Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grian doesn’t even feel the pain following the fall. He can’t feel anything. He supposes that’s what he should have expected, this last life gone there’s supposed to be nothing. But there isn’t nothing. He hears voices. People talking over him, talking at him. He doesn’t know. And while he hears the voices he still doesn’t hear them. It’s only mumbling, words (is it even words?) in the back of his head.

Grian wants to talk back, wants to scream at them to be quiet, to talk clearer, something. Anything beyond the overpowering babel surrounding him. Grian can’t understand them but he recognizes the undeniable sneer in their distant voices. He doesn’t know what it means, even if he could hear their words he doubts he’d have the energy to interpret their tone. Grian tries to open his eyes.

Eyes.

The only thing surrounding Grian are eyes. They aren’t looking at him, until they suddenly are. All at once they turn. He shivers, not only seeing their gaze but also feeling it. He shouldn’t see this, he realises. He doesn’t know why but somewhere in the pit of his stomach he knows. There’s still voices, louder. More pointed. Grian wishes he could scream even more now. Scream at them to look away. Look anywhere else. But despite how unsettling the feeling is, it feels familiar. Like he’s meant to be here (he isn't. He’s meant to be in the desert, surrounded by flowers, holding the one person who almost didn’t betray him).

He closes his eyes and everything feels better. Safer, even if he still feels eyes on him.

Suddenly, all the noise, all the voices, stop. Only silence surrounds him. A moment ago he would have begged for this silence but all too quickly he comes to regret that. This isn’t the comforting silence he wanted. This is a tense silence. No, not a tense silence. A painful silence. A silence that feels familiar and yet it’s one Grian doesn’t remember having ever experienced. It’s maddening.

No sound at all.

No Scar talking his ear off. No birds chirping in the distance. No wind howling. No lava bubbling somewhere nearby. No zombies groaning in the night. No water pushed under his feet.

No begging for forgiveness in a cactus arena.

Grian isn’t allowed to linger on that thought though. The moment it enters his head the silence is gone. Birds chirping, wind rustling in the background, but most importantly, footsteps.

Grian opens his eyes again and far too many thoughts enter his head at once.

First, where is he? It’s a large room and certainly not one he recognizes. It’s not home. It isn’t flowers and desert. It’s comfort and it’s calm. A comfortable double bed (which he’s on top of), large open windows, bookshelves and a desk. It feels… It feels familiar. But not the unsettling kind he felt earlier. It feels safe. But that isn’t easing any of Grian’s other concerns.

Namely and, secondly; How did he get here? Normally this would be where he retraced his steps but there isn’t much to retrace past jumping off a cliff after killing Scar with his bare hands. Yes, there’s the voices, the eyes, the silence, but it doesn’t help him. That was more than likely all in his head, the emptiness of what lies beyond his last life. This isn’t that. It can’t be that.

Thirdly, and maybe most important, who’s approaching? Their footsteps are still some distance away, careful, but they don’t appear to be sneaking. Grian can’t figure out if they know he’s here or not. He’d rather not find out by having an arrow in his chest though. Quickly pushing himself off the bed, his eyes scan the room for anything he can use to defend himself. Anything to make sure he isn’t entirely defenceless against whoever brought him here. And Grian was always lucky in his unluckiest situation (just look at how everything ended), and there’s a chest right by the bed containing most things one would need when out of the house (inside the house too if Grian had anything to say about it). Tools, armour, blocks, food, a communicator. It’s better than what they could gather during their short time on the server, all the tools made of netherite. Grian doesn’t complain, only grabbing a sword for now, hearing the footsteps slowly but surely getting closer. He sneaks closer to the door, gripping the sword tightly, ready for the moment the person on the other side opens the door. He will get his answers.

There’s a knock? It catches Grian off guard for a split second. He’d expected whoever was keeping him here to walk in immediately, whether they knew he was here or not. He doesn’t move. Waiting one second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Then a voice.

“Grian? Are you in there?” Grian tenses. It’s an unfamiliar voice. It sounds hesitant, slightly nervous. Not scared. Just… worried? Grian doesn’t allow himself to read further into the male voice on the other side of the door. No, he’s more worried about the fact that this person knows his name. It’s one thing if he’d possibly found him somewhere and brought him here, but this makes things much more suspicious. Grain waits another few seconds, and then the door opens. It’s done carefully, as if this person were scared he’d wake someone up. Grian doesn’t even give the man a chance to look around the room.

Grian moves more on instinct than anything else, throwing his body forward, pushing the person with him against the other wall. The person in question lets out a loud yelp in surprise as he’s forced against the wall, pinned so his front is to Grian. The first thing he notices is the almost comedic moustache on the other’s face. If he’d met the man under any other circumstances Grian doesn’t doubt he’d comment on it. This isn’t any other circumstance though. This is one where he doesn’t know where he is, how he got here, found by a man who knows his name, all the while Grian is supposed to be dead alongside the rest of them. Otherwise, the man is wearing a suit, not unlike Skizz in that regard. This man’s suit is in good condition though, no arms ripped or signs of previous injuries or deaths.

“Grian?! What are you doing?” the stranger exclaims, letting out a nervous laugh. Yet, it isn’t as scared as Grian would have expected. He still sounds worried, more confused than anything. He pushes past that though, he’s here for answers, nothing else.

“Where am I? Who are you?” Grian asks, keeping his voice low, trying to appear threatening. It’s strange to do while the other is so much taller than him, but Grian is used to threatening people taller than him now. The stranger furrows his brows for a moment, more visibly confused.

“It’s me! Mumbo!” he exclaims like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. How self absorbed must a guy be to assume someone he hasn’t even spoken to knows who he is? Grian doesn’t let up, ensuring Mumbo doesn’t take advantage of his confusion.

“Well, Mumbo. You wouldn’t mind telling me where I am and how you know my name then?” Mumbo’s brows furrow slightly further, mumbling something quietly under his breath. Grian doesn’t catch more than ‘others’, he doesn’t let himself get distracted though, continuing to glare at the taller man.

“You’re on hermitcraft, mate?” There's some hesitancy to his words, but Grian gets the feeling it isn’t because he’s lying. ‘Hermitcraft’ doesn’t help him in the slightest. He’s never heard of the place, but then again, he supposes the question was a bit stupid in the first place.

“How did I get here?”

“My question is how you vanished in the first place! You, Scar, Ren, Impulse, Tango, Cleo, Etho and BDubs all just vanished suddenly. You’ve all slowly started returning with you coming back last.” Mumbo explains, speaking very quickly as he does. Grian on his end only grows more confused. How does this man know all of them? And why not all of them? Where are Timmy and Scott? Martyn, BigB, Joel and Skizz? None of it makes any sense. Grian not responding, mostly from the confusion plaguing him, seems to get Mumbo speaking again though.

“The others were confused but not like you. They didn’t know what happened either but they remembered-” Mumbo rambles. Remembers? And did Mumbo say returned? Are they…

Mumbo’s rambling and Grian’s train of thoughts both get interrupted by the sound of fireworks. Grian, for the first time, allows his gaze to leave Mumbo, instead looking back towards one of the large windows in the room, ready to quickly defend himself from the other direction. He’s not sure if he can defend himself from both Mumbo and the newcomer but he’ll have to try should it come to it. No doubt it would if Grian is pinning their friend to the wall.

His eyes lock with familiar eyes but with a colour Grian only got to see for a few short hours before Grian’s first prank. An emerald green on the face of a smiling man. A man Grian had plenty of time to get to know in the desert. A man Grian shared laughter and tears with. A person Grian yelled at, joked with, smiled at…

…A man Grian last saw dead on the ground in front of him…

“G-man! I saw you were back too!” a far too familiar cheerful voice exclaims. He flies(?) in through the window, landing not-very-gracefully. Slowly his smile falters just slightly to an expression of confusion. And yet despite the confusion, there’s that playful tone, as if he’s watching a joke or prank played out in front of him.

“Grian? Why are you pinning Mumbo to the wall?” And Grian can’t move. His eyes completely glued to Scar. Alive Scar. A Scar who’s lifeless eyes aren’t staring up at the desert sun. An alive Scar who’s still smiling at him. Who isn’t telling him it’s okay to kill him. Who isn’t screaming apologises back and forth with Grian. Grian doesn’t realise he’s let go of Mumbo, that he’s put away the sword, until he’s already wrapped his arms around Scar pulling him into a tight hug. It feels somewhat foreign. Grian can count on one hand the amount of hugs he’s received, much less given.

It takes a moment, but slowly two arms return the hug. The feel hesitant, confused. Grian can’t bring himself to care. His eyes are burning and Grian can feel the tears threatening to fall. Grian is confused, wants to know what’s happening, how he’s alive, how Scar’s alive. But that all gets pushed to the side.

Scar is here.

For just a moment Grian can ignore everything else. He can ignore many deaths on his hands. He can ignore the times he caused Scar’s death. He can ignore Scar betraying him. And for a moment, only a short moment, he can ignore the blood on his hands as he slowly backs away from the body beneath him. Instead he simply holds him close, almost desperately holding on. Scared that letting go slightly will make him vanish in his grasp.

“Hey, G? You okay?” a soft voice finally asks after what must be minutes of the two of them there. Scar. Grian knows he should let go. Not only are they in the open with a stranger in a strange place, but Grian shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t be hugging Scar. Not after everything that happened. Almost on instinct Grian tightens the hug anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers quietly, scared that speaking any louder will betray all the emotions hidden in his voice. Scared it’ll bring Scar back to the reality of Grian killing him, having a hand in every death he suffered through. Make him realise he should push away, protect himself. But Scar doesn’t. He keeps his arms around Grian, one hand on his lower back, the other slowly patting his hair. Insane Scar with no sense of self preservation holding his murderer. “I’m sorry,” he repeats again after a few seconds of agonising silence.

“What for?” is all he gets in return, asked softly, hesitantly, like Scar is scared he’ll scare him away. Grian only shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say. Scar doesn’t push for an answer though, seemingly content with letting Grian stay there for some reason. They do stay like that. Grian is able to push away all that haunts him, and Scar seemingly aware Grian isn’t ready to talk. It’s almost like nothing happened. Almost. Something is still screaming at Grian. Screaming at him to pull away, screaming it isn’t safe.

The door opens without warning, and Grian doesn’t hesitate. One moment Scar and Grian are safely in each other’s arms. Scar running his hand through Grian’s hair in an attempt to comfort him, and Grian keeping his head burrowed in Scar’s shoulder. The next Grian pushes Scar behind him, his wings widening slightly to make himself appear bigger, the sword back in his hand, glaring at whoever entered the room. Scar lets out a small yelp behind him at being pushed back, Mumbo, still standing awkwardly to the side near the door, also jumps slightly at the sudden shift.

The person who just entered doesn’t look too phased by the sight, pausing immediately, hand still on the door as he looks at Grian. He’s wearing some kind of helmet, although his eyes visibly move around the room to take everything in. His eyes finally land on Scar as Scar very gently pushes past Grian.

“Hey, hey, hey. G-man, it’s okay! It’s just X,” Scar walks in front of him, placing a hand on Grian’s sword hand. And if only that cleared anything up. Instead it only causes a hundred more questions. Who’s X? Why is he here? And maybe most importantly, how does Scar know him? Actually, Scar seems to know a lot more than him. He doesn’t like being so in the dark, he decides. Seemingly noticing Grian’s confusion he speaks again. “Xisuma?” he says, as if trying to refresh Grian’s memory. A memory Grian is sure he doesn’t have.

“Hey Grian, Mumbo called me over,” Xisuma is the one speaking now, cautiously. He stays by the door, seemingly more for Grian’s ease of mind rather than his own. The hand not placed on the door is out in the air, open so Grian can see it’s empty. It’s somewhat comforting. Grian remains silent though, eyes going between the three other people in the room.

Xisuma looks calm, but cautious, eyes focused entirely on Grian. Mumbo’s eyes aren’t too different from Grian in that they move around the room. He has a worried expression. Worried for what? Scar mostly looks confused, still standing close to him, hand still over his. Almost all his attention focused on Grian.

“He said you don’t remember a lot of things? You only seemed to know Scar?” Xisuma continues to explain, although it’s more him asking Grian instead. It does seem to confirm that Xisuma was called while Grian was holding Scar. Scar’s brows furrow slightly as he looks at Grian, his confusion turning to some weird blend between worry and curiosity. Grian doesn’t respond to Xisuma, only narrowing his eyes slightly at him, not sure what to think of him. Or Mumbo. Or this entire situation, and what do they mean not remembering? Seeing Grian not speaking Xisuma continues.

“This is Hermitcraft, your home server. Like Scar said, I’m Xisuma, your admin. You’ve been with us for almost three years now. You and a few others, including Scar, disappeared for a few weeks,” Xisuma speaks calmly, and Grian doesn’t know what to say. What to think. It would be easy to deny what he’s saying. But some of it makes sense. Almost too much. Grian doesn’t remember it, but there must have been something before… something before deserts and flowers. Before blood and war and betrayal.

“I… don’t know anything beyond the last few weeks,” Grian confirms cautiously, his eyes still on high alert between Xisuma and Mumbo, ready to use his sword should any of them try anything. Logically, he wouldn’t be able to do much, he knows. There’s no reason for him to believe he’s the only one carrying a weapon, and Scar is very clearly in the way of being able to do anything fast enough.

“Were you with Scar and the others?” Xisuma asks, although it looks like he already knows the answer.

“Probably,” Grian settles for. It’s what makes the most sense with what he’s told.

“And you remember all that happened there?” Grian does. He remembers craters from a failed prank and unsuccessful traps. He remembers lilacs and poppies offered hesitantly, pleading, a promise. He remembers a bloody crown on the ground and the bodies surrounding it. He remembers a clock lying broken in a small pond, blood slowly spilling into the previously clear water.

He can still feel the blood on his hands as the weight beneath him stops struggling.

“Grian?” It’s Scar’s voice that brings him back. Two red eyes filled with concern. No, emerald eyes. Two emerald eyes filled with concern. Grian notices the netherite sword now laying at his feet. When did it get there? Grian feels a knot in his throat, unsure what to say. How to continue. Was he asked a question? Why is everyone looking at him? And why isn’t he holding the sword?

It’s too crowded here. Too many eyes on him, and it feels like they’re all boring straight onto him. Grian wants to go. Be anywhere but here. Here, where he feels surrounded, trapped. Xisuma is standing in the way of the door. He can’t fly, like Scar apparently can (despite not having wings before). The room that previously felt so large suddenly feels like a small box. The windows are open, letting in air, but it isn’t helping. There’s too many people. Too little air. Too little room.

“Alriiight! How about we make some room and talk about this later, yeah? That sounds perfect! X, Mumbo! Message me in a bit and we’ll see? Sounds great,” suddenly the only comforting presence in the room is almost ripped away as Scar leaves his side. He hears some protest from Mumbo, light ones, but soon enough the door closes again. Grian looks up, ready to be met by loneliness, which somehow feels worse, but he isn’t. Scar is still there, a hand on the closed door. Scar visibly takes a deep breath, and then turns back around.

“Hey, G. Will you breathe for me? I’m sure that was a lot. Just follow my breathing, yeah?” Scar takes an overexaggerated breath, and it’s surprisingly easy to follow it. Grian takes a deep breath, it’s slightly shaky, but it does its job. “Nice! One more for me?” And Grian does, following Scar’s slow breathing. Scar smiles. “Do you want to talk or just sit down somewhere in silence?” he asks after a moment of silence. Grian takes another deep breath, gently shaking his head.

“Later.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll listen when you’re ready and I am an expert at keeping people out,” Scar says, winking. Grian lets out a soft chuckle in response, shaking his head, walking over to the bed to sit down. “And I’ll leave if you want as well. I just thought- I don’t know, you seemed comfortable with me specifically since you still remember me, not that I remember, but still me and-” Scar starts to ramble, and Grian knows that when it starts it doesn’t stop.

“It’s okay. You can stay,” Grian says, and the way Scar’s emerald eyes soften tells him better than anything he made the right choice.

Chapter Text

Scar is rambling, sprawled over Grian’s bed, and surprisingly Grian doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t actually know what he’s talking about, the only thing he’s actually listening to being his voice rather than the contents. His tone is almost musical, speaking quickly and enthusiastically. Grian doesn’t know how he somehow never seems to run out of things to talk about. It’s a nice reminder. It reminds him he isn’t alone. Scar is still here. He doesn’t need to think of the hill in the desert. The fight and the fall after. That’s easier said than done, of course, but Scar’s never ending voice is the best reminder he has.

“What is Hermitcraft? Are you all a bunch of hermits or…?” Grian asks suddenly, interrupting Scar’s rant. Scar, having previously had his eyes glued to the ceiling, turns his head to Grian.

“You? No-no, we. You’re included on that list, mister!” Scar exclaims, a bright smile on his lips as he jokingly scolds him. And maybe Grian would have if he remembered anything about this place. About Mumbo, and Xisuma, and this strange room made of materials he never would have gotten back in the desert. About this Scar who apparently doesn’t remember. “We do call ourselves that, yeah. There are around 20 of us. We do a bunch of different stuff together. Redstone, building, pranking. You know, just about anything!” Scar finishes with a small shrug. Grian nods slowly in return.

“And I’m guessing this is my base?” he asks, glancing around. Scar nods, grinning.

“Oh yes it is! And it is magnificent! We should check it out,” Scar is suddenly standing, walking over the chest next to Grian’s bed. Not waiting for a response, he removes stuff from it, placing tools and things on the bed for Grian to take.

“You know, I keep getting jealous about you not needing an elytra every time I check your chest. I think it is entirely unfair on the rest of us hard working hermits,” Scar complains. “Your wings even look nicer!” Scar exclaims, looking back. Are the elytras how Scar flew earlier then? But still.

“What?” Grian asks.

“Your wings? My elytra? You still had wings wherever we were, right?” He did. Of course he did. But he hadn’t been able to fly. Hadn’t even been able to slow a descent (or else his fall wouldn’t have been the way he’d die at the end). He had occasionally tried to fly instinctively more than anything else, the wings wanting to slow his fall whenever he jumped between trees. If he normally did fly he supposes those instincts made sense, even if they on many occasions almost killed him. Like something telling him he could jump from a wall without hurting himself, he’d just save himself, even while the logical part of him knew he wouldn’t.

“Yeah, of course,” is all Grian says, voice low as he grabs the items Scar grabbed for him. Scar is silent for a few seconds, making Grian turn around to him. He’s just standing there though, looking straight at Grian. The gaze feels…

“Are you okay?” the words startle Grian for a moment, the words seemingly coming out of nowhere. Grian raises an eyebrow, slightly. He doesn’t know where the question came from and he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t know what Scar wants to hear- what he wants from him with this question.

“Sorry, that came out of nowhere,” Scar says, letting out some chuckle. It doesn’t relieve any of the tension. “Just, you know. Not remembering anything. It was weird enough for me waking up and being told by X I’d been gone for a few weeks with no memories of it, but for you?” Grian doesn’t say anything for several seconds, using the excuse he’s putting the armour on.

No, Grian is not okay. He feels lost, clueless. Like he has no control over the situation. Mumbo, or X, or even this Scar without his memories could say something and Grian doesn’t know how he’d know if it was true or not. It feels like his mind is always racing, never having a moment of calm. Everything feels shaken. Grian knows who he is. Well, he did. Apparently not, and what makes it all the worse is that he has no idea what’s different. Is he the same person? He thinks so. Scar seems happy to talk his ear off like usual, seems to care. But it doesn't feel normal either.

He can’t shake off the feeling of being trapped in a confusing and unfamiliar reality. Even this familiar face and voice around him seems strange and unfamiliar. Grian tries to push it away though, focusing on the present, but that is far easier said than done. Grian takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He knows he needs to keep his wits about him, to try and piece together what he can. It’s frustrating, not only his situation but being unable to remember what’s being talked about. As he finishes putting on his armor, Grian turns to Scar, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“I’m good. Just confused, you know. Let’s go, yeah?” he says, hoping to end the conversation. He needs time to process everything, to try and figure out what's going on. and Grian walks towards the door, walking a bit quicker than necessary. Footsteps follow behind him.

“Oh, I thought we were flying,” Scar says, although he doesn’t slow his steps. Fly. Grian doesn’t know why the thought makes him nervous as it’s suggested. It’s fine, he’s apparently flown before, these wings apparently able to actually carry him as opposed to before. But still… There’s a knot in his stomach at the thought of doing it. Why?

But something about being unsuspended in the air fills him with a new sense of dread. One similar to that he’d felt being trapped. He doesn’t know why, just the thought of flying makes him feel… helpless, somehow. Grian tries to push the feeling aside, telling himself that he's being ridiculous. He's flown before apparently. He had even wished that his wings could carry him just a few days ago. But the more he thinks about it, the more he realises that something has changed. He can't quite put his finger on it, but the thought of being in the air without anything to hold onto fills him with a sense of unease. No, he can think about that later.

“I’m sure you’d just crash somewhere,” Grian teases, redirecting the conversation from its original topic. The response is immediate in the form of a gasp, and glancing back he sees Scar’s hand placed over his chest dramatically. He can’t help but roll his eyes fondly at the sight, imagining his own Scar reacting the same way.

“How dare you? I am an excellent flyer, I’ll have you know. Best on the server,” Scar says, grinning as he crosses his arms over his chest. Grian tries to hold back a grin but fails spectacularly. Scar could be correct, at the moment Grian doesn’t really have anyone to compare to, but he somehow highly doubts it.

“I don’t know. Your landing through the window wasn’t the most graceful,” he points out, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“I’ll have you know I was very distracted there,” Scar says, both grinning while they walk side by side through the base, which is much larger than Grian first thought it was.

“Oh really? By what exactly? I know you only realised I was pinning that Mumbo person to the wall after that horrible landing.” Grian continues. Scar pouts slightly, but his eyes still has that playful twinkle Grian almost never saw Scar without.

“Horrible? Now, that is taking it too far, G-man. You can’t expect everyone to be as great of a flyer as you. Some of us aren’t avian,” Scar says, although avoiding the question itself. Grian doesn’t think he has a right to push at the moment. They reach a much larger room with a big door, most likely leading to outside. That isn’t what grabs his attention first though. Neither is the large fireplace or the floor design.

“Why is there a diamond chandelier here?” A laugh escapes from Scar as he continues towards the front door.

“Well, someone thought they had too many diamonds and decided to flex his wealth. Believe it or not, this is not even your only diamond chandelier,” Scar says, the grin not letting up, instead almost brightening. Grian has no idea how he’d get that many diamonds from. He and Scar did have enough diamonds in the end, mostly due to Scar’s bartering. Not that he’ll ever understand how it worked, how anyone was interested in those reputation points. Scar holds the door open, and Grian goes through, followed by Scar.

“And here I present Grian’s mansion!” Scar exclaims, holding out his arms as he starts walking backwards so his eyes remain on the large building while still moving. Grian himself starts doing the same, his eyes wandering the large mansion. Grian knew he was good at building, even if he doesn’t remember why he knew it. Building their home had come naturally to him, like he’d built hundreds of times before. Still, he didn’t know he could build something like this.

As Grian looks at the mansion, he can't help but feel a sense of pride. It's an impressive structure, with towering walls and intricate details. He can see the care and attention to detail that went into every aspect of the design, from the elegant towers to the ornate windows and balconies. But at the same time, there's a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. He doesn't remember building this. He doesn't remember anything about it. He knows he must have, but it's like a blank spot. Trying to remember something he knows he doesn’t. Scar seems to sense his hesitation.

“You okay?” he asks, looking at Grian with concern. Grian nods, trying to push the unease away.

“Yeah, it's just... weird, you know? Building something like this and not remembering doing it.” Scar flashes him a small smile.

“Yeah, I get it,” is the soft response he gets. “Did you build anything wherever we were?” he asks. It’s strange not actually being asked where they were, what happened. Instead Scar takes it slow with that kind of question. One that he can reveal as much or little as he wants.

“Nothing this big. I built an embarrassingly ugly entrance to a cave house. We built a small castle in the desert and then a bunker,” Scar’s brows furrow for a moment.

“A bunker? What for?”

Grian does not think of the Battle of the Red Desert. He doesn’t think about his first death. The pain as he slowly, far too slowly, lost his first life. The disappointment of yet another failed trap, no one from Dogwarts having lost even a single life. The way his heart sank hearing Timmy had lost his last life. His worry for Scar. But also knowing the end was getting close, even if Grian didn’t yet know what the end would mean.

“Against dogwarts, they attacked us and, well,” Grian shrugs softly. “It had to come to a head somewhere,” Grian responds. Scar remains silent for a moment, watching Grian closely. It makes him feel uneasy, like he’s being read like an open book. Like somehow Scar can see everything going on in his head. And still not. He still looks inquisitive, confused.

“What’s Dogwarts?” Scar finally asks, tilting his head towards Grian slightly. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Ren led it with Martyn as his hand. Then there was Skizz, Etho and kind of Impulse,”

“I don’t think I know a Martyn,” Scar says. That checks with what that admin had said earlier. He hadn’t mentioned Martyn’s name, but he had mentioned Ren’s. Ren is alive somewhere here. Ren. “I think I know off Skizz though. I think Impulse mentioned him once,” Scar continues, as they reach the bottom of the stairs, now on a patch of grass with a jungle behind him.

Grian wishes he understood anything. He knows these people died. He saw them die. He knows Scar killed Ren. He knows Bdubs killed Impulse. He knows Scar killed Bdubs. And he knows he killed Scar. And Grian killed himself. He wants so badly to know how they’re here. Back. Safe, apparently. But how does he bring that up? How could he ask anyone that? Especially since they don’t remember. And Grian doesn’t remember.

And then there’s the issue of everyone else. What happened to Skizz, BigB, Joel, the flower husbands, Martyn if they aren’t here? They have to be somewhere, right? Or aren’t they? Did they die?

Scar is watching him. He can see the question on his tongue. The question he’s already asked twice, and Grian won’t let him ask it a third time.

“Who’s Mumbo?” the question leaves just as Scar’s own mouth opens. Grian was quicker though. Mumbo seemed special somehow. The first one to check on Grian. Seemed to think Grian was joking when he threatened him. There has to be something there. Scar’s smile returns.

“Oh, Mumbo! He is probably your best friend. You’ve known him longer than any of the rest of us,” Scar explains, seemingly forgetting the previous question. “He wanted to apologise for scaring you, by the way,” Grian’s brows furrow in confusion. Why? Grian was the one who attacked?

“Oh and otherwise, X wants to talk to you when you feel well enough. He’s worried. Wanted to make sure you’re okay, and I think he wants to know what happened as well. I can’t imagine how he must’ve felt after realising eight of us vanished. Then returning with no memory of that time, and then you returning like… that…” Scar bites his lip, trailing off at the end. “Although! I can keep him off your back as long as you need, and I highly doubt he’d force you to talk about anything. He doesn’t like to pry,” Scar continues. And that makes him feel just slightly better about it. Slightly.

“In the meanwhile! What next? Do you want to meet anyone else you know?” Grian’s stomach drops for a moment. Ren who they fought against and who Scar killed. Etho who was shot by Scar, who fought against them with Dogwarts, whose house kept being burnt down. Impulse who Grian and Scar made Bdubs kill. Bdubs who Grian killed with the bubble elevator, who then killed Grian… Scar betraying him for that piece of paper in the process. Grian suddenly finds the ground very interesting, avoiding looking at Scar he takes a deep breath.

“I think I can speak to Xisuma now.” It’s stupid. He knows. He doesn’t want to speak to the admin. He would actually rather dig himself in a hole to never return. But he also knows he has to, and even better, it’s an escape. He doesn’t need an excuse as to why he doesn’t want to meet anyone else. Not that he’s worried. Logically he knows they don’t remember, at least according to Xisuma, Mumbo and Scar. But he doesn’t think he can see them yet. Scar looks surprised for a moment, before nodding quickly.

“Oh? Wonderful! I will message X and ask him to come back. Or we can fly to his base, you chose,” Scar says, smiling.

“He can come here,” Grian answers almost too quickly, as Scar takes out his communicator writing on it.

“Perfect!” Grian has no idea what to say to the admin. What he wants to know, how much Grian can say (how much he wants to say). But Scar said he wouldn’t force him to talk. He doesn’t know if that’s true.

“Do you want to be alone with X or do you want anyone with you?” Scar asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Alone,” Grian replies, this time definitely too quickly. He doesn’t know what he’ll say but he does know he doesn’t want Scar anywhere near him during that conversation. It’s difficult to read Scar’s expression as he nods.

“Alright, I’ll be nearby in case you need me though,” Scar says, and even if Grian doesn’t want him there he feels a small smile appear on his lips, feeling comforted by the fact Scar is still here. Still willing to be by his side.

And yet with every action that reminds him of his Scar, he can’t help but brace himself for the inevitable betrayal.

Chapter Text

Saying Scar is worried is an understatement. Scar is able to push through lots of things, laugh and smile through pain. But even he couldn’t hide behind a smile after Xisuma’s visit when he first returned. A very happy Jellie had refused to leave his side since the moment he woke up that day and Xisuma’s explanation had more than explained it. Gone for several weeks with no one knowing where they were. Bdubs had apparently also returned just a few hours earlier, and Grian was still missing. Mumbo had come by in a hurry just a few minutes after Xisuma appeared and the two had been up talking, Scar trying to ignore the pit in his stomach from going missing all while not remembering what was happening during that time. They both worried over Grian, Scar trying to be the optimistic one for both of them.

This entire situation had reminded Mumbo too much of the last time Grian had gone missing. Scar still doesn’t know the full story. Grian doesn’t like talking about his past (and that’s totally fine!) but Mumbo had been close friends with Grian even back then, and Mumbo made no secret his best friend had vanished one day, only to one day return and quickly join hermitcraft. If Mumbo knows more he hasn’t told Scar, and Scar doesn’t blame him. That is definitely something Grian should share if he wanted, not someone else. No, Scar has just made sure to always stay close to his friends and offer the support either of them needs if they ever ask for it.

The next day when his communicator buzzed Grian’s return, Scar's direction changed quicker than it ever had (it’s a miracle he didn’t crash). He’d been in the shopping district so it took longer than it should have to get there, but even that time couldn’t prepare him for the state he found his two friends in. Grian pinning Mumbo to the wall at sword point would normally be a thing to laugh at, but the way Grian had looked at him had completely destroyed any humour from the situation. He looked like he was seeing a ghost, and Scar doesn’t ever want Grian to look at him that way again. He looked heartbroken.

Suddenly Scar was pulled into a tight hug, a much warmer welcome than Mumbo had apparently gotten. Most of the hug was spent trying to soothe Grian, and sharing confused glances with Mumbo, both completely at a loss. The situation only got weirder after Xisuma arrived, and somehow Scar managed to get both the worried hermits out of the room, promising to message them as soon as something happened.

Scar quickly found the easiest way to calm him down was to ramble. Scar knows Grian wasn’t listening, but he also saw him slowly calming down. He doesn’t know what happened, but if there’s anything Scar can do he knows he’s going to do it. It’s strange seeing Grian like this. There but not entirely. He seems almost distracted, lost in thought, head entirely elsewhere.

Scar doesn’t know what Grian remembers. What he and some of the other hermits experienced during this missing time, but Scar doesn’t need to know. Not yet. Right now all his energy has to go to Grian and making sure he’s okay. He’s been entirely on edge the entire time, even when Scar did manage to calm him down. Trying to help is difficult though when he doesn’t know what happened. Even more difficult when Grian can go from the usual joking Grian, teasing back and forth, to a Grian who seems to have almost forgotten Scar is there in a moment.

To be honest, Scar didn’t want to leave Grian alone with X. But he also doesn’t want to impose. If Grian doesn’t want him there for that conversation he’ll sit it out. Sitting it out actually means going to the shopping district to check up on the barge for him. Grian might not remember it but Scar has nothing better to do, and if he can’t help by being there he can at least do this. Mumbo seems to have the same idea though, already inside the barge, looking through a few chests.

“Well hello there!” Scar greets, and Mumbo literally jumps, the chest closing behind him as he turns around.

“Oh my goodness!” Mumbo exclaims, placing a hand over his heart. “You scared me half to death, Scar! What are you doing here?” Mumbo looks around, looking very flustered.

“I came to check on the barge for Grian,” Scar explains. “He’s talking to X and I didn’t want to intrude. Figured I’d make myself useful instead.” Scar says, shrugging softly as he walks closer, leaning against the chest next to Mumbo. Mumbo, always being Mumbo, starts pacing back and forth, never able to stand still for long.

“Ah, gotcha,” Mumbo’s face relaxes slightly, nodding. “I was doing the same. I realised I should do something. Been feeling pretty useless waiting for any information about all of you,” Mumbo continues. Scar nods softly in understanding. He also wishes he could do something more, but Mumbo? He’d been sitting around with no information for weeks. One day had been enough to almost paralyse Scar with worry for Grian. Several weeks of it though? Scar can’t imagine how difficult it was for Mumbo.

“Well, we’re here now. Might as well make the most of it,” Scar says, offering a small smile to Mumbo. A chance to be alone in a quiet location. Ready to listen if Mumbo wants an ear, or distract him. At least both will be able to do something while they wait around.

Together they start going through the chests, seeing what’s stocked, what needs to be restocked, and collecting any diamonds they can give to Grian later. They work in silence for a while, the only sounds being the occasional rustling of items being moved around. It's a peaceful and calming activity, and Scar is grateful for the distraction.

As they work, Scar can’t help but think about Grian and X’s conversation. He wonders what they’re talking about, if Grian is okay. He wants to go back and check on him, but he doesn't want to interrupt. Scar trusts Grian to handle things on his own, but it's hard to ignore the nagging feeling of worry in his gut. Especially with the way he’d acted with some of Scar’s suggestions during their short time together before Grian practically pushed him away.

“How is he?” Scar’s thoughts are interrupted. Scar glances back at Mumbo.

“He’s… confused mostly. Occasionally he’s teasing like normal, other times he seems to get stuck in his head. Which, I mean, it makes sense with him losing his memory somehow,” Scar trails off slightly at the end, trying to figure out exactly how to explain the situation. Mumbo runs a hand through his hair, his face otherwise hidden as he’s looking through a chest. Both remain silent for several seconds until Scar speaks again.

“How are you doing?” Scar tries not to imagine being the one to enter one of his best friend’s rooms only to get pinned to a wall and realise they don’t remember you. Grian remembers Scar at least. Maybe not everything, actually he doesn't know how much Grian actually knows. One moment it feels like Grian knows everything, is the exact same, then the next moment Grian almost feels like a completely different person. Scar didn’t want to point it out back there, but hearing Grian ask who Mumbo was (Mumbo!) had caught him completely off guard. He knew he didn’t remember, X had said as much. Still, it was such a strange question, he hadn’t even been sure how to answer. Mumbo takes a deep breath before answering.

“I'm… alright, I think,” he says, but the hesitation in his voice suggests otherwise. “It's just been tough, you know? I feel helpless, like there’s nothing I can do to help him. And then there’s the fact that he doesn’t remember me, or anything about our friendship. It’s hard, Scar. Really hard.” Scar understands. No, not entirely. Grian still remembers Scar. Still seems to trust him. At least somewhat, it’s clear there’s some hesitation. Not that Scar can blame him for it.

“It’s just. I know he had me pinned against the wall, I was the one in direct danger, but he still looked like a cornered animal,” Mumbo continues. “And he doesn’t remember me so I can’t help him! Because why would he want a complete stranger talking to him about… whatever this is?!” Mumbo exclaims. Scar slowly nods in understanding, walking over to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I know, Mumbo. But we’re here for him. We’ll figure this out together. And who knows, maybe talking to a 'stranger' like you could be exactly what Grian needs," Scar offers a small smile, hoping to reassure him. Mumbo looks over, looking contemplative.

“You really think so?” he asks. Scar nods, placing his arm around Mumbo.

“Of course I do! We’re all friends and we all care about Grian. That counts for something, yeah?” he asks. Mumbo sighs softly, but offers Scar a small, uncertain, smile.

“Yeah,” Mumbo says softly, returning to the chest. Scar flashes another smile, going back to his own chest as well. As they work in silence, Scar can't help but feel a sense of unease settle in his stomach. He knows Grian is strong and resourceful, but this situation is different. Grian doesn't have his memories, and Scar can only imagine how scary that must be. He wants to be there for Grian, to support him and help him through this. But at the same time, he doesn't want to overstep or make things worse.

“Hello, my dudes,” a new voice rings out over the barge. Scar lets out a strange high pitched noise at the sudden interruption, quickly wiping his head towards the entrance. Mumbo similarly jumps on the other side of the room, slamming the chest he was looking through shut. A laugh rings out through the barge.

“Ren! You scared me!” Scar scolds, grinning towards the entrance of the barge, meeting a similarly bright grin. Scar takes a moment to calm down, shaking his head softly before speaking again. “Hello Ren, how are you today?” Scar asks, closing his chest, leaning back against it slightly as he looks over at the newcomer.

“I’m good. I noticed you and Grian were back. I thought I’d find Grian here, knowing him he would get right back to restocking the barge rather than take a day’s rest,” Ren explains, and it’s true. Had Grian woken up the same as the rest of them Scar has no doubt Grian would have gone right back to work. “But I found you instead, which is just as good,” Ren says, smiling. Scar chuckles at Ren’s comment, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. Ren always had a way of lightening the mood and making everyone feel at ease.

“Yeah, Grian’s talking to X right now,” Scar explains. Ren nods in understanding, crossing his arms as he looks around the barge.

“Ah, I see. Well, I'll let him be then for now. Is everything okay though? You both seem a bit on edge,” Ren asks, looking between Scar and Mumbo. Scar's expression turns serious, his mind immediately going back to the conversation he had with Grian earlier. He hesitates, glancing at Mumbo for a moment before speaking up.

"We're just a bit worried about Grian. He's... not quite himself, you know?" Scar says, trying to keep his tone light. Ren furrows his brow, concern etched on his features. Ren had also been one of the people who vanished. Another person woke up after having lost weeks. Scar doesn’t know how Ren first reacted to it, having returned the day after Ren according to Mumbo. He hopes Ren is okay with everything, Scar should probably go talk to the other people who vanished, see how they are doing. But that has to be put on hold in favour of Grian at the moment.

"What do you mean?" Ren asks, taking a step closer to them. Scar glances at Mumbo once more before sighing softly.

“When Grian returned he didn’t remember Hermitcraft, at all. Or anything before it,” Scar explains. Ren somehow looks even more concerned hearing that. “He seems to remember wherever we were though.”

“What? Is he okay?” Ren’s concern is palpable, eyes widening slightly in shock. Scar hesitates, trying to find the right words.

“He’s more guarded, more on edge. It’s like he’s constantly on the lookout for something,” Scar says. Ren frowns softly in response. “And he only remembers us who vanished,” Scar adds.

“He pinned me to a wall, threatening me for information when I first found him,” Mumbo explains from where he’s standing. “When Scar came by he calmed down slightly and then when X came to check on him he again held out the sword again. He looked like a cornered animal, Ren,” he continues, starting to slowly pace. Ren remains silent for a few seconds, the frown still very visible on his face.

