact, I somehow found myself in the room with the controls. With Wilbur, I mean. I was there when it all happened.”

Grian has heard this story before. He doesn’t like the ending.

“I was standing there, my wings burning, in so much pain and it was all Wilbur’s fault. I genuinely thought people had died. I thought I raised a murderer. Even though I hadn’t, because of him, I would never fly again. Then Wilbur fell to his knees, and he begged me to kill him. After all of that just happened.”

Grian has killed for less.

Much, much less.

“And Grian, it’s not just that. I killed him that day. But later on – I haven’t admitted this to anyone. I didn’t feel like I needed to. I felt like I did the right thing. But I did the same thing as him. Just for better reasons.”

“What do you mean, ‘The same thing as him?’”

“After he blew it up, the old citizens rebuilt L’Manberg. But it was worse than it was before. It was hurting the people. I tried to fix things. I tried to save those people. But eventually, I felt that I had no option but to let it all go.”

It’s so hard to hold his composure, but somehow, Grian keeps up a straight face. This is just such a shock.

This is a version of Phil that Grian has not seen in a long, long time. Not since he was a young boy, and Phil a young man with too much responsibility. A Phil who was faced with impossible decisions on the daily. Who had to grow up so fast and was feeling the consequences. As they grew, this Phil slowly disappeared.replaced by a man who knew how to keep his act together. Or at least keep appearances up.

Have the people on the server seen this part of Phil? Or has this been building up in the background for years?

Quietly, very quietly, Phil says, “I still don’t know if I did the right thing or not.”

Grian shakes his head. “You’re going to drive yourself mad if you ask yourself that question.”

“I know, I know…”

Grian looks Phil right in the eyes. He hesitates, then takes his brother’s hand. “Listen, I won’t say much, but just don’t expect it to get better anytime soon. That’ll just make you more upset when you realize you still don’t feel so well.”

Phil squeezes his hand. For a second, he smiles, softly. That smile is gone soon, but it was there.

“When did you become so wise?” Phil asks.

“I don’t know, I think I just grew up.”

“I should know that kids tend to do that, by now. Silly me.”

Grian turns back to his creation. A symbol of him that will stand in this place. One that will eventually be overtaken by nature.

The symbol is a bit redundant.

“Why did we drift apart?” Grian asks.

Phil can’t seem to answer, at least not immediately.

“Was it because you got tired of me?”

“What do you mean?” Phil’s voice is wavering.

“You practically raised me. That must’ve been tiring.”

That might just strike a nerve.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says.

“Don’t be.”

“But–”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for. Do I need to apologize?”

“No, of course not. You were a child.”

“Then neither of us do. You were young too.”

A little bit of tension drains out of Phil’s shoulders.

“Thank you for this,” Phil says, pointing to the monument.

“This is what I do.”

“G, how about this? Once you leave, the minute you get home, write me a letter.”

Putting the ball in Grian’s court, huh? What is Phil doing here? Well, Grian probably should take initiative after Phil spared him for so long.

“I can do that,” Grian says. “Before I leave though, I want to know more about this place.”

“You do? I thought you hated it here.”

“You could tell?”

That draws a laugh from Phil. “Yes, I could tell.”

Grian scratches the back of his head, averting Phil’s gaze. “Well… I certainly wouldn’t choose to live here myself. But I do want to know about the way you live.”

“I can understand that. I’ll tell you all I can. And if you ever want to talk to someone specific, I can get them for you.”

“That sounds good.” Grian chokes up on that last word because this doesn’t even feel real. Reconciliation? Is that what this is?

Throughout the years, Grian has forgotten that he has a brother. It hasn’t been a particularly good or bad thing. He’s just been living as an only child. A drifter. This is just a fact about him. Grian is the one in the shadows. The one with an unknown past. Nobody could imagine him as a child with a mother and father, let alone a brother. Grian simply exists.

Maybe, when he gets back, he can tell Scar and Mumbo a little bit about Phil.

Days later, when the time to leave comes, Phil tells him, “Don’t be a stranger.”

A stranger, they can never be strangers.

He tells Phil that. “You know I never can be.”

Not anymore.

He’ll carry a part of Phil with him, and Phil will do the same. They’ll see each other in the mirror, with the subtle similarities in their faces.

Grian promises not to forget that, at heart, Phil will always be a little bit like him.