“I’m guessing we weren’t in a very nice place then,” he says quietly. Scar can’t help but to agree. He’s tried to avoid thinking about it, focusing on helping Grian instead, but the way he was acting? It seems to confirm wherever they were wasn’t a place they’d want to return to. But without knowing exactly where they were and what happened Scar isn’t sure how he can help except by being there. He hopes X can help too.

“Probably not,” Scar responds, cringing slightly. Mumbo somehow looks even worse than before.

“I just wish we could help him!” he exclaims, throwing his arms up. “But I don’t know how! Not when he doesn’t remember everything we’ve been through. He was just like this before he joined us here, back after he vanished. But back then he knew me, and he didn’t tell me everything but he trusted me at least,” Mumbo starts ranting, still pacing. Ren and Scar watch him quietly. They hadn’t seen him much then. When he joined the server he’d been a bit hesitant at first but then quickly integrated himself with the other hermits. He’d certainly come a long way from their first meeting (well, was it much of a meeting if Scar they didn’t speak and Scar just died in front of him?).

“We’ll help him, Mumbo. Don’t you worry,” Scar says, doing his best to flash a smile, hide his own worry for the situation. Ren nods, looking determined.

“Count me in, dudes. Whatever Grian needs, we’ll be there for him,” Ren says, his eyes shining with determination. Scar can’t help but feel grateful for his fellow hermits. No matter what happens, they’ll always be there for each other. “I’ll give the others a heads up when I see them. You two don’t need to worry about it in the slightest,” he continues, giving them both a smile.

“Thank you, Ren,” Mumbo says, returning the smile weakly.

"Well, let me know if there's anything I can do to help. I'll keep an eye on Grian too, make sure he's okay," Ren offers, a small smile on his face. Scar feels grateful for Ren's offer, a weight lifting off his shoulders. Another person Grian will recognise will be good.

"Thanks, Ren. We appreciate it," Scar says, returning the smile. Mumbo nods in agreement, looking slightly more relaxed.

"Anytime, my dudes. Now, I'm sure you both have work to do. I'll let you get back to it," Ren says, giving them a wave before turning to leave. Scar watches as Ren exits the barge, feeling a sense of gratitude for their friend. Maybe they can get through this after all. Once he’s out of sight Scar hears several fireworks go off. Scar then turns back to Mumbo.

“You know, maybe it wouldn't hurt to talk to Grian,” Scar suggests, causing Mumbo to look up at him in surprise. Scar continues, “You're his friend, Mumbo. Even if he doesn't remember you right now, I'm sure deep down he trusts you. Maybe he just needs to hear a friendly voice, someone who cares about him.” Mumbo’s smile turns slightly more genuine.

“Maybe. Do we want to head back towards the jungle? Wait for Grian and X to finish up?” he suggests. Scar gives a clear nod.

“Great idea, Mumbo! Otherwise I might be tempted to steal these diamonds. I mean, Grian won’t know,” Scar says, grinning softly. Mumbo lets out a laugh.

“I will tell him,” he says, putting on his elytra. Scar gasps dramatically.

“You wouldn’t dare, Mumbo! Betray me like that?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Mumbo says, grinning as they both walk out of the building.

“He wouldn’t even notice! He’s got diamond chandeliers for crying out loud!” Scar exclaims. Mumbo shakes his head softly, still smiling.

“First one to G’s hobbit hole?”

“You’re on!” Scar exclaims, not waiting for Mumbo before taking off quickly in the direction of the jungle.

Chapter Text

Xisuma sits on the opposite side of the table. After arriving he’d been nothing but kind, making small talk (that Grian didn’t respond to), seemingly calm. Despite that though it’s clear Xisuma isn’t. While the first time Grian saw him he seemed it, he now realises just how terrible Xisuma looks. His eyes red from a lack of sleep, his eyelids slightly dropped, somewhat slouched over. Grian wonders when he slept last. Scar did say he’d been worried after they vanished. Grian knows from what little experience he remembers that worry can definitely cause a lack of sleep. How many nights had he stayed up worrying? Especially after Scar turned Red.

His eyes land on the communicator he placed on the table in front of him. Before leaving Scar had made sure Grian got it. He’d already picked it up when Scar had tossed it onto the bed earlier, but Scar had been very insistent to call on him if he needed anything at all. Grian doubts he will. He feels a twinge of guilt for doubting Scar's sincerity. He knows that Scar is always looking out for him, and while he wasn’t completely honest with others he was always honest with Grian. He knows he should be grateful for Scar's concern, but he can’t shake the feeling that he was being watched over like a child. Grian is, in the end, independent and self-reliant, and the idea of relying on someone else for help made him uneasy.

But it isn’t entirely rooted in his pride either. Or his mistrust for this new place, new people, new Scar. But it’s clear something is bothering Scar. Grian always knew how to read Scar’s eyes. So open, honest. And he knows this is hanging over Scar. He doesn’t know what part though. But Grian can’t bother him with any more of his problems. Still, the twinge of guilt persisted, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s being too closed off.

“Right, so, I don’t want to push. You must be very confused and just arriving back here not remembering us,” Xisuma starts. That’s an understatement if Grian had ever heard one. He remains silent though, leaning back slightly in his chair as he looks around the room. Not out of nervousness, that’d be ridiculous. He chose to have this conversation here, now, and alone. He’s only observing this room he doesn’t remember building. “But I do want to know what happened.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Grian says quickly. He really doesn’t. He knows he was… somewhere… competing in a death game of some kind. He only remembers standing in that circle of people, somehow knowing the rules he hadn’t remembered having explained to him, and then running off.

“I didn’t think you would. I just hope talking to you might shine some light on what happened. Any bit helps. It’s just very worrying when suddenly eight people I’m supposed to take care of vanish and return one after the other with no memories of anything that happened while they were gone. They didn’t even realise they had been gone until they were told about it,” Xisuma explains. “And if you have any questions I’ll gladly answer them as well, I don’t know how much Scar told you,” he adds.

“Only a bit,” Grian responds, his eyes landing on the door at the other end of the room. Grian wants Scar back. He doesn’t want to talk to him, just see him. Make sure he’s safe. Won’t lose another life. He doesn’t want to be alone again. He never wants to be alone again. He can return to that mountain.

How can Grian protect Scar if he’s somewhere else?

But somewhere in his head that one treacherous thought echoes:

Scar only ever died around you.

“Do you want me to get Scar for you?” Xisuma asks, seeing where his eyes are pointing. “Or someone else. I don’t know what happened but I don’t blame you at all if you want someone with you,” he continues.

“No,” Grian responds, almost too quickly. Despite all that, he can’t have Scar here when he tells Xisuma what happened. He can’t look him in the eyes as he does, and anyone other than him is out of the question. Xisuma nods, seemingly understanding. They remain silent like that for several long seconds, and Grian is sure Xisuma will ask a question, get this going. He doesn’t. Instead, he reassures Grian.

“We have a rule on this server. No one has to share their past. This is a slightly different situation, I’ll admit. This involves many hermits, and is a point of safety. Nevertheless, I won't force you to speak on anything you don't want to. I would appreciate any information for my own peace of mind, and to make sure all of you are safe, but again. It's all up to you, Grian," Xisuma says, speaking calmly.

“When you got here you didn’t want to talk about your past either. That was fine. I will never force you to say anything about this. We can put this on hold, get back to this if you want. Or we can get this over with. All I want is for you and everyone else to be safe,” he continues, and Grian nods, grateful for the understanding. He wishes he could keep it safe, never think of any of it again. But that’s impossible. Especially when it’s all he has. Nothing else. And it’s only him in there. Alone, still stuck in that desert. Grian speaks in only a whisper.

“I don’t remember a lot.” Lie. Grian remembers every moment in there. Everything from Martyn’s creeper impressions he made at the start to the sand grains stuck in his useless wings. “I don’t remember how we got there or who brought us there,” he continues. That’s the truth at least. “I don’t know why only I remember.” But he does, doesn’t he?

Grian won.

Won?

Grian wants to scoff at the thought. He didn’t win. Winning doesn’t involve killing your… Scar. Winning doesn’t mean standing alone by a llama’s grave, standing over the body of the person he cares about most. Winning isn’t being alone even after he’s out of there.

“I only remember standing on a small patch of grass with 13 other people. I… I somehow knew who everyone was, could refer to them by their name and such even if I didn’t really… know them. I really don’t know how we ended up there,” It feels like Xisuma is looking straight through him, reading his every thought. Able to see everything Grian did to win. Judging him for all of it. Grian hates the feeling.

“Do you remember who was there?” Grian takes a deep shaky breath.

“Timmy,” killed by Skizz. “Cleo,” killed by Skizz. “Skizz,” killed by Grian. “Joel,” killed by Ren. “Scott,” killed by Ren. “Etho,” killed by Impulse. “Tango,” killed by Martyn. “Ren,” killed by Scar (Grian tries not to let the thought fill him with satisfaction). “Martyn,” killed by Scar. “Impulse,” killed by Bdubs. “BigB,” killed by Bdubs. “Bdubs,” killed by Scar. “Scar,” killed by Grian… “…and me…” Xisuma nods slowly. Grian doesn’t know if any of those names mean anything to Xisuma. He doesn’t even know if any of those names mean anything to himself. Aside from the hermits, that is.

In the end, does it really matter? Grian isn’t sure. What he is noticing more and more though is that he is alone.

Scar is here. But Scar isn’t here. Neither is anyone else.

No, Grian is still alone in that desert. A different kind of alone, but it’s no doubt there. Still standing alone, the desert sun on his skin, sand under him, blood on his hands. And somehow that brings him to the question that’s been on his mind this entire time. Interrupting any other questions Xisuma might have (which are probably many).

“How does death work?” Grian suddenly asks. Xisuma furrows his brows in confusion as he looks back at him.

“What?” he asks, the confusion very evident in his voice. Grian doesn’t understand why the question is so confusing. It’s simple enough, but one he doesn’t know the answer to. One he needs to know the answer to. He has to. He needs to know exactly how they’re all back here after they should be dead.

“How does it work?” he asks again.

“You respawn?” Xisuma responds hesitantly. There’s worry in his voice, like he’s answering a question without actually answering it. It sounds like he’s suspecting something but doesn’t want to say it either.

“Yeah, I know that, but after the last respawn?” Grian pushes.

“What do you mean last respawn?” he asks, leaning forward slightly in his chair. The worry now more clearly shown on his face through the helmet. Grian takes a small breath, unsure how to explain it. Unsure why Xisuma can’t just answer.

“Like, having three lives. You respawn those times and then what?” There’s some frustration in Grian’s voice now, trying to explain something while the admin plays dumb. It’s one thing to explain it to someone who genuinely doesn’t know (like they all hadn’t), but Xisuma has to. He’s an admin. There’s a short pause with Xisuma only staring at Grian. Then finally he takes a deep breath and speaks.

“There is no limit, Grian.” Grian’s brows furrow. No, there clearly is. There was a limit. Or else Timmy wouldn’t have died. Or Scott. Or Scar. Or anyone. “...was there a limit where you were?” Xisuma asks, voice hesitant. Grian doesn’t even get a chance to process what that question might mean as his communicator buzzes.

> GoodTimeWithScar fell from a high place.

Grian looks down the ravine. Items scattered everywhere. His communicator is buzzing, people panicking, no doubt. Scar is red. He has a new goal. Kill everyone else. Be the last one standing. He’s hostile…

Strangely, his first thought isn’t survival. Fear for his life, ensuring he’s prepared for the worst case scenario when Scar returns. No, he only stares down at the items in the ravine. Items scattered everywhere where Scar had fallen excitedly talking about science and discovery. Wanting so badly to test if the enderman would still be fixated on Cleo after she stole Pizza.

Scar is almost dead. One mistake. One lapse of judgement. One distraction. One… One prank.

One anything.

Grian climbs down the ravine, almost numbly collecting Scar’s items into a chest. He doesn’t know where Scar is, how long it will take. But Grian will wait. He still has a debt. If that debt is used by killing him… well… Grian hopes that’s not the case. He can still help Scar. He might not be able to help kill, but he can still help in other ways.

Scar’s death had been stupid. So avoidable. If they’d just gone a little slower. If they paid a little more attention. If Scar just hadn’t been distracted. If Grian only had been a bit quicker to warn him. Grian had been able to stop himself right before the ravine’s edge, but Scar had just continued running.

As Grian looks around, he can feel the weight of the situation on his shoulders. This entire thing is getting to him, and he knows that Scar's death could have been his own. He can't let himself get distracted, he needs to stay focused and alert at all times. (And Grian isn’t sure if that thought is selfish or because he doesn’t want his excuse for staying with Scar to disappear)

But how can he do that when he's so consumed by guilt? If only he had been quicker, if only he had warned Scar sooner, if only he had been more careful. If only he hadn’t tried to prank everyone at the start. He knew Martyn’s creeper noises had gotten everyone off guard. If only the others had said something! If only the creeper had gotten anyone other than Scar. If only Grian had even one more brain cell and actually thought things through for once.

It's too late to go back now, though. Grian knows that he needs to keep moving forward, and that means protecting Scar at all costs. He still owes Scar a life. He’s going to follow through. Whatever that means. If that means getting killed now, then that’s what it means. If it means helping Scar reach his goals, then so be it. Whatever it means, Grian is loyal. And he will not let Scar die again. No matter what.

What a joke.

“Grian!” Grian looks up, eyes locked with Xisuma’s. His brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, the eye contact remaining for several long seconds. Grian only stares. Xisuma leans over the table slightly, but remains where he is, allowing the table to stay as a barrier between them, something he’s very thankful for.

Grian doesn’t know when he stopped breathing. He doesn’t know when the ringing in his ear started. All he feels is panic coursing through his veins. It feels impossible to breathe, every breath feels like trying to inhale the whole world. Grian's vision blurs as he looks around frantically, searching for some sense of security or familiarity. Everything around him seems to warp and distort, his surroundings morphing into an unrecognisable maze. He tries to speak, but his throat feels tight and his voice comes out as a strangled gasp.

At that moment, all Grian wants is for the panic to stop, for everything to go back to normal. He tries to take a deep breath, but it only seems to make things worse. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he feels like he's going to be sick. Xisuma reaches out a hand, but hesitates before making contact with Grian's arm. Grian feels the touch, and it's like a lifeline in the storm. He doesn’t know why the touch is so comforting. He doesn’t know the other, but it is and he clings to it.

“It's okay," he says calmly. “You're going to be okay. Just focus on your breathing, okay? In and out, nice and slow.” Xisuma takes an exaggerated breath, guiding him, and Grian takes a deep breath. “Can you tell me five things you can see?”

Grian's mind is completely clouded with panic, but Xisuma's voice manages to break through the fog. He focuses on the sound, letting it guide him. As he breathes in and out, slowly, Grian tries to concentrate on his words, hoping they'll help him escape the overwhelming feeling of dread. Grian's eyes dart around the room, trying to pick out objects to name. He tries to speak again, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper.

“Uh,” he stammers, his voice still shaky. “The table. The lantern. The window. The door. The bookshelf.” The words come out in a jumble, but he's relieved to have been able to answer. Xisuma nods, his expression gentle and understanding.

“Good job,” he says, his tone reassuring. “Now four things you can feel.” Grian takes another deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. He tries to focus on the physical sensations in his body, to ignore the rising panic.

“The chair. Your hand on my arm. My heartbeat. The fabric of my shirt.”

Blood on his hands.

Except he knows that isn’t there. He knows there isn’t blood on his hands, or anywhere. He isn’t in the desert. Those sand grains aren’t real. And knowing that, even if his mind tries to convince him it is, makes it slightly easier to breathe.

“Excellent,” Xisuma says, a note of pride in his voice. “And three things you can hear.” Grian strains his ears, trying to block out the ringing in his ears.

“Your voice. My breathing. The rustling on leaves in the wind outside,” he responds, taking a deep breath immediately after.

“And two things you can smell?” It’s becoming easier to focus, finding what’s asked of him. Easier to breathe too.

“Flowers.” It isn’t poppies and lilacs. “And I think coffee?” He doesn’t know where that scent would have come from though. Xisuma nods, his smile widening.

“Very good. And one thing you can taste.” Grian licks his lips, tasting the bitterness of fear. He swallows hard, feeling a lump form in his throat.

“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Just keep breathing,” Xisuma says, seemingly sensing his discomfort. “I always have problems with that one too if I haven’t eaten before,” he continues, earning a small nod from Grian. He doesn't know how long they sit there, Xisuma's hand on his arm, his voice a constant soothing presence as he rambles calmly. Eventually, the panic recedes, slowly but surely.

Grian feels exhausted, drained by the intensity of the experience. But he also feels grateful for Xisuma's presence. He doesn’t know why he feels so safe. He shouldn’t. Xisuma is practically a stranger, and yet somehow he helped. As he starts to come back to himself, he turns to Xisuma, his eyes meeting the other's. “Thank you,” he says, his voice still weak. Suddenly his eyes widen, remembering why the spiral was caused in the first place. But Xisuma speaks first, voice still calm, soothing, seeing exactly what he’s looking for.

“Scar is safe, he’s respawned back at his bed. There are no limited respawns here, okay?” Xisuma slides his communicator over the table, leaving it open for Grian to check. “Look, he even wrote in chat. He’s okay.”

Iskall: rip

Cubfan135: and so it begins anew

Tango: already?

Impulse: nice to have you back, buddy

MumboJumbo: I win

GoodTimeWithScar: I can not believe you Mumbo!

GoodTimeWithScar: Cheating!

MumboJumbo: I have no idea what you’re talking about

Grian takes another deep breath. Scar is good. Scar is safe. He hasn’t failed. He’s still in chat. He looks back up at Xisuma, about to ask, but Xisuma has already started speaking.

“Grian. I don’t know what happened. Where you were or what you went through. But first I need you to know you and everyone else is safe here. Okay?” Grian doesn’t speak for several seconds, looking for any hints of deception. And even after not finding any, the doubt still lingers. But he pushes it aside. He doesn’t have the energy to question him. He just wants to go lay down.

“I say we continue this some other day. Does that sound okay, Grian?” Xisuma asks. Part of him wants to snap back that he can take it, not to treat him like a baby. He can talk about it. But another, louder part, is thankful. He nods, and is met with a soft smile in return.

“Do you want any help? Want me to fetch anyone? Take you somewhere?” he asks. Grian doesn’t want to move. He would love to just fall asleep on the floor behind him. But first he needs to see him. Make sure he’s safe.

“I want to make sure Scar is okay,” he somehow manages to say. Xisuma nods.

“If you need anything, please let me know. I’m just a message away, okay?”

Grian nods.

Chapter Text

“I thought we were having a fair race, mister! Instead, I get left in the dust,” Scar says, landing right in front of Mumbo. Luckily he had some extra elytras to use for these situations, situations that occur way too often to him specifically. Nevertheless, this time he’s entirely blaming Mumbo, giving him a playful glare while crossing his arms over his chest.

“Seems we have a sore loser over here,” Mumbo responds, grinning. “Your items are in there, by the way,” he adds, nodding towards a chest. Scar shakes his head softly although walks over to grab his stuff again, muttering a quiet “thank you” that doesn’t come across as bitter in the slightest. Mumbo only lets out a laugh in response. After having gathered all his items they both walk the rest of the way towards the mansion, talking and joking with each other as they do.

It’s easy to slip back into this playful teasing, ignoring everything else happening. Almost able to forget these missing weeks in his memory. Almost able to forget Grian’s situation, having lost even more. Almost able to forget his worry for not only Grian but for everyone else who vanished. And Xisuma who’s clearly been missing hours of sleep. And Mumbo who’s never able to hide his worry or nervousness. Who has been forgotten by one of the most important people to him. It’s easy, too easy, to slip back into how things were. How they’re supposed to be. And it makes him feel guilty.

Two pings from Scar’s communicator interrupts their conversation. His first instinct is to ignore it until they reach the mansion, whoever it is can wait a few minutes, right? That is until he remembers that no, things aren’t like normal. This could be Grian, and he’s going to help however he can. He asked Grian to message him if he needed anything at all, he can’t just not respond then!

“At least I’m clearly the more popular of the two of us.” Scar jokes, grabbing his communicator from his pocket to check. He isn’t nervous. Not in the slightest. Why would he be nervous over a simple ping? It isn’t Grian. It’s Xisuma, which doesn’t calm his nerves in the slightest.

Xisuma: Hi Scar

Xisuma: Are you free at the moment?

GoodTimeWithScar: Of course! Happy to be of service! Is it about G?

Xisuma: He’s having a rough time

Xisuma: Can you come to the mansion?

GoodTimeWithScar: Already on the way with Mumbo

Xisuma: I’ll meet you outside

Scar increases his pace slightly. The mansion is clearly visible from where they walk. At the start of the season the hobbit hole had looked so far away, now with everything built the closeness of everything is so much clearer. Not that he has a chance to think too deeply about it, his gaze entirely focused on Grian’s large mansion and getting there as soon as possible.

“What’s happening?” Mumbo asks, also speeding up his pace beside him.

“I don’t know. It was Xisuma, wanted to talk. He’s by the mansion.” The mood has clearly shifted. Before there was laughter, jokes, a slow relaxed pace. Now there’s clear worry, there’s hurry in their steps. He wishes he could go back to a few seconds ago with that carefree attitude. Instead he worries.

Is Grian okay? Why was it X who messaged him instead of Grian? What did X mean by rough time? These are the questions that run through Scar's mind as he approaches the mansion. He tries to keep calm and not jump to conclusions, but the sense of urgency from Xisuma's message has him worried. As they approach, Scar sees Xisuma standing outside the mansion with a solemn expression, eyes focused on his communicator in his hands. He doesn’t notice them and Scar is unsure if that’s because he’s too focused on whatever’s so interesting with his communicator or if he’s too sleep deprived to really be paying attention.

“Why hello, Xisuma!” Scar exclaims as they approach, forcing a large smile as he tries to hide his worry. The admin immediately perks up as he notices the two, looking up from the communicator and putting it aside. Well, ‘perks up’ is a strong expression. He looks slightly less like death.

“Scar, Mumbo. Are you two okay?” Xisuma asks, but Scar doesn’t allow himself to linger on that question. Instead, he jumps into his own worry for the admin who has clearly not slept in days. He saw it before, but he’d hoped Grian’s return would give him some time to rest. Apparently not (not that Scar can blame him, he is just as worried for Grian’s current predicament, but worrying never helped anyone).

“Are you okay? I could see those dark circles from a mile away. You look like a zombie who's been roaming around all night!”

“Don’t let Cleo hear you say that,” X huffs.

“Uh, yeah, what Scar means to say is that you should really try to get some shut-eye, X. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, which I know would have been the case if Keralis hadn’t been on your back,” Mumbo backs Scar up.

“Well, you better start counting sheep. Your eyes are so bloodshot, they're starting to freak me out. And you know Mumbo here, he's already started backing away slowly,” Scar says, throwing an arm around Mumbo, who in return softly shakes his head.

“I mean, I don't want to be the first one to go if Xiuma turns into a sleep-deprived monster or something.”

“See, X? You're scaring the poor guy. Do us all a favour and hit the hay. Trust me, you'll thank us in the morning when you're not hallucinating,” Scar continues.

“But Grian-” Xisuma tries to protest, Scar only holds up a hand.

“Will be fine with me and Mumbo. We promise to message you if we need anything, but I also know you’ll be of no help like this. Staring at code won’t help either and you know it.” Beside him Mumbo nods in agreement. Xisuma remains silent for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath.

“I can’t while worrying about everything. You all vanished, and I have no idea what happened. I have no idea how I’m supposed to sleep not knowing if something like that can happen again,” he responds. Scar understands Xisuma’s position. Of course he does. His friends disappearing in the night, gone for weeks before the first one returned. Scar can only imagine the hysteria, and he doubts the hysteria would calm down even after the first person returned. But right now it isn’t helping, right now the best thing Xisuma can do is rest.

“Okay, here's a solution. Just close your eyes, count to three, and bam! You're asleep. Easy-peasy.” Xisuma lets out a small chuckle.

“And if that doesn't work, we'll sing you a lullaby. How about 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'?” Mumbo jokes.

“Yeah, or we could read you a bedtime story. How about 'The Three Little Pigs'? You'll be snoring in no time.” Xisuma shakes his head softly, although there’s a fond smile on his lips.

“Alright, alright. I get it. You guys are hilarious. I'll try to get some sleep,” Xisuma says with a small sigh. The smile remains though, and Scar hopes it stays even after he leaves.

“We’ll message Keralis to make sure you’re actually sleeping by the way so don’t try anything, mister!” Scar adds, knowing his admin too well.

“I will, I will. Thank you both,” Xisuma says, taking a small breath.

“But before you do go,” Scar starts, his sentence immediately continued by Mumbo’s worried voice.

“Is Grian okay?” Xisuma takes a deep breath, his smile falling slightly. Scar tries to ignore the knot in his stomach from that reaction. Part of him had hoped he’d misread the tone of the texts.

“It started off okay, he wasn’t entirely… there, but that was expected. I don’t want to disclose too much without Grian’s permission, but he… reacted very strongly after you died earlier,” Xisuma explains. And Scar thinks back to Grian’s protectiveness earlier. The way he’d pushed Scar behind him before pointing a sword at Xisuma. The hesitancy when Scar pushed to stand in front of him instead. Him repeating his sorrys over and over, clinging to him like he’d disappear. He has a feeling this might have to do with that…

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t realise. I would have been more careful-” Scar knows when a ramble is about to start. This is that, Xisuma seems to recognise it as well, quickly taking a step forward and placing a hand on each of his shoulders.

“It’s okay, Scar. You didn’t know. None of us did. We’ll just try to be more careful for a while,” Xisuma says, which is easier said than done. Scar is known as the clumsiest hermit for a reason. He doesn’t know how long he can avoid death for. But he’ll try. Of course he will. He would do anything for Grian. Anything to make him feel better, to not trigger anything. He’s reminded of the conversation with Ren earlier, his words echoing. Which, yeah, he’s probably right. Wherever they were was clearly not a good place. Scar isn’t sure how to help yet, but if not dying will, then he will do everything he can to not die. He also tries not to think of any implications of what a new fear of death would have been caused by.

“Yeah,” Scar says, voice slightly breathless.

“He wanted to see you, make sure you’re okay,” Xisuma adds. He grows quiet for a moment, it looks like he wants to say something, add something about the situation, but he doesn’t. It makes Scar even more worried.

“We’ll take care of him while you rest,” Mumbo says, stepping into the conversation. There’s clear uncertainty in his words, Mumbo was never good at pretending. The civil war in season 6 is proof enough of that. No matter how much he might be trying to hide his nerves, they’re there in the open between the three of them. Xisuma hesitates before nodding.

“Thank you, Mumbo,” he says, letting out a deep sigh. “Promise to message me about anything, anything at all,” he adds, looking between the two.

“As long as you promise to rest,” Scar responds.

“Alright, friend. That’s fair,” Xisuma says, putting on a small smile. He puts on his elytra preparing to leave. There’s clear hesitancy, worry as he does. He tells them where to find Grian, but otherwise seems to leave out any discussions they had in there. Scar knows he’s doing it for Grian’s sake, he would hate for Xisuma to broadcast everything Scar told him in confidence. But a selfish part of him wants to know everything. Especially after the reaction caused by Scar’s death. He wants so badly to ignore what his mind is telling him. Every worst case scenario for why someone would react so strongly to a death message. But no, what happened isn’t important. What’s really important is helping Grian. And so, when Xisuma says goodbye and takes off, Scar and Mumbo exchange glances. Both unsure.

“Let’s go?” Mumbo asks. Scar takes a deep breath and then nods strongly.

“Yes.”

The two of them force themselves not to run to Grian. They can be cool, they can be calm. Scar has never been calmer. They find the correct room, the door already wide open for the both of them. They also don’t see anyone at first. Mumbo calls out Grian’s name to no response. For a moment they both remain confused. That is until they see the bundle on the ground. It’s Grian, his large colourful wings hugging himself tightly. His eyes are closed, his back leaning against a wall towards the back of the room. He looks surprisingly peaceful. Scar and Mumbo approach him cautiously, not wanting to startle him. Grian's breathing is slow and steady, asleep. Scar knows Grian asked for him, but he can't bring himself to wake him.

Scar and Mumbo exchange worried glances as they take in the sight of their friend. Grian looks so vulnerable, curled up on the ground with his wings wrapped around him. Scar's heart aches with concern for him. Scar steps forward tentatively, reaching out a hand to touch Grian's shoulder. He holds his breath, half-expecting Grian to jolt awake at the sudden movement, but he remains still. Mumbo looks at Scar, his expression grave.

"What do we do?" he whispers. Scar shakes his head, at a loss. They came here to help Grian, but now, faced with the reality of his friend's suffering, he feels helpless. He wishes he could make it all go away, make everything return to normal with a wave of his hand. But he knows it’s not that simple. All he can do is be there for Grian, in whatever way he needs. But what can he do while he’s sleeping?

He crouches down beside Grian, studying his face. There are faint lines of tension around his eyes and mouth, even in sleep. Scar reaches out a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from Grian's forehead, and the touch seems to stir him. Grian's eyes flutter open, and for a moment he looks confused and disoriented. But then his eyes lock with Scar’s.

“Scar?” he murmurs, voice hoarse. Suddenly all the confusion in his eyes seems to disappear, replaced with something soft. Something vulnerable. Scar doesn’t know what the feeling blooming in his chest is, but he pushes it aside.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Scar says softly. Grian nods, his eyes drifting shut again, opening one of his wings. Scar hesitates for a moment. Then he slowly sits down right beside Grian, and a wing envelopes him, pulling him in. It holds him close, surprisingly heavy around Scar. He watches as Grian’s breathing steadies, becoming deeper and more regular. He's relieved to see that Grian seems to be sleeping peacefully, at least for now.

Scar and Mumbo exchange another worried look before settling down to keep watch over their friend. They know there will be a lot of difficult conversations to have in the days to come, but for now, they're content to simply be there for Grian, to offer him comfort and support in whatever way they can. Right now, that means Mumbo pacing the room while Scar sits next to the sleeping avian, one of the wings lazily draped over him like it was always meant to be there. It makes him feel safe, somehow. Not that he ever felt unsafe, but the weight around himself makes it feel like nothing could hurt either of them. .

Logically, Scar knows he should move Grian to somewhere more comfortable, to his bed or at least find some pillows or blankets to make the spot more comfortable. But Scar is unable to move from his spot next to Grian. He feels a strange sense of protectiveness over him, as if moving him might somehow disturb the fragile peace he seems to have found. Scar knows that it's irrational, that Grian would probably be more comfortable in his bed, but he can't bring himself to do it. Moving might wake him. Or just disturb the calmness they’ve found here.

Here under Grian’s wing he can pretend nothing is different. Of course, it is different. Grian is protective of his wings, rarely allowing anyone to touch them. He knows Mumbo likes to help Grian preen the wings, and that Grian has gotten a lot better with casual touches since joining Hermitcraft. Nevertheless, Grian only rarely allows people to touch them. Scar isn’t sure what it means here. In either case, here under his wings, the world feels a bay.

Mumbo is watching them both, his expression somewhere between fondness and the still lingering worry. Scar doesn’t know how to calm that worry. He doesn’t know if he can until they all can talk. Until Grian wants to talk.

Scar tried to ignore it before, but he noticed it. The way Grian would dodge the question every time Scar tried to ask him if he was okay, if asked anything about where they were. And then there’s the little Grian actually did talk about. An attack of some kind? A bunker? At that point it hadn’t worried Scar too much. Enough to peak his interest, but nothing else. But then with what Xisuma said?

Scar doesn’t want to put the thought into words. Afraid actually thinking it, or even worse saying it will make it real. Except it is real, isn’t it?

“Mumbo? Are we thinking the same thing about where we were?” he asks hesitantly. Mumbo locks eyes with him. At first there’s a flicker of confusion, then recognition.

“I think so.”

That’s the only response he gets. And the only one he needs for now. It’s just a theory. One he can’t confirm without either Grian or Xisuma.

But also one he doesn’t think he wants confirmed.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry…” Grian whispers, breathless. Underneath him Scar has gone still. He doesn’t look at him. Part of it makes him feel guilty, Scar deserves being looked at one final time, but Grian is a coward. He doesn’t want those eyes, those beautiful soft eyes to judge him. Or to lock with empty eyes devoid of all life.

Grian looks down. Scar’s eyes are green. An emerald green. A beautiful emerald green.

They fit him. They fit him a lot better than the red. It reminds him of before. Of the short time the two spent together before any real alliances were formed. Back when they’d joked around, when Scar had asked for a flint and steel to burn the dark oak tree. Back when he asked if he wanted to help take over the sand biome. A stupid idea that Grian shared his fair bit of criticism of. But it ended up being theirs. Their desert. Them alone here on the hill and everything the light touched.

He remembers telling Scar the desert isn’t the best place to live. He couldn’t disagree with himself more. There was no place Grian would rather live. He wishes they could stay there on this hill forever. Rebuild their sandcastle. Be here together. But that was never going to happen.

Grian hoped so desperately. Scar betrayed him, but he still couldn’t kill him. Not like that. But then the voices started. The chanting in his head. The chanting in the wind. They wanted blood. They got their blood.

Grian slowly stands up, turning his head away from the corpse he was sitting on a moment ago. He feels sick.

His hands are bloodied. They’re so bloodied. He can barely see his skin underneath the red, not yet dried. And none of it is Grian’s.

He knows Scar held back. He tried so hard to disguise it but it was obvious. The almost comedic misses. The sadness in his eyes.

Resignation.

That was what Scar’s look meant. Resigning himself, giving Grian the win. But also knowing Grian wouldn’t just take it. Not after everything.

Scar struggled, of course he did. It was survival instincts.

Like how Scar’s mind fought with his body to let it happen. Grian’s body fought with his mind to do it. Knowing it had to be done.

He should have just jumped off pizza’s grave before the fight started.

Grian cries.

He allows himself to cry. Just this once. One final time.

Then he looks over at Pizza’s grave, right at the edge of the cliff.

There’s a voice in the wind.

“One more life to go.”

Grian doesn’t fight it. He’s tired of fighting.

He walks numbly.

He thanks the wind.

He doesn’t know what for. Who he’s actually thanking. But he does. He bows, he takes a deep breath.

Then he leans forward with a smile as he falls.

The wind blows through his wings.

It feels like flying.

-:-

Grian shoots up from his position. His wings flail out, ready to defend himself, ready to catch himself. He isn’t sure what they’re supposed to do. What they do is hit someone. A body next to him flies forward, away from him.

Where is he?

He doesn’t know this place. His home doesn’t have stone walls. Doesn’t have open space. Doesn’t have large windows. Doesn’t…

“Grian. It’s okay!”

Scar.

Emerald green.

Empty emerald green eyes devoid of all life staring up at the desert sun.

Except there is no bright sun. It’s mostly dark aside from a few lanterns hanging from the ceiling and the very low light of the sunrise. And yet Scar’s eyes almost shine. Green. Not red.

Scar takes a step forward, towards him. Grian’s reaction is immediate. He quickly tries to scoot backwards, but is met with a wall behind him. Scar stops just as fast as he started moving, holding out both his hands visibly in the air towards Grian. Grian doesn’t move, staying pressed against the wall. His wings are uncomfortable in the position, pressed hard against his body, but that isn’t important.

“I’ll stay back here. It’s okay. Just breathe. One in, one out,” Scar’s voice is calm. Soothing. He sounds too much like… well, himself. He sounds exactly like he would when the two of them were alone in the desert. No one nearby. It isn’t the silky, salesperson voice, or the low, threatening one he’d use with others. It’s the one he’d use on a lonely night, sitting by pizza’s grave quietly talking. It’s the one he’d used the evening before the battle of the red desert. Voice so vulnerable, hesitant, almost scared. Scared Grian would leave him if he did lose his first life.

He sounds like that now too. His voice almost pleading.

Don’t leave.

Grian doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to.

Not after experiencing those moments without him.

First, waking up alone after the battle of the desert, for a moment unsure if Scar was still alive. If the red army had killed him as they had Timmy. Partially scared of himself, scared he would leave Scar now that he was no longer bound to him.

Then, waking up after the betrayal. Seething, betrayed, and more than anything hurt. Hurt that Scar thought so little of their alliance. That a piece of paper was all it took to undo it. A promise on his lips that Scar would regret it.

And finally, alone on that cliff. Alone with nothing but the wind howling in his ears.

Grian takes a deep breath. Scar visibly lets out a small breath of relief, saying a quiet “Good, good.” under his breath. Grian gradually relaxes, his breath steadying as he tries to regain control of his racing heart. The room feels suffocating, and the air seems to thicken around him, but Scar's reassuring presence provides a semblance of comfort amidst the lingering fear. Grian cautiously unfolds his wings, feeling their gentle unfurling against the confining wall. The feathers rustle softly, a stark contrast to the chaotic turmoil that consumed him a moment ago.

Scar takes a step back, creating more space between them, respecting Grian's need for distance. His hands remain raised, a silent gesture of peace and understanding. Grian's gaze meets Scar's compassionate green eyes, searching for any signs of deceit or ill intentions, but finding none.

As he continues to regulate his breathing, Scar takes slow, deliberate steps towards a nearby chair, never taking his eyes off him. He sits down, careful not to make any sudden movements that might trigger Grian's unease. The room begins to feel less oppressive, and a glimmer of trust flickers within Grian's weary soul. A glimmer of trust despite knowing this isn’t Scar. Not the real one. Not the one Grian spent all those weeks with.

Scar's voice resonates once more, its gentle timbre permeating the air. "You're safe, Grian. Remember, you're not alone in this. I'm here for you." His words offer solace, a lifeline for Grian to grasp onto amidst the echoes of his nightmare. Of his memory. They sit there silently for several long seconds. Grian on the ground, Scar in a chair. Then Scar cautiously speaks again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Grian's eyes briefly flicker with uncertainty. Part of him yearns to unburden himself, to share the weight of his nightmares with someone who understands. Scar would understand. He always does. And if he can’t understand he can at least help. But another part resists, hesitant to delve into the depths, afraid of the vulnerability it entails. He opens his mouth, contemplating the words that hang on the tip of his tongue, but no sound escapes.

His wings tremble involuntarily, a subtle reflection of the turmoil within. Grian's gaze meets Scar's earnest expression, the unspoken understanding between them silently acknowledging the complexity of the situation. Scar remains patient, waiting for Grian to find his voice. His silence stretches, each passing second feeling heavier than the last. A surge of frustration rises within him, a desire to break free from… whatever this is. But the words remain trapped, their weight suffocating his ability to articulate it.

Finally though, Grian shakes his head ever so slightly, a subtle but resolute gesture. Scar nods, a gentle understanding etched across his face. He leans forward slightly, his posture conveying empathy and acceptance.

“That's alright, Grian. Whenever you're ready, I'll be here to listen.”

Grian's breath quivers, a mixture of relief and apprehension. Scar's support brings a glimmer of comfort. They sit there in the stillness, Grian's eyes searching Scar's face for any trace of judgement or impatience. Yet, all he finds is a steady gaze, filled with compassion and a genuine desire to help. The weight of unspoken words hangs in the air, a shared understanding that the conversation has been paused, not abandoned.

Grian's wings, once trembling with tension, gradually relax against his back. The room, once suffocating, seems to expand, offering a brief respite from the suffocating darkness that lingers in his thoughts.

“You know, sometimes words aren't necessary,” Scar says gently, his voice carrying a soothing quality. "Sometimes, it's enough just to sit here together.” Grian’s laughter ripples through the room. It’s infectious and genuine, releasing the tension caught in his throat.

“Funny you of all people should say that you chatterbox,” Grian teases. Scar chuckles softly, a warmth filling his green eyes. The gentle sound of their laughter intermingles in the space between them, casting away the remnants of unease that had lingered moments before.

“Hey! I can be quiet when I need to be,” he responds, a hint of amusement in his tone. Grian raises an eyebrow playfully, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eyes. Grian playfully raises an eyebrow, his smile growing wider.

“Is that so? I must admit, I've yet to witness this rare phenomenon,” Grian retorts, his voice dripping with feigned scepticism. “Perhaps you should demonstrate your silent prowess sometime.” Scar raises an eyebrow playfully, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

“Well, I suppose I can give you a demonstration of my impressive ability to be quiet.” He theatrically places a hand over his heart, feigning an exaggerated sense of seriousness. The corners of Grian's mouth curl into a mischievous smile as he plays along, their banter easing the lingering tension that had weighed upon them moments before.

With an exaggerated nod, Grian motions for Scar to proceed with his demonstration. The room is filled with an anticipatory silence, broken only by the faint sound of their shared laughter still echoing in their hearts.

Scar leans back in his chair, adopting an exaggerated pose of deep contemplation. His lips purse slightly as he maintains an exaggerated air of seriousness, his eyes sparkling with suppressed amusement. The charade continues for a few more seconds before both of them burst into laughter once again, the shared joy creating an invisible thread that weaves their souls together.

The laughter spills out of them, filling the room with a vibrant energy. Grian's laughter echoes with a newfound lightness, the weight of his nightmares momentarily lifted. Scar's chuckles intertwine with Grian's, their mirth becoming a beautiful symphony Grian is sure no orchestra could ever replicate. Grian wipes away a tear of joy from the corner of his eye, his smile lingering.

“I must say, Scar, your silent prowess is truly remarkable. A talent to be cherished.” Grian says, somehow still keeping up their charade. Scar's laughter subsides into a warm chuckle, his eyes shining with affection and camaraderie.

“Ah, yes, my silent prowess knows no bounds,” he replies, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. “I'm glad my extraordinary talent has left you in awe.” Grian feigns an exaggerated gasp, his hand dramatically covering his mouth.

“In awe doesn't even begin to describe it! I am truly humbled by your ability to maintain such impressive silence,” he says with mock reverence, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. Only for a moment though. Grian's gaze softens, his playful expression giving way to a genuine warmth.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Grian says softly. Scar’s gaze meets his, a similar affection making itself known.

"I'll always be here, Grian," he responds, his voice steady and reassuring.

Grian wishes he could believe him.

Grian's smile fades slightly, the weight of his unspoken doubts lingering in the air. He knows that the Scar before him, the one who mirrors his laughter and shares his banter, isn't the same as the one who walked with him through the desert. The one who he protected and who protected him in return. Yet, there's a part of him that yearns to trust in the present, to hold onto this version of Scar who brings him comfort and companionship.

“I understand if it's hard to fully believe,” Scar says, his voice filled with empathy. “But I am here for you. I may not be the entirely same Scar you knew, but I care about you a lot still.” Grian's eyes meet Scar's, searching for any hint of deception, any flicker of insincerity. What he finds instead is a sincerity that lingers in the depths of those familiar green eyes. It's a truth that resonates within him, urging him to lean into the support that is offered.

He doesn’t know if he’s able to do that, but it does remind Grian of something. Of yesterday’s panic. He pushes himself off the ground, taking several quick strides forward, looking straight into Scar’s eyes. His green eyes. They’re still green.

And he’s here.

Some part of him is still confused about how it’s possible. He knows what Xisuma said yesterday. That death didn’t have any real meaning here. But seeing it? That’s different.

“Uh- G? Not that I’m complaining but why are you right up in my face?” Grian's expression shifts from seriousness to a mix of surprise and amusement as he realises his close proximity to Scar. He takes a step back, his cheeks slightly flushed, seeing Scar’s full bemused expression.

“Sorry, sorry,” Grian stammers. “I just… had a moment, I guess. I’m okay now.” Scar studies him for a moment, his expression filled with concern.

“Are you sure you're okay?” he asks, his voice gentle. He knows it isn’t supposed to be, but some part of Grian finds it irritating. Grian nods though, offering a small smile, sitting down on a chair right beside Scar.

“Yeah, I'm sure. Just had to remind myself of something,” he says, his gaze flickering to Scar's eyes once more. “But I'm good now.” Scar's concern lingers for a moment before he nods, accepting Grian's assurance. He reaches out a hand, his touch light and comforting as he gently rests it on Grian’s shoulder.

“Sometimes we all need those moments, those reminders,” Scar says softly. “And I'm glad you're feeling better now. Remember, I'm here if you ever need to talk or if anything comes up.” Grian forces a small smile.

“Yeah. Just wanted to see you here,” he says quietly. There’s a small chuckle from Scar, the sound filled with affectionate amusement.

“Well, I'm flattered by your curiosity, but I hope I'm not too disappointing up close.” Grian's eyes twinkle with mischief as he raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, trust me, Scar, you're far from disappointing. Besides, it's not every day I get to witness the infamous Scar up close and personal. I couldn't resist.” Grian says jokingly, thankful for Scar’s ability to alleviate the tension. Scar feigns a look of mock offence, placing a hand over his heart.

“Infamous, am I? I suppose I'll have to work on my mysterious allure.” He stays quiet for a moment, before a small grin appears on his lips. “And you can come close and personal any time,” he adds with a wink. Grian's playful eye roll turns into a genuine laugh, the sound filling the room with warmth. He appreciates Scar's lightheartedness, the way he effortlessly diffuses the heaviness that lingers in the air.

“You're incorrigible, Scar,” Grian teases, shaking his head in amusement. “But I wouldn't have it any other way.” Scar's grin widens, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I have no idea what incor- that word means! So I’ll take that as a compliment,” he responds. Grian chuckles at Scar's endearing response, their banter weaving an air of familiarity and comfort around them. The weight of Grian's nightmares feels lighter in this moment, overshadowed by the shared laughter. It feels just like it had during the desert. Grian would be lying if he said it didn’t scare him. It’s so easy to forget this isn’t the Scar he shared all those moments with.

Grian's laughter tapers off, leaving a trace of uncertainty in his eyes. The reminder that this Scar is not the same as the one he once knew tugs at the edges of his thoughts. Despite the easiness of their banter and the comfort they find in each other's presence, a subtle wariness remains. A wariness Grian pushes away this moment. Anything to avoid the question being asked again.

“You're a real piece of work, Scar,” Grian says, his voice filled with affectionate amusement. “But that's what makes you special.” Scar feigns a look of mock offence, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.

“Oh, you wound me with your words! But I'll gladly accept the title of being 'special'.” Scar's melodramatic reaction elicits a genuine smile from Grian, his heart warming at the familiarity of their playful banter. It's in these moments that he can almost forget the underlying uncertainty.

“Well, I'll try not to let it go to my head,” Scar adds, his tone laced with humour. Grian shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Too late for that, Scar. I think your head's already big enough as it is,” he teases, unable to keep the grin off his face. Scar feigns a look of indignation.

“How dare you! My head is perfectly proportioned,” he says, his tone playful. Grian laughs, the sound of it filling the room with warmth.

“You keep telling yourself that, Scar,” Grian teases, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “But we all know the truth.” Scar playfully rolls his eyes, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Well, I guess I'll have to rely on your honesty to keep my ego in check,” he replies, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Grian nods, feigning a serious expression.

"Consider it done. I'll be your ego-deflator whenever you need it," Grian says with mock seriousness. Scar chuckles at Grian's comment, but the smile fades from his face as he takes in Grian's expression.

“But hey, speaking of deflating egos, how about we take a break from the chaos and go get some fresh air? It's still early, and I can show you around a bit before everyone else is awake.” Grian's eyebrows raise in surprise, his playful demeanour momentarily replaced by curiosity. He considers Scar's offer, realising that a change of scenery might be exactly what he needs to calm his mind. The thought of exploring with Scar by his side brings a sense of comfort.

“That actually sounds like a great idea,” Grian says, his voice reflecting a mix of gratitude and anticipation. “I could use a little breather. Lead the way, Scar.” Scar's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He brings out his communicator and seems to be writing something. He sends it and then stands up from his chair and gestures for Grian to follow him.

As Grian gets up from his chair and takes a step towards Scar, a fleeting sense of unease tugs at his thoughts. The uncertainty that lingers within him, the questions he's been avoiding, briefly resurface. But he pushes them aside.

No. Scar offered him a distraction. He’ll take it.

Grian takes a deep breath, deciding to embrace the opportunity for a respite from his inner turmoil. He trusts that the time spent with Scar will provide a temporary escape, a chance to immerse himself in the present. This place where death apparently means nothing and where Grian managed to build a place like this.

As they start walking towards the exit, Grian's eyes catch a glimpse of Scar's communicator, noting the message he had sent. A small part of him wonders what it was, but he dismisses the thought. This moment, this walk with Scar, is meant to be a break from the weight of their concerns. A moment he doesn’t have to think. A moment he can just attempt to be here. The outside world awaits, offering a temporary escape from the questions that plague Grian's mind.

Chapter Text

Grian walks a few steps behind Scar. Part of it’s caution and the need for guidance. The other part is so used to watching Scar’s back. The morning air is cool against Grian's skin as they venture outside. He takes in the sights around him, his gaze sweeping over the landscape that feels foreign, yet strangely familiar too. He can't shake the underlying wariness that has become ingrained within him. He keeps a watchful eye on their surroundings, a reflex born out of necessity. Scar, however, notices Grian's guarded stance and slows his pace, casting a concerned glance in his direction.

“You alright there, Grian?” Scar asks, his voice filled with genuine concern. Grian offers a reassuring smile, albeit tinged with a touch of weariness.

“Yeah… Just looking.” It seems to at least partially satisfy the other. Outside the mansion there are several boxes sprawled out. It looks very out of place from everything else. The jungle ahead of them spreads out far. On top of a tree there’s a nether portal and ahead he sees traces of what must be other people’s bases. Scar is happy to take the lead, walking a bit away from the mansion towards a small area, some wooden structures with large windows buried into the hill. It reminds him a lot of the Flower Husbands’ base.

He wonders where Timmy and Scott went. They were some of the only real allies he and Scar managed to procure. Yes, others helped in the fight against Dogwarts, some he simply liked being around, but if there was someone Grian actually trusted besides Scar, it’s them. Neither of which apparently here on Hermitcraft. They could be anywhere and Grian doesn’t know where or how he’d start looking. Xisuma might be able to help. Knowing who those two are might even help with Ximua’s own investigations.

To think of it, Grian doesn’t know why he was calling Timmy “Timmy” when everyone else aside from him and Martyn were clearly calling him Jimmy. It felt completely natural. Maybe he knew them before, like he apparently knew these hermits. There has to be some kind of reason these 14 people specifically were there, right? Some kind of connection.

Scar is talking happily in the background, this apparently being Grian’s starter base. In a way not too different from the hole in the mountain he made to start off before he met up with Scar. Scar explains Mumbo had a similar style starter base and the two of them had called themselves hobbits at the start. It’s strange having explained that a stranger used to be so close to him, but Grian mostly remains silent as he lets Scar ramble. They continue their walk, Scar pointing out various places and explaining their significance. Grian listens intently, his mind gradually easing into a state of calm. The morning light casts a golden glow over everything, and the quiet rustling of leaves and chirping of birds fills the air. For a moment, Grian forgets the weight of his worries and loses himself in the beauty of his surroundings.

Scar shows off a snail with a diamond beard he affectionately called Larry, laughing as he explains the beard was a “gift” from Grian he never took down after they both won some kind of competition at the very start. Again, diamonds seem so easy to come by here. Back home he’s sure showing off diamonds like that would have them stolen quickly and converted into armour or tools. Even here, knowing he has armour and tools he’s tempted.

Scar shows off his own base, an eleven village. He points towards a large building in the distance, talking about Mumbo again and how it apparently has a beating heart and needs to be fed golden apples, something Grian apparently used to do quite often. He points out a few more locations and bases from here before perking up slightly.

“Do you want to see the shopping district? It’s definitely the best part,” he says, grinning widely. And how could Grian ever say no to that look?

“Well, if you speak of it so highly,” Grian says, crossing his arms as he smiles at the other.

“Amazing!” and he puts on his elytra. Right that moment Grian’s stomach drops.

Right…

He didn’t realise that’d involve flying. Grian nods, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“Yeah, we can fly,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. He spreads his wings, feeling the familiar weight of them on his back. But as Scar takes to the air, Grian hesitates, feeling his feet remain firmly planted on the ground. He watches Scar glide effortlessly through the air, the wind rushing past his elytra. But instead of feeling exhilarated, Grian feels a sense of fear creeping up on him. What if his wings fail him? What if he falls? The thought of being so high up, so vulnerable, makes him feel sick.

His wings haven’t worked before. It doesn’t matter what Scar said, Grian hasn’t flown.

And so, he remains firmly on the ground, eyes glued to the form in the air, which slows down.

-:-

Scar has a problem. He has no idea what he and Grian were like wherever they were. Sometimes it seems obvious. They were obviously friends there too. The way they’re able to joke even with Grian’s memory issues, the fondness he sometimes looks at with him, his reaction to his death. There’s no other reason for him to react like that. Act so protectively to him all the time, his slips from vulnerable to teasing.

But then something else happens. Every time Scar tries to comfort him he pushes back, or looks at him with doubt. Just like earlier, he said he'd always be there only for Grian’s eyes to betray that he didn’t actually believe it. Like Scar would turn around and stab him in the back the moment he turned away. Or other times when he looks at him like he’ll disappear if he so much as blinks.

He doesn’t know what was done to make him ever believe Scar wouldn’t be there for him. Wouldn’t be there at all. It leaves an uneasy feeling in his stomach though. One he tries to push back against, try to ignore. He knows the moment he asks Grian will move onto a different subject. Do something to distract away from it. But he’s utterly aware of the conflicted feelings Grian seems to have.

And even then Grian had looked at him with so much affection. Laughed like old friends. Asked to see him. Said he was happy Scar was there. Scar’s trying to piece together everything, see what it means but everything contradicts itself. The thought he had yesterday isn’t helping either, but does help explain some of it. Not that Scar is looking to confirm it, if anything he’s trying to do the opposite. Which in turn is helping confirm it.

In either case, not knowing is making it really difficult for Scar to know how to act, what to say, what’ll help.

The opportunity to show Grian around helps though. Grian is smiling, of course he looks confused too though. Larry especially seemed to make him stop in his tracks, which only made Scar go into more details, in turn confusing him more. It’s a fun game of sorts. He looks more guarded than Grian would normally be, but that slowly seems to melt away throughout their walk.

Then Scar offered to show him around the shopping district. He quickly takes flight, although slowing down slightly when he remembers Xisuma’s talk yesterday.

Slow and steady.

Which should give Grian enough time to catch up. Except he isn’t. He looks back to see Grian still standing on the ground. His wings are hanging limply at his back, so different from their usual perky selves.

Scar slows down even more, trying to give Grian time to take off. But Grian seems hesitant, his feet still firmly on the ground. Scar can see the confusion and fear in Grian’s eyes, and it confuses him too. Grian loves flying, doesn't he? It’s always been one of his favourite things. Scar's confusion deepens as he watches Grian. The conflicting emotions in Grian's eyes mirror the tangled thoughts in Scar's mind. He can't help but feel a sense of unease, a gnawing doubt that he might be missing something crucial.

His hesitation to take flight is like a puzzle piece that doesn't fit the image Scar has constructed. It contradicts everything he thought he understood about their dynamic, their shared experiences. He wants to help, to ease Grian's fears, but he doesn't know how to bridge the gap between what he remembers and what Grian currently feels.

Scar descends back to the ground, landing softly beside Grian. His heart aches at the vulnerability etched on Grian's face. He knows this moment is significant, that there is something deeper at play. Scar's mind races with questions, doubts, and a desperate need for clarity.

“Grian,” Scar begins, his voice tinged with genuine concern. “Are you sure you're okay?” He reaches out, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air before gently placing it on Grian's shoulder. He wants to provide comfort, to understand the source of Grian's fear, but he knows he must be patient and allow him the space to share if he wants to.

Grian meets Scar's gaze, and for a fleeting moment, a mix of emotions flickers across his face; confusion, longing, and a hint of desperation. It's as if he wants to say something, to reveal the truth, but the words remain trapped.

“I... I don't know, Scar,” Grian finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “There's something... something that doesn't feel right. I can't explain it, but flying…” Scar looks at him. He isn’t telling him everything. He doesn’t know how he knows that, but there’s something in his eyes giving everything away.

Scar's heart sinks as he realises that Grian is holding back, that there is more to this than he's willing to share. A mixture of frustration and concern wells up within Scar, a desire to break through the barriers that hold them apart. He wants to understand, to help Grian navigate through whatever this is, but it’s like Grian won’t let him.

Grian's eyes search Scar's face, silently pleading for understanding, yet Scar can't help but feel a pang of helplessness. How can he support Grian when he doesn't even know the full extent of what troubles him? The weight of their unspoken words hangs heavily between them, a testament to the complexities of their situation.

Scar takes a deep breath, attempting to push aside his own frustration and uncertainty. He knows that forcing Grian to reveal more than he's ready to share will only push him further away. Scar's voice softens, laced with empathy as he speaks.

“It’s okay, G. We can take another way there. How do you feel about going through the nether network, it’s safe I promise! Otherwise we could always take a boat over to the island?” Scar suggests. Grian lets out a breath of air as his eyes meet Scar's, a mixture of gratitude and relief shimmering within them. It's a small victory, knowing that he can provide some kind of support even without complete understanding. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, as if changing his mind about something.

“The nether is safe?” He looks genuinely puzzled, if a bit curious.

“It’s Scar safe even,” Scar says, putting on a small grin. Now, technically it probably shouldn’t be considered Scar safe on account on simply being in the nether (and he’s sure he must have died there at least a few times) but right now he needs to make sure Grian feels safe, and Scar can control his impulses to do something stupid for a few minutes as they make their way there. “There’s a safe tunnel with very secure walls and no chance of anything getting in or spawning.”

Grian's gaze shifts between Scar and the path ahead, his internal struggle evident. After a moment of contemplation, he nods, a flicker of determination in his eyes.

“The nether sounds... intriguing,” Grian says, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and cautious optimism. “Let's give it a try. I trust you, Scar.” And aren’t those famous last words?

“Great choice, G!” Scar exclaims, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, and the two of them are off towards the closest nether portal.

Surprisingly, the journey is very uneventful. Some kind of luck having accumulated after all his bad luck for just this situation. They run through the nether, Grian clearly on guard the entire time but it’s never needed. The two talking, Grian occasionally scolds him and tells him to look ahead instead of back at Grian. Scar usually listens for a moment before going back to talking to Grian, repeating the circle.

When they manage to get to the shopping district’s portal Grian is clearly a little bit annoyed, but it was all worth it knowing it had distracted Grian enough from whatever was on his mind. As they step out of the nether portal and into the bustling shopping district, Grian's annoyance begins to fade, replaced by a mix of wonder and intrigue.

The vibrant colours, unique architecture, and atmosphere of the place capture his attention, drawing him into a world of possibilities. Scar notices the change in Grian's demeanour and can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The distraction worked, even if just for a while. He grins mischievously, ready to continue their adventure and keep Grian's mind occupied.

"Welcome to the shopping district, G! Prepare to be amazed," Scar says, his voice filled with excitement. “There's much to explore and discover. Are you ready to dive in?” Grian's lips curl into a small smile, a glimmer of anticipation shining in his eyes.

“Go ahead. Show me what this place has to offer.”

As they wander through the shopping district, Scar introduces Grian to various shops and points out interesting landmarks. He watches as Grian's curiosity reignites, his eyes lighting up with each new discovery. Scar does his best to keep the conversation light and engaging, sharing stories and anecdotes to keep Grian's mind occupied. It’s difficult to know exactly what to talk about since there’s so much, but the barge is one of the first stops, mostly due to its closeness to the portal.

“It all began with a humble raft, but look at it now! One of, if not the most successful shop. Made by the person next to me!” he exclaims.

“I... I made this?” Grian asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. He steps closer, examining the intricacies of the barge, as if trying to find traces of his own handiwork. Scar nods enthusiastically, a grin stretching across his face.

“Absolutely! It's become an icon of the shopping district. You put so much effort and creativity into it.” Scar's words are genuine, his admiration for Grian's talent evident. Grian's smile grows wider, a sense of accomplishment mingling with the lingering confusion in his expression. Scar continues to guide him through the district, showcasing the unique shops, each with their own distinct flair and purpose. He’s just about to point out the city hall, maybe even brag a little about his mayoral position, but they’re interrupted by someone Scar has yet to see since their return.

“G! Scar!” Bdubs’ voice rings out. Scar’s smile immediately grows at the sight, seeing the similarly large smile of their friend.

“Well hello there, Bdubs! How are you doing this fine morning?” Scar asks.

“Hey Scar! I'm doing fantastic!” Bdubs replies with enthusiasm. His eyes then shift to Grian. Concern creases his brow as he takes a step closer, his voice softening. “Grian, you alright there?” Bdubs asks, his friendly tone laced with genuine worry. That’s when Scar realises the sudden shift in Grian's demeanour and turns his attention back to him.

Grian is several paces away, even from Scar. Actually, he’s further from Scar than he’s been this entire time. He looks about ready to flee at a moment's notice, or pull out a sword to defend himself. He’s not entirely sure which. Scar has a feeling this distance Grian put up isn't just physical though. But what can Scar do except ask that predictable question Grian loves to avoid.

“Are you okay?” Scar takes a small step closer. The small distance he closed is quickly made up though by Grian taking half a step back. It doesn’t look entirely voluntary, like it’s made out of instinct. Bdubs, still remaining by Scar’s side, looks just as worried as Scar feels. He wonders if Ren told him about the situation or if he’s completely in the dark as to why Grian is acting this way. Grian keeps looking between Bdubs and Scar.

Scar's mind races with questions, trying to make sense of Grian's behaviour. He observes the fear in Grian's eyes, the way he keeps his distance as if guarding himself against an invisible threat. Scar's heart aches with the desire to understand, to bridge the gap between them and help Grian feel safe once again.

It looks like he’s waiting for something.

What is he waiting for?

-:-

The three of them stand there, the only ones left.

Grian. Scar. Bdubs;

Grian knows what comes next. But he doesn’t know what comes next. It should be obvious; Scar and him turn on Bdubs. But nothing happens. It’s too still. Like everyone is waiting for something to happen.

That’s when Grian realises.

They’re waiting on Scar.

All while Scar does nothing for the longest time. It doesn’t look like he’s entirely here, lost in his own head.

It’s the type of thing Grian would scold him for. They can’t do that in the middle of nowhere, in the dark. What if someone or something attacks? (of course Scar would then wave off the worry, exclaiming he trusts Grian to have his back, but that’s besides the point)

But it’s only them.

Three men left, two of which waiting for Scar.

What is he waiting for?

Grian's mind races with questions as he tries to understand Scar’s puzzling behaviour. He studies Scar's distant expression, searching for any signs of recognition or clarity. Has Scar forgotten their purpose, their alliance, or is there something else at play?

The question lingers in Grian's mind as he exchanges an anxious glance with Bdubs. The silence is heavy, and each passing second intensifies the uncertainty in the air. Grian takes a step closer to Scar.

Scar’s eyes meet Grian’s.

His red eyes glimmer with a mixture of confusion and sorrow, as if trapped in a maze of conflicting emotions.

That’s when Grian realises… something. Scar has had a realisation. Grian doesn’t know what it is, but the way his eyes remain fixated on Grian’s yellow ones make it clear as day.

Whatever the realisation is, Scar doesn’t seem to like it.

Grian's heart races with anticipation, his mind buzzing with curiosity and concern. He reaches out tentatively, placing a hand on Scar's shoulder, hoping to break through the walls that seem to have surrounded his thoughts. Scar flinches slightly at the contact, his gaze wavering for a moment before regaining focus on Grian.

“Scar,” Grian's voice quivers with a mix of worry and urgency, “we need to know what you're thinking. We're in this together, remember?”

Scar closes his eyes for a moment and then takes a deep breath. When he locks eyes with Grian again he looks pained. Pained but determined.

Grian doesn’t like it. And not in the usual way. Something is wrong and everything in Grian is screaming at him.

That’s when Scar pulls out the paper. The famed “No Kill Pass”. Grian doesn’t even need a moment to think about the implications. Grian’s heart sinks.

So, it all meant nothing then? Their many weeks alone in the desert, fighting to keep each other alive. Always staying side by side, having the other’s back. In the end none of it mattered.

He wants to laugh. He can’t, but he wishes he could. That meant he could ignore the heaviness in his chest. Pretend the paper doesn’t mean all the implications that come with it.

Grian's gaze fixates on the paper held tightly in Scar's trembling hands. The weight of the moment bears down on him, threatening to crush the fragile remnants of trust they had painstakingly built. His mind races to process the implications, the sudden revelation that their bond may have been shattered by the simple existence of that single piece of paper.

A torrent of emotions floods Grian's being, swirling within him like a storm. Betrayal, anger, and a profound sense of loss mingle with confusion and disbelief. The once unbreakable unity they shared feels like a fragile illusion, shattered by the cold reality staring back at Grian from Scar's hand.

The memories of their time together, the battles fought shoulder to shoulder, the unspoken promise of loyalty; all now tainted by the presence of that accursed paper. The weight of disappointment settles heavily upon Grian's shoulders, threatening to crush his spirit.

He takes a step back, his hand slipping away from Scar's shoulder, a physical manifestation of the growing divide between them. The silence hangs between them, filled with unspoken words and shattered trust.

Scar explains it simply.Whoever gets it first is who he’ll help. Then he simply throws it on the ground between Grian and Bdubs. Grian wants to scream at him, tell him exactly what he thinks of him at this moment, but there’s no time. No time to do anything.

Instinctively, Grian lunges forward, reaching out for the paper with a determined grip. Bdubs, equally driven by the intensity of the moment, makes a swift move, his hand closing in on the paper. Their eyes lock for a fleeting moment, each filled with a desperate need to seize the paper.

Time is running out and there are only three of them.

Bdubs grabs it first, there’s no hesitation. Not so much as a “Sorry” or a moment to prepare. Both Bdubs and Scar attack.

Waking up in his small safe underground area Grian doesn’t hesitate either.

Adjusting the sword in his grip he just barely catches the reflection of his new red eyes.

Now, standing some metres away from both of them, Grian doesn’t know what he’s waiting for this time either.

Chapter Text

It feels like a standoff. It feels almost exactly like it did last time.

Some logical part of Grian knows this isn’t there. Xisuma’s and Scar’s words echoing in his head. But his body isn’t listening. It’s frozen, almost ready for a new piece of paper to make itself seen. A new “No Kill Pass”, once more betraying him.

His heart pounds in his chest as the familiarity of the situation engulfs him. The memories flood his mind, blending with the present moment, blurring the line between there and here. The sight of Scar and Bdubs, mirroring that moment, triggers a surge of anxiety within Grian.

He can't shake the feeling that something terrible is about to happen, that he's walking into a trap. The memories of the still fresh betrayal.

Every instinct in Grian's body screams at him to retreat, to protect himself from potential harm. Protect himself from Scar. A thought which shouldn’t make sense but does all the same because it did happen. Scar, the only person he trusted with his life, hadn’t so much as hesitated after Bdubs picked up the paper.

He wishes he knew what was going through Scar’s mind in that moment. What his realisation was. He never got an answer, and he isn’t sure if he’d actually want to know or if it’d make it worse. Grian’s muscles tense, ready to move at a moment's notice.

His mind’s a battlefield, torn between the present and the haunting echoes of the past. The weight of betrayal weighing heavily on his shoulders, threatening to suffocate him. Scar's presence, a source of comfort a moment ago, now feels like a reminder. A reminder that Scar could and would betray him for someone he only had the smallest allyship with. And here? It’s more than “the smallest allyship”.

This isn’t an alliance only built on a clock, this is a friendship. Like the one they shared before.

As Scar extends his hand, reaching out with genuine concern and care, Grian's internal struggle intensifies. The memories of his actions colliding, casting a shadow of doubt on the intentions of all of this. How could he trust Scar after what happened?

Grian knows deep down that this is not that game. This is a different world, a different reality, with its own rules and dynamics. He knows that Scar, despite the actions of his counterpart, is a different person. Well, different enough. Different experiences and relationships. That part of him isn’t in charge now though.

He takes a step back, his body trembling with conflicting emotions. He needs time, time to think, time to process, time for something. Does he have time? They didn’t before.

Scar and Bdubs exchange worried glances, and Grian realises that while last time they waited on Scar, they’re waiting on him. But Grian doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. That realisation makes everything worse. So much worse.

“Grian,” Scar’s voice breaks through. It looks like he’s said something else, but Grian didn’t catch it. Scar repeats it though now that he has his attention. “Do you need anything?” Scar’s voice is soft, hesitant. Grian has no answer to that question. He wants to be alone, he wants to be with Scar, be reassured (even if he won’t believe him) that he won’t leave, won’t betray him.

He needs time to think.

Time he hasn’t let himself have from waking up, to being with Scar after the initial panic, to speaking to Xisuma, to falling asleep, to being pulled along to here with Scar. Time he’s scared to take.

“Do you want Bdubs to leave?” he asks after a short pause. Grian doesn’t respond. Because he doesn’t even know if it would help. Now that it’s here, in the open. There’s another pause, an audible breath. “...Do you want me to leave?” That question is asked with a hint of vulnerability, as if Scar fears the answer but wants to give Grian the space he needs.

Grian's mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Part of him yearns for the comfort of Scar, to feel the reassurance and familiarity. But another part of him, wounded and cautious, wants nothing more than to be alone, to process his thoughts and emotions without these two staring at him. Waiting for… something.

Instead of answering, Grian takes another small step back. It isn’t meant to be an answer, but Scar seems to take it as one, nodding. His disappointment is palpable, but he does try to hide it, offering a small, forced smile in response. Grian's step back feels like a physical manifestation of the emotional distance between them.

“Alright, Grian,” Scar says softly, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. “I'll be here when you're ready. I’m just a message away. Okay?” Scar's gaze lingers on Grian for a moment longer, his expression a mix of concern and acceptance. He then turns to Bdubs, exchanging a silent understanding with him before they both slowly begin to make their way away from Grian.

Grian watches them retreat, a pang of guilt tugging at his heart. The conflicting emotions within him continue to churn, and he can't help but question his decision. Doubt creeps in, whispering in his ear, making him second-guess his need to be away from him. But deep down, he knows that this is what he needs right now.

Still, he doesn’t know if he prefers this outcome to the last one.

But this gives Grian time. Time for what?

As Scar and Bdubs fade into the distance, Grian is left entirely alone with his thoughts and emotions. The weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future hang heavily in the air. Grian takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart.

What was that thing Xisuma said about the five senses?

He takes a moment to observe his surroundings, to focus on what he can see, hear, smell, taste, and touch. Grian looks at the vibrant colours of the shops, noticing the gentle sway of the trees in the breeze. He listens to the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of the forest, and feels the coolness of the air against his skin.

He doesn’t know how long he stands in that same position, but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to stand here in the middle of the street of what seems to be a very busy district. So, Grian’s eyes scan the area, looking for somewhere to go, and he supposes the best place, if any, would be his own shop.

He quickly makes his way inside the barge, finding a place to sit while he collects himself. To breathe. To think.

He wishes he could say it worked. If anything it only makes it worse. Why did he push Scar away? It would only cause more questions when he inevitably had to go back. Questions Grian doesn't want to answer. Doesn’t want to think about in the first place.

He feels his mind about to return to a new spiral when he hears something.

The loud sound of boots landing on the ground. He glances up, seeing the back of someone with an elytra putting down a box and then opening a chest, seemingly filled with sand. Grian remains silent for several long seconds as he watches him move the sand from the box to the chest.

It takes a moment, but Grian does recognise him as Mumbo.

For a moment he feels a small flare of annoyance. Of course someone was sent to check on him. He couldn’t be alone for a few minutes?

But he’s moving around like he’s alone. He isn’t looking for him, entirely focused on the task at hand. He’s even humming quietly to himself. Does Mumbo not know? Why’s he here in the first place?

Grian's gaze remains fixed on him as he moves sand from the box to the chest. He watches the familiar movements, the way Mumbo's hands deftly handle the material. There's a certain rhythm to his actions, a sense of purpose and focus. It's a stark contrast to the chaos swirling within Grian's own mind.

He finds himself captivated by it. The repetitive nature of the task has a soothing effect, and Grian's racing thoughts begin to slow down as he watches the sand being transferred. Mumbo's focused demeanour and the faint humming create a peaceful atmosphere within the barge.

That is until Mumbo turns back slightly, and literally jumps as his eyes lock with Grian. He lets out a yelp.

“Grian! What are you doing here? Where's Scar?” he exclaims, speaking quickly, the surprise evident in his tone.

The momentary peace is quickly shattered by Mumbo's startled reaction and rapid-fire questions. The sudden shift in his tone and demeanour catches Grian off guard, and he stammers for a moment, struggling to find the right words.

It's clear that he had expected to find Scar with him, and the sudden absence of Scar surprised him. Grian takes a step back, feeling a mix of guilt and unease rising within him.

“He's... he's not here right now,” Grian responds, his voice tinged with hesitation. “I just needed some time alone.” The words come out in a quiet murmur, unsure of how Mumbo will react. Mumbo's brows furrow in confusion and concern, his eyes searching Grian's face for answers. He takes a step closer, his voice softening as he speaks.

“Here in the shopping district?” it comes out more as a mumble, than an actual question. He supposes it’s pretty obvious something must have happened. Mumbo shakes his head softly, speaking a little louder. “I'm sorry for startling you, Grian. I didn't mean to bombard you,” Mumbo says, his voice gentle and apologetic. “I understand that sometimes we all need some time alone. I hope I didn't intrude.” He looks nervous as he speaks, and it feels weird.

Someone he doesn’t remember knowing having such genuine concern in his tone.

Instead of answering, because Grian isn’t sure if Mumbo is intruding or not, Grian asks his own question.

“Why are you here?” Grian isn’t sure if the question comes out accusatory or curious or a mix of both. He doesn’t change his tone either way though because he isn’t sure himself which he’s aiming for.

“Oh! I thought I’d do something to help out, so I went to collect some sand for the barge,” Mumbo pats the box next to him. He’s saying it like it doesn’t raise even more questions.

“Why?” Grian asks, and Mumbo looks at him confused. Grian's question hangs in the air, his tone a mix of curiosity and confusion. Mumbo's eyebrows knit together as he tries to make sense of Grian's inquiry.

“What do you mean, why?” Mumbo asks, his voice laced with genuine confusion. “Well, I thought it would be good to restock some sand since it was almost out. It's always good to be prepared, right?” Grian's gaze remains fixed on Mumbo, his expression thoughtful.

“But why would you go out of your way to gather sand specifically for the barge? It’s my shop, isn’t it? Not yours.” Mumbo's confusion deepens, and he scratches his head, trying to come up with an answer.

“I guess... I just thought it would be a nice gesture, you know? To contribute and help out. Since I wasn’t sure what else to do to help you. And besides, it gave me something to do. I find tasks like this can be relaxing.”

Grian's confusion deepens as Mumbo's explanation falls short of providing a satisfactory answer. He can sense Mumbo's genuine intention to help, but it only raises more questions in his mind. Why would Mumbo go out of his way to help him specifically? The lingering uncertainty and confusion gnaw at Grian's thoughts.

“Why wouldn't you just sell the sand yourself? Or, I don’t know. Did you want a cut?” Grian asks, eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

“What! No! Of course not. This is just helping you out,” Mumbo explains. Grian knows he and Mumbo used to be friends before but still. It feels so foreign to have him do something without asking for anything in return. What does he want?

The lack of ulterior motives or personal gain behind Mumbo's actions only adds to the mystery, leaving Grian feeling even more perplexed. He can't understand why Mumbo would go out of his way to help him without any expectations.

“But it just feels... I don’t know... I mean, why help me without wanting anything in return? What's in it for you?” Grian says, his voice tinged with scepticism.

Even Scar and Grian had always had something to gain from helping each other. First Grian paying off a debt, then an alliance which would help them live. No matter what they did, if there was selflessness there, there was still that in the background. Helping each other helped themselves. But he can’t see anything Mumbo would gain from doing this.

Mumbo's face reflects a mixture of surprise and concern as he tries to find the right words.

“Grian, I... I just want to be there for you. I don't need anything in return. You're my friend, and friends help each other, right? It's not about what's in it for me, it's about supporting you.” Grian's scepticism doesn't waver, his confusion still apparent. Grian doesn’t need to ask though, Mumbo seeing the confusion and continuing. His expression softens as he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Grian, yes, things have changed, and you might not remember our friendship. But that doesn't change the fact that I care about you. You've always been there for others, and now it's our turn to be there for you. It's as simple as that.” Grian lets the words hang in the air for a few seconds.

His scepticism begins to waver as Mumbo's words sink in. Somehow Mumbo's genuine care and desire to be there for him transcend any logical explanations or personal gain. There's a sincerity in Mumbo's voice that Grian can't ignore, even if he still struggles to fully comprehend it. Grian gives him a small nod.

“No, Mumbo, you're not intruding,” Grian finally says after a few seconds of silence, his voice slightly steadier, going to sit back down on top of a chest. For a moment Mumbo looks confused, then he seems to remember what he said earlier. A sense of relief washes over Mumbo's face. He joins Grian and sits down nearby, giving him some space while still making it clear he’s there.

They sit there in silence for a few minutes. It isn’t Scar’s ramblings in the background, but instead a silence that nevertheless offers a different kind of comfort.

The silence between them stretches. It's a quiet understanding, a sense that they don't need to fill the space with words. Grian strangely finds solace in Mumbo. His act of simply being there, without expectations or demands, begins to chip away at Grian's scepticism and confusion. They must sit there for quite a long time, until Mumbo speaks again.

“Do you want to talk about why Scar isn’t with you?” It’s a question, the kind of question Grian would quickly shut down normally. With Scar he’d quickly find a different subject to talk about, or give him something vague. Here though, in this calm, it feels different.

Grian hesitates for a moment, contemplating whether he should open up about his uneasiness. The peaceful atmosphere and Mumbo's non-judgmental presence encourage him to share. It doesn’t make sense he would, but there’s something so calming about Mumbo, like something telling him he can trust him. A voice he probably shouldn’t trust with his track record, but one he nevertheless listens to at that moment.

“I just. We met Bdubs. I remembered something that made me uneasy,” Grian begins, his voice laced with a mix of vulnerability and caution. Mumbo leans in slightly, his expression attentive as he encourages Grian to continue. There's a gentle understanding in his eyes, assuring Grian that he's in a safe space to share his thoughts. He doesn't say anything though, allowing Grian to stop as soon as he wants to.

“It's about Scar... and something he did in the place we were,” Grian continues, his voice wavering slightly. “I remembered a moment when he... betrayed my trust. It made me question whether I can fully trust him now.”

Grian looks closely at Mumbo as he says that, waiting for a reaction. Him telling him that’s insane and that of course he can trust Scar. But he doesn’t get one, Mumbo’s expression barely changes as he listens. Mumbo's expression remains calm and understanding, silently urging him to continue himself further if he feels comfortable. Grian takes another breath.

“It's not just a minor disagreement or misunderstanding,” Grian continues, his voice gaining a touch of urgency to really clarify to Mumbo what he means. “It was more than just a breach of trust,” Grian reiterates, his voice tinged with frustration and disappointment. “We were allies, partners. We relied on each other, and it often felt like it was us against everyone else. The betrayal shattered that foundation we built together”

“And then things happened which…” Grian pauses. No, he doesn’t want to talk about that. “Then after everything I return here and he doesn’t remember anything so I can’t even confront him about it,” Grian choses instead.

Mumbo's brows furrow slightly in response, his expression showing a glimpse of concern. It's evident that he's trying to grasp the extent of the situation and its impact on Grian. He remains silent though, allowing Grian to express himself fully.

“I feel stuck,” Grian admits, his voice laden with frustration. “It's like two different versions of him exist in my mind, and I don't know which one to believe.” It shouldn’t be this easy to talk to what is a stranger to him, but it somehow is. Mumbo stays silent for several long seconds, seemingly collecting his thoughts.

“I don’t have a direct answer for you. I can only say what I know of this Scar and I don’t know if that’d help you,” Mumbo begins. He talks slowly, thinking through every word before he says it. His response acknowledges the complexity of the situation, and Grian appreciates his honesty. He waits, his gaze fixed on Mumbo, eager to hear his perspective, even if it may not provide a direct solution.

“But what I can tell you,” Mumbo continues, his voice gentle yet firm, “is that people are complex. We have different sides to us and sometimes those sides can contradict each other. Scar may have done something that hurt you, something that's difficult to reconcile with the friend you had, and that's hard. It's okay to feel stuck and unsure.”

“It’s important to remember that we're all capable of change, growth, and making mistakes. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I have to assume he had a reason after what you said,” Mumbo adds. Grian nods, but otherwise remains silent, staring at a chest on the other side of the room. Mumbo doesn’t say anything else either, both of them falling back into the easy silence of before.

Grian likes Mumbo, he realises. It makes sense that some other him would have made friends with him. From the awkwardness at the start to this side of him too. Mumbo's sincerity, empathy, and willingness to listen without judgement have provided a source of comfort and support that Grian hadn't anticipated. Especially considering their last encounter.

Grian looks up from the chest he was staring at, meeting Mumbo's gaze. A small, appreciative smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Thank you, Mumbo,” Grian says softly. Mumbo returns the smile, his eyes reflecting a genuine warmth.

“You don't have to thank me, Grian. Friends support each other, through the ups and downs. I'm here for you, and I believe in you.”

They sit in the peaceful silence once more, the barge serving as a backdrop to their thoughts and contemplation. Grian finds comfort, knowing that he has someone who understands and cares, even if the memories of their past eludes him.

Chapter Text

With each laboured breath, Scar heart sounds against his ribcage, threatening to break free from its confines. His mind is going a hundred miles an hour, unable to stop and follow one single train of thought.

Taking shaky steps, Scar enters City Hall, his heart still racing from the encounter with Grian earlier. The familiar surroundings provided little comfort as his mind continued to swirl with confusion and guilt. Desperately, he glanced at Bdubs, searching for some semblance of reassurance or guidance in his friend's presence. Bdubs places a supportive hand on his shoulder.

“Take a deep breath, Scar,” Bdubs’ voice cuts through the chaos in Scar’s mind, offering a momentary respite. Scar obeys, inhaling deeply, the air filling his lungs and momentarily calming his racing heart. He exhales slowly, willing himself to find a semblance of composure.

"Let's find someplace to sit, yeah?" Bdubs suggests. Scar nods in agreement, following Bdubs as they find a quiet corner. They could go to either of their offices, but for the moment Scar is happy to remain here, plopping down into a chair. Bdubs takes a seat next to him, his expression filled with concern. He reaches out and places a comforting hand on Scar's shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze.

As Scar settles into the chair, he feels a small measure of relief in Bdubs' touch, a comforting reminder that he's not alone in this. A good reminder to have at the moment.

“I don't even know where to begin, Bdubs,” Scar admits, his voice heavy with the weight of his emotions. Bdubs offers a small reassuring smile.

“It’s okay. You can start whenever you want, or not at all. I’m here though,” he responds. Scar returns a smile to him as well, grateful Bdubs is here at least. Even as he sits here wondering if leaving Grian alone was the best option.

But Grian wanted to be alone…

But why?

It had all happened so suddenly. One moment they were laughing, the next things had completely fallen apart.

“I only know what Ren told me, so not a lot,” Bdubs adds after another few seconds of silence.

“What did Ren say?" Scar asks curiously.

“Just that Grian didn’t remember Hermitcraft, seems to remember wherever we disappeared to, and he mentioned that it’d probably be a good idea to be a bit cautious since he doesn’t think we were in a very good place,” Bdubs explains in a slower than normal pace, and Scar nods along.

“I wish there was more I could do,” Scar murmurs, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. “I want to help, but I don’t know how to do that half of the time.” he adds, staring at the wall in front of him. “Sometimes he talks very vaguely about it. Or acts a certain way. Sometimes I think I understand and then something new happens. Like this,” Scar throws his hand into the air to bring emphasis to the point.

Scar wishes there was a way to know everything Grian was feeling. To know what he wants, what Scar can do for him. But Scar doesn’t know how he’s supposed to know that if he can’t even help when Grian reacts to so many new things. New people, new locations, even flying somehow!

“Would it help if we tried to piece together the pieces you have?” Bdubs suggests, making Scar pause. He considers the suggestion for a moment, attempting to piece together the fragments of information he has might provide some kind of clarity of the situation. It's worth a try, at the very least.

“Yeah, maybe that could help,” Scar replies, his voice filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty. “It's just... everything feels so jumbled and scattered. But maybe we can make some sense out of it. I mean, the mayor and his right hand, what could ever get past us?” Scar jokes, nudging Bdubs with the side of his body. Bdubs offers a large smile at that, and Scar takes a deep breath, thinking for a moment. Where to start?

And so Scar sets out to recount the past 24 hours or so (has it been less? Has it been longer? Scar has a difficult time placing it) to Bdubs. From when he first saw Mumbo pinned to the wall to when Bdubs found them in the shopping district and Grian froze up. All the events to Grian alone somewhere in a place he doesn’t have any memory of…

Scar knows nothing too bad will happen. He trusts the other Hemits to be able to take care of him if he needs it, but that doesn’t help the bad feeling. The way Grian has reacted to other people so far is not a good track record for how he’d react if he saw someone else.

“I thought him meeting someone else from there would be good. You know, a familiar face besides me? Of course, that’s assuming we even met anyone so early in the morning! He reacted well to me and bad to Xisuma and Mumbo and the obvious difference between us is that those two weren’t there,” Scar continues his rambling, trying to explain his thought process.

As Scar recounts the events to Bdubs, his thoughts spill out in a stream of consciousness, reflecting the confusion and concern he's been grappling with. Bdubs listens attentively, allowing Scar to express his jumbled thoughts without interruption.

Scar's rambling gradually subsides, and he looks at Bdubs, searching for some reassurance or guidance. He offers a sympathetic smile.

“I understand what you were thinking, Scar,” Bdubs says, his voice reassuring. “You wanted to provide Grian with some familiar faces, someone else he could recognize and possibly find comfort in.” Scar's shoulders relax slightly. It's a relief to know that Bdubs at least sees the reasoning behind his actions, even if the outcome didn't go as planned.

“Yeah, exactly,” Scar responds, a sense of validation creeping into his voice. “I thought if Grian saw someone else from that place, it might help him feel less alone. But it didn't work out that way.” Scar looks down at the ground, a frown on his face. Bdubs reaches out and places a supportive hand on Scar's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“And then he froze up completely. It’s so different from his reaction to X or Mumbo. It was like he was scared! And not in the fear of the unknown he had with them! He seemed terrified, Bdubs!” Scar picks up his ranting again, more passionately than before.

Scar's voice trembles with concern as he expresses his observations to Bdubs. The sudden shift in Grian's behaviour was deeply unsettling. Bdubs listens attentively, his grip on Scar's shoulder remaining firm and supportive.

“Yeah, I saw it too. It was different from how I’ve ever seen him,” Bdubs confirms, and Scar is glad he agrees. Scar had only rarely seen Grian genuinely scared before yesterday. He had a small fear of rabbits, something he blamed on being a bird while laughing. He had a fear of being trapped, but even then the reaction to those and other fears were always different, and Scar has never seen it to this degree. It could be that he’s just better at hiding them, more subtle about them before, but it still makes him feel uneasy seeing him like this.

He wonders if Mumbo has ever seen him like this. One thing the “two Grians” have in common is their love of avoiding difficult conversations about themselves. Mumbo has known him for longer, had even mentioned Grian having acted similarly when he returned after having vanished the first time.

The first time… Scar can’t forget the first time Grian vanished either, despite it being before Scar ever met him. While it hadn’t affected Scar directly then, his absence had been obvious from Mumbo. Him constantly staring at his communicator as if waiting for a message, his almost hopelessness a month after Grian’s disappearance. And Mumbo’s hovering after Grian returned.

Scar doesn’t know if that disappearance is different or the same. More people are gone, yes, but Grian disappearing without a trace twice? Is it a coincidence?

Does anyone even know what happened the first time? Grian was always one of the people who held onto the “no backstories rule” the hardest. He knows Mumbo knows a little, but not everything. Xisuma might know something, but even their admin never forces any of their past from them. He might ask for the well being of the hermits, but he’d never force it.

Which begs the question how much Xisuma knows now about this disappearance. What Grian told Xisuma. And if there’s more similarities than just how Grian is acting afterwards.

He should talk to Mumbo about it. He doesn't know how much Mumbo would feel comfortable admitting, but any bit would help right now. He just…

“I just want to help him, Bdubs,” Scar finishes his thought out loud, his voice filled with concern. “I want to understand what he's going through and be there for him. But right now, it feels like I'm stumbling in the dark, trying to find a way to reach him.”

“Well, he does seem attached to you though,” Bdubs responds. “It’s you he’s gone to, you he felt comfortable enough to hug even around what would be strangers to him. He has trusted you up to now,” he continues, and it does make some sense until he thinks about what just happened.

“But now I’ve gone and ruined that,” Scar sighs, staring straight ahead at the wall.

“I doubt that, Scar. He had a moment. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust you anymore. If anyone’s to blame it’s me for surprising you like that,” Bdubs says, and scar hates how much sense he’s making.

“It's important not to jump to conclusions based on one moment. Give him space, continue to be there for him. After he’s calmed down, and I’m no longer there, he might be more happy talking to you,” Bdubs continues. Scar lets out a small sigh, looking over at him.

“You're right,,” Scar acknowledges, his voice carrying a sense of relief. “I shouldn't jump to conclusions based on one moment. Grian seemed to trust me before, and it's possible that this was just an unexpected reaction in the heat of the moment.” Bdubs nods.

“That’s the spirit!” Bdubs exclaims, a grin on his face. “Remember, you’re not alone in this. I don’t know how much I can help with Grian with the way he reacted to me, but we’re always there for you two in whatever you need.” Scar lets a smile slip onto his face.

“Thank you, Bdubs. We’re a team, yeah?” he lets out a breath, and Bdubs throws an arm around his shoulder.

“That we are. And we’ll all help Grian as much as we can in whatever he needs. And we will also make sure you don’t drive yourself crazy in the process,” Bdubs says, grinning widely. Scar lets out a chuckle.

“Thanks for keeping me in check,” Scar replies, his smile widening. “There’s no way I would know what to do without everyone,” he adds. Bdubs gives him a playful pat on the back in return.

“Absolutely, Scar. We've got your back, and we'll make sure we all stay sane through this… uncertainty. We’ll face whatever comes our way with a good dose of humour and a lot of love.” Scar's chuckle grows into a genuine laughter, his spirits lifted by Bdubs' playfulness and unwavering support.

“Speaking off, operation ‘Keep Xisuma Sane’ has come along well too. Keralis confirmed he got a full night’s sleep,” Bdubs adds. Scar's relief is evident in his expression as he hears about the progress in keeping Xisuma's sanity intact. The well-being of their fellow Hermits is a priority, and while Grian is definitely the most urgent case, Xisuma is just as important. A sleep deprived admin during a crisis is never good.

“That's great to hear,” Scar replies, a genuine smile gracing his face. “X deserves a good rest after everything that's been happening.” Bdubs nods.

“Oh yeah, we’ve got lots of hermits who love ignoring their needs to help others,” Bdubs nudges Scar’s shoulder, and Scar chuckles, nodding in agreement.

“We're a bunch of selfless Hermits, aren't we? Always putting others before ourselves.”

“It's true,” Bdubs says, a playful glint in his eyes. “We've got a whole bunch of caring souls here, always ready to lend a helping hand and support each other through thick and thin. But you know what they say, we're stronger together.” he adds. “Which is why I’m not worried at all. We’ll figure this out, Grian will be okay. It might take a while, but if anyone can bounce back it’s G.” Scar’s smile widens slightly. He’s glad he has the support of the others. Bdubs, Ren, and everyone else if he’d ask.

There’s a short lull in their conversation, and Scar sees the frown on Bdubs’ face before he starts speaking. Part of Scar wants to stop whatever Bdubs is about to say, but another knows they have to continue this.

“Do you think we were in some kind of hardcore world?” Bdubs put together what Scar had suspected before.

The way Grian had reacted to Scar’s death, the talk of a battle they had apparently been in, his reaction to a lot of things… Scar doesn’t respond out loud, but he does nod. It does beg the question why would there be battles in a hardcore world? And the question that has never left, how did they get there? How did they leave the server, lose their memory of the events, aside from Grian who’s an entirely different can of worms. And how does everything tie together?

The fact that they were somehow taken to that place without Xisuma knowing how it happened doesn’t help ease any of the worries either. Maybe he should talk to X as well, try to find out what he knows, or suspects if anything.

Scar wishes he knew the answer to any of the questions that have made themselves known in the last 24 hours. Anything to help him understand how or why it happened.

“Do you think there’s a reason we specifically were taken?” Scar asks out loud. Bdubs raises an eyebrow. “I mean, not all of us were missing. And there were other people aside from the hermits according to G,” Scar explains further.

Bdubs takes a moment to consider Scar's question, his expression thoughtful. He understands why, the idea that they were specifically chosen or targeted raises more questions than answers. Bdubs opens his mouth, ready to respond but he gets interrupted by a knock on the wall.

Both of their eyes land on Impulse, standing by the entrance of City Hall, giving them both a hesitant smile.

“Hi, hope I’m not interrupting?” he asks, taking in both of their expressions. Scar immediately stands up, putting on a large smile.

“Impulse! You could never interrupt!” he exclaims as he walks over, placing an arm around Impulse’s shoulder to lead him over. Bdubs joins in with a large smile.

“Hey, Impulse! It's great to see you,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. Impulse returns their smiles, the hesitation fading from his face.

“Thanks, guys. I saw you both in here and just wanted to check in and see how you both were doing. It's been a whirlwind of events lately, and I wanted to make sure you're holding up okay.” Oh yeah, Impulse had also disappeared. Scar didn’t get a chance to speak to him before Grian returned. Scar gives Impulse a grateful pat on the back.

“We're doing our best, Impulse. It's been quite a ride, but we're staying strong and supporting each other. How about you? How are you holding up?”

“I’ve been okay. A bit confused, but I suppose that’s what comes with what happened,” Impulse gives a small shrug, sitting down on a chair opposite Bdubs, Scar also sits down. “I did want to ask though,” Impulse pauses, taking a deep breath. “Ren said Grian remembers.” Wow, Ren works fast. He doesn’t know if he messaged everyone or flew around the server, in either case he’s grateful Ren’s on the case. He doesn’t know if he could explain the situation to many more people.

“Skizz messaged me, and Tango, a few times throughout the week before either me or Tango were back,” he starts explaining, and Scar realises what it’s about before he can continue. Shoot, he should have told Impulse immediately when he found out Skizz had been one of the people there. “He woke up and when he looked at the date it didn’t quite match when he remembered…” Scar nods.

“Yeah, Grian said he was there too.” Impulse takes a deep breath, nodding.

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “I’m guessing we still have no idea what happened?”

“No, I’m sorry Impulse,” Scar responds, frowning softly. Impulse nods though.

“That’s fine. I just had to make sure, I’ll let Skizz know the little we know. Thank you,” he gives them both another smile. “How’s G doing?” he asks more hesitantly. Bdubs and Scar exchange a glance, unsure how to answer that.

“Not amazing,” Scar finally settles on. Impulse's smile fades slightly, concern evident in his eyes.

“I figured as much. It's understandable considering. I just hope we can provide him the support he needs. If you need anything I’m here to help, you know that,” Impulse responds, and Scar smiles. He doesn’t dare have anyone else surprise Grian with a visit at the moment, but he’s glad to have everyone’s support. Scar is about to respond, when he remembers the one mission he got from Mumbo when he left. He’s an idiot.

“Shoot! I promised Mumbo to update him on anything happening,” Scar scrambles to pick up his communicator. “He’ll be worried sick,” Scar starts typing quickly.

GoodTimeWithScar: sthing happened

GoodTimeWithScar: Gs alone

GoodTimeWithScar: in shopping distrct

GoodTimeWithScar: wanted to be alone

He frowns. So typical him to remember the one thing he was asked to do. As Scar waits for Mumbo's response, Impulse offers a reassuring pat on his shoulder.

“Don't worry, Scar. I'm sure Mumbo will understand. We've all been caught up in the whirlwind of events,” he says, offering a small smile to him. Scar nods, returning a small smile. He knows Impulse is right, Mumbo won’t be mad, but still. They sit there for several seconds without a response from Mumbo. The seconds turn into minutes. What’s Mumbo doing?

As the minutes pass by without a response from Mumbo, Scar's concern begins to grow. He starts to wonder what might be keeping Mumbo occupied or preventing him from responding. Mumbo’s usually quick to respond. Terrible at arriving on time, or arriving at all at times, but always quick to respond to messages. Especially now he’d think, with everything that’s happened. He debates whether he should send another message or wait a bit longer. Just as he's about to reach for his communicator, it finally buzzes with a new message from Mumbo.

MumboJumbo: Sorry for the late reply! MumboJumbo: G’s with me in the barge

Scar's eyes widen as he reads Mumbo's message. Grian is with Mumbo in the barge? He hadn't expected that, but it brings a sense of relief knowing that Grian is not alone. He shares the message with Impulse and Bdubs, Bdubs’ expression mirroring his surprise. Scar quickly types a response to Mumbo, seeking clarification.

GoodTimeWithScar: what happened? is everything okay?

MumboJumbo: Don’t worry. Grian’s safe. He needed some time alone, so we’re just sitting here quietly. I think he appreciates the company even if we’re not saying much.

Scar lets out a sigh of relief, his worry dissipating. Grian isn’t alone, and even better, he’s with Mumbo. Grian might not remember Mumbo but he’s nevertheless sure that if anyone could help Grian it’s him.

GoodTimeWithScar: thank you

GoodTimeWithScar: let me know if we can help with anythng

Scar feels a lot better now. Things aren’t perfect, he’s still got questions, and is still worried. Worried about what happened to make Grian react like that, worried about what lies ahead, and worried about how to support Grian in the best way possible. But knowing that Grian is not alone right now, that he has Mumbo by his side provides a sense of reassurance.

Enough so that he can for now feel safe putting the worries aside, if even for a few minutes with his friends who he knows will continue to support each other until things are back to how they were.

Chapter Text

Grian was never really tired in the desert. He slept, of course, not a lot, but he did sleep, and he was never tired. He couldn’t let his guard down. He always had to make sure he and Scar were safe. Scar sure wasn’t, so that responsibility had to stay on Grian’s shoulders. Especially after so many people got to their red life. Sleep was a luxury, and even when he managed to rest, it was always with one eye open, ready to react to any potential threat.

He had to make sure no one sneaked up on them. He had to protect Scar, and he would gladly do so with his life. It’s what he owed Scar. Even after the debt was paid it was a habit impossible to shake. One he didn’t want to shake.

Scar, however, played a crucial role in ensuring Grian's well-being. Despite Grian's instinct to remain alert at all times, Scar would coax him back to bed, whenever he noticed he wasn’t in bed. Find him, wherever he’d chosen to sit up to keep watch that evening, and threaten to do something stupid if he didn’t come back inside with him. He never let him bear the weight alone.

No. Scar was safety and comfort.

Yes, he was reckless, and would turn Grian’s hairs white early, but at the same time he’d ensure he didn’t die of exhaustion before then.

Their bond became an anchor in the desert, one which allowed them to endure and protect one another. Both ensuring the others well-being in different ways, serving as a reminder that they were a team, united against the challenges they faced.

In a way they became each other's guardians.

Maybe that’s why the betrayal had hurt as much as it did. They looked out for each other. They had since the beginning. Grian would get annoyed at Scar’s recklessness. Scar would get annoyed at Grian’s ability to ignore his own needs. But they always stood side by side against the rest of the server.

And then Scar had betrayed him.

And then Grian had killed him.

And now Scar is back acting like nothing happened, because nothing did happen to him.

And if that doesn’t add to the mess that is Grian’s head he doesn’t know what would.

Some part of him knows he should put aside the betrayal. He killed Scar, isn’t that enough? He doesn’t have the right to be angry at him anymore. And yet here he sits, Mumbo telling him it’s okay to feel that. Of course, he doesn’t know the entire situation, maybe he’d change his mind then, but it still helps somehow.

In either case, here he’s more tired than he ever was back there. Maybe it’s because he strangely feels safer here. It’s stupid really, he doesn’t know half the people, the rest don’t share his experiences, good or bad. And while he’s still on some level of alertness he feels much more calm than he ever could back there.

He’s tired enough he’s sure he could somehow fall asleep here, with a stranger to him, and somehow feel safe. Not that Grian would, it’s morning, and even if some part of him likes Mumbo, feels safe, he can’t risk it.

Said moustached fellow has gone back to restocking, glancing back at Grian ever so often. Grian only stares back. As he gazes at Mumbo, there’s a sense of safety and comfort that he hasn't felt often. It's a strange feeling, considering he doesn't know Mumbo as intimately as Scar. Yet, there's something about Mumbo's presence that calms the chaos within Grian's mind. Or maybe it’s the imminent knowledge someone is always out to get him having calmed itself.

“You’ve disappeared before, you know,” Grian hadn’t even noticed Mumbo had stopped his movements, now standing next to the chest, looking at Grian.

He didn’t know that. Which he supposes makes sense, but it nevertheless intrigues him. Grian raises an eyebrow, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“What do you mean disappeared?” Grian asks, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and intrigue. The idea that he has disappeared before, like the recent events, adds another layer of mystery to the entire situation. Mumbo leans against the chest, his arms crossed, and a thoughtful expression on his face. He takes a moment before responding, choosing his words carefully.

“Not exactly in how it happened recently. That time you were the only one, and when you returned you still had your memories,” he explains. Grian furrows his brow, trying to piece together the puzzle. He wonders why neither X nor Scar mentioned that.

“I don’t know entirely what happened that time either. You didn’t like talking about it, but you act similarly to how you did when you returned back then.” That only deepens his confusion, but he leans forward, wanting to uncover more, while cursing his past self for not telling Mumbo the entire story. That might have helped this time.

“It happened several years ago, before you even joined us here on Hermitcraft. But you seemed guarded, distant, and hesitant to talk about what happened after you returned. That is after an initial explosive reaction to seeing me, that seems to be a theme both times,” Mumbo lets out a nervous laugh.

“You seemed to have gone through something during your absence, something that left its mark on you. When you returned, it was clear that you had changed, and you weren't quite the same as before, even if you tried to act like normal,” Mumbo continues. Grian nods slowly. He wonders what could have happened then. Especially if only he vanished that time.

His mind races, searching for any hints or fragments of memories that might shed light on his past disappearance. Of course, his mind gives him nothing, only remembering the desert. He lets out a small sigh, still watching Mumbo, hoping for any bit more information. Mumbo meets his gaze, giving a nod.

“You had started a server on your own with some of your friends. You mentioned some weird things happening there, but you always downplayed it a lot. Then you sent a message about going to fight the Ender Dragon, and that was your last message,” Mumbo continues, frowning as he speaks, as if remembering a bad memory. Which, he supposes he must be.

“Then you just appeared again one day in my solo world, scared someone, or something, was following you. You didn’t even recognise me at first. Not that I recognised you immediately either,” Mumbo says, letting out a small sigh. “The entire time before I managed to convince you to join Hermitcraft you were paranoid. Like someone was watching you.” That makes Grian sit up straighter. There’s a flicker of recognition. Not from back then, but from the world he just returned from.

“Someone watching me…” Grian repeats, frowning. Mumbo's expression turns somber, his gaze locked with Grian's.

“Yes, it was like you were constantly on edge, always looking over your shoulder. I would sometimes mention it, but you never went into much detail. It was like you were afraid of delving too deep, like acknowledging it fully would make it more real.” And Grian thinks back to his last moments.

He thanked someone… didn’t he? He doesn’t remember who. But he knows he deliberately spoke to someone. Just as he’s sure he heard someone speak to him.

But it wasn’t just then either.

The entire time he’d felt watched. And then after his death, he remembers eyes on him. Was that a coincidence?

Grian’s eyebrows furrow for a moment, connecting the dots between his recent disappearance and Mumbo's recollection of the previous one. The feeling of being watched, the sense of constant vigilance, it’s similar. Too similar.

“Eyes,” Grian murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of realisation and unease. “I felt them, after I jumped. It was as if someone or something was watching me.”

Mumbo's eyes widen in response to Grian's words. It almost looks like he was struck. He shakes his head slightly, looking down.

“You felt it there too?” Mumbo whispers, his words barely audible. He only stares at Grian for a long moment, and Grian thinks maybe he’s supposed to say something. But finally Mumbo lets out a breath, an evident frown on his face. “That confirms it, then. There's a connection between the disappearances, and it's not just my imagination.”

“Did you not want that to be the case?” Grian asks carefully, still looking carefully at Mumbo’s reaction. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Hesitating. Grian doesn’t like that.

“When you joined Hermitcraft… I,” he pauses, seemingly looking for the words. “I promised you you’d be safe. I promised! Now, not only you but 7 others disappeared. And if what we just talked about is true, then it might be the same person, or persons, or thing, that took you away the first time!” while before he was hesitating, now he’s rambling, starting to pace back and forth.

Grian is again reminded of how strange it is to have someone care so much about him when he doesn’t even remember them. Care so much about a promise Grian doesn’t remember. Grian watches Mumbo's distress, sensing the weight of his emotions. It's clear how deeply Mumbo cares about him.

Grian isn’t entirely used to that feeling. Even less used to comforting someone who’s clearly spiralling. Especially someone he doesn’t know. Grian stands up though, placing a hand on Mumbo’s arm to halt his pacing.

“Hey, it’s okay. Whatever happened I’m pretty sure it wasn’t your fault in any way, Mumbo,” Grian says. It’s clear the promise had meant a lot in their past somehow, but it didn’t mean anything to Grian now. Nor does he think Mumbo should blame himself for something Grian is sure is out of his control. All Grian knows is that he much prefers talking about this, a Grian he can talk about like some other person, to everything that happened in the game. Mumbo looks up at him, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and concern.

“You disappeared again,” he repeats, frowning slightly. “You have no idea how scary that was. I had no idea if you’d come back like last time, what happened. I practically lived at X’s base waiting for any news. And then Cleo returned, and she didn’t even know she had disappeared! And one by one everyone returned but you didn’t! And none of them knew what happened.”

Grian knows it doesn’t make sense to apologise. Whatever happened seemed to be completely out of his control. That doesn’t stop the words though.

“I’m sorry.” Mumbo's expression quickly softens, and he reaches out to place a hand on Grian's shoulder.

“Grian, there's no need to apologise. None of this is your fault. You didn't ask for any of this to happen, and I understand that. I’m just glad to have you back. Even if you don’t remember.” Grian gives him a small smile before sitting down again, looking around the barge. They remain silent for a few seconds, but Grian sees a frown on Mumbo’s face for a moment, he looks like he’s thinking about something, but he doesn’t voice the thought. Grian doesn’t force it.

“Have you told X about feeling watched?” Mumbo finally asks.

“We didn’t get to talk a lot. Scar’s… accident interrupted the discussion early, and things spiralled a bit from there,” Grian responds, frowning softly.

“Maybe you should. He’s trying really hard to figure out what happened. It might help.” Grian gives him a nod, as their conversation is paused by a buzz on both of their communicators.

Xisuma: Hello Hermits!

Xisuma: Obligatory server wide meeting tonight at 6. Write to me if you can’t make it. Hope to see you all there.

“Well, that’s a well timed message,” Mumbo says, smiling down at the communicator. Just then Grian gets his own private message from Xisuma.

Xisuma: You can choose to go to the meeting or not. I understand if you’d rather not be around everyone at the moment. If you don’t want to go I would like to talk to you again though before then if that’s okay.

Grian reads the private message and considers his options for a moment. Yeah, judging by his actions just now, going to a server wide meeting probably isn’t the best thing for him… And while some part of him really doesn’t want to have that conversation again, he knows he has to. Grian takes a moment to compose his response to Xisuma's private message.

Grian: yeah, i think it's best if I don't attend

Grian: we can talk, just let me know when and come find me I suppose

He gets another quick confirmation message from Xisuma, after which, Grian looks up at Mumbo, who’s watching him.

“I won't be going to the meeting," Grian says with a small shrug. “Xisuma wants to talk to me before then though,” he adds as well.

“Yeah, that’s smart. Do you want company while we’re at the meeting? I’m sure either me, Scar, or someone else could be excused. I am known for not showing up at meetings,” Mumbo asks, letting out a small laugh. Grian gives him a small smile, debating it. He can be alone, right? That was what he had looked for before Mumbo came in here.

“Thank you, Mumbo. I think I'll be okay being alone,” Grian replies gently. Mumbo nods, though a hint of concern lingers in his eyes.

“Alright, if you change your mind or need anything, don't hesitate to tell us. We're all here for you,” Mumbo assures him, his voice filled with care. Grian appreciates it. It's comforting to know that he has someone looking out for him, even if he doesn't fully understand the depth of their connection. He hates how much it reminds him of the desert.

They sit there in mostly silence for several minutes, the entire time it looks like Mumbo wants to say something. The way he glances over with a contemplating look. One part of Grian wants to tell him to just get it out there, another part of him is worried. If Mumbo doesn’t want to voice whatever thought is in his head, maybe it’s better he doesn’t.

It turns out the part of Mumbo wanting to ask wins though, as he looks over, taking a deep breath.

“Grian.” Grian turns his attention fully towards Mumbo, sensing the significance in his tone. He does his best not to let the tone affect him too much, just giving a small nod in return.

“Yes, Mumbo?” Mumbo takes another moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“What did you mean earlier… You said you felt watched after you jumped.” Grian's expression shifts slightly, caught off guard completely by the question. That was not what he’d expected. He doesn’t even remember mentioning the jump after he was left alone. The memories of his final moments flood back, and he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

Grian's gaze meets Mumbo's, and he can sense the genuine curiosity mixed with concern in his friend's eyes. The memories of that final jump weigh heavily on Grian's mind, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding. And gathering his thoughts does take a while, because he has no idea what to say about it. Especially as he doesn’t want to think about it, he’d rather do anything than be back there alone in the desert.

And he was so sure it wouldn’t matter. That was the end. It was supposed to be the end.

Instead he woke up here, and he isn’t entirely sure what he thinks about it yet.

He wouldn’t tell Scar this. Some part of him knows that. But Mumbo is different. It’s not that he wouldn’t trust Scar, but Grian doesn’t care as much what Mumbo thinks. It wouldn’t make a difference if Mumbo left after this. It would mean the world if Scar did.

Grian's gaze shifts slightly as he tries to find the right words to explain his previous words. The weight of the memories and the emotions attached to them press upon him. He takes a deep breath.

“When I mentioned that, I was referring to a moment... a decision I made,” Grian begins, his voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and uncertainty. “I was alone, after Scar... after he disappeared. I was alone, and I felt this overwhelming sense of hopelessness and despair. It felt like everything was crashing down around me, and I... I didn’t know what to do with it.”

While some part of Grian looks back and tries to defend his decision. Which, he doesn't know why he would be trying to defend it at all. Another part of him desperately tries to forget what he felt then. That moment of nothingness, almost numbness.

But he wasn’t numb. Some part of him knows that. It hadn’t been an absence of feeling. It had been too much. Far too much.

Too much to feel, too much to work through, too much to do anything about.

And nothing left.

So it’s no wonder he listened to that voice.

But there was more. So much more.

“I knew the game had a winner. I didn’t want to be that. Not after I k-” he stops himself. No, saying it would make it real. It would remind him of the blood on his hands. “I thought it was the only way out.”

Maybe it was.

Even if it wasn’t Grian knows any other way out wouldn’t be a real out. Even here he isn’t sure he’s out. Not really.

“The game?” Mumbo asks carefully, his voice hesitant, almost shaking as he speaks. And Grian hates this topic, but he doesn’t know how to avoid it.

“We had three lives, apparently that’s not normal. I was the last one alive. I didn’t think there was anything afterwards,” Grian finally says after a few seconds of silence.

Mumbo's eyes widen. In surprise? In concern? Both? Grian isn’t quite sure. He takes a moment to process Grian's words though. It's clear that he's struggling to find the right response, grappling with the implications of what Grian just revealed.

“I…” Mumbo starts, then stops himself. “I don’t know what to say. That’s horrible,” he says again. “Three lives? I’ve never heard of something like that before,” Mumbo adds,, his voice filled with genuine confusion. “And you were the last one alive… I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you, Grian,”

Grian's expression remains somber as he nods, his gaze fixed on a distant point outside one of the large windows. The memories of that moment, the weight of finality of the game, still lingering.

“Yeah…” is all Grian manages to reply, wariness in his tone. He feels a hand on his shoulder and flinches for a split second before he realises it’s just Mumbo, having placed a comforting hand. Grian can see the thoughts running through Mumbo’s head, even if he focuses on Grian in that moment.

“I don’t… I don’t entirely know what you went though. But I’m here for you. As if everyone else. I need you to know that, mate,” he says. “You can tell me as little or much as you want but you aren’t alone.” Grian takes a deep breath, his gaze meeting Mumbo's understanding eyes. There's a mix of gratitude in his own expression, giving him a small nod.

“Thank you,” he says after another few seconds of silence.

And Grian doesn’t want to talk about the games ever again. Doesn’t so much as want to think about them. He knows that’s impossible of course. But he wishes he could, because every single time he does it only brings confusion. But it was better to talk about it to Mumbo than he’s sure it would have been talking to Scar. He’d rather do anything than talk about it to him. He’d rather jump off that cliff another hundred times.

“You're welcome, mate,” Mumbo replies, his voice gentle. “I'm here for you, no matter what. If there's anything you need, anything at all, don't hesitate to tell me.”

And there is one thing. Isn’t there?

“Mumbo? Can you join me when I talk to Xisuma later?” Mumbo looks surprised, but quickly nods.

“Yeah? Of course.” He even sounds confused. But if Grian is going to have that conversation he’s not doing it alone. And he’s not doing it with Scar.

And neither of them say anything else. The silence stretches between them. Grian takes a deep breath, his resolve hardening despite his exhaustion.

Yes, this is for the best.

Chapter Text

Scar isn’t entirely sure how long the three of them sit there in City Hall just talking. Sometimes he forgets just how much help simply being around the hermits can be. Not that they ever let someone forget for long though. Something clearly shown today. A time he’s sure everyone needs a bit of support.

When he got the message about the server meeting, Scar's first thought was Grian. Before he even finished reading the message he’d written back asking about him. X had already thought about it and said he offered Grian to sit it out and have a talk beforehand first. Of course, this led to X asking if Grian wasn’t with him, which then led to having to explain what happened. He didn’t go into details, but did say they ended up splitting up and that Grian is with Mumbo.

That short back and forth did lead Scar to finally decide sitting in here isn’t doing anyone any good. He’s avoiding it. Avoiding going back to Grian and asking what happened, if he did anything wrong. As much as Impulse and Bdubs did help, both in distracting him and calming him down when it first happened, he still does need to go back to Grian. And Mumbo apparently.

It had surprised him when he found out Grian was with Mumbo, but he’s also glad for it. He knows how worried Mumbo was about not being able to help, and Grian… Scar was not happy about leaving him alone in the shopping district, even if he knew nothing bad could really happen to him physically. That didn’t mean many other things couldn’t go wrong though, especially in his current state. Panicking about something after Bdubs arrived.

Scar takes a deep breath, gathering his resolve. He knows he can't keep avoiding the situation, especially when it involves Grian, not someone he cares so deeply about. He stands up from his seat, giving a grateful smile to Impulse and Bdubs, thanking them for their talk and promising to message them both later. In return they told him to be safe and that he can always tell them if he needs anything. He really is lucky to have found the Hermits.

And so Scar makes his way to the Barge, sending a quick warning message to Mumbo in advance. It takes no time at all to make it there, the barge built right next to City Hall. Part of him wishes the walk was just a little bit longer. He walks towards the entrance looking inside.

There is Grian, sitting on top of a chest, eyes glued to Mumbo, who is walking between chests, rambling. A scene all too familiar. For a moment Scar forgets Grian’s situation. For a moment he lets himself think everything is normal. Mumbo ramblings about redstone while Grian zones out before he’s even started talking, all with Mumbo remaining oblivious to that fact. Never able to stand still, and just happy to be there with his best friend.

Scar’s heart aches for it to return to that again.

Maybe it’s selfish to think that before anything else, but he’s allowed to be a little bit selfish sometimes.

Scar knocks on the wood at the side of the entrance to announce he’s here. He immediately regrets it. The calmness is interrupted, both their eyes landing on him. Mumbo smiles. Grian looks like a deer in the headlights. He tries to push away whatever emotion that he's feeling, giving them both a wave, and a smile.

Mumbo takes a step towards him, but is stopped, Grian grabbing his arm. He’s saying something to Mumbo, far too quiet for Scar to hear. Mumbo in turn frowns down at Grian for a moment, but he nods, then turns back to Scar.

It’s a strange interaction. He isn’t sure what it means, what Grian said, or how they so quickly got to that point.

Only an hour ago he froze at the sight of Bdubs. Only a day ago he threatened Mumbo. There’s some relief, but mostly confusion. Maybe worry, not that he entirely knows what for.

“Well hello,” Scar finally greets them both.

“Scar! Hey,” Mumbo responds. Grian remains silent, his gaze shifting between Scar and Mumbo, his expression a mix of uncertainty and apprehension. Scar can sense the tension in the air, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions lingering between them.

"Hey, Scar," Grian finally speaks up, his voice slightly strained. Scar can't help but notice the hesitancy in his tone, as if Grian is unsure of how to approach the situation.

Scar takes a step closer, his gaze focused on Grian. He wants to reach out, to offer some kind of reassurance, but he can't shake off the feeling that he's tiptoeing on thin ice. Which makes sense, he doesn’t know what set everything off in the first place. He doesn’t want it to happen again, and yet there’s some part of him that knows it’s unavoidable.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d react like that to someone else, and should have,” he pauses. He isn’t sure what he should have done. Not gone out? Told people to keep clear of Grian for a bit? He didn’t know this would happen. “I should have spoken to you first, made sure it was okay,” Scar finally says.

“It… It wasn’t your fault, Scar. You can’t read minds,” Grian starts. But that’s the thing, he almost could before. Not to the point Mumbo and Grian understand each other, or Cub and Scar, but still. Now he isn’t sure. “I was just reminded of something and,” Grian stops again, letting out a sigh. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

He says it like he had any control of himself there, which was clearly not the case. Not in the way he immediately froze up, almost completely unable to communicate. The self-blame and frustration in his voice is obvious. Scar takes a step closer, wanting to offer support and reassurance.

He tries to remember what he did to calm Grian down this morning but comes up blank.

“If it wasn’t my fault it definitely wasn’t yours either. You can’t blame yourself for something like that.” Not when he looked so scared. Not only of Bdubs, but of Scar. That isn’t something you can control. Scar just wishes he knew why he was. What they could have possibly said or done to make him react like that to only seeing them.

If the theory they came up with earlier is correct it doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

But it also raises the question. Why was he so okay with him before? Not that he didn’t have his moments, but for the most part he was practically glued to Scar. And also, why did Grian return last? Why was he the one to lose his memories?

In return Grian only offers a strained smile. Scar’s eyes wander over to Mumbo, still wearing a small frown. His eyes are practically glued to Grian. Scar can sense the conflict within his gaze, the mix of concern and care etched on his face. There's a depth of understanding between Mumbo and Grian that Scar can't fully comprehend, even now. He wonders if maybe he knows something more.

But he also can’t ask about it now.

He takes a moment to study Grian's strained smile, his heart aching with the desire to ease the turmoil within him. Why did all this have to happen? It was just a few days ago in his mind everything was normal, where they joked, laughed, and nothing was wrong.

Yes, they had been preparing to change to a new season which occasionally brings some stress, but otherwise everything was perfect.

Then all this had to happen.

“Well, no matter, in the future I will check up before we do anything like that again, I promise,” Scar finally says, giving a smile to Grian. “For now, it’s us against the world, yeah?” Something flickers in Grian’s expression at that. Too many emotions for Scar to even start picking one out. He isn’t sure if that was the right or wrong thing to say by that reaction. Then Grian takes a deep breath, giving a firm nod. Is that good? He thinks maybe it might be?

“Yeah, us against the world,” Grian echoes softly, his voice carrying a blend of determination and vulnerability. It’s completely different from just a second ago. He wonders if there's a deeper meaning behind Grian's reaction, something he might not fully grasp at the moment. He takes a moment to let the words sink in, realising that his simple statement held more significance than he initially intended.

“We’ll figure this out together,” Scar adds, smiling, and it feels like progress. Hopefully it’s progress.

-:-

Grian sits on the edge of the cliff, looking over the dimly lit desert beneath him. It’s cold this time of night so he’s glad he has his poncho.

So hot during the day and so cold at night. Grian isn’t sure which he dislikes more. What he can say with certainty though, is that if he was the one in charge of their little group he would have never gone for the desert. Anywhere but the smouldering heat and freezing cold. The sand grains stuck in his wings even when he’s far away from the desert.

Despite that though, he doesn’t regret anything.

Maybe it makes him a bad person, but looking back he’s glad his creeper took Scar’s first life. If it didn’t, Grian most likely wouldn’t be here.

He wonders where he would have been…

Would he have kept up the alliance he, Martyn and BigB formed at the start? It sounds almost laughable now. Their little sword alliance. How quickly things fade.

Now he wouldn’t hesitate to drive that very sword into Martyn’s back.

Should he be thinking that? He isn’t red.

And yet he has killed already. Isn’t that already breaking the rules?

As much as tried to hide behind Scar when he did it, there's no doubt he set the trap. And even if it did fail at first, it was on him that Timmy, Skizz, and Ren died in that explosion. Right?

And he felt happy about it. Why?

He’s green. He’s still on his first life. Do other greens feel the same way? If they do, is it worse for the red lives? For Scar? What’ll happen when Grian turns red? Or is something just wrong with Grian?

“I can hear you thinking from inside the house, G,” Grian jumps forward, a big mistake since there’s nothing to land on in front of him. He pluments down the cliff, trying to catch himself with his wings, which remain useless. Luckily he doesn’t fall far enough to seriously hurt himself, even if he lets out an embarrassing squawk, while Scar calls out his name, running forward as well.

Once safely on the ground Grian glares up at Scar, standing right where Grian sat earlier.

“Scar!” Grian yells, his heart still beating hard in his chest. Scar stares down at him, worry clear in his eyes.

“I am so sorry! Are you okay?” Scar asks, the panic very evident in his tone. Grian takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

“Yeah, maybe a warning next time?” Grian calls out, starting to climb back up. Well, he never wants to be near this cliff ever again. Scar’s eyes remain on Grian the time. “Unless you want me to get to yellow,” Grian adds quieter. For a brief moment something flashes across Scar’s expression.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, this time much slower. Maybe even sombre? Grian finds himself frowning at the realisation. Only able to wonder for a second about why. Because losing his life means the debt is paid…

It’s something that’s always been there, and still something that seems foreign. Yes, Grian has commented on the fact whenever Scar did something especially outrageous, but it still doesn’t feel entirely real. That a debt is what got them here. And a debt paid means he’d be free. Free to do whatever he wanted to. Free to leave the desert.

He doesn’t want to. But he also doesn’t know how to say that to Scar.

Instead he shakes his head softly.

“It’s okay, I should have been paying more attention. I was on watch after all.” And it’s true. He was supposed to be on watch and someone snuck up on him. What if that had been Martyn? Ren? To be entirely honest, he doesn’t trust anyone on the server as far as he can throw them. Well, except Scar. Even if that would probably be considered stupid by some. Especially since he was the reason behind the creeper explosion.

“Speaking off…” Scar puts on a small smile, holding a hand out towards their home. It’s clear what he means.

“Scar… Someone could sneak up, I’d rather be prepared for that,” Grian responds. Scar crosses his arms in return, shaking his head.

“G, I could have easily killed you there if I wanted to. As could anyone else. You’re way too tired to do any watching.”

Except Grian isn't tired; his body may ache, his eyelids heavy, but there's an unrelenting surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins that keeps exhaustion at bay. Has kept it at bay. Will somehow continue to do so. The threat of danger lurking around every corner has triggered a primal instinct within him, a survival mode that won't allow him to succumb to fatigue.

Even the short moments he’s been able to sleep haven’t been restful. There haven't been nightmares. Just nothingness in the rests, and something gnawing at him telling him it isn’t just the other players he’s supposed to be worried about.

“Come on or I will carry you. Look at these muscles, wouldn’t be a problem,” Scar continues, flexing. That earns him a soft laugh finally. “Two options. You walk in there willingly or I will carry you.” Grian can’t stop the smile from his lips, shaking his head softly, but he does start walking towards the home, walking side by side with Scar.

“Scar?” he asks just before they enter. Scar looks at him inquisitively, not saying anything but waiting for Grian. “For now, it’s us against the world, yeah?” he asks. He doesn’t know if it’ll last forever. It probably can’t. But he needs to ease some of Scar’s worries.

Scar takes a breath, remaining silent for a few seconds, and then he nods, offering his signature smile.

“Yeah, us against the world.”

-:-

Grian clings to the words when Scar says them. For a moment he thinks maybe Scar remembers. That the Scar he knows is back.

Of course, he knows he isn’t. Not with those eyes. They’re still wrong.

But he still clings to the words. It is them against the world. It was always supposed to be, and it’ll continue to be. It almost feels like he’s back there with the Scar he knows. Before the betrayal, before both of their blood was spilled.

He can do this.

Chapter Text

Scar isn’t sure what changed exactly, but things feel different after they leave the Barge. Scar once more takes charge, walking ahead at a brisk pace through the streets rambling. He avoids City Hall since Impulse and Bdubs are still in there, but that doesn’t mean there’s not much more to explore around the district. This time he’s determined to keep a close eye in case anyone appears.

Mumbo walks a bit behind them, and seems happy to do so for now, letting Scar do the talking. Grian stays closer to Scar than before, almost shoulder to shoulder. It’s such a switch it makes him feel a bit uneasy. He doesn’t let it show though, keeping his smile up. That’s one thing he’s good at.

It also makes him pay closer attention to Grian. The way his wings are almost dragging behind him, so unlike how animated his wings usually look. It’s like the wings are an afterthought. Something not to care about, maybe even something in the way. He tries not to read into it further, even back to where Grian didn’t fly before. But he makes a note of it.

And Grian being that close to Scar does help him realise the moment Grian stops walking. It isn’t abrupt. Not to the degree seeing Bdubs had made him almost freeze up. Instead, it’s almost too casual. Too much like either of them getting distracted. It seems maybe that’s what’s happened. His eyes pointed at the llama shop, wearing an expression Scar can’t quite read.

“Grian?” Mumbo asks, taking a small step forward, but he receives no response. It’s like Grian doesn’t hear him.

“Look, it’s Pizza,” Grian says, a soft smile gracing his face. A reminiscent look as he looks at the large white llama. Scar isn’t sure what to say for a second. Mumbo and Scar share a short look.

“Pizza, huh?” Scar asks with a gentle smile, glancing at the white llama-shaped shop. “Who’s that?” he asks. Grian’s entire face falls, and just seeing that immediately makes Scar regret asking.

-:-

Scar sits in front of the grave, a frown clear on his face. It’s a rare sight. It feels like every time Grian sees him he wears that carefree grin. It almost looks unsettling on him, but Grian can’t judge.

Pizza has been with them since the start. Shot and killed by the Red Army. He still freshly remembers the panic, realising they were hitting Pizza, and to a lesser degree Bubbles. Only more reason to make sure to put an end to them. To finish this war that somehow started.

“Hey,” Grian sits down right beside Scar, offering a gentle smile. He isn’t used to comforting people (much rather distracting them from what’s troubling them), he isn’t used to being gentle, but he has to be. And he’s glad to do it for Scar. Scar who deserves so much better. Been on his red life for far too long. Someone Grian not only has to, but wants to protect. Scar flashes him a small smile, then looks back at the grave in front of them with that same mournful look.

By the very cliff Grian had sat by just a few days prior keeping watch, dragged back indoors to rest by Scar. A perfect resting place for their llama.

“How you doing?” Grian asks, keeping his voice soft.

“I’ll kill them,” Scar responds, and Grian can’t help but agree. It’s surprisingly little Scar lets his red life show. Keeping that seemingly carefree smile, even if Grian can see through it when it’s fake. When he’s putting on an act for someone else.

But times like these it’s also clear he is on his red life. Back with Impulse, and the times he threatened Ren and Martyn, even if he likes playing innocent about it.

It’s… strangely comforting. Not that he could explain. Doesn’t even know if he wants to understand it. Why that edge keeps Grian calm more than anything else. It feels like the type of hole he’d never be able to dig himself out of where he to start digging.

“We’ll get them. Don’t you worry, if it’s the last thing we do,” Grian gently nudges Scar with his side. He hopes it isn’t. Grian still has more chances if he makes a mistake… Scar doesn’t. Scar’s one mistake away from no longer being here beside him. A fate Grian will do anything to prevent. If that costs him his own lives, so be it. “But that doesn’t answer my question.” Scar keeps quiet for a few seconds. For a moment, Grian thinks he won’t answer. He’s proven wrong.

“Pizza was there after the creeper. I remember you riding him as we made our way here. On to conquer the desert,” Scar chuckles under his breath. It isn’t an answer, it’s deflection, something Scar is an expert at.

“Taken against my will to take part in a stupid scheme,” Grian says, grinning softly. Another chuckle escapes Scar.

“Hey! Blame yourself mister! All your fault you ended up with me.” Scar nudges Grian’s side. The subject is straying, so Grian forces it back.

“We had too little time with him,” Grian says, looking at the engraving on the grave. Kidnapped only to be killed not long after.

“I still loved him though. He was a good listener,” Scar says, letting out a breath. Grian nods.

“I’m here to listen if you need to talk. I know I’m hardly as good a listener but,” Grian trials off, frowning. His hand runs through the sand.

“You’re a great listener,” Scar says, interrupting anything else he was about to say.

“Don’t lie. You don’t need to charm me of all people,” Grian says, giving him a half smile.

“Pfft, I’d never lie to you!” Scar exclaims. “You are a wonderful listener, G. Especially when you try. Like now, I appreciate you being here.” And there’s something honest there. Something Grian doesn’t dare read into. Instead he shakes his head softly. “Most of what I say isn’t important anyway, but when it is, I know you’re here.”

“Whatever you say, Scar. Back to Pizza?”

“See! Not letting me change the subject! It’s incredibly rude of you!” Scar exclaims, although the grin on his face ensures Grian knows it isn’t serious. Scar takes a deep breath though, looking back at the grave in front of them.

“I miss you Pizza. You will never be forgotten,” Scar says, bowing his head forward slightly, answering to the grave rather than Grian. But that’s fine too. Grian will stay here, whether Scar wants to talk or not. He’ll listen.

Grian will also miss Pizza, maybe not as much as Scar will, but Pizza was important to them. It feels like the first real casualty. He isn’t sure where things will go from here, but he’ll stay right here next to Scar. Ignoring his debt, ignoring anything else keeping him here, Grian will stay until the end. That’s a promise.

For Pizza.

-:-

Pizza who isn’t here. Not even below the ground, at the shared resting place of him, Scar, and Grian, at that cliff.

No, Scar who promised to always remember Pizza, who cared so much, doesn’t know who Pizza was. Can’t mourn him. Can’t so much as reminisce in front of a shop that looks just like him. Their companion who was there for Grian’s promise. Who was there in spirit in their final moments. His resting place being the place Scar wanted one of their last moments to be.

But now Scar stands here, looking at Grian confused. Wanting to know who Pizza is. And Grian doesn’t know what to say.

Not when he just slipped.

Not when Grian just thought it was the old Scar. It’s so easy to pretend. When he can’t see his eyes it’s so easy to stay beside him, listen to him ramble. Forget. Forget that his Scar is still dead. Was still killed by Grian. And that Grian, even if some of the others are here, was the only one who made it out. Dead or alive? Grian is still not sure.

“I…” Grian starts, but nothing else comes out. Nothing else makes sense.

He just wants his Scar. He thinks maybe he can forget everything. Forget the betrayal. Forget the blood on his hands. Forget the loneliness. Maybe he could, if he had his Scar.

Not the impostor who is too much like Scar and yet not at all. Who Grian so easily slips by.

But then there’s what he said before… them against the world. And he wants to cling to those words. He wants to cling to them and never let go.

“He was our llama,” Grian finally says, eyes not leaving the llama. He feels Scar’s eyes on him but he doesn’t turn to look at him. Looking at him is confirmation that it isn’t his Scar. Grian's words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions.

“Our llama?” Scar repeats, uncertainty in his voice. Grian nods slowly, his gaze still fixed on the llama shop.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “He was... more than just a llama though. He was our companion, a friend. It’s strange, but he was special to us. He was there from the start.”

“I wish I could remember,” Scar admits quietly, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and sorrow. “I wish I could remember everything, not just for my sake but for yours too.” Grian turns to look at Scar then, his eyes searching his face.

Scar’s green eyes still look so different from the red once he grew used to. There’s something in them that wasn’t in Scar’s gaze. There’s peace. Safety. But not in the way his red eyes meant safety for Grian specifically, no. In the way Scar feels like he hasn’t had to worry about his life. That he’s felt safe for a long time. The scars might say differently but he looks safe. But that makes Grian feel uneasy because it’s different from his Scar.

Even with Scar’s carelessness, laughter, behind his eyes there was that worry. The knowledge of finality. Grian saw it more and more towards the end. Something this Scar doesn’t have. Even if it’s selfish, Grian misses it. He misses those eyes more than anything. No matter what lay behind them.

And yet he doesn’t want Scar to have that…

“Maybe... maybe it's better this way,” Grian says, his voice soft but uncertain. Maybe it’s better this Scar hasn’t gone through all that. Hasn’t had to mourn Pizza, hasn’t had to worry for his life, hasn’t had to fight him and die in a cactus ring. Live without those memories.

Maybe it was supposed to be a mercy they forgot. And a punishment Grian remembered.

A punishment for killing Scar. His one and only true ally.

As he looks at Scar, he sees a person who is carefree, full of life, and unburdened by the struggles they had faced together. Grian can't help but envy that version of Scar, who doesn't have to carry the weight of the past.

And as much as Grian wants to be oblivious to what happened. Wishes he had forgotten too. He knows he’s glad it’s him and not Scar in this situation.

While Grian’s own mind is running, Scar interrupts him.

“You're right,” Scar says softly, his voice filled with… something. “Maybe it is. Sometimes memories can be a lot, but it's not fair for you to carry that alone either.” And it’s so like Scar. That wisdom he hides but is so clearly there when anyone bothers to look, and yet he doesn’t know. He shouldn’t need to carry those moments.

Grian will do anything to keep it that way.

“What’s that mushroom thing?” It’s a terrible attempt at deflection, Grian knows, him taking off in the direction of a dark red mushroom some bit away. He’s walking quicker now, but he hears two pairs of footsteps behind him. Oh right, Mumbo was here too.

“That’s False’s nether items shop,” Scar says, hurrying behind him. That’s another new name. “You know, that reminds me of when-” before Scar can continue he lets out a loud yelp.

Before Grian even knows what’s happening his body reacts on instinct, his previously brisk pace halting as he turns around, pulling out his sword in the direction he knows Scar was. He knows a yelp is never a good sign. He’s heard it so many times now. Anything from falling down at the ravine which took his second life, to attacks. No matter which Grian is ready to prevent them by any means.

To his surprise he only locks eyes with Mumbo. Mumbo has his hand around Scar’s arm, seemingly having pulled him back. The moment Mumbo’s eyes meet his, he drops Scar’s arm. Scar on his end has turned back to Mumbo.

“Mumbo!” he exclaims in surprise, however noticing where Mumbo is looking he also turns around to Grian, his sword still in his hand, now looking more uncertain.

“I’m sorry!” Mumbo exclaims. “I was just trying to stop him from saying something,” Mumbo explains quickly, and it makes sense. The number of times he’s done that to keep Scar from saying something stupid. The number of times he’s spoken before thinking (even if Grian sometimes thinks it’s on purpose). But it also makes him curious.

“What?” Grian asks. He hasn’t let go of his sword yet. He should. But he doesn’t. At least he can say he isn’t pointing it at Mumbo anymore.

“I don’t think we should tell him about that considering-” Mumbo is back to looking at Scar, explaining something without actually doing so. Scar looks confused for a moment, before realisation seems to hit him.

“Oh-” he exclaims, looking back at Grian with a small wince. “Sorry, yeah. Forget that. Was not important! Let’s go ahead! So, about False, she is wonderful! Just a few weeks ago she-” and Scar starts rambling, walking again. So quickly ignoring the previous topic. Mumbo and Grian lock eyes for a moment, then Grian turns back around to follow Scar, putting his sword away.

Chapter Text

The rest of the walk is uneventful, thankfully. They don’t run into anyone, Scar rambles about things, some things more extensively than others. Grian is keenly aware of what he avoids talking about, but he doesn’t push. He just nods along. Mumbo occasionally joins in the rambling, but otherwise, it’s calm. Nothing like the chaos he’s come to expect so far.

They decide to return to Grian’s mansion eventually, and Grian sees the confusion on Mumbo’s face when Scar leads them to the nether portal rather than flying, even if neither of them comment on it, rather all quickly making their way... home? It’s not home, but apparently it is his. He supposes it's the closest thing he has to a physical home here.

He must have stood there looking at the mansion for a while too long, because Scar pipes up suddenly.

“Hey, I just remembered I need to grab something from my place real quick. I’ll be back in a flash,” Scar says, flashing a smile towards both him and Mumbo. Mumbo furrows his eyebrows, clearly puzzled by it. Grian doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Uh, sure, Scar. Do you need any help?” Mumbo asks.

“Nah, I've got it. Thanks, though,” Scar replies, already turning to leave. Quickly, too quickly. Taking out his fireworks and placing the elytra on his back. It’s the two of them against the world. Where’s he going? What if something happens?

“Wait, Scar, are you sure you don't need any help?” Grian blurts out, his concern slipping into his voice. He doesn’t want to be apart from Scar, not now. Scar pauses, just for a moment, and looks back at Grian.

“I’ll be fine, G. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a flash.” Scar gives him a reassuring smile before launching into the sky, leaving Grian and Mumbo alone. Grian watches him disappear, a cold unease settling in his stomach. Scar died using those elytras just yesterday. The silence that follows is heavy, lingering in the air. Mumbo clears his throat, breaking the tension.

“So, um, what do you want to do while we wait for Scar to come back?” Grian blinks, trying to shake off the lingering anxiety.

“Um, I don’t know,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He searches for something to distract himself, anything to keep his mind off Scar’s sudden departure. “We could... explore the mansion, I guess? I still haven’t really seen most of it,” he suggests, forcing a small smile. Mumbo nods eagerly, seizing the opportunity to lighten the mood.

“Yes! We can do that. I’ll show you around. I’ve been in here a lot, just follow me,” he says, starting to walk. Grian hesitates for a split second, glancing back to where Scar had disappeared into the sky. But Scar is long gone.

With a sigh, Grian turns back and follows Mumbo, trying to push away the worry gnawing at him.

As they begin walking through the mansion, Mumbo takes the lead, going down places he hasn’t been. Mumbo says Grian didn’t like building interiors and that’s why it’s quite empty, which, he’s aware of the first bit. Not that he ever got a real good chance to build much back in the desert.

Nevertheless, he clings to any similarities he finds between his “other self” Mumbo talks about and himself. Almost trying to cling to the proof they’re actually the same him, something he’s noticed himself doing about Scar too. But on that subject it’s almost easier. Because aside from the obvious changes, he is the same. Acts similarly. Less distrustful, seemingly less manipulative, but still Scar (But it’s not his Scar).

Then there’s Mumbo. Talking, slightly nervous, slightly uncertain, but still there happy to ramble about the rooms. And he feels safe.

He wonders what Mumbo would have been like in the game. Some part of him is glad he didn’t get to find out.

“And we’re back!” Mumbo exclaims as they enter the room Grian ended up falling asleep in yesterday.

“Thank you, Mumbo,” Grian says, giving him a smile. Mumbo returns Grian's smile with one of his own, though there's a hint of concern lingering in his eyes. Seemingly able to tell that Grian's mind is elsewhere. That’s another strange thing, having someone able to read you so well when you don’t remember any of the moments leading to that. That he at some point trusted this man so much, spent so much time with him, that he could read him so well. It feels strangely similar to how he’d felt regarding some people back there.

Timmy. Scar, of course. Even Martyn, for some reason. And to a slightly lesser degree others too.

“You’re welcome, Grian.” Mumbo sits down in a chair, and after a moment’s hesitation so does Grian, looking up at the ceiling.

The silence between them stretches on, broken only by the faint sounds of the outside world. Grian finds himself lost in thought, his mind drifting back to the memories he's lost, trying to grasp onto something, anything. He can feel Mumbo’s gaze on him, but it bothers him strangely little.

After what feels like an eternity, Grian finally breaks the silence, needing something else to focus on rather than his thoughts.

“You do redstone?” he asks, thinking back to their earlier conversation. He keeps his gaze fixed on the ceiling above.

“Yeah, I love working with redstone!” Mumbo replies enthusiastically, his passion evident in his voice. “It's fascinating, the way you can create intricate contraptions and mechanisms with just a few simple components. Like-” and he’s off. How did he know that question would do that? Maybe some things still stick. It’s nice listening to him ramble, even if he doesn’t understand anything. His very limited experience with redstone making the traps which always seemed to always fail. Something he brings up.

“I made some traps a few times. I think all of them failed, though,” Grian says, laughing. “Some of them succeeded after they failed, but yeah, I couldn’t get it right.” He looks away from the ceiling, towards Mumbo.

“Oh? Maybe I can help? If they somewhat succeeded, you must have done something right,” Mumbo responds, raising an eyebrow. Grian smiles back at him.

“Maybe, although I don’t know if I ever want to work with redstone again,” Grian responds. Mumbo laughs.

“There’s the Grian I know. Last server you, me, and Iskall did a huge redstone project.” Mumbo must have seen the doubtful look on Grian’s face because he quickly amends himself. “Well, me and Iskall did the redstone while you did the building and…” he squints as if remembering something. “Other stuff…?” Grian is tempted to ask what he means, but Mumbo movies on before he can. “Of course, you immediately broke it with a potato.” That sets Grian off immediately, laughing. “We told you not to touch it! What do you do?! Throw a potato into the system!” Mumbo exclaims in an exacerbated tone.

“Well, if it could be broken by a potato-” Grian starts to say, once he’s finally calmed down enough to speak.

“No! No! We’re not doing this again!” Mumbo interrupts, making it clear this is an argument they’ve had before, and just that knowledge is enough to set Grian off into a laugh again. Seeing Mumbo’s exacerbated reaction, he laughs even harder.

And for a moment he thinks maybe things will be alright. He doesn’t know how or when, if it’s even possible after everything. But right now it feels so easy. And he so badly wishes he could remember.

How it feels to have moments like this everyday. Not having to worry. He had these moments with Scar. Of course, he did. Sitting in the (relative) safety of their little sandcastle. Walking through the (probably) empty desert. Speaking with their (maybe) trustworthy allies. Knowing they could at least (conceivably) trust each other.

But none of those moments ever felt like this. Like he could stop paying attention. While he wasn’t on edge much at the start of the games, towards the end of them he couldn’t even let his guard down around Scar. Something he had apparently been right to do with how things turned out with Bdubs.

But that brings up the next question. Can he really bring his guard down here? If even the person he was supposed to trust entirely back there turned on him. And yet it feels different. The way everyone talks to him. It doesn’t feel like it did back there. Where he had to read into every interaction. Find a hidden motive even when they were just hanging out, laughing together.

What interrupts Grian’s thoughts isn’t Mumbo, it’s the sound of a ‘meow’. He quietens down quickly, looking towards the door to the room, and there’s Scar, looking at both of them, and in his arms is a cat. Grian gasps.

“Hello!” he coos, his voice immediately going up an octave as he ignores Scar entirely, in favour of the cat. In Scar’s defence, he only looks slightly offended as he walks towards him, the cat held out. The cat in question sniffs the air, and then jumps out of Scar’s arms, jumping up into Grian’s lap. Grian coos again, scratching the cat under the chin.

“Hello, who are you?” Grian asks the cat, who very happily leans into the scratches.

“That’s Jellie,” Scar says. Grian's attention remains fixated on the fluffy feline in his lap, his fingers gently stroking the cat's fur as he listens to Scar.

“Jellie, huh?” Grian murmurs, smiling down at the cat. “Nice to meet you, Jellie.” The cat purrs contentedly in response, rubbing its head against his hand affectionately.

“So she’s who you wanted to go get?” Mumbo asks.

“Yup! Although I should have known she’d steal all the spotlight,” Scar responds, fake pouting. Grian chuffs.

“She's quite the charmer, isn't she?” Grian remarks. The cat responds by curling up even more in his lap, seemingly content with the attention she's receiving.

“What were the two of you laughing about so loudly while I was away?” Scar asks.

“Sahara, and him breaking it with a potato. He found breaking all of mine and Iskall’s work very amusing,” Mumbo says with a grin.

“That is very amusing, he’s right,” Scar says. “Clearly just wasn’t Grian proof,” Scar says with a shrug.

“See, Mumbo? He agrees,” Grian says, nodding towards him.

“Of course he does! It’s you! The two of you’d break something on purpose and still find a way to blame it on anything other than yourselves,” Mumbo says, shaking his head.

“Mumbo, Mumbo. We’d never… but if we did, then the issue was clearly the redstone, all of you should have the foresight by now to know what happens when you let us near any redstone,” Scar points out. Grian nods in agreement.

“See? Even me with no memory of it knows this. What excuse do you have exactly?” Grian asks. Mumbo rolls his eyes, but doesn’t push further, which Grian takes as a win.

The banter continues animately, and time flies a lot faster than Grian would have thought possible. At some point, Jellie jumps down and lays down in a corner, but otherwise they all just sit there talking, Scar giving them some cookies which he’d also prepared while going to get Jellie. Jumping subject to subject, redstone to building to Jellie to something else.

It’s strange, almost unsettling, how natural this feels. He lets himself imagine what it would be like if every day were like this—simple, easy, without the constant edge of paranoia. But the thought doesn’t fully take hold before reality starts creeping back in.

And then he’s brought out of the moment as his communicator buzzes.

Xisuma: Hello Grian! Are you free to have that talk?

The message pulls Grian out of the warmth of the moment like a splash of cold water. He blinks, surprised at how he’d managed to forget about the meeting entirely. The weight of the impending conversation settles back on his shoulders, heavier now after the lighthearted exchange with Mumbo and Scar.

Mumbo and Scar both glance at him, curiosity evident in their expressions. Grian hesitates, staring at the message on his communicator for a beat longer before typing his response.

Grian: Yes, I’m at the mansion with Scar and Mumbo

As he pockets the device, the room seems to shift, the earlier levity fading into something more subdued. He looks up to find both of them watching him, the easy smiles from before now tinged with concern.

“That’s Xisuma,” Grian explains, his voice softer than he intends. “He’s on his way.”

“Already?” Scar asks, pulling out his own communicator as if to confirm the time. His eyes widen slightly, and he frowns. “Wow, time flies.”

“Did you still want me to stay, Grian?” Mumbo asks, and Grian blinks, realising he’d nearly forgotten about that request. Scar’s brow furrows, a silent question passing between him and Mumbo. Grian can’t help but feel a pang of discomfort, the familiar sensation of paranoia creeping in. Scar wasn’t there when Grian had asked Mumbo to be present, but the sudden shift in the atmosphere stirs old instincts.

It’s like being back in the game, trying to decipher every glance, every unspoken word, waiting for the moment when the trust would break. He swallows hard, forcing himself to focus on the present, on the people in front of him who aren’t his enemies. Not here, not now.

“Oh, Grian asked me earlier if I could sit in while he and Xisuma talked,” Mumbo explains, his tone gentle, like he’s aware of the tension thickening the air.

Scar turns his gaze to Grian, and for a moment, Grian feels a flicker of something; doubt, maybe? But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by a casual smile that doesn’t quite reach Scar’s eyes.

“Oh?” Scar’s voice is light, but Grian catches the undercurrent of something he can’t quite place. Is it an offer to join? A silent question of why Mumbo and not him? Grian wishes he could read Scar as easily as he could before.

“Yes, please, Mumbo,” Grian responds, his voice firmer now. The familiarity of Mumbo’s presence feels like a safety net he’s not ready to let go of. There’s a flash of surprise on Mumbo’s face, but he quickly covers it with a nod. Scar’s smile sharpens into something playful, though the glint in his eyes is harder to decipher.

“Well then, I wish you both luck,” he jokes, leaning back with a faux air of nonchalance. “Jellie and I will have our own very important meeting. Much more interesting company, anyway.” He winks at the cat still lounging in the corner, and Grian can’t help but chuckle, the tension easing slightly.

“You and Jellie can solve all the server’s problems then, Scar?” Grian teases, grasping onto the levity to keep himself grounded.

“Absolutely,” Scar replies with a laugh, though it feels a bit too bright, like a light flickering before it goes out. “Jellie is the real brains of this operation. I’m just the charming face.” Mumbo shakes his head, amused.

“I have no doubt you two will come up with some groundbreaking solutions.”

The levity helps Grian feel a bit more grounded, but even as he laughs with them, a small voice in the back of his mind wonders how long this peace can really last.

Chapter Text

Some part of Mumbo had expected Grian to change his mind. Grian’s moods seemed to flip like a switch; one moment guarded, the next uncertain, then curious, and suddenly laughing as if nothing were wrong. So, as much as he’s glad Grian stuck with it, he’s nevertheless surprised. Now, as he watches Grian shift nervously in his seat, tapping his fingers on the table, Mumbo can see the cracks in the brave front Grian is trying to maintain.

Xisuma, seated across from them, takes a long moment to study them both before speaking. The server admin’s presence carried a certain weight, a calm authority that contrasted sharply with the chaos they all seemed to thrive on. Even though Xisuma could easily get swept up in their shenanigans, moments like these reminded them all why he was their admin.

“Grian, Mumbo.” Xisuma’s voice is steady, a grounding force. “I’m glad we could have this discussion. I know things have been… strange, to say the least.” Mumbo nods, catching Grian’s quick glance and offering a reassuring smile. Grian returns it with a small nod, though the apprehension in his eyes lingers. “Part of me wanted to wait longer for this conversation, but I think it’s better to address it sooner rather than later,” Xisuma continues, offering Grian an apologetic smile.

“It’s fine. I understand why,” Grian replies, his wings shifting slightly behind him.

“Good. Now, first things first—are you both doing alright? Anything I can do to help?” Xisuma’s gaze shifts between them. Grian glances at Mumbo briefly, his expression unreadable, then turns back to Xisuma.

“I don’t really know how to answer that,” Grian admits after a pause. “I’m… here. I’m trying to piece things together, but it’s hard when I feel like I’m missing so much.”

Xisuma nods slowly, and Mumbo listens in silence. Grian had always been the one to keep them all on their toes, the one with a plan, a scheme, a trick up his sleeve. Seeing him uncertain, struggling; it’s so different from the Grian he knows. And yet, Mumbo sees that the core of who Grian is, the part that made him who he is, is still there. It showed in their earlier conversation, where the banter had flowed as naturally as ever. It’s there in the fleeting glances, the ones that remind Mumbo of the Grian he knows.

It’s strange; Mumbo can barely recall his exact feelings when Grian disappeared the first time. The confusion and worry are there, but the details are hazy, like an old dream. He wonders if the experience felt as overwhelming then as it does now, with Grian’s vulnerability laid bare. Mumbo tries not to dwell on it, grounding himself in the present challenge.

“That’s okay,” Xisuma says, nodding slowly. “We’ll figure things out, and everyone is here to help you.” He shifts his attention to Mumbo, studying him for a moment. “And you, Mumbo?”

And isn’t that a question.

Mumbo hesitates, weighing how to answer without overwhelming Grian or straying from what’s important right now. It’s not that he’s unsure of his feelings; just how to put them into words.

“To be honest, it’s a lot. But I’m managing. We’re managing,” he says finally. Xisuma’s gaze softens, and he nods in understanding.

“Just remember to take care of yourself too,” Xisuma says. Mumbo returns the nod. It’s funny, how often the Hermits pass that advice between one another. And Mumbo knows he could talk to any of them if he needed to; a reassuring part of being here for so long. It was difficult to accept at first, but it gets easier with time.

“With that said,” Xisuma continues, taking a deep breath, “there are some things we need to address.” His tone shifts, becoming serious as his gaze flickers between them. “We don’t know how this happened. How so many Hermits vanished, only to reappear with altered memories… I’ve tried to piece it together; how, why now, and found very little. The only change was our start on the process of moving servers.”

Mumbo knew the server transition had been in the works for some time. The planned change had been set for one of the days they were missing, but it was obviously postponed. Now, the timing of the server change seems eerily aligned with the recent events.

“You think it has something to do with that, then?” Mumbo asks.

“I don’t know,” Xisuma replies, his tone measured. “But there’s another detail. Mumbo.” He turns slightly to face him. “Do you remember the two people we were planning to invite to the server?”

Mumbo furrows his brows, nodding. It’s another thing that had slipped his mind, buried under recent chaos. It had been a long time since anyone new joined Hermitcraft; the last was Grian, in fact. Mumbo glances over at him, catching Grian’s silent gaze fixed on Xisuma.

“Alongside joining Hermitcraft, they were also set to join another server called Empires. A few weeks ago, right when you vanished, some people planning to join Empires also went missing,” Xisuma says, nodding towards Grian. “They had to delay their server start when the admin couldn’t reach three of their members. Those three just reappeared, and like most of the Hermits, they don’t remember anything that happened.”

Xisuma shifts his attention to Grian.

“Their names were Joel, Scott, and Jimmy.” Grian’s wings shift slightly as he takes a deep breath. “We already know Skizz, through Impulse and Tango. Then, including the Hermits, there are only two more names missing from your list.”

“Martyn and BigB,” Grian confirms quietly. Mumbo’s eyes widen as something clicks.

“Wait! Timmy, Martyn, and BigB… from Evo?” he blurts out, turning to Grian with a look of surprise. But Grian only frowns in confusion, and Xisuma’s brow furrows.

“Evo?”

Mumbo hesitates, hands fidgeting as he tries to decide how much to say. Backstories are sacred on Hermitcraft; everyone knows it’s a breach to dig into others’ pasts unless they willingly open up. But this is Grian; Grian, who remembers almost nothing of that history. And Mumbo is the only one who knows, who remembers the scattered details Grian shared in those rare messages before he vanished. Little things: a group called the Property Police… something about a cookie?

“You can say,” Grian says, his curiosity genuine, almost insistent. “I mean, I’d want to figure this out too, right?”

Mumbo meets his gaze and sees what lies beyond the words: this is about more than solving a mystery. And yet, he still feels uncertain. Grian, of all people, had clung to the backstory rule fiercely. Even Mumbo barely knows anything about Grian’s past beyond Hermitcraft.

Xisuma, noticing Mumbo’s hesitation, shakes his head slightly.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to say anything. You and Grian can discuss that later, if you’d like. But are they… relevant to Grian?”

“Very,” Mumbo confirms, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. Xisuma pauses, taking a moment to process the information.

“So, everyone involved here is somehow connected,” Xisuma murmurs, drumming his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “Some are Hermits… then Skizz with Impulse. Jimmy, Grian, BigB, and Martyn with ‘Evo’… and then Joel, Scott, and Jimmy again through Empires.” He seems to be speaking more to himself than to them. Mumbo gives a hesitant nod. That’s what it feels like, at least.

“Well then, I’ll need to talk to the admin of Empires about this,” Xisuma says thoughtfully. “Is it okay if I mention your name, Grian?” Grian looks up, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

“You haven’t mentioned my name about any of this?”

“No! Of course not—never without permission,” Xisuma assures him. “I told Pearl and Gem, the two new members, a brief overview of what happened, and they mentioned a similar incident with Empires. That’s how I got in contact with their admin. I gave him only the names of the people you’d mentioned. He recognized three as the ones who’d gone missing there. I told him I needed to discuss things with you, but I left your name out.”

Grian slowly nods, processing this. Mumbo watches the familiar intensity in Grian’s gaze, the wheels visibly turning.

“You can tell him,” Grian says finally, his voice quiet after a long moment of silence.

“Thank you.” Xisuma inclines his head. “I’ll also try to find out more about the other two. If they haven’t reached out to anyone, at least we can let them know they weren’t alone in this. And Impulse has already told Skizz what he knows. I’ll bring this up at the meeting later—nothing you don’t want me to say, of course, but enough so the people involved understand what’s going on.” Grian nods again, more slowly this time.

It’s such a strange contrast to how Grian had been just a little while ago, when Scar was around. Seeing a version of Grian who doesn’t fully trust Xisuma is unsettling. But then, Mumbo remembers back to when he first asked Grian to join Hermitcraft, the way Grian had been cautious with everyone at first. Xisuma must remember it too. Maybe that’s why he knows how to handle Grian now. After all, he’s likely seen it all before with most of the Hermits.

“Okay, so-” Xisuma sits up a bit straighter, shifting gears. “-we can discuss what happened, but before that, there’s something else we need to address: changing servers.”

“Now?” Mumbo asks, raising both eyebrows.

“As soon as possible,” Xisuma replies. “If this had anything to do with the current server, it’s best to switch now. Something took you away just before we were changing servers. Moving to a new, improved server might help prevent this from happening again, and, frankly, it would put me a lot more at ease.”

It makes sense. They disappeared on this server, after all. If Xisuma is looking for answers, it would be safer to investigate from somewhere else, away from the place where it all happened. Grian’s wings twitch slightly, a subtle, restless movement.

“So… we’d just leave?” Grian asks quietly.

“The next server’s been ready for a while. It’s safe—safer than here, at least. It would probably help everyone feel more secure, get us moving forward, and let me reach out to more people.” Xisuma’s tone is reassuring but firm. “We could bring Gem and Pearl in, too. Overall, it’s better for everyone. Empires has already started, and things seem to be running smoothly on their end.” He pauses, then adds, “But before we make any move, I want your opinion first.” Grian tilts his head slightly, looking puzzled. “I’ll ask everyone else at the meeting, of course, but you’re crucial to this decision. From your point of view, you’ve just arrived.”

Grian freezes, his wings stilled as his gaze drifts off to the side in thought. He doesn’t speak, his expression distant, caught somewhere between reluctance and understanding.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Xisuma adds, his voice softening. “But as soon as possible, preferably.” Finally, Grian blinks and turns back to Xisuma, his expression unreadable.

“It’s fine. We can move servers.” Grian’s tone is quick and certain, and Xisuma looks slightly taken aback.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Grian’s response is firm, leaving no room for doubt. Xisuma nods in return, then shifts his attention to Mumbo.

“And you, Mumbo?”

“Whenever possible,” Mumbo replies, his voice steady. “If you think it’ll help.” Anything to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Xisuma nods at him, then takes a deep, grounding breath.

“Alright, then. Now, on to a different subject.” His voice softens as he leans in slightly. “You don’t have to say anything, Grian. I told you about the backstory rule, but as I said, it might help.” Grian’s wings twitch slightly, and he straightens in his seat, gaze shifting to meet Xisuma’s. “You choose who you want any of this shared with; if anyone,” Xisuma adds. Grian gives a small nod.

“You said you woke up in a field of grass with thirteen others, knowing only vaguely who they were. You didn’t know how you got there… and then you mentioned respawns. You had a limited number of them.”

Mumbo mentally compares this to what Grian had told him earlier. He hadn’t shared much, and it seems he didn’t tell Xisuma any more than that. But then, they didn’t have much time before Scar’s death during their competition.

Mumbo glances over at Grian and finds him already looking back. And there it is; the unspoken communication they’ve always shared, somehow as strong as ever. Mumbo gives a small nod of reassurance, and Grian turns back to Xisuma.

“It was a game,” Grian says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “A fight to the death. We each had three lives. We made alliances, enemies. We fought, we died. I… won.” The word comes out flat, stripped of any sense of victory. Mumbo can think of several reasons why, including what Grian had confided back in The Barge. “I guess this was my price.” The word “price” lingers in the air, heavy, and it’s clear Grian doesn’t see it as any kind of reward.

Xisuma listens without interruption, his expression intent but open, letting Grian speak at his own pace.

Mumbo notices a flicker in Grian’s eyes—something quick, almost imperceptible, like a realization slipping into place. It’s subtle, but Mumbo knows Grian well enough to recognize that look. He doesn’t push or question him. Not here, not now. Grian’s wings twitch, a faint, restless movement.

“Me and Scar… after an accident… we ended up as allies, I guess.” Grian’s voice is subdued. “I accidentally killed him with a creeper. It wasn’t supposed to happen; it was against the rules. We weren’t allowed to kill yet.” Both Xisuma and Mumbo’s faces register surprise and confusion.

“We were green names. Only red names; those on their last lives, were allowed to kill.”

“How did you know the rules?” Xisuma asks, unable to hold back the question. Grian looks puzzled, as if he’s just realizing the strangeness of it himself.

“I’m not sure… I guess I just did. It was like how I knew everyone.” Xisuma nods, though his gaze remains pensive, unsatisfied. But he lets it go, and Grian continues.

“I promised I’d stay with him until I went to yellow. Then things… things happened. Enemies formed, tentative alliances. Betrayals came from different sides.” Grian’s voice wavers slightly. “And in the end, I… I heard a voice. ‘One more life to go.’ I took it, and then it was over. I woke up here, and… yeah.” Grian pauses, glancing over at Mumbo as if seeking reassurance. Mumbo meets his gaze, sensing Grian’s turmoil, and after a moment, Grian gives a small nod; permission.

“Grian mentioned he felt like he was being watched,” Mumbo says, his tone careful, almost urgent. “He said he sensed eyes on him before he returned.” For a split second, Xisuma’s calm facade slips, and Mumbo catches a flicker of something close to panic in his eyes. It’s enough to confirm Mumbo was right to bring this up.

“Oh…” is all Xisuma manages. The simplicity of the word says everything. A storm of conflict brews behind his eyes, a fierce internal debate. Mumbo can guess why.

The most important rule.

The urge, maybe even the need, to ask more questions tugs visibly at Xisuma. One side seems to win as he looks away, forcing a neutral expression. “I see…” he says finally. When he glances back at Mumbo, it’s clear he wants to ask something more, but he hesitates.

“Mumbo said it seemed like I was scared of something watching me the last time I disappeared too,” Grian says, cutting through the tense silence. Xisuma’s eyes snap to him, and a mixture of relief and concern crosses his face. It’s clear that was the question he wanted to ask, the one he struggled not to say. Mumbo is glad Grian was the one to voice it, and he’s sure Xisuma is glad he didn’t have to. Even with the information in hand, there’s some comfort in not being the one to say it, or ask for it.

Mumbo can’t read everything in Xisuma’s eyes, but it’s clear that these revelations aren’t sitting well with him.

“I’d say that calls for speeding up our move,” Xisuma says finally, his voice steady, though his eyes drift to the side, as if searching for answers in the distance. His fingers resume their rhythmic drumming on the table, an outward sign of his inner thoughts racing.

“What does it mean?” Grian asks, voicing the heavy question that hangs between them. His tone is calm, though an undercurrent of unease ripples through it. Xisuma hesitates, meeting Grian’s gaze. For a moment, it seems as though he’s weighing whether to share more or keep his concerns to himself.

“Hopefully, not what I think it means,” Xisuma says at last, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken fear. “But if it does... I’d rather we get out now than later.”

The admission hangs in the air, thick with the implications of what he isn’t saying. Xisuma takes a deep breath, clearly wrestling with how much to reveal.

“We can talk more about it later. Right now, the priority is preparing for the meeting, making the server move, and talking with the other admin. We need to get ahead of this before it spirals any further.”

A brief silence settles as his words sink in. Grian’s wings twitch, and Mumbo shifts in his seat, his thoughts a jumbled mess of worry and anticipation.

“Is there anything else we need to address?” Xisuma asks, breaking the silence. Grian shakes his head.

“Alright, then. I’ll go prepare for the meeting. I won’t share the details, don’t worry.” As Xisuma stands, his fingers finally stilling, he adds, almost as an afterthought, but with a weight Mumbo can’t ignore.

“And if anything else strange happens, no matter how small, tell me immediately. We can’t afford to overlook anything.”

The gravity of his words settles over them, unspoken fears threading through the room like a quiet storm on the horizon. Mumbo and Grian exchange a glance, the tension lingering as Xisuma moves toward the door. They’re stepping into the unknown, and the only certainty is that they need to move fast.

Before leaving, Xisuma turns back, offering them a small, reassuring smile.

“We’ll talk more later. Stick together, and if you need anything, let me know.” With that, he exits, leaving them alone with the implications of whatever is looming over them.

Neither Grian nor Mumbo speaks for what feels like an eternity. The silence is heavy, charged with unspoken thoughts, lingering as they both absorb the weight of everything Xisuma has shared; or perhaps held back. The quiet is only broken by a soft ping.

Xisuma: Meeting starting in 15!

Mumbo looks up from his communicator, meeting Grian’s gaze. The moment feels like a held breath between them, an unspoken understanding passing as each tries to find clarity amid the shadows of uncertainty. Grian’s gaze lingers, searching for something in Mumbo’s eyes, maybe reassurance, maybe answers that neither of them fully has. Mumbo breaks the silence first, his voice softer than usual.

“Do you think it’s all connected?” His words hang in the air. “Evo, this weird competition… everything?”

Grian lets the question sit for a moment, and Mumbo wonders if he’ll get an answer at all. Then Grian gives a small shrug, a little too casual to be convincing. His wings twitch; an unguarded tell betraying his attempt at nonchalance.

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s all just one big coincidence.” The words feel flimsy, like armour that won’t hold up. Mumbo can see it in the way Grian’s gaze keeps flicking toward the door; he’s just as unnerved.

The air between them grows charged, and, for once, it’s Grian who breaks the silence with a soft sigh.

“But… thank you for being here,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet it almost vanishes in the room. “Made it… easier, somehow.” Mumbo’s expression softens.

“You don’t have to thank me, Grian. You’d do the same.”

Chapter Text

Scar tries to keep busy, but it’s not really working. His hands are moving, organizing and reorganizing the same set of chests, but his mind is somewhere else. This is, what, the third time he’s gone through the same stack of items? Maybe the fourth? He can’t even remember any more.

He stacks a row of emeralds, then un-stacks them, moving them to the other side of the chest. For a second, he considers leaving them scattered just to shake things up. But he ends up lining them neatly again, fingers drumming against the wood.

The thought of Grian (, of all of them, really, but mostly Grian) lingers in his mind, insistent, unshakable. He should be able to settle this nervous energy by now, but the whole server’s gone topsy-turvy since they disappeared, like everyone came back a little… off. Scar understands, of course; he’s as freaked out as anyone by the memory gaps, the things he’s heard from Grian, and by the uncertainty hanging over them all. But Grian’s been different, flipping from laughter to guarded silence, then turning sharply serious all over again. Scar can barely keep up.

But Mumbo seems to get it. At least better than Scar does. Scar caught the look Mumbo gave him earlier, like he knew something… something Scar just… doesn’t. And it’s starting to feel like maybe he should.

Whenever it feels like he’s pieced something together, something else gets thrown in the mix.

With a sigh, Scar shuts the chest and leans against it, crossing his arms. He knows Grian’s safe enough with Mumbo; if there’s anyone on the server he’d trust with Grian right now, it’s him. But knowing that doesn’t exactly calm him. It doesn’t ease the worry gnawing at him every time he thinks about the things Grian’s hinted at; or the things he hasn’t said. The way Grian remembers some other world with lives on the line, a world Scar can barely make sense of. And as much as Grian is determined not to talk to him about it, Scar’s gathered just enough that he can tell it wasn’t good. Scar’s stomach twists just thinking about it.

And now Grian’s in there with Xisuma and Mumbo, talking about who-knows-what, and Scar’s out here pacing and rearranging chests for the fourth time, like he could somehow organize his way out of this feeling. He doesn’t want to leave Grian alone for a second right now, but… he wasn’t asked to stay. So here he is, waiting, organizing, and trying to keep the worry at bay.

But it isn’t working.

It doesn’t feel fair. It isn’t fair, really, that Grian’s the one who has to carry all this. Scar’s tried telling himself it could’ve been any of them, that it’s just… how things shook out. But it doesn’t help. Grian’s memory is fragmented, bits and pieces from a world none of them remember, some world where lives mattered differently. Grian’s talked around it, never sharing much directly, but enough to piece together that he remembers every bit of that world. And yet, he remembers nothing of Hermitcraft or the things they all built together before they all disappeared.

Scar furrows his brows as he tries, for what feels like the hundredth time, to piece things together. Grian trusts him… kind of. At least, he seemed to. It was all so confusing; Grian would be glued to his side one minute, following him around like Scar was his only anchor, only to turn distant, keeping Scar at arm’s length. And it wasn’t just distance; it was something sharper, too, like… disappointment. Or anger. But then again, maybe it was sadness. Whatever it was, Grian wasn’t saying, and Scar was starting to think he’d never fully figure it out.

The first thing Grian did when he saw him, after all, was hug him and apologize. And something about Grian’s hug had lingered with him. Grian had held on longer than usual, his voice tight, like he’d been carrying something heavy on his own for too long. Or maybe hadn’t had time to process.

And there were the strange things Grian mentioned offhand, things that just add to Scar’s bewilderment. A bunker he’d apparently built; Scar could practically feel the weight of Grian’s hesitance around that. And then “Dogwarts,” which Grian mentioned Ren had led, whatever that meant. And some sort of attack? Something about things coming to a head. Scar didn’t press.

Even more confusing was Grian’s reaction to the others. It seemed like he didn’t want to see anyone else, and when he did finally run into Bdubs, he’d gone quiet, tense, and quickly pulled away from Scar’s side. He’d frozen, as if Bdubs was somehow tangled up in something Scar couldn’t understand.

And then there was Grian’s reaction to Scar’s death.

It was too much, too many pieces to put together into anything that made sense. It was like trying to solve a puzzle without a picture of what the final image should look like, and Scar wasn’t even sure he had all the pieces.

He runs a hand through his hair, sighing as he glances over at the door. Whatever it was that tied him and Grian together in that other place, whatever it was that made Grian look at him with that strange mixture of trust and something else; it was beyond Scar’s understanding. And for the first time in a long time, he felt that nagging pull, that need to get it right, because Grian is hurting. And Scar? He’s stuck in the dark, just waiting.

Scar’s communicator pings, jolting him from his thoughts. He glances down and sees the message flashing on the screen.

Xisuma: Meeting starting in 5!

He stares at the message for a moment, taking it in. If the meeting is starting, then Grian and Mumbo’s talk with Xisuma is finished. Scar feels a twinge of something between relief and apprehension.

Scar’s fingers hover over the communicator, tempted to message Grian directly, but he stops himself. Instead, he takes a deep breath. He again reminds himself that Grian’s safe with Mumbo, that if anyone could help him process all this, it’s Mumbo. But it doesn’t make the worry go away, doesn’t stop the feeling gnawing away at his stomach as he wonders what Grian might have said or what might have come up in that conversation.

Scar steps outside, takes a steadying breath, and unfurls his elytra. With a running start, he launches himself into the sky, fireworks sparking behind him and pushing him upward. The familiar weightlessness of flight brings a flash of calm, the wind rushing past, momentarily drowning out his thoughts.

But soon enough, they’re back, picking up where they left off, weaving through his mind as he heads toward spawn. Neither Grian nor Mumbo would be at the meeting; of course they wouldn’t. That was the whole point of their private conversation, a way to keep Grian from having to face everyone, to protect him from questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Or for another “Bdubs situation”. And Scar knows it’s probably for the best, that it’s what Grian needs right now.

Still, a selfish part of him wishes they’d be there. He’d feel better seeing them, knowing how Grian is, seeing some look or expression that could tell him, even without words, that things were okay. But Grian needed space, he wanted Mumbo there, and, honestly, Scar could admit to himself that it’s probably best this way. It’s just that… some part of him wanted to hear what Grian might say, to understand the weight he was carrying.

As the clouds drift by, he reminds himself again not to crash, his mind flicking to the last time he’d slipped up mid-flight. He feels a small pang of guilt thinking about it, tightening his grip on the fireworks. The last thing he wants is to worry Grian any more than he already has.

He steadies himself, adjusting his trajectory, focusing on the horizon. Spawn is coming into view, but his thoughts keep drifting, piecing together bits of what he knows, trying to make sense of the rest. Dogwarts, a bunker, lives lost and battles fought-

As the meeting point nears, Scar’s gaze shifts back to the ground. He adjusts his flight path, keeping steady. And lands with a gentle thud, right next to Cub, who’s already waiting with his arms crossed.

“Scar!” Cub greets him, clapping him on the back as Scar folds his elytra. “Took you long enough! Thought you were gonna be late again.” Scar chuckles, though his thoughts are still heavy, lingering somewhere between here and Grian.

“Would’ve been here sooner if I hadn’t kept getting distracted. You know how it is; organizing and reorganizing. My chests are the neatest they’ve been in weeks.” Cub raises an eyebrow in response, grin widening.

“Right as we’re leaving the server? You feeling okay? Never thought I’d hear you talk about sorting chests as a priority, much less now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scar says, waving him off. “It was more… you know, keeping busy.” He pauses, noticing Cub’s careful glance. Cub knows him too well; Scar can tell his friend senses something’s off. It’s a relief, honestly, just to be here, grounded, with someone who doesn’t expect anything more from him than he’s ready to give.

“So, Grian not joining us?” Cub asks, his tone light but his eyes attentive, curious. Scar shakes his head.

“Nah. He and Mumbo were talking with Xisuma earlier, so they’re sitting this one out.” He tries to keep his voice casual, but there’s a hint of something more there; enough that Cub picks up on it. Cub’s grin softens, and he nods thoughtfully.

“Probably good that he’s taking it slow, right? Everything’s been a bit… weird since you all got back.”

“That’s one word for it,” Scar mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s just… been through a lot. We all have, but with him, it’s different, you know? He remembers things none of us do.. And every time he lets something slip, it’s like he’s carrying it alone.” Cub studies Scar’s face, nodding slowly.

“Yeah, that sounds like a lot. And you’re trying to keep an eye out for him, huh?” Scar sighs, feeling the weight of it all as he nods.

“I am. Just… wish I knew how.” Cub’s gaze sharpens slightly, the light-heartedness slipping just a bit as he studies Scar’s face.

“Well, you’ve been busy looking after him; maybe a little too busy, if you ask me,” he says, his tone gentler than usual. “How are you holding up?”

Scar blinks, caught off guard by the shift. He opens his mouth to brush it off, but something in Cub’s steady gaze stops him. Cub wasn’t one of the ones who’d disappeared, wasn’t missing memories. But he’d been here, waiting, keeping track, being the one who explained everything when Scar reappeared. And if there’s anyone who’d know when he’s struggling, it’s Cub.

“I’m fine,” Scar says, attempting a shrug, but even to his own ears, it sounds flat. “I mean, I don’t really remember anything, right? One minute, I’m going to bed, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up and you’re telling me it’s been… what? Weeks?”

“Yep,” Cub replies, his gaze unwavering. “Weeks of you just gone, and then one day you show up like you’ve just had a long nap. You might not remember it, but disappearing for that long? That kind of thing sticks with you, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Scar shifts, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. He knows Cub’s probably right. There are times he feels like something’s missing, something he should be remembering, some piece that would make everything click into place. But it’s not there, and all he’s left with is the strange sense that he’s fallen into the middle of a story without knowing how it started.

“You really okay?” Cub presses, voice quieter now. “Because I know you’re worried about Grian, and that’s good. But I don’t want you shouldering all of this alone, either.” Scar hesitates, letting his guard down a little, just enough for Cub to see the truth.

“I… I don’t know. I mean, it’s hard to be worried when there’s nothing to remember, you know? But there’s this… emptiness. Like I should know more, like maybe I should be remembering something important.” He pauses, meeting Cub’s concerned gaze. “It’s not just Grian I’m lost on, Cub. It’s this whole thing. I don’t know if anything’s really okay.” Cub nods, his hand coming up to clap Scar on the shoulder, this time with a comforting weight.

“You don’t have to have all the answers, Scar. Not now. Sometimes just being there is enough. Besides,” he adds with a small smile, “you’ve got the Hermits. We’ve got you, just like you’ve got Grian.”

“You aren’t the first one to say that,” Scar says as he lets out a long breath. “But thanks, Cub. I… I needed that.”

“Anytime,” Cub replies, his usual grin returning. “But, hey, how about we get through this meeting first?” Scar chuckles, the sound feeling lighter, more genuine.

“Sounds like a plan.” As they walk together to join the others, Scar feels a little steadier, a little more grounded. And maybe, just maybe, a little less alone.

As they near the others, Scar’s thoughts drift to Mumbo. Knowing he isn’t the only one looking out for Grian makes the weight of it a bit easier to carry. Mumbo’s been steady in his own way, and Scar can tell Grian relies on him… sometimes, at least. Even without memories, Grian seems to trust Mumbo (sometimes), and maybe it’s easier for him because he doesn’t have those old, tangled memories tied to Mumbo like he does with Scar.

And, of course, Mumbo’s known Grian longer. Longer than Scar, longer than Hermitcraft. That history is something Scar can’t quite touch, no matter how close he tries to be. But maybe that’s part of what keeps Grian around Mumbo; that sense of familiarity, even if Grian can’t fully recall it. Somehow, Mumbo understands him in ways Scar can’t, and Scar’s okay with that, mostly. He just hopes that between them, he and Mumbo can give Grian enough stability to make things feel safe again.

As they approach the others, Scar sees Bdubs break from the small cluster of Hermits, walking briskly over to him, his face etched with concern.

“Hey, Scar,” Bdubs says, eyes flicking past him, as if expecting someone else. “Grian’s… he’s okay, right? After, you know, what happened before?” Scar nods, forcing a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. He’s sitting this one out with Mumbo.” Bdubs relaxes a bit, though his worry doesn’t entirely fade.

“Good, good. Just didn’t want to, you know… spook him or anything. Not after earlier.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Scar replies, his tone softening. “He’s just… on edge. We all are, but you know what I mean. So many small things reminds him of… well, whatever he’s remembering.” He glances at Bdubs, noticing the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Bdubs scratches the back of his head, looking down for a moment.

“I know we talked about it before, but I didn’t mean to freak him out, you know? He looked at me like…” He trails off, a shadow of worry clouding his usual cheerful expression. “I don’t know, like he was afraid of something, maybe. You saw it too.” Scar nods slowly, his gaze dropping.

“Yeah… I saw it. It was like he was seeing something we couldn’t, something he didn’t want to see.” The memory of Grian’s reaction sits heavy in his chest; the way Grian had looked at Bdubs, then at him, like he was bracing for something Scar couldn’t begin to understand. Bdubs shifts uncomfortably, glancing toward the others, having their own conversations, then back at Scar.

“He just went so… still. Like he was waiting for something to happen. I thought I’d seen Grian get serious before, but that was… different.” Scar nods, his expression mirroring Bdubs’s discomfort.

“Yeah… different’s the word. He looked at you, at both of us really, like he was expecting something. Like he was waiting for the ground to fall out from under him.”

“Maybe he was,” Cub cuts in, his voice quiet but steady, drawing both Scar and Bdubs’s attention. Cub’s expression is thoughtful, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond them, as if he’s considering something just out of reach. Scar frowns, tilting his head.

“What do you mean, Cub?” Cub glances between them, choosing his words carefully.

“Look, I wasn’t there, but from the way you’re describing it… maybe Grian really was waiting for the ground to fall beneath him. Or something like it. Whatever happened to him, wherever you all were, it doesn’t sound like it was a place anyone would want to remember.” Bdubs shifts beside him, his expression uneasy.

“Yeah, I got that sense, too,” he admits. “But what kind of place leaves someone that… tense? He looked like he was expecting us to… I don’t know, turn on him or something.” Cub’s gaze sharpens, a flicker of insight crossing his face.

“Maybe… maybe that’s exactly what happened,” he says quietly. “Maybe you were in a place where trust was broken. Where he couldn’t rely on people, or where… people he trusted let him down.”

Scar’s breath catches. The idea feels both foreign and unsettlingly possible. He turns Cub’s words over in his mind, the weight of them pressing down. Broken trust. It would explain that look in Grian’s eyes, the guarded way he’d responded to Scar’s presence and the way he’d tensed up when Bdubs appeared beside him. It would explain why he seemed to trust Mumbo easier, without the hesitation that came with Scar or Bdubs.

If Grian and he had trusted each other in that other place, but something had gone wrong… Scar’s stomach twists. But then, why did Grian seem to trust him here? If trust had been broken there, why would Grian still let him in, still cling to him, even if only for brief moments? Scar’s mind jumps back to the hug, to Grian’s whispered apology. It doesn’t make sense; if Scar had broken his trust, why would Grian be sorry?

He glances at Cub, trying to piece it all together.

“So… if I somehow… let him down in that other place, if I did something to lose his trust, why would he still be around me here? Why would he still…” He trails off, struggling to put the conflict into words. Cub’s gaze softens as he considers Scar’s question, clearly mulling over the complexity of it all.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice low. “Maybe… maybe he doesn’t fully remember everything. Or maybe there’s something else; something that kept you both connected, even if that trust was broken. Sometimes people can care about each other, even through… messy stuff like that.”

Scar nods slowly, feeling the weight of it all. The idea of broken trust would explain so much; the hesitation, the way Grian pulled away at times, almost like he was afraid of getting too close. And yet, that hug, that apology… it doesn’t fit. It’s almost as if Grian is carrying something of his own, something he can’t, or won’t, share. Scar can’t shake the feeling that there’s a layer of guilt on Grian’s side, like he’s holding a piece of the story.

“But if it’s broken trust,” Scar says, half to himself, “then it’s not just me who let him down. He feels guilty, too. I could feel it in that hug, in the way he said sorry…” He trails off, his thoughts tangling as he tries to make sense of it. Cub watches him closely, nodding slowly.

“Maybe whatever happened… it wasn’t so clear-cut. Maybe it’s one of those situations where everyone’s got their own piece of the blame. That would explain why he’s drawn to you now, but also why he’s keeping his distance. Maybe he’s sorting through that same conflict. But,” Cub adds, hesitating, “it’s just a theory. You’re the only one who’s got bits of answers right now, and Grian’s the only one who really knows the truth.” Scar lets out a heavy sigh, the thought weighing on him.

“Yeah… maybe I should talk to him. But every time I even try to get close to that, he shuts down. I don’t want to push him, you know?” Cub’s face creases with sympathy.

“Yeah, that’s the hard part, huh? Getting someone to talk about something they’d rather leave buried.” He glances over at the small group of Hermits now gathering for the meeting, then back at Scar. “But, hey, just remember… whatever you did, or whatever you think you did, you’re here now. Maybe that’s a small thing, but it counts for something.” Scar manages a small, grateful smile, though doubt still lingers at the edges of his mind.

“Yeah. Thanks, Cub. I just… I don’t want to make it worse. I don’t want to give him another reason to pull away.” Cub claps a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not going to make it worse, Scar,” Cub says firmly, his eyes warm with quiet understanding. “Just… be yourself. Be the friend you’ve always been. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” Scar nods, taking a deep breath. Cub’s gaze lingers, a flicker of thought passing behind his eyes before he continues.

“And if it’s trust he’s struggling with, maybe just knowing you’re still here, that you’re… solid, is what he needs.” He pauses, glancing around. “And if there’s anything left to work through, you’ll figure it out when the time’s right. Sometimes things just need time.”

Scar wants to believe that. He wants to believe that just being here, being himself, could somehow ease whatever burden Grian’s been carrying. And maybe, he thinks, there’s truth in it. For now, he can only wait, keeping an eye on the pieces and hoping they’ll come together when they’re ready.

The gentle murmur of voices drifts around them as the hermits start gathering closer, and Scar glances over to see Xisuma stepping forward to begin. He casts one last look at Cub, grateful for the grounded calm that seems to come so naturally to his friend when he needs it most. For the way he has of turning all Scar’s scattered thoughts into something almost manageable.

Cub catches his eye and gives him a small nod, reassuring, like he understands all the things Scar hasn’t even managed to put into words. And as Xisuma clears his throat, the low conversations fading to a quiet hush, Scar lets out a slow breath, steadying himself. Whatever unknowns lie between him and Grian, whatever hurt or trust broken in some other place, he’ll find a way to make things right. Somehow, he’ll show Grian that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

The crowd falls silent, all eyes on Xisuma, and Scar turns his attention to the meeting, feeling steadier than he has since he first woke up after everything.

And maybe, just maybe, ready for whatever comes next.

Chapter Text

The Hermits stand in a loose circle, the usual hum of conversation stilled into a silence that feels oddly heavy. Scar’s gaze flickers over his friends, each one quiet, eyes focused on Xisuma in the centre. For a moment, it feels like they’re waiting for something big, like a storm about to break. Scar swallows, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten.

He shifts his weight, arms crossed, feeling the tension of the gathering pressing in on him. The usual excitement, the easy chatter that typically filled these meetings, is nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s just a thick, unspoken worry, as if everyone’s bracing themselves for something they don’t yet understand. Scar’s gaze moves over his friends, catching glimpses of familiar faces. Etho stands a few paces away, near Bdubs, who’s settled back from their talk, casting uneasy glances toward Xisuma. Ren, Impulse and Tango are side by side as usual, their expressions serious, the playfulness usually present in their eyes absent.

Scar’s attention shifts back to Xisuma, whose face is as unreadable as ever. But even from here, Scar can see the tension in his stance, something weighing heavily on him. Xisuma takes a slow breath, looking over the crowd, his gaze lingering just a moment longer on each of them who disappeared before finally speaking.

“I know this isn’t our usual kind of meeting,” Xisuma begins, the calmness in his voice betraying the weight of what he’s holding back. “And I know many of you have questions about… what happened to those of you who disappeared.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air, and Scar can feel the collective shift of everyone’s attention, an unspoken question pressing forward.

“First, I want to make sure everyone understands what Grian remembers; and what he doesn’t.” Xisuma’s voice is steady, but there’s a gravity to it that holds everyone’s attention. “Most of you probably know by now, but I’ll say it anyway, just to be clear. Grian… doesn’t remember Hermitcraft. Or anything leading up to… whatever happened. His memories seem to only go back to wherever you all disappeared to.”

Scar notices a ripple of unease pass through the group. For some, it’s likely confirmation of what they’d heard, but for others, Scar can see the impact of hearing it out loud. Xisuma lets out a quiet sigh, glancing down briefly before continuing.

“From what Grian’s told me, wherever you went… well, it wasn’t Hermitcraft. It was something else entirely. Fourteen of you, waking up on a field of grass, no idea how you got there or why. The rules were simple but brutal. Each of you had three lives, and each time you lost one, the stakes changed. And when you were down to your last life… you were allowed to kill.”

Scar feels a shiver run down his spine. The thought of a place where lives could be counted so starkly, where friends could turn into enemies or allies depending on a number, makes his stomach churn. He’d suspected something dangerous, something that felt like a hardcore world because of Grian’s reaction to his death, but hearing it like this; it’s different. Beside him, Cub tenses. Xisuma continues, his tone growing heavier with each word.

“Some of you allied together, formed groups, teams. Others became enemies. It was a… death game, in the simplest terms. Grian was the last one standing. He… won, if you could call it that.” The word “won” sounds hollow, wrong, and Scar can see the same discomfort reflected in the eyes of his friends around him.

Scar clenches his jaw, trying to wrap his head around it. A death game. So that’s why Grian had been acting the way he had. The guarded looks, the flashes of something almost haunted in his eyes. It all starts making a twisted kind of sense. He catches Bdubs’s gaze briefly, and there’s something shared at that moment, a realization that Grian’s reactions to them, was most likely something along the lines of what Cub theorised. Xisuma’s expression tightens, and for a moment, it seems as if he’s hesitating, as if there’s more he isn’t saying.

“Three people from another server… they also disappeared, ending up in the same place. Grian mentioned their names to me as; Joel, Scott, and Jimmy. And the last ones are; Skizz” Xisuma’s eyes lock with Impulse’s for a moment, before continuing. “And two people we don’t know yet, named Martyn and BigB.”

The silence that follows Xisuma’s words feels thick, almost palpable. Scar’s mind races, trying to piece everything together as Xisuma lets the weight of the information settle. A death game. They had been in a place where survival depended on alliances and betrayal, where friendships were tested, strained, and even broken. And he was the last one left, the “winner” of a twisted game none of them had signed up for. The mere idea leaves Scar feeling unsettled, a cold heaviness in his chest that’s hard to shake. It feels impossible to imagine any of the Hermits part of something like that.

Beside him, Cub’s gaze is fixed, his face unreadable, though Scar can tell by the tension in his stance that the news has hit him hard. For all the speculation, none of them had been prepared to hear this, not fully. He chances a look at Bdubs, who’s staring down at his feet, expression strained.

Scar lets out a slow breath, memories of Grian’s hug, his whispered apology, coming back to him with newfound clarity. Maybe Grian had failed to save him, or even killed him in that other world. It would explain the guilt. Not that Scar could hold him or anyone else to anything done in that sort of environment. Xisuma’s voice breaks the silence again.

“We don’t have all the details,” he admits, his tone cautious, as if choosing his words carefully. “But Grian remembered enough for us to know it wasn’t just a game. It’s something that left marks. Those of you who disappeared… you went through something none of us can’t fully understand, even if you don’t remember it.”

Scar swallows hard, glancing around at the Hermits who had stayed behind, those who hadn’t vanished with the others. They look shaken, brows furrowed. For them, it must feel as if they’re hearing about a nightmare their friends lived while they were left in the safety of their own memories. In a way it feels like that for Scar too.

“This is why we’ll be moving servers as soon as possible. I don’t know if it’s connected or not, but I don’t want to take any risks. This place… it’s given us a lot, but it’s time to move on, to start fresh somewhere safer,” Xisuma says. There’s a murmur of agreement, a few nods from around the circle.

The announcement of a server move isn’t a surprise to Scar, and he suspects most of the Hermits were expecting it too. But now, with the context of Grian’s memories, it feels less like an upgrade and more like a necessary escape.

“And… when we move,” Xisuma continues, his voice softening, “as you know, we’ll have two new members joining us. Pearl and Gem.” Xisuma pauses, his eyes scanning the circle, the hint of a smile softening the tension on his face. “I know you all don’t need me to say it, but let’s make sure they feel welcomed. I think we all know what it’s like to start somewhere new. And after… everything, it’ll be good to have some fresh energy around.”

Scar can feel a slight lift in the atmosphere, a murmur of agreement running through the group. There’s a comfort in that, in the reminder of what Hermitcraft has always been; a place of community, of trust. A place where they support each other, even in the face of things they don’t fully understand. Xisuma clears his throat, his tone shifting back to a more serious note.

“So, I need all of you to be ready when it’s time. Keep an eye out, pack anything you’ll need, and make sure you’re ready to leave the moment we say go. And if anything else strange happens, no matter how small, let me know right away. Better to be safe, given everything. And look out for each other,” he says, his voice lower but filled with quiet sincerity. “All of you have been through a lot, some more than others, but we’re in this together. I’ll be around to talk if anyone needs it. Don’t hesitate to reach out.”

With that, Xisuma steps back, letting the words settle. He gives them a nod, and the meeting disperses, each Hermit lost in their own thoughts, the weight of everything hanging heavy in the air. Scar barely notices the others starting to shift, eyes still on Xisuma as his mind churns with the implications. That’s when Ren steps closer, catching Scar’s attention with a gentle nudge to his shoulder.

“Hey, my dude,” Ren says softly, his tone a bit more subdued than usual. “Crazy stuff, huh?” He doesn’t say it with his usual upbeat energy, but with a seriousness that somehow fits the weight of the meeting. Scar nods, still taking it all in.

“Yeah… it’s a lot.” He glances at Ren, grateful to have someone nearby who understands at least part of what it felt like to disappear and reappear without answers. Ren was always light-hearted, but even he seems weighted down by this. Ren’s gaze shifts to Xisuma, watching as the admin finishes talking to a few of the others before looking back at Scar.

“So… just checking in on you. How are you holding up? You’ve had your hands full, with Grian and all.” Scar lets out a quiet laugh, though it’s more of a sigh.

“Yeah. I mean, we’re all trying to help, but sometimes I don’t even know where to start, you know? It’s hard when he doesn’t remember anything about Hermitcraft but has… all these other memories.” Ren’s brows knit in concern.

“Grian’s always been a tough cookie, but this? It’s different.” He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to remember something like that; having your life on the line, forced into that kind of situation. Dude’s got a lot on his plate.” Scar nods, a tightness settling in his chest as he thinks about Grian navigating this alone.

“Yeah. He’s been through a lot. And I guess I’ve been trying to piece it all together too, but… it’s not easy.” He pauses, glancing around at the other Hermits gathering in groups. “Do you think he’ll… ever get used to it?” Ren places a hand on Scar’s shoulder, his voice softer now.

“Honestly, I think he will. Eventually. But let’s give him time. And hey, you’re here, aren’t you? And so’s Mumbo. Between you guys and the rest of us, Grian’s got a lot of people in his corner. We’ll keep an eye on him.” Scar gives him a grateful smile in response.

“Thanks, Ren. I appreciate it. It’s just… I don’t want him to feel alone in this.” Ren grins, his usual spark returning, though softer than usual.

“Scar, my dude, with you around, I don’t think that’s even possible. We’re all in this together, yeah?” Scar lets Ren’s words settle over him, feeling the weight lift just a little. Ren’s right. They’re all in this together, even if he feels lost. He watches his friend, appreciating how Ren’s grin, though subdued, still has a way of warming up any room. Ren shifts his weight, glancing off to where Impulse stands with Tango, the two of them talking in low tones.

“You remember Season 6, right?” Ren says, a note of nostalgia in his voice. “Me, Impulse, and Grian, our little ‘hippie’ group? Anywhoosle, those days were some of the best, honestly. Just… living in our makeshift camp, in our RVs, doing whatever came to mind. Grian opened up a lot back then, you know? Just him, Impulse, and me.” He sighs, eyes growing softer. “It was easy to forget, sometimes, that there was a whole world outside that camp.”

Scar nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he remembers those days. He hadn’t been a part of their “hippie” crew (after all, he’d directly opposed them with Area 77 with Doc). They had been such free spirits back then, setting up camp together, building their quirky little RVs, and doing things their way. There had been a simplicity to it, and Scar can see why Grian might have let his guard down in that kind of setting.

“Impulse was just talking about it earlier, before the meeting,” Ren continues, his gaze drifting back to his friend. “We were laughing about how everything was back then. All the flowers, the anti-Area 77. But, well, we weren’t laughing long. He’s worried too. He told me about what happened with you and Bdubs…”

“Yeah,” Scar says, sighing. “It was like he was waiting for something bad to happen. I don’t know what he’s seen, but it’s hard seeing him like this.” He lets his voice fall, watching Ren’s expression soften. Ren nods slowly.

“You know, back then, Grian talked to us about stuff. Just little things here and there, but he opened up. He’s never really been the type to lay it all out for everyone, you know? But when it was just the three of us… it was different.” Ren’s voice holds a quiet fondness, but there’s something else there, too; a hint of worry, of wondering if that connection is slipping away. Ren chuckles, though it’s tinged with a bittersweet edge.

“We still meet up, you know. Or we did. Little impromptu gatherings, even here in Season 7. But… I don’t know. This thing, whatever it is… I worry. Not that I expect him to spill his heart out, but still.” Ren glances away, as if debating something. “It’s hard, you know? Wanting to be there for him, but feeling like you don’t have a way in.” Scar nods, understanding exactly what he means.

“I know what you mean. He wants to stick around me, but he won’t talk about what happened. It’s hard because there’s clearly, so many emotions involved.” Ren gives a thoughtful hum, glancing back at Impulse.

“Impulse is struggling too, especially with Skizz thrown into the mix now. But, as hard as it is for him seeing his friend get dragged into this, he still gets it. Him and Skizz are in the same boat, but Grian? He’s dealing with something different entirely.”

“Yeah,” Scar murmurs. He looks down, the weight of it settling over him again. “It’s like Grian’s stuck between what he remembers and what he’s forgotten, and we’re all just… on the outside looking in.” Scar looks back at Ren, a thought crossing his mind. “And how are you holding up, Ren? You… disappeared too, after all. I mean, it’s got to feel strange, right?” Ren’s expression falters slightly, and he gives a small shrug, his usual bright energy dimming just a bit.

“You know, it’s weird, dude. In one way, it’s like… nothing happened. Like I just woke up from a good sleep, and that’s that.” He pauses, frowning, searching for the right words. “But on the other hand, there’s this nagging feeling, like… like I’m missing something. Ever have one of those dreams you can’t remember, but you’re left with that… emptiness afterward?” Scar nods.

“Yeah, I get what you mean. It’s like you know something happened, but there’s just no way to grab onto it.” Ren’s gaze drifts past Scar, as if looking for an answer somewhere beyond them.

“It’s exactly that, man. Every once in a while, it hits me, and I feel like if I could just remember one thing, I’d understand it all. But then it slips away.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Impulse said something similar, actually, though I think he’s more focused on Skizz’s well-being. But between him and Grian, it’s hard not to feel… off. Like there’s a puzzle, but half the pieces are missing.” Scar considers Ren’s words, and a thought crosses his mind.

“Do you think maybe Grian feels that too, but stronger? Like he knows all of us, but the pieces don’t fit like they should.” Ren gives him a small, sad smile.

“Could be, my dude. And maybe that’s why he’s got all these walls up now. It’s like he’s trying to remember, trying to trust us, but the missing pieces keep getting in the way.” They fall into a reflective silence, both lost in thought. Ren looks back at Scar, his expression softening. “But, you know, whatever’s happened… it’s good to have friends to lean on. And Scar, I mean it, you’ve got all of us. We’re here for Grian, sure, but we’re here for you, too.” Scar’s smile is quiet, but genuine.

“Thanks, Ren. I think we’re all going to need each other more than ever.” Ren’s gaze softens as he watches Scar, his thoughtful expression lingering. “And Mumbo? He’s been sticking close to Grian too, yeah?” Scar nods, feeling a pang of gratitude for Mumbo’s presence, for the way he’s been there in ways Scar couldn’t be.

“Yeah. And it’s strange, really. Grian doesn’t remember him, at least not directly, but somehow he trusts him. More than he does anyone else, I think.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “It’s like he knows Mumbo on some level, even if he can’t explain why.” Ren’s lips quirk into a small smile.

“Good ol’ Mumbo. Guess there’s some things even memory loss can’t mess with.” Scar lets out a quiet laugh, though it quickly fades.

“I’m just glad Grian can lean on Mumbo too. Mumbo didn’t seem to know what to do with himself at first” Ren nods, his gaze distant for a moment as he thinks.

“It’s a relief, honestly. Mumbo’s solid, even if he doesn’t always realize it. Having him there, having all of us… it’ll make a difference for Grian. We’ve just got to stick together and let him know he’s not carrying this alone.”

Scar feels a flicker of warmth in his chest, a sense of solidarity settling over him as he considers Ren’s words. It’s true. They’re all part of this, bound by the uncertainty of what happened and the unspoken commitment to help Grian through it. And no matter what memories Grian might have lost, they’re going to help him find his way back to feeling at home again.

Ren claps him on the shoulder, offering a final reassuring squeeze. “We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we, my dude? And we’ll get through this, too. So let’s go be there for each other, like always.”

Despite everything still left unsaid, Scar knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t alone. Ren, Bdubs, Cub; all of them, really, would be there, no matter what came next. And maybe, that was all any of them really needed.

Chapter Text

The room falls into a quiet lull, the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something unspoken to finally break free. Grian’s gaze flickers toward Mumbo, replaying his words, “You’d do the same.” They’re simple, even reassuring, but they weigh heavier than they should. Mumbo said it with the certainty of someone who believes it down to his bones, but Grian can’t find the part of himself that would understand why.

Would I?

The thought circles in his mind, relentless. He doesn’t remember Hermitcraft, doesn’t remember anything about this world before he’d reappeared with fractured memories and a sense of belonging that felt both familiar and foreign. Yet, here was Mumbo, calm and steady, certain that Grian would go to the same lengths to keep him safe. He can’t recall why that trust is there, but he feels it too, instinctively.

As if drawn by something unseen, Grian’s gaze shifts to the doorway. Beyond it, he knows there’s a whole world he’s been told he built, a community he was supposed to be a part of. But all he remembers is that desert, the sand beneath his feet, the sharp, metallic bite of fear in his chest as lives ticked down around him. It was all survival, life for life. There were alliances, sure, and trust, if you could call it that. But nothing in that place ever felt as solid, as grounded, as Mumbo’s calm certainty does now.

“Grian?” Mumbo’s voice breaks through the fog of his thoughts, and he realizes he’s been staring off into space. Mumbo’s watching him, brow furrowed with a familiar mix of patience and worry. Grian clears his throat, feeling the weight of his own silence.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. “Just… thinking.” Mumbo gives him a small nod, a hint of a smile softening his expression.

“It’s alright. I can’t imagine what it’s like, remembering… well, only that.” His gaze is steady, understanding. “But we’ll help you find your way back to yourself, however long it takes.”

Grian shifts, the words both comforting and strange. There’s that “we” again, the promise of a group, of people ready to catch him, but he only has the faintest shadows of their faces in his mind.

“Mumbo…” Grian starts, hesitating. He’s not sure where the question is coming from, only that it feels important. “Why do you think I would… be there for you? Like you said?” He can’t quite look at Mumbo, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I mean, I don’t even know why I trust you so much. You’re… steady, I guess. Familiar.” His words are tentative, as if he’s testing them out. “But I don’t… I don’t know you. Not really.”

Mumbo is quiet, considering, and when he finally answers, his voice is gentle.

“It’s hard to explain, I suppose. We’ve been through so much together, you and I. Back before you joined Hermitcraft, even. Sometimes it feels like we just… understand each other. We balance each other out, I guess. And maybe that’s why.” He offers a faint smile. “You trust me because I trust you. Always have.”

The words linger, settling into Grian like pieces of a puzzle he can’t quite fit together. But even if he can’t remember the history between them, something about it feels right. The same way that sharing the silence with Mumbo feels right. There’s no expectation, no demand for him to be anything he isn’t ready to be. Just a quiet, steady presence that feels almost like… home.

Mumbo’s gaze holds steady on Grian, his expression softening as he seems to gather his own thoughts. He glances down briefly, then looks back up, his eyes steady but gentle.

“How are you feeling? After the talk with Xisuma, I mean,” Mumbo asks, his voice low, careful. “He was… well, he seemed pretty shaken by everything you shared.” There’s a trace of something unreadable in Mumbo’s expression, as though he’s piecing things together himself.

Grian lets out a slow breath, his mind drifting back to the meeting. The tension in Xisuma’s eyes, the way his face had tightened at certain points; it hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was one thing to talk about the competition, the rules, lives and death, but the moment Mumbo mentioned that feeling, the weight of someone watching… Xisuma had looked almost… frightened.

The memory of Xisuma’s reaction gnaws at Grian, winding itself into his mind with persistent questions. Why would those words, the simple admission that he’d felt watched, cause Xisuma to react like that? It was as though Xisuma knew more than he was letting on. Or maybe he suspected something. Grian’s fingers trace absent patterns on the table.

“Do you think… my old self would have known more? I mean, you said I’d disappeared before, felt… that same presence. The one I felt this time.” He glances up, meeting Mumbo’s steady gaze. “I can’t help but wonder if maybe I knew things, things that might make sense of all this. But if I did… I don’t know. Did I tell Xisuma? Someone else? Or did I just keep it to myself?” Mumbo’s expression grows thoughtful.

“Maybe… but whatever you knew back then, maybe you thought it wasn’t something you could easily share. You were always careful with what you shared.” He offers a small, reassuring smile. “And even if you kept it to yourself, there had to be a reason. You wouldn’t leave us in the dark without one.”

Grian sighs, the tension in his chest loosening just enough for him to breathe a little easier. It’s comforting, hearing Mumbo’s faith in him, his certainty that Grian wouldn’t have left them in the dark without good reason. But part of him wonders if that very faith might be misplaced. What if he hadn’t shared something out of pride? Or because he thought he could handle it alone?

“Maybe,” Grian says, voice barely above a whisper. “But what if I kept quiet, and it’s why everyone’s in this mess now? What if whatever I knew could have prevented all of… this?” He gestures vaguely around him, encompassing not just the room but everything that’s changed, everything they’ve lost. He thinks of the moment he woke up in that field. Mumbo’s hand finds his shoulder, warm and grounding.

“Grian,” he says, voice low but unwavering, “you couldn’t have known. And maybe there are still things you don’t remember yet, things that will help us understand this. But blaming yourself for what’s missing… that won’t help.”

The words settle around Grian like a calming weight, and for a moment, he lets himself lean into Mumbo’s quiet certainty. There’s a strange comfort in not needing all the answers, in letting go of the need to solve everything, if only for a second.

But the momentary calm is fleeting. Questions press at the edge of Grian’s mind, demanding answers he can’t find, like shadows moving just out of reach. And yet, there’s one thing, one place, maybe, he hasn’t looked. Something Mumbo mentioned, something he’s danced around but never fully explained. Grian shifts, meeting Mumbo’s gaze directly, a determination in his eyes.

“Tell me about Evo,” he says, the words almost daring Mumbo to deflect. Mumbo hesitates, his gaze flickering away for a moment, as if searching the room for another way out.

“Grian… I don’t know if talking about Evo will help you. Not now, not after everything.” Grian’s jaw tightens.

“You said I’d disappeared before,” he presses, more insistent. “You told me that I felt… watched, back then. And now I’m here, feeling it again, with barely any memory of my own life. Mumbo, please.” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it, a kind of desperation he hopes Mumbo can’t ignore. “I need to know everything. Everything you know. Don’t hold back.”

Mumbo takes a slow breath, his eyes softened with concern but resigned. Grian watches him intently, every nerve buzzing as Mumbo gathers his thoughts.

“All right,” Mumbo says finally, his voice low. “I’ll tell you what I know, but… just know that my perspective is a little limited. I was on the outside, trying to piece things together from what you chose to share with me.” Grian nods, feeling that determination settle deeper within him.

“I understand. Just… anything you can tell me.” Mumbo nods, his gaze distant as he recalls the memories.

“You were excited at first. I remember you talking about it constantly before Evo even began. Being an admin, you said, meant you could build something new, something bigger than anything you’d done before. And you kept talking about the way the world was supposed to… evolve. Every time you messaged me, there was this enthusiasm, like you were watching something unfold and didn’t quite know where it would lead.” Grian tries to picture that; himself with that sense of excitement and vision, watching the world around him shift and change. But all he feels is a strange emptiness, like he’s watching someone else’s life through a hazy glass.

“At first, you messaged all the time,” Mumbo continues, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’d talk about your friends, and the way everyone had these roles they’d taken on. There were these two friends you talked about, a lot. Martyn and Timmy. You said they became like… Some sort of property police? And in your typical distrust of authority, you pranked them as much as you could. And there was BigB, of course, and something about a giant cookie? Netty, Taurtis…” he trails of for a moment. “You’d talk about them with this… warmth, like they’d become part of something important to you.”

Martyn, Timmy, BigB.

The names ring through Grian’s mind, each one attached to moments from the death game that linger like shadows. Martyn; the one who had always been a rival in some way, even if there’d been a time they’d tried for something different. He remembers the beginning, Martyn pressing a diamond sword into his hand, then doing the same with BigB. They’d called it an alliance, a chance to watch each other’s backs. But that was before Dogwarts, before Grian and Scar’s Desert, before they’d all gone their separate ways, and alliances shattered just as quickly as they were made.

He remembers Martyn’s sword again, in a different light, glinting as it delivered a blow. Grian swallows, his fingers pressing into his palms, the ghostly feeling of that memory running through him.

And then there’s BigB. He recalls the image of him standing alone, his figure small and distant against the horizon. He’d spent so much time alone, isolated, and vulnerable. Grian’s mind drifts back to that final moment: Bdubs’ attack, BigB’s final life slipping away. And then, almost as if it was part of some twisted choreography, Bdubs and Scar had turned on him next. His chest tightens, the weight of it pressing in, thick and relentless.

And finally, there’s Timmy. He remembers Timmy’s laugh, his loyal presence, the way he’d always seemed to be one of the few constants Grian could rely on. Timmy was an ally, a friend, someone Grian hadn’t thought he’d need to keep such a tight guard up around. But, like all things in that place, Timmy’s final life was taken from him too soon, leaving Grian with only fragments of alliances that couldn’t survive the blood and dust of that world.

“But then,” Mumbo continues, his voice softening, “I noticed something was… different. Your messages got shorter, less frequent. I thought maybe you were just caught up in the work of running a server, or maybe just… overdoing it, like you sometimes do.” He chuckles, but there’s no humour in it, only a kind of sadness. “You’d update me on the timeline stuff, tell me when you were moving forward. I think you all went through some kind of portal to do it?”

“But after that… something changed. There was less excitement in what you said. And eventually, I started picking up on this… uncertainty, I guess.” Mumbo pauses, searching for the right words. “It was subtle, but it was there. I kept thinking it was the pressure of being in charge, you know? Or maybe things were just going sideways, like they do.”

Grian swallows, the weight of Mumbo’s words pressing down on him. There’s an image forming in his mind, a shadowy outline of what it must have been like to be there, leading, watching his world evolve into something he didn’t fully understand.

“Then one day, you messaged me,” Mumbo says, his voice almost a whisper now. “You told me that you and the others were going to the End to kill the dragon. And… then there was nothing. Just… silence.”

The words sink in, cold and heavy.

“Nothing?”

“Not a word.” Mumbo’s gaze meets his, something pained and understanding in his eyes. “You didn’t respond to any of my messages after that. I had no idea if something had happened, if you’d quit the server, if…” He trails off, swallowing. “I didn’t hear from you again until you showed up in my single world, a bit over a year later.”

“A year later,” Grian echoes, almost to himself. The gap feels like an abyss. What could have happened in that time? What had he seen, experienced, that might have left him unable, or unwilling, to reach out? Mumbo nods slowly.

“When you finally showed up, you seemed… different. Guarded, maybe. It took a while for you to start opening up again, even with me.” Mumbo pauses, searching Grian’s face. “You never told me exactly what happened. But whenever I mention Evo, you just seemed so… sad. No, not sad, destroyed.”

The word lingers between them, sharp and painful. Destroyed. Grian’s fingers curl slightly, feeling the weight of it settle in his chest. He tries to remember, tries to picture himself in that moment, coming back from whatever he’d experienced, carrying something too heavy to even speak of. But all he finds is the same empty haze, a void where something important used to be.

“Destroyed,” he echoes softly, tasting the word on his tongue. It feels both distant and somehow true, like something buried deep within him is responding, confirming it. Mumbo’s gaze is steady, sympathetic.

“I didn’t understand it then, and maybe I still don’t,” he admits, voice soft. “But whatever it was, it must have been… something you couldn’t shake. I didn’t ask much, just… stayed around, and you seemed to appreciate that.”

“And I felt watched?”

Mumbo hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

“I don’t know if you ever actually said that out loud,” he admits, his voice cautious. “But… you acted like it. There were moments where you’d stop mid-sentence, looking over your shoulder like you’d heard something. Or you’d get this… faraway look, like you were seeing something none of us could see.”

Grian listens, the weight of Mumbo’s words pressing down on him like a distant echo of something half-remembered. It feels like he’s hearing about someone else, a stranger who carries his face, his name. And yet, there’s a pang of recognition, a pull toward something hidden in his mind, as though it’s wrapped in shadows.

“It was like you were… haunted,” Mumbo continues, the word hanging heavy in the room. “Joining Hermitcraft seemed to help. You started to… come back to yourself, little by little. You laughed more, got involved with everyone. Built up what’s now your life here.” He offers a small smile. “But even then, you never talked about Evo. Not with me, not with anyone. It was like it didn’t exist.”

“It was strange, watching you try to be part of this place while still stuck there,” Mumbo admits. “But seeing you join Hermitcraft was like watching someone come home. I thought maybe this world would be different, give you a chance to start fresh.” He pauses, glancing away for a moment before continuing. “I guess I hoped that, with enough time, whatever haunted you would just… fade.” The silence that follows feels fragile, charged with questions Grian isn’t sure he wants to ask. He looks away, focusing on a spot on the floor as his thoughts twist and churn.

“But it didn’t fade,” he says, more to himself than to Mumbo. “If anything, it’s… it’s like it followed me here.” Mumbo nods slowly, his expression thoughtful.

“Maybe it was something you couldn’t leave behind, no matter where you went.”

The words sit heavy between them, each syllable seeming to pulse with the weight of everything unspoken. Grian’s gaze drifts, caught somewhere between the room around him and a place he can’t see but feels within him, a place shadowed and silent. The more he tries to remember, the thicker the surrounding fog becomes.

Mumbo’s voice breaks through Grian’s haze, steady but softer than before.

“You know, this feels… almost the same as back then, after you reappeared after Evo. It’s like déjà vu, in a way,” he says. “But when you came back from Evo, you still remembered everything before it. You came back haunted, yeah, but you had your old memories, your life before. You weren’t starting over; you were carrying it all, the good and the bad.” Grian feels a pang of something almost like envy toward that other version of himself.

“I wish I could say the same now,” he murmurs. “Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t feel so terrifying if I had more to hold onto.” Mumbo’s expression softens, his gaze steady on Grian.

“I get it. Coming back here like this… it’s different now. There’s nothing to tie you back to the things that made you feel safe. Only pieces of the game.” Mumbo’s words settle heavily in the silence between them. Grian glances down, running his thumb absently along the edge of the table, feeling the splinters under his fingers, something tangible in all the uncertainty.

“All I remember is the game,” he says, maybe more to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it’s like… like I’m still there sometimes. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just… left over.” He pauses, trying to piece together the fragments in his mind. “There are moments where it feels like the game never really ended. Like I could blink and find myself back in that field we first spawned.”

Back in the desert.

Grian’s thumb presses over a sharp edge of wood, a prickling discomfort that grounds him in some small way. But before he can trace the line of splinters again, Mumbo’s hand gently covers his, stopping the motion. The touch is steady and warm, and without a word, Mumbo’s presence reminds Grian of something solid, something that exists outside the haze of memory and the lingering feeling of that barren, deadly world.

The warmth of Mumbo’s hand seeps into him, anchoring him, bringing him back to the present moment. Grian lets out a shaky breath, his gaze lifting to meet Mumbo’s.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” he murmurs, almost apologetically. “But I keep waiting for something to happen, like it’s all going to start up again. I… I don’t want to be stuck there, Mumbo. But it’s like a part of me still is.” Mumbo’s grip remains firm, reassuring.

“It’s not ridiculous. You went through something… twisted. And I can’t pretend to understand it, not fully. But I do understand what it’s like to feel like something’s clinging to you, refusing to let go.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “You’re here now. And if it takes time to shake off those shadows, we’ll all help you through it. You’re not alone in this.”

Grian feels a strange mixture of relief and frustration, his fingers relaxing beneath Mumbo’s. The feeling of being in the game lingers like smoke, faint but suffocating, and he’s grateful for any relief he can find, however temporary.

“I guess… I just keep trying to figure out why this happened. Like there’s something I’m missing, something I didn’t see back then,” Grian admits. “But every time I think I’m close, it slips away.” Mumbo releases Grian’s hand gently, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“Maybe some answers aren’t ready to show themselves yet,” he says quietly. “But when they do, you’ll have us with you. And until then, you just… take each day as it comes. And until then, let’s agree none of this was your fault.”

But Grian doesn’t know if he can agree. Not after that feeling. Not after waking up in that field.

Chapter Text

The world comes into focus slowly, as if waking through layers of fog. Grian feels it first in his body, the press of damp grass against his skin, a slight chill in the air brushing over him. The scent of earth fills his nose, fresh and sharp. A faint whisper of wind touches his face, carrying with it the quiet, almost reverent silence of dawn.

But there’s something else, something deeper, that stirs at the edge of his awareness. The stillness feels wrong. It isn’t the peace of morning; it’s the calm before something dark, like the world itself is holding its breath, waiting.

His fingers curl into the grass, feeling each blade slip between them, wet with dew. The coolness presses against his skin, grounding him, yet there’s a dissonance; a sense that even the earth beneath him is wrong somehow, like it’s an echo of something real. He can hear faint rustling nearby, others stirring, breaths beginning to quicken. But they’re distant, like murmurs in the back of his mind. There’s an instinct, deep and raw, that tells him to stay still, to wait.

Then, as his awareness sharpens, he notices a faint metallic tang on the breeze, subtle yet unmistakable, like iron left too long in the rain. It mixes with the damp, earthy smell, filling his lungs with something harsh, something that makes his pulse quicken. His skin prickles, nerves awakening with a rush that feels too familiar, like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff and knows there’s no way back.

A shiver runs through him, a whisper from somewhere he can’t name: This is a bad place. The thought is cold and unwavering, and even though he doesn’t know where it’s coming from, he feels its truth. Every instinct screams that he shouldn’t be here, that he’s supposed to turn away, to escape before it’s too late. And yet… another part of him feels an equally powerful pull, a sense that he’s meant to be here, as if drawn by invisible threads binding him to this moment, to this field.

Grian’s eyes open slowly, reluctantly, some part of him knows that what he’s about to see can’t be unseen. The world around him sharpens into focus, colours saturating under the pale light of dawn. He sees the others now, figures lying scattered across the grass, some stirring, others still motionless. They’re people he knows; at least, names and faces stir in his memory, but they feel like ghosts, fragments of something from another life.

And then he notices it: the sky above. The stars are gone, but something about it feels… watched. He can feel an unsettling, spectral presence, hovering just beyond sight, its gaze heavy, calculating. It’s as if unseen eyes are set on him, not the kind that merely observe, but the kind that know, that see into the depths of things. A shiver runs down his spine, the instinct to flee surging again, strong enough to make his heart pound.

But he can’t move. The weight of those unseen eyes is fixed on him, holding him in place, pinning him to the earth as if to remind him:

You’re supposed to be here.

You’re supposed to see.

But most clearly:

It’s your fault.

The words strike him like a pulse, sharp and cold, reverberating through his mind. It’s your fault. They echo in a voice that isn’t his own, a whisper from somewhere deep, somewhere he can’t reach. He feels his breath hitch, a swell of panic rising up like a tidal wave. There’s no logic to it, no memory to back it up, yet the accusation digs into him, twisting in his chest like it’s always been there, a truth he can’t deny.

He shifts, trying to pull himself up, to steady himself, but his body feels leaden, weighed down by the pressure of those invisible eyes. Why is it my fault? The question rises within him, desperate and wild, but there’s no answer. Only the faint, insistent murmur of that accusation, settling like a dark shadow in the back of his mind.

Around him, the others are waking now, one by one. Martyn sits up first, rubbing his eyes, blinking against the light. He glances around, taking in the unfamiliar field, his face shifting from confusion to something harder, sharper. Others begin to stir as well, BigB, his eyes wide as he takes in their surroundings; Joel, casting a bewildered glance at the sky; Timmy, blinking groggily, disoriented but steadying himself with a forced calm.

Grian swallows, his throat tight, as he watches them each come to terms with the strangeness of this place. He sees their confusion, their uncertainty, but beneath it, there’s something almost like… trust, like they don’t yet understand the depth of what lies ahead. A deep dread coils within him, cold and unshakable. Unlike them, he knows, on some primal level, he knows, that this place holds nothing good.

None of them should be here.

The thought cuts through his mind, sharp and urgent, a warning that thrums through every nerve. And yet, there’s that pull, that invisible chain keeping him rooted to the spot. The weight of those unseen eyes presses down on him, watching, evaluating, as if waiting to see how he’ll react.

A voice breaks the silence, Timmy’s, his tone hopeful but uncertain.

“Anyone have any idea where we are?” His eyes scan the group, a forced lightness in his voice. “Or, uh… why?”

Grian wants to answer, to offer something, but the words won’t come. All he can do is look at Timmy, at the familiar, open expression on his face, and feel the terrible weight of everything he knows but can’t explain. He swallows, forcing his gaze away as the words press down on him again, relentless and merciless.

It’s your fault.

-:-

The words hit him again, hard and unbidden.

Grian blinks, his eyes locking onto the grass beneath his fingers. The damp blades press into his skin, cool and soft. His hand tenses, gripping the earth as though he could steady himself through touch alone. For a split second, he’s back there, lying in the field, the air heavy with that same, suffocating stillness. He can almost feel it again; the weight of unseen eyes, the press of something dark and relentless coiling in his chest.

He pulls his hand back abruptly, as if burned, staring at the blades of grass clinging to his fingers. Sitting here, outside with Mumbo after their talk, in the quiet outside the mansion, he can feel the safety of the moment, the warmth of the evening air. It should be comforting, grounding. But the memory lingers, that sense of guilt like a shadow that won’t leave.

Mumbo glances over, noticing the shift, his gaze steady and patient. Grian wants to say something, to find the words to explain the chill crawling up his spine. But all he can do is stare at the grass.

Grian’s fingers dig into the grass again, as if searching for some connection to the moment around him, a way to pull himself fully into the here and now. But the silence stretches, heavy and unbroken. He can feel Mumbo’s steady presence beside him, a quiet invitation to speak if he wants to.

He lets his gaze drift upward, searching the sky as if it might offer some reassurance. Releasing a breath in the process. And just as he does, he catches movement in the sky. A flash of wings, the soft glint of sunlight on metal. Relief washes over him as he recognizes Scar, a figure outlined against the deepening blue, sweeping toward them with easy grace on his elytra. The weight on Grian’s chest lightens just a fraction, Scar’s arrival a welcome distraction, an excuse to shelve the lingering unease for now.

Scar’s path dips and weaves as he draws closer, his characteristic exuberance even visible in his flight. Grian watches, glad for the distraction, the shift in focus that Scar’s arrival brings. Beside him, Mumbo also looks up, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as Scar closes in.

Scar lands in a smooth arc a few paces away, elytra folding neatly as he straightens up, dusting his hands off with a grin that’s somewhere between relief and excitement.

“Why, hello, gents! Hope you weren’t waiting for me!” Scar greets them, his voice cheerful, a welcome contrast to the heavy quiet that had lingered only moments before. He catches Grian’s eye and tilts his head, an unspoken question lingering behind his easy smile.

“Hey, Scar,” he says, his voice steady, feeling the weight ease just a little more as he watches him. Scar’s grin widens, his gaze flicking between the two of them, and he seems to sense the atmosphere, his usual exuberance softening a bit.

“Taking in the fresh air, huh?” Scar says, settling down cross-legged on the grass beside them, his tone light but warm. “Good idea. Never hurts to breathe a little.”

Grian nods, though he finds himself looking away, his eyes drifting down to the grass again. It’s your fault. The words echo through his mind, unsettling in their persistence, as if they’re trying to tell him something he’s forgotten, something buried under the haze. And his talk with Mumbo helped surprisingly little to settle it.

“You alright?” Scar’s voice breaks through, casual but gentle, and Grian realizes he’s been silent too long, caught in his thoughts. Scar’s gaze is steady, curious, but there’s no push to it, just a quiet readiness to listen.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Grian says, his voice a little too quick, a little too practised. He forces a small smile, hoping it’s convincing. “Just… thinking.” Scar raises an eyebrow, glancing at Mumbo, who offers a slight shrug.

The three of them sit there, surrounded by the soft hum of the evening, the quiet presence of the two of them grounding him in a way that feels… almost safe. And though the thought slips into his mind again, It’s your fault, Grian lets it drift, not ready to confront whatever meaning it might hold.

Scar leans back, resting his hands on the grass, his expression open and curious.

“So,” he says, a little more quietly, “how’d it go with Xisuma? He looked… well, a bit off after you guys talked.” His tone is gentle, without any hint of pressure, but there’s something else there, an underlying worry Grian can’t ignore. Grian glances at Mumbo, who meets his eyes with a nod, as if to say it’s alright. He takes a breath, choosing his words carefully.

“It was… intense, I guess. Xisuma wanted to know what I remembered, what happened there.” He looks down, fiddling with a blade of grass between his fingers. “I don’t think he was expecting everything I told him.” Scar’s brows furrow slightly, the concern deepening in his eyes. He stays quiet, though, just listening.

“But, um…” Grian clears his throat, searching for a way to shift the focus. “How was the meeting? With everyone?” A shadow flickers over Scar’s face, almost too quick to catch, but Grian sees it. Scar hesitates, his gaze flicking toward Mumbo, then back to Grian.

“The meeting…” he begins, his voice careful. “It was… well, it sounds like Xisuma shared a bit of what he learned from you.” Grian’s heart skips, a sudden, heavy realization settling in his chest. He knows. Maybe not all of it, but enough. Enough to understand the bare bones of that game, of what he and the others had endured. How much, exactly? And what does Scar make of it? How much has he pieced together?

Grian studies Scar’s face, looking for any sign, any hint of how deeply this has affected him. He catches the faint crease between Scar’s brows, the slight tension around his mouth, the way his fingers fidget absently in the grass. Scar doesn’t look away, meeting Grian’s gaze openly, but there’s something in his eyes, a weight, a quiet understanding that wasn’t there before.

“So… he told you about the game?” Grian’s voice is almost a whisper, his gaze fixed on Scar, trying to read him. Scar nods, his expression softening, though there’s still that lingering hint of sadness.

“Yeah. It… it sounds horrible, Grian. I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” Grian swallows, feeling the weight of those words settle between them. He can feel Mumbo beside him, quiet but supportive, waiting for him to respond. But he can’t look away from Scar. There’s a part of him that wants to ask more, to find out just how much Scar knows, to piece together what he might be missing.

But the words It’s your fault echo in his mind, louder this time, sharper. And all he can do is sit there, wondering if Scar sees that shadow too, hidden somewhere in the spaces between their words.

Scar shifts a bit, watching Grian closely, and Grian feels the weight of those words pressing in even more. They twist around in his mind, and a part of him wants to push them away, to let go of the feeling that’s followed him since he first woke in the field. But then there’s Mumbo’s voice from earlier, soft and steady, “Let’s agree none of this was your fault.” There’s Scar’s -Desert Scar’s- voice telling him it doesn’t matter.

But was that true? The thought claws at him. Mumbo had said it with a confidence that made Grian want to believe it. And Scar with such seriousness. Yet Scar’s words feel so disconnected, because they’re no longer there, and survival no longer all they have to focus on. And when he thinks of waking up in that field, that eerie sense of knowing, a chill curls around him, whispering that he should have done something differently.

“Grian?” Scar’s voice is gentle, but Grian snaps out of his thoughts, startled by how easily they’d swept him away.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, looking down again, fingers twisting a blade of grass between them. “It’s just… a lot.” He feels both of their eyes on him, and it’s hard to look at them, hard to meet Scar’s gaze, knowing Scar now carries some understanding of what they went through. “Did Xisuma tell you… everything?” he asks, almost dreading the answer. Scar hesitates, glancing over at Mumbo for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Not everything,” he says, his voice careful. “But enough. The lives, the… deaths, the end.”

The last word hits Grian like a stone dropping in his chest. The end, a concept so twisted and tangled he can barely think about it without feeling that dark, lurking blame creep in. He swallows, the words It’s your fault ghosting through his mind once more. He forces himself to take a breath, to ground himself in the moment, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts.

The memories slip through the cracks, like fog creeping into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Bloodied hands. Tears. That cold, ever-present feeling of being watched, eyes boring into him from somewhere just beyond his line of sight.

The words echo louder, sharper. It’s your fault.

Grian clenches his hands, fingers digging into the earth as if he can ground himself, hold himself steady. But the sensation lingers, clawing its way into his mind. Beside him, Scar shifts, still watching him closely, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask. Grian wonders if Scar sees it; sees the darkness, the blame hanging over him like a shroud. He forces himself to look up, meeting Scar’s eyes, searching for something, anything, that might tell him what Scar knows, what he thinks of him now.

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words, and for a moment, Grian feels exposed, as if everything he’s holding inside is visible, hovering in the air between them. But then Scar reaches out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, his touch steady and warm, grounding in a way Grian didn’t expect.

And he’s back in the desert. Back on Monopoly Mountain. Before the betrayals, before anyone lost their final life. When it was still monopolies and a llama and a debt.

The memory slips in, seamless and sudden. The warmth of the desert sun presses down on him, the dry, familiar grit of sand between his fingers, between his feathers, Scar’s laughter echoing through the space. The feeling of safety is overwhelming, disarming. It’s just them, a stretch of sun-bleached sand, their silly games and deals, the absurd loyalty to their little kingdom.

He can see Scar, crouched beside him, eyes bright with mischief, talking animatedly about some plot or another. They’d sat there countless times, discussing plans, hatching schemes, and dreaming up ridiculous ideas, as if nothing outside of it even mattered. Scar’s hand rests on his shoulder now, just like it did back then. Only then, Grian didn’t flinch from it, didn’t feel like he had something to hide.

This is what it was like before, he realizes, a pang of something aching in his chest. Before I woke up with blood on my hands and betrayal like a stain on my memory.

The memory tugs at him, strong and bittersweet, and Grian clings to it, wanting to stay in this place, their desert, where the weight of guilt and fear didn’t exist. But it slips from him, melting into the present, where Scar’s hand is still warm on his shoulder, his expression steady and quietly reassuring.

For a moment, Grian is caught between then and now, the past and whatever tangled version of the present he’s supposed to inhabit. The desert lingers, and he can still feel Scar’s laughter, the warmth of their shared schemes. The sense that, for once, it was just the two of them against the world. Against whatever it was they had to survive. And now here Scar is, looking at him with that same familiar trust, that warmth that cuts right through the murk of everything else.

But a thought gnaws at him, sharp and insistent. Scar doesn’t know. Not about the blood, the betrayals, or the quiet, horrible way it had all ended. Maybe he thinks he knows, he said he knew the end, after all, said Xisuma had explained it, but Grian can see it now, clear as day, that Scar doesn’t understand. Not fully. Not if he’s looking at Grian like that.

Grian swallows, glancing away to avoid Scar’s steady gaze. If Scar truly understood the end, if he’d lived it too, would he still sit beside him with such easy warmth? Would he still be here, reaching out to him as if nothing had gone so horribly wrong?

“Grian?” Scar’s voice is soft, a gentle tug, and Grian forces himself to look back. Scar’s face is open, his expression both concerned and unguarded.

He tries to find the words, something to explain, but it’s like trying to describe a shadow in the dark. All he can see is Scar’s face, the easy warmth there that somehow persists, even now. And it strikes him: maybe Scar would still look at him like that, even knowing everything. Even after the betrayal, after Scar’s last act had been one of acceptance and surrender. After Grian had returned, eyes dark with a need for revenge, Scar had turned on Bdubs to offer Grian the victory.

For everything you’ve did for me, to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the enchanter.

The memory swells up, unbidden and sharp. Grian remembers Scar’s voice, calm, almost reverent, as he’d handed him the win, like he was offering him something that he truly believed belonged to him. And Scar had looked at him with such acceptance, a strange peace in his eyes that lingered even after Grian had reluctantly agreed to a final fight in the cactus ring.

He realizes now that Scar had given him permission to end it. And even then, Scar had looked at him like this; steadfast, unblinking, without an ounce of resentment.

It’s not only the memory of killing Scar that weighs on him, he realizes, but what had come after, the part he can barely bring himself to remember. The fall. The last, desperate act of surrender as he’d thrown himself from the cliff, accepting that final darkness, the hollow descent. The shame of it prickles at his mind, bitter and unshakable. He’d taken the game’s twisted rules to their ultimate end, and something inside him hasn’t forgiven him for it. Throwing away his sacrifice.

Scar’s hand squeezes his shoulder, the warmth startling him back to the present, back to the grass under his hands, to the soft hum of the world around him.

“G?” Scar’s voice is gentle, his brow creased with concern. “You look… like you’re somewhere else.” He manages a small nod, forcing a shaky breath.

“I guess I am,” he murmurs, glancing up. There’s a sadness in his gaze that he can’t quite shake. The air between them settles, quiet and thick, as if they’re all balancing on the edge of something unsaid. Grian can feel the weight of both their gazes on him, a comforting presence even as it presses against the turmoil inside him. He’s not sure how much to say, how much they could even understand.

“Whatever it is, Grian, we’re here,” Mumbo says softly, his voice steady but holding a familiar warmth. Grian nods, grateful, though words still seem hard to reach.

He catches Scar looking at him, a flicker of curiosity and something else in his eyes, but it’s only when Scar’s gaze drops to his wings that Grian notices. Scar’s expression shifts, something almost like concern creeping in as he studies them.

It takes Grian a moment to follow his line of sight. His wings, feathers sticking out at odd angles, dirt caught in the edges, some feathers bent and haphazardly tucked away. They look rough, he can see that now, but it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone would notice. In the game, his wings had been a nuisance more than anything, something that made hiding harder, something that got in the way. Only Scar had seemed to check in on them once in a while. Scar’s brow furrows, his gaze lingering on the feathers.

“They… your wings,” he begins, searching for the right words. “They’re not… well, you used to take such care of them.” He doesn’t look away, and something about his gaze is so gentle, so genuinely concerned, that Grian feels a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest. Mumbo notices too, his eyes softening as he looks.

“Yeah, you used to fuss over them all the time. Even a bent feather was enough for you to stop and fix it.” He chuckles, though it’s laced with sadness. “Now they look… well, less you.” Grian shifts uncomfortably, a strange defensiveness prickling at him.

“They’re fine,” he says, though the words sound hollow even to him. He brushes a hand over his feathers, feeling the grit of dirt (not sad), there, the bent edges that scrape against his fingers. “I just… haven’t thought about it much, I guess.”

“Not like you to leave them like that,” Scar says gently, though there’s no judgment in his tone. Just a quiet understanding, an invitation to be honest, to explain. “I know, back in… back there, things were different. But you always cared about them here. They’re… well, a part of you.” His gaze is steady, warm, and Grian can feel the weight of his words settling into him.

He doesn’t remember that version of himself, the one who cared enough to tend to his wings, to make sure each feather was in place. He doesn’t remember why he would have bothered at all. Then again, Scar had said something about Grian flying. And seeing Scar look at him like this, something tugs at him, an almost instinctive sense of loss for something he can’t quite touch.

“They were more of a burden than anything back there,” he admits softly, glancing down. “I couldn’t even fly. Just dragged them along like dead weight.” Mumbo’s expression shifts, a hint of sadness flickering across his face.

“But here, they’re not,” he says gently.

Grian lets the silence settle, his fingers still absently smoothing a feather here and there, though the motions feel foreign, almost forced. Part of him still resents the weight of his wings, the way they’d marked him in the game, drawing attention when he’d most wanted to disappear. But here, in this familiar world, with Mumbo and Scar sitting beside him, it’s different. He can almost see himself in the way they describe, the version of him that would have cared, that would have fixed each feather with quiet attention.

“You know,” Scar starts, his tone soft, “I could help, if you want. I mean, I know it’s usually something you like to do yourself, used to at least, but… well, I don’t mind. You used to let me sometimes. I’d just… help get things in order.” There’s a fondness in Scar’s voice, an unspoken memory lingering between them, something that Grian feels but can’t quite recall.

The offer lingers, and for a moment, Grian feels himself slip back to the desert. He remembers those days, the relentless sand catching in his feathers, the way each grain felt like it dug deeper, a subtle ache that was impossible to ignore. Scar had been there too, always watching with that strange gentleness, even when the stakes were highest. At some points, without words, Scar had noticed him trying to brush out the grit on his own, struggling. And he’d stepped in, offering to help with a quiet nod, a steadying hand, nothing more.

Back then, it had been terrifying in a way. Scar had been on his last life, and Grian knew how vulnerable it made him to sit with his back turned, to let someone else touch his wings, to be that exposed. Owing a life or not. But Scar had been careful, calm, the grit and roughness softened under his hands. He’d handled each feather with a surprising delicacy, almost reverence, brushing out each layer with patience Grian hadn’t expected.

The thought brings a pang of something bittersweet, a memory both comforting and sharp. It was strange, but Scar’s touch had been different. That wasn’t out of duty, or strategy, or even survival; it was just… kindness. Something that felt so rare.

Grian nods, a silent acceptance, though his heart beats faster as he shifts slightly, allowing Scar to settle in behind him. There’s an odd tightness in his chest, a wariness that feels both misplaced and entirely fitting. They’re here, on Hermitcraft, not in the harsh desert with the looming shadows of suspicion and survival, but still… something in him remains tense, caught between trust and instinct.

Scar, however, doesn’t push, moving slowly, shuffling into place as though he can sense Grian’s apprehension. He places a hand gently on Grian’s shoulder, a steady presence that feels grounding rather than invasive, and gives him a reassuring squeeze.

“All right,” Scar murmurs, his voice low and calm, a reminder that he’s right there, that he’s not about to do anything sudden. “Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?”

Grian closes his eyes, nodding, and he feels Scar’s hands on his wings, careful and precise as they work through the bent feathers, straightening, smoothing, brushing out the small flecks of dirt. Scar works with that same surprising reverence he remembers, handling each feather as though it’s something precious, something deserving of care. And despite himself, Grian begins to relax, the tightness in his chest easing with each deliberate, careful touch.

He can feel Mumbo beside him, his quiet support steadying him, and there’s a warmth in the air between them all, something safe, something… familiar. The lingering darkness of the game, the weight of that whispered blame, fades a little, slipping farther into the background as he lets himself lean into the comfort of this moment.

And for a moment, as the tension melts from his wings, the heavy weight of those whispered words, It’s your fault, feels just a little farther away.

Chapter Text

The evening air is thick with the fading warmth of the desert sun, casting long shadows over the sand as the light begins to soften, slipping into shades of orange and purple. Grian sits with his back to Scar, his wings extended slightly, feathers ruffled and out of place. This is the second time Scar has done it, though it still feels strange letting someone touch his wings. A red touch his wings.

Scar’s hands work gently, weaving through the feathers with a practised ease that Grian can’t quite place. It’s careful, meticulous, and Scar’s touch feels oddly familiar, like he’s done this before. Somewhere else. Maybe another life entirely. Grian doesn’t ask; he only wonders, feeling his eyes grow heavy as he lets himself focus on the quiet rhythm of Scar’s movements.

“Didn’t think getting sand in hair was annoying enough,” Scar says, his voice light, a grin in his tone even if Grian can’t see his face. “But feathers? That’s a whole other level.” Grian huffs a quiet laugh, feeling a faint smile tug at his lips.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’d be better off without them. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Trouble, sure,” Scar agrees, picking a bit of grit from a feather with a delicate touch, “but I don’t know, Grian. I think they suit you.” He sounds thoughtful, almost wistful, and Grian feels his chest tighten, the fleeting warmth of the compliment sneaking through the walls he’s built around himself.

The silence stretches between them, broken only by the soft rustle of feathers, the distant hum of the desert, and the small, careful sounds of Scar’s work. It’s quiet here in the waning light, the ever-present threat of the game fading for a while.

Grian finds himself drifting in the calm, Scar’s steady hands working through his feathers, the quiet filling the space between them like a balm. He feels exposed, not just physically, but in a way that digs deeper, unsettlingly close to a place he’s tried to keep hidden. Trust is scarce here, fragile, and dangerous if misplaced. Yet somehow, he finds himself holding onto this, letting Scar’s care wash over him, not ready to break the silence.

But the thoughts that have been circling in his mind won’t let go, pressing forward as Scar smooths another feather.

“Scar?” Grian’s voice is quiet, hesitant. He isn’t sure how to put it into words, the strange weight that’s been building in his chest since they arrived. But he can feel it, and maybe he owes it to Scar, somehow, to try and say it.

“Yeah?” Scar responds, his tone soft, but his hands don’t stop, moving carefully, methodically.

“I… I think this was all my fault somehow,” Grian says, barely above a whisper. The confession hangs there, raw and unguarded. He braces himself for a reaction, for something that might feel like judgment, but all he hears is the slight pause in Scar’s work, the faint rustle as his hands still. Scar lets out a quiet laugh, so gentle it almost surprises Grian.

“Grian,” he begins, his voice warm, like he’s trying to reassure him with just that tone, “I already told you I forgive you for the creeper. We can’t keep-”

“Not that,” Grian interrupts, shaking his head. “Everything. All of us being here.”

Scar’s hands are still for a moment longer, and Grian waits, the silence between them stretching taut. Then Scar resumes, his touch light as he continues his careful work.

“Maybe,” Scar finally says, his voice thoughtful, without a hint of blame. Grian’s heart sinks. He’d been hoping for a stronger answer, some reassurance that would dissolve the guilt that’s been gnawing at him.

“That’s it?” he asks, a slight edge to his tone that he didn’t mean to let slip. He feels vulnerable, unsteady, like he’s laid too much bare. Scar just nods, though Grian can feel the easy acceptance in his touch, the same calm he’d had since the game began.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t think anything that happened before really matters.”

Grian lets out a shaky breath, surprised at the release those simple words bring. Nothing before matters? It feels like an impossible truth, but hearing it spoken aloud, so casually, from Scar of all people, is oddly comforting.

They fall into a quiet rhythm, the gentle tug and smoothing of feathers grounding Grian more than he’d like to admit. Scar works with a patience that makes it easy to forget the weight on his shoulders, if only for a moment. But then Scar breaks the silence, his voice as light and nonchalant as if he were asking about the weather.

“Why do you think it’s your fault, though?” he asks. “Why would it all come down to you?” Grian hesitates, feeling the weight of that question, the strange guilt that’s shadowed him since he first woke up here. He swallows, trying to find the words.

“I… I don’t know. It was this feeling I had when I woke up in the field.” The memory flickers in his mind, vivid and unsettling. “It was like… like I knew we weren’t supposed to be there, but also that it was my fault we were.” Scar’s hands don’t falter as he listens, still moving in that same gentle rhythm, pulling the grit and sand from Grian’s feathers. His voice is calm, a touch playful even, as he answers.

“If that’s how it felt, I wouldn’t trust it too much. Not here. This place… it’s built to mess with us, I think.” Grian mulls over Scar’s words, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. There’s a certain comfort in the way Scar dismisses the seriousness of his guilt so easily, like he’s brushing off dust from his hands. Then, Scar’s voice breaks through again, carrying that familiar teasing edge.

“Besides,” he adds, a playful grin audible in his tone, “don’t you think it’s a bit self-centred to think the whole world revolves around you? ‘Oh no, all of us are here because of me, the great and powerful Grian.’” He chuckles softly, his fingers brushing gently along a feather. Grian huffs, torn between annoyance and amusement.

“I don’t think the world revolves around me, Scar,” he mutters, though the small grin tugging at his mouth betrays him.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Scar replies, a bit of laughter slipping through. “You’re just convinced we’re all here because of you, huh?” He gives a dramatic sigh. “What a burden you must carry, Mr. Universe.” Grian rolls his eyes but lets himself laugh, a quiet chuckle that feels lighter than anything he’s felt in days.

“It’s not like that,” he says, though even he isn’t sure if he believes it completely. The guilt lingers, but Scar’s jokes slice through it, peeling back the edges just enough to let in a sliver of something else; maybe relief, maybe something close to acceptance. Scar pauses for a moment, a softness creeping into his voice.

“Listen, Grian… I don’t know why we’re here, and I definitely don’t know who’s to blame, if anyone. But I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter any more.” He resumes his work, steady and calm. “We’re here, right? That’s all we can focus on. Making it through together.” Grian nods slowly, letting Scar’s words sink in. Maybe he’s right; maybe the why and the how don’t matter as much as surviving this game does. But the thought nags at him, a small whisper in the back of his mind that refuses to fade. Someone placed them here. That much feels certain, as sure as the sand under his hands and the sun sinking below the horizon.

“So… you don’t wonder who put us here?” Grian asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid the question itself might break the fragile peace they’ve found. Scar hums thoughtfully.

“I mean, sure,” Scar says after a moment, “I think about it. But that’s a big question, G. A big question with no answers, not out here anyway. It could drive you mad, you know?” He gives a shrug, his tone light, as if he’s brushing off the thought. But there’s a note of seriousness lurking there, a quiet acknowledgment that, despite the lightness in his tone, he understands the weight of Grian’s worry. Grian hesitates, his gaze distant.

“I just… sometimes it feels like we’re being watched. Like someone’s looking over my shoulder, just waiting to see what I’ll do.” The admission slips out before he can stop it, and he feels the weight of those words settle uncomfortably in the quiet between them. Scar glances up from his wings, meeting Grian’s eyes with a raised brow, a hint of humour in his gaze.

“I mean, that sounds like typical Grian paranoia,” he teases, but there’s no bite to it. If anything, he seems curious, interested. “But hey, maybe you’re onto something. I wouldn’t put it past whoever threw us here to keep an eye on their… little experiment.”

The word lingers between them, heavy and unsettling. Grian feels it settle over him like a shadow, a quiet confirmation of what he’s only dared to consider. He glances away, watching the sand as it shifts in the evening breeze, the desert stretching out endlessly around them, vast and empty, and yet… it feels anything but.

“Experiment,” he repeats softly, the word barely more than a breath. It’s a chilling thought, the idea that they’re being observed, that their every choice is part of some unknown design. Scar’s fingers continue to work through his feathers, his touch calm, grounding, and Grian takes a steadying breath, focusing on the gentleness of it, the reminder that he’s not alone here. “Maybe that’s all we are,” he says, his voice quiet. “Pieces on a board, playing out some game none of us ever agreed to.”

Scar’s fingers pause briefly, his hands still resting against Grian’s wings as he considers the weight of the words between them. Grian glances over his shoulder, catching the pensive look on Scar’s face. Despite the quiet strength he exudes, there’s a softness in Scar’s expression, something thoughtful and almost wistful.

“Do you think we… knew each other before?” Grian asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The question feels loaded, pressing on some unspoken boundary. “There had to be a before, right? Something that made us… us.”

Scar’s gaze drifts out over the desert, his eyes following the last fading light on the horizon. The thought hangs in the air, a sense of something missing from both of them, yet somehow binding them. He’s quiet for a moment, his hand gently brushing over a feather, smoothing it back into place as he finally speaks.

“You know,” Scar says softly, “I think maybe… it doesn’t really matter if there was. I mean…” He smiles, though it’s tinged with a hint of sadness. “I can’t imagine anything else after this. The way we are now, Grian. Whatever came before, whatever’s supposed to come after…” He shakes his head, as if trying to shake away the weight of things left unsaid. “I think I’d just keep choosing this. Right here.”

Something catches in Grian at Scar’s words, a feeling he can’t quite grasp, like reaching for something in the dark. Scar’s voice is steady, full of warmth, and there’s a strange familiarity to it, something deep and comforting, like the kind of trust that isn’t learned but simply known. Grian’s chest tightens, and he doesn’t know why. There’s a part of him that feels he should understand, that some answer lies in those words, in that look in Scar’s eyes, but he’s too close to see it clearly.

For a moment, they sit in silence, watching the last sliver of sun dip below the horizon. The world around them shifts, shadows deepening as night falls, and Grian feels a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. Here, in the fading light, with Scar behind him, the questions seem a little smaller, the worries a little less sharp. It’s enough, he thinks, just to be here.

Scar’s voice breaks the quiet, soft but carrying the hint of a smile.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he says, his tone teasing, but his eyes remain gentle, understanding. “Thinking too much again?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Grian admits, his voice almost a whisper. “Just… trying to make sense of it all.” Scar’s hand gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze, reassuring, steady.

“Maybe you don’t need to make sense of it all tonight,” he says. “Maybe it’s enough to just be here. Tomorrow can worry about itself.” His words are simple, but they strike something in Grian, a quiet comfort that settles deep in his chest. The feeling lingers, soft and warm, a reassurance that he doesn’t have to carry it all alone.

Scar’s hand lingers too, on his shoulder, and the warmth of his touch feels grounding, like an anchor holding Grian in the present. The silence stretches comfortably between them, and for a moment, Grian lets himself breathe, lets the questions settle, even if only for now. Then Scar gives him a playful nudge, a grin breaking through the quiet.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing we don’t have to question,” he says, his voice a little too light. “Your wings? Absolute perfection. You’ll be breaking hearts across the desert now, G.” Grian can’t help but snort, rolling his eyes even as a reluctant smile tugs at his lips.

“Breaking hearts, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, sceptical but amused, glancing over his shoulder to catch Scar’s exaggerated, approving nod.

“Absolutely. I mean, look at that preening job!” Scar gestures dramatically, as if unveiling a masterpiece. “The feathers are all lined up, and they’re practically shimmering in this moonlight. I’d say that’s a job well done if I’ve ever seen one.” There’s a playful pride in Scar’s voice, and he gives Grian a quick thumbs-up, clearly pleased with himself. Grian huffs, trying to suppress his laughter.

“Well, I’ll give you this: they do feel… better.” He extends one wing a bit, marvelling at how smooth and neat the feathers feel, free of the grit and rough edges that had weighed him down. Scar’s grin widens, and he leans back with a dramatic sigh, stretching his arms out as if settling in for the long haul.

“Well, guess I’ll have to do this every evening now, huh? Can’t have our desert’s finest winged wonder looking anything less than flawless.” Grian rolls his eyes, giving him a gentle shove.

“Oh, please. Don’t start acting like this is some daily obligation. I don’t think I could stand the ego boost you’d get from it.” Scar laughs, easily keeping his balance from the push, and carrying the kind of laughter that lights up his whole face, warmth spilling from his eyes. It’s contagious, and Grian finds himself smiling despite himself. He opens his mouth, hesitating for a second before he speaks, his voice quieter. “Thank you, though. Really, Scar, I… I mean it.” But Scar waves him off, a teasing grin still playing on his lips.

“Oh, no, no, you don’t get to thank me. You’ve kept me alive this long. Least I can do is repay you a little.” Grian’s eyes narrow playfully, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Kept you alive, huh? Should I remind you that the creeper that took your first life came directly from me?” Scar pauses, a comically exaggerated expression of betrayal crossing his face.

“Oh, that’s right!” he says, clutching his chest in mock horror. “I’m here giving your wings a professional-grade tune-up, and all I get in return is a reminder of my tragic demise?” Grian lets out a laugh, the sound light and genuine.

“Well, that was my way of saying ‘thank you,’ you know. Gotta keep you humble.” Scar shakes his head, feigning a dramatic sigh.

“Humble, he says, after single-handedly leading me to my end.” But there’s no edge to his words.

For a moment, they both fall silent, the playful energy settling into a calm that feels… safe. Grian watches the last bits of light sink below the horizon, casting the desert in deep shades of purple and blue. This small world they’ve carved out in the endless sand, with just the two of them, feels like something worth holding onto. Scar finally speaks, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful.

“You know… for all the talk of creepers and tragedy,” he pauses, a little smile on his face, “I think this whole mess would feel a lot darker without you here, G.” He doesn’t look up, but there’s an unspoken weight to his words that makes Grian’s chest tighten again.

“You really know how to twist a compliment into something dramatic,” Grian says, voice soft but amused, glancing at Scar out of the corner of his eye. Scar chuckles, shaking his head.

“Guess it takes one to know one.” He leans back, propping himself up on his hands, gaze fixed on the stars beginning to blink to life above them. “I mean it, though. I know this place, this… whole game, is pretty messed up. But we’ve got each other out here, and somehow, that makes it all… I don’t know, better?”

Grian nods, looking down as he runs a hand through his feathers, letting Scar’s words sink in. They’re not just hollow reassurances; he can feel the sincerity there, woven into the easy way Scar talks, the way he brushes off the danger and the dread that hangs over them like a storm cloud. And maybe that’s what he’s been clinging to all along; their strange partnership, the rare comfort of shared laughter amidst the chaos.

“It does make it better,” he admits quietly, watching the sky. “I mean, as much as this whole… whatever this is, can be better.” Scar laughs, and there’s a flicker of brightness in his eyes.

“That’s the spirit.” He reaches over, giving Grian’s wing one last playful ruffle. “Now, go on; go wreck all my hard work, why don’t you”

Chapter Text

The evening air settles cool and quiet around them, the soft murmur of leaves and distant sounds folding into the stillness. Grian sits cross-legged in the grass, wings extended, as Scar works through each feather with that same steady patience. Mumbo’s sits next to them, idly picking at blades of grass. It feels peaceful here, calm and removed from the chaos Grian has felt churning inside him since returning. But now, with Scar’s gentle touch on his wings, that restlessness begins to fade, just a little.

There’s something familiar in Scar’s movements, something practised and sure, and Grian realizes suddenly why his Scar had been so adept at this. He’d done it before, not in some far-off life, but here.

The realization sends a strange warmth through him, a quiet link connecting the present to that desert. The easy familiarity of Scar’s hands, the way he seems to know exactly how to smooth the feathers back into place; it’s all the same. Grian shifts slightly, feeling a strange sense of gratitude.

“You know…” he begins, his voice almost hesitant, “you did this a few times there, too.” Scar pauses briefly, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Really?” he asks, a bit of surprise flickering in his gaze, but then he chuckles, as if brushing it off. “Well, you must’ve needed it. If you let them get to this shape there too,” His voice is teasing, and he flashes Grian a grin before returning to his work.

“Guess so,” Grian replies, managing a small smile. They were most definitely in worse shape in the desert, but he doesn’t feel the need to mention that.

“You know, you usually do this yourself,” Mumbo remarks, his voice light but warm. “You’re pretty protective of your wings. But every once in a while, you’d let someone help you out; me, Scar, a few others.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t count how many times you’d fuss over a bent feather or stray bit of dust like it was the end of the world.”

Grian tilts his head, processing Mumbo’s words. It’s so hard to imagine himself caring so deeply for his wings, to the point of being protective, even fussy about them. That in this world they were more than just a colourful weight behind him. Scar chuckles, adjusting a feather with a practised ease that, even now, surprises him.

“Oh, definitely,” he says, voice laced with fondness. “You’d make sure every feather was perfect. I mean, you’d check them after the slightest brush with a leaf. Which was often, it’s you we’re talking about after all. You wouldn’t let just anyone mess with them, either. Made us feel pretty special, honestly,” he adds with a grin, gently nudging a feather back into place. Mumbo nods, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“You’d get frustrated because you couldn’t reach certain parts of them on your own. The number of times you’d rope us into helping because of it.” Grian lets out a soft laugh, though it feels almost foreign to him. He glances over his shoulder at Scar, who gives him a reassuring smile, his hands steady and sure. It’s comforting, the way Scar works without hesitation, each movement gentle and precise. Mumbo glances between them thoughtfully, his expression a mix of curiosity and nostalgia. Then, after a brief pause, Mumbo asks.

“What about Jimmy?” Grian looks at him, confused.

“What about him?” Mumbo raises his brows slightly, as if surprised.

“He has wings too, right? I just figured… well, back in Evo, you mentioned you used to help each other a lot.”

Grian blinks, taken aback by the thought. Timmy, helping him with his wings? It feels strange, almost foreign. Timmy was an ally in the game, someone he’d trusted well enough. But he can’t imagine the same kind of trust he has with Scar, not in that way. The idea of himself trusting even another avian with something so vulnerable feels distant, something that belongs to another life he can’t recall.

This one, he supposes.

“I don’t know,” Grian says slowly, shaking his head. “I mean, Tim was an ally, sure. I trusted him more than I did most of the people there, I guess.” He pauses, feeling the memories flicker like shadows in the back of his mind. “But not… like this.” Scar’s hands pause for just a second, his touch stilling on Grian’s feathers, but then he continues. Grian can feel Scar’s steady, familiar presence at his back, grounding him in a way that he doesn’t fully understand. He’s almost grateful when Scar breaks the silence.

“Did you know Jimmy before the game?” Scar asks, his tone casual but genuinely curious, as if he’s trying to piece together the threads of Grian’s past. Grian guesses Xisuma must have mentioned the others in the game.

“Yeah, he did,” Mumbo answers. “Jimmy wasn’t the only one, either. BigB and Martyn, too.”

“I guess this game really brought people together… or back together.” He offers a wry smile. “But you don’t remember them either, then?”

Grian lets out a slow breath, his gaze drifting to the horizon, where the soft colours of evening have faded into dusk. He feels the weight of the blank spaces in his memory pressing down on him, heavy and quiet. These people, they’re supposed to mean something, supposed to carry weight beyond the game, beyond the fractured pieces he can grasp. And yet… nothing. No warmth, no memory, only faint impressions from a game he barely understands.

“No,” he says finally, his voice tinged with something like regret. “Outside the game, they’re… just names, really.” He frowns, the frustration simmering under his skin, the feeling of loss creeping in around him.

“Must be frustrating,” Scar murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. “To have all these people tied to you somehow, but… no ties left to remember.” Grian nods, a small, bitter smile tugging at his lips.

“It is,” he admits. “It’s like trying to grasp smoke. I know I should know them, but… they’re just strangers in a field.” He hesitates, the memory of that first waking moment tugging at him again, sharp and unsettling. “Except that somehow, even then, it felt like it was my fault.”

“Your fault?” Scar’s hands pause, and he leans around to look at Grian, his brow furrowed in surprise.

“My fault?” Grian echoes, realizing too late the weight of his words. He feels Scar’s eyes on him, questioning, curious, and the thought of unravelling that tangle of guilt, of exposing the depth of what he’s been carrying, makes his chest tighten.

“No, I mean… not really,” Grian says quickly, waving a hand as if to brush the whole thing away. “It’s… I just felt that way at first. I mean, everyone must have felt a little… lost, right?” He manages a quick smile, one he hopes is convincing, but Scar’s eyes narrow a fraction, his gaze softening.

“Yeah, maybe,” Scar says, his voice gentle but probing, like he’s trying to catch onto something Grian’s letting slip away. “But that’s not what you said.” Grian lets out a small laugh, turning his gaze to the horizon, avoiding Scar’s searching eyes.

“Forget it, Scar. It’s nothing. Just… a feeling that hit me when I woke up there.” He shrugs, trying to make his voice sound casual, dismissive. “Doesn’t mean anything. I mean, that whole game was meant to mess with our heads, right? Probably just part of that.” Scar watches him for a moment, his expression thoughtful, but eventually, he nods, giving a small smile that Grian can feel more than see.

“Well, if you say so,” Scar says, the warmth in his voice easing some of the tension that had started coiling in Grian’s chest. “But if you ever feel like sharing, you know I’ll listen.” He resumes working on Grian’s wings with gentle, careful hands, as if the conversation never touched that darker place.

Grian feels a shiver run through him, something between relief and dread. Scar’s hands move with that same steady care, but the silence now feels thicker, as if caught in something neither knows quite how to break. He’s grateful for Scar’s easy acceptance, the way he lets the conversation drop without pressing further, yet part of him knows that he’s left something hanging between them, an unfinished sentence he can’t just laugh away.

“Actually… wow, look at that,” Grian says suddenly, his voice too bright, forcing a laugh. He gestures vaguely at the sky, the horizon fading from purple into the deep indigo of night. “It’s getting late, huh? Mobs will be out soon. Wouldn’t want a creeper to explode here after you’ve fixed up my wings.”

Scar blinks, a bit taken aback by the abrupt shift in Grian’s tone, but a grin quickly returns to his face, and he nods, playing along with Grian’s change of pace.

“Right, right. Imagine ruining my masterpiece with an explosion. That would be tragic!” he chuckles, though his gaze lingers on Grian for a beat longer than necessary, a quiet curiosity there. Mumbo stands and stretches, dusting his hands off as he glances up at the darkening sky.

“He’s got a point. No sense in testing our luck. And Scar, I’d hate for all that hard work to go to waste,” he says with a wry smile, falling into step beside them as they begin to make their way back toward the mansion.

Scar falls in on Grian’s other side, the three of them moving quietly through the grass, the faint sound of their footsteps barely breaking the silence. Grian feels the comforting weight of their presence on either side, steady and familiar. He finds himself grateful that neither of them is pressing him, that they’re just… here. But even with the comfort of their presence, his thoughts circle back to that heavy whisper, echoing through him like a ghost that refuses to be laid to rest. Mumbo seems to pick up on the subtle tension that still clings to him, and after a few moments, he speaks, his tone light but warm.

“You know, Grian, if you’re feeling off about all this, any of it, you don’t have to carry it alone. It’s not just you against… whatever this is.” His voice is gentle, inviting, but not insistent. Grian swallows, his fingers flexing by his sides as he nods.

“Thanks, Mumbo,” he says quietly, meaning it. “I appreciate it.” He doesn’t elaborate. Scar nudges him with his elbow, his grin breaking through the quiet.

“Don’t get all broody on us,” Scar says with a grin that manages to break through the quiet, his voice light and teasing. “I mean, I can only handle so much before I start getting gloomy too. We can’t have that, can we?”

Grian manages a small chuckle, the sound strange to his own ears but grounding, familiar. He glances between them, noticing the easy warmth that Mumbo and Scar bring, each in their own way. It’s strange, almost surreal, how their presence alone seems to keep the weight from pressing quite so hard on him. He wonders if it’s truly their presence, or if some deeper, unbroken instinct still trusts them.

“Well, we definitely can’t have a gloomy Scar,” he replies, matching Scar’s playful tone. “The world might just turn upside down.” They laugh together, the sound echoing softly in the quiet evening air as they step into the mansion. The spacious, unfamiliar warmth of the place wraps around them, the dim lighting casting long shadows that feel oddly comforting instead of ominous. And Grian feels a sense of peace settling into him.

Once inside, Grian pauses, glancing between Scar and Mumbo with a newfound lightness.

“So… what’s next?”

“Well,” Mumbo begins, eyeing Grian and Scar with a raised brow, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving. I, at least, have been running on cookies alone today, and I don’t think my stomach can handle any more sugar.” His tone is casual, but his eyes flick to Grian with a soft, thoughtful look, as if he’s making sure he’s alright. Grian’s stomach growls in response, and he realizes with a start that he can’t even remember the last real meal he had. He nods, smiling.

“Dinner sounds… good. Really good, actually.” Scar claps his hands together, his eyes lighting up.

“Now we’re talking! Let’s see what we can whip up in the kitchen. We’ve got the finest ingredients, and I bet we can make something even fancier than a cookie.”

“Is that a challenge?” Mumbo asks, a playful gleam in his eye. Scar raises an eyebrow, his grin turning sly.

“Maybe it is. You think you’re up for it, Mumbo?” Grian chuckles as he watches them, feeling his own shoulders finally relax as they head for the kitchen. There’s something deeply comforting in the simplicity of it all.

The three of them move through the hallways, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone. Grian trails just behind, watching the easy banter between Scar and Mumbo. And soon enough they enter. Scar bounds ahead, rummaging through cabinets and drawers, occasionally holding up an item and grinning like he’s just unearthed a treasure.

“Look at this! Carrots, bread… ooh, potatoes! Mumbo, what can we make with potatoes?” Mumbo, already eyeing the stove, rolls up his sleeves with exaggerated seriousness.

“Potatoes, you say? Oh, I think I could work with that.” He glances at Grian, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Think you’re up for a little potato magic?” Grian laughs, sliding onto a stool by the counter and watching as they assemble ingredients with enthusiasm.

“I’m not sure ‘potato magic’ is a thing, but I’d love to see you try.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Mumbo says, feigning a grand chef’s tone. “These potatoes will be legendary. Scar, fetch me the carrots!” Scar salutes dramatically, grabbing a group of carrots and sliding them over with a flourish.

The kitchen fills with the comforting sounds of cooking, the sizzle of potatoes, the clink of utensils, and the occasional burst of laughter as Scar and Mumbo trade ideas and terrible puns. Grian finds himself caught up in it, in the easy rhythm of their company, and realizes that he feels almost… content.

As the food cooks, Scar sets the table with an uncharacteristic level of care, fussing over details, even finding a single flower from somewhere to place in a glass. Grian grins as Scar sets it down with a proud flourish.

“Look at that! Restaurant-quality ambiance,” Scar says, nodding at his handiwork. “What more could we possibly need?”

“Maybe a world-class chef to go with it?” Grian teases, and Mumbo raises a spatula in mock offence.

“Are you saying I’m not world-class?”

“Oh no, Mumbo,” Grian chuckles. “I’d say you’re well on your way.”

They settle around the table, laughter and warmth filling the room as they dig into the meal Mumbo’s conjured up from their humble ingredients. The simple dinner tastes better than Grian could have imagined, each bite carrying a mix of flavour.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Mumbo asks, leaning back with a satisfied grin as he watches Grian and Scar take their first bites. Grian hums, savouring the mix of butter and herbs, the crispiness of the potatoes.

“Alright, Mumbo, you weren’t kidding about that potato magic. I’d rate this meal… nine out of ten.” Scar gasps in exaggerated offence, clutching his chest.

“Nine out of ten? Are you mad, Grian? This deserves at least eleven out of ten!”

“Ten out of ten’s as high as it goes,” Grian replies, deadpan, struggling to keep a straight face as Scar’s dramatic expression turns into a pout. “And besides, I didn’t say anything about the chef’s ego.”

“Oh, it’s perfectly in check,” Mumbo retorts, trying to hold back a smirk. “In fact, it’s so in check that I’m going to go get seconds. Or maybe even thirds. That’s how humble I am.” Mumbo stands up, grabbing his plate and heading back to the counter with an exaggeratedly humble bow that has them all laughing. Scar, ever the opportunist, slides his plate over as well, shooting Mumbo a pleading look.

“Since you're so gracious and modest, could you maybe get me seconds, too?” Mumbo rolls his eyes but obliges, piling another helping onto Scar's plate before plopping down with his own.

Once they’ve eaten their fill, Mumbo leans back, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh.

“Alright, now that we’ve devoured our weight in potatoes, the real question is: what do you want to do next, Grian?” He gestures around, a light-hearted smile on his face. “Do you want us to stay? We could crash here, hang out longer, maybe tell some stories. Or, if you’re up for some quiet, Scar and I can give you some space. Whatever you want, mate.” Scar leans forward, his gaze warm but playful.

“Yeah, the night is yours to command!” Grian looks between the two of them, the question hanging there with more weight than it should. The idea of having the place to himself is tempting, space to clear his thoughts, maybe process the tangled memories without distraction. But, at the same time, the thought of being alone after a day like this, with only his thoughts for company… that doesn’t feel right either. After a moment’s pause, he shakes his head, the decision settling in his mind.

“Stay. I think I’d rather you both stay.” Mumbo’s face lights up with a grin, his eyes warm with relief.

“Alright, it’s decided then. Scar and I are officially on sleepover duty. Now, let’s see what we can do about making this place cosy.” Scar chuckles, pushing back his chair with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Pillows, blankets, maybe even a fort if we’re feeling ambitious,” he says, winking at Grian. “Nothing short of luxury accommodations here at the mansion tonight!” Mumbo stands, clapping his hands.

“Scar, I think we’ve got our mission. Let’s go raid the place for supplies. Grian, make yourself comfortable; we’ll be back before you know it with the comfiest setup you’ve ever seen.” He gives Grian a reassuring smile, his gaze lingering a moment, as if to make sure he’s really okay with this, after a small nod Grian watches them head off.

As their footsteps fade into the hallway, a quiet settles over the room, thick and unfamiliar. Grian shifts in his chair, fingers idly tracing patterns on the table’s surface, and listens. There’s a strange sense of expectation, as though something lingers in the air. The seconds stretch into minutes, and the silence begins to feel almost… loaded, like a pause in a conversation he’s not a part of. He doesn’t know why it feels so heavy.

He glances at the doorway, half-expecting to hear them return any second, but still… nothing. Instead, he’s left with the faint rustling, the quiet ticking of seconds that feel both comfortingly familiar and deeply strange.

Then, faintly, a murmur echoes down the hall. A low hum of voices, indistinct but carrying a tone that’s… serious, maybe? Grian can’t quite tell. He can hear Scar’s voice, usually so light and unguarded, speaking in a tone that sounds different somehow. Mumbo’s voice follows, softer, steady, and maybe it’s the way the words are too far to catch that makes him feel like he’s missing something important.

He shifts in his seat, feeling a faint unease, and then, just as quickly, the silence breaks into laughter echoing through the halls. Scar’s voice, loud and cheerful, calls out, “More pillows for maximum cosiness!” and Mumbo’s warm laughter follows.

Grian relaxes, the unease ebbing as their voices grow louder, closer, filling the silence with their familiar, comforting banter. Whatever that pause had been, whatever had filled those lingering minutes, he lets it slip from his mind as he waits for them to return.

Chapter Text

The door to the kitchen clicks shut behind them, and the soft echoes of laughter fade into the silence of the hallway. Scar glances back, catching a last glimpse of Grian through the crack of the door before it closes completely. He lets out a quiet sigh, his cheerful grin slipping just a little as he turns to Mumbo. They walk side by side down the dimly lit hallway, their footsteps soft against the wooden floor.

After a beat, Mumbo clears his throat, his voice low.

“He’s trying to keep everything together, isn’t he? But… you saw it too, right? There’s something he’s not saying.” Scar nods, his expression shifting from its usual carefree look to something more thoughtful, even a little sombre.

“He mentioned feeling like it was his fault, like he was to blame for everything. But he brushed it off so quickly.” Scar stops, glancing at Mumbo with a sigh. “And I get it, you know? I mean, we’ve all had those moments where things feel like they’re just… on us. But this seems different.” Mumbo frows, grabbing a pillow and blanket from on top of a counter.

“He’s always been quick to carry responsibility,” Mumbo says, his voice gentle, “even when it wasn’t his to carry. But this…” He trails off, shaking his head. Mumbo lets his gaze drift toward the shadowed hallway, his expression more serious than usual. “You know, earlier, after the meeting with X, he asked about Evo,” he says quietly, as if even mentioning it feels significant. “It’s strange, really. But it felt like… he was almost blaming himself for not talking about it more, for keeping things to himself.” Mumbo sighs, the weight of it evident. “I think… maybe he feels like he’s paying the price for his own silence, in some way.”

Scar frowns, a look of concern flickering across his face. He nods slowly, glancing back toward the kitchen door as though he can see Grian through it. He softens his voice, and he leans against the wall beside Mumbo.

“It makes sense, I guess. If he feels like that ‘version’ of himself held back, didn’t trust people with what he was going through… maybe he thinks it’s what landed him where he is now.”

“Maybe.” Mumbo’s voice is thoughtful, his brow creased with worry. “But it’s hard to watch him feel that way. Like he’s got to untangle everything on his own, even if it’s all just fragments.” He pauses, his gaze meeting Scar’s. “Do you think that’s why he keeps pulling back? Because he thinks it’s somehow his own fault?” Scar considers this, folding his arms as he thinks.

“Could be. Or maybe he’s just… lost. You know, like he’s still trying to find his way back to himself, but every step he takes feels like it’s a reminder of what he can’t remember.” Scar’s expression softens, a flicker of sadness crossing his eyes. “It’s rough. I mean, from what I know, which, let’s be real, is next to nothing, Evo sounds like it messed him up. Or… it changed him.” He shakes his head, the faintest trace of frustration breaking through. “And here I am, standing around trying to help without even knowing what happened to him back then. But I guess that doesn’t change what he needs from us now.” Scar leaves the wall to check a box.

Mumbo exhales a long breath, his fingers brushing the edges of his sleeves, a nervous habit Scar’s noticed before.

“He doesn’t remember Evo,” Mumbo says softly, like he’s piecing it together as he speaks. “He doesn’t remember what it meant, what it did to him. And yet, somehow, it feels like it’s still haunting him. Like it left something behind, even if the memories didn’t.” Scar leaves the wall to check a box, his gaze thoughtful but tinged with worry.

“I mean, he doesn’t even remember us, not the way we’re supposed to be. And if what you said is true, that he just disappeared while on that server, maybe he’s carrying that same fear here. Maybe he thinks he’ll vanish again.” Mumbo nods slowly, the weight of Scar’s words settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Maybe. It’s like a pattern, isn’t it? Grian disappears, comes back… different. And it’s not just that he’s changed, it’s that something happens to him during those times.” Scar tilts his head, his expression shifting as curiosity creeps into his voice, grabbing a blanket.

“Do you think this, everything happening now, do you think it’s connected to Evo? I mean, Grian disappearing from his own server for over a year, and now… this? Feels like a lot of coincidences for it to be nothing.” Mumbo hesitates for a moment, his gaze drifting to the faint flicker of light from the kitchen down the hall.

“It has to be, doesn’t it? I mean, look at it all. Grian disappears from Evo for over a year, and when he comes back, he’s… changed. And now, years later, Grian, and a few others, disappear from Hermitcraft. And when he reappears, it’s like… like he’s a different version of himself all over again.” He exhales slowly, shaking his head, as he grabs another few pillows. “How could it not be connected?” Scar furrows his brow, something about Mumbo’s tone catching his attention.

“You’re talking like there’s something more to it,” he says carefully. “Something beyond just… disappearing and coming back. What are you thinking?” Mumbo hesitates again, his voice soft as he chooses his words.

“It’s not just the disappearing, Scar. It’s what happens during that time. Back after Evo, he came back and wouldn’t talk about it. Barely even mentioned the server again. And now…” He trails off, glancing at Scar. “You know what he said earlier? He said he felt watched.” Scar’s brows shoot up, surprise flickering across his face.

“Watched? What do you mean?” Mumbo nods, his expression thoughtful but tense.

“He mentioned it earlier, before we even talked to Xisuma. He said he felt like someone was watching him. And I don’t know if you noticed back when Grian joined Hermitcraft, you didn’t know him well back then, but it was the same thing then too.” Scar’s eyes narrow slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious.

“So he felt watched back then too, after Evo?” Mumbo nods slowly.

“He never outright said it, but looking back, it felt like it. The way he acted; always glancing over his shoulder, that tension in him, like he was waiting for something to happen. It wasn’t constant, but it was there. It disappeared over time, once he got more comfortable here, but this… it reminds me of that.” Scar frowns, his brow furrowing as he processes Mumbo’s words.

“So you think… That whatever was bothering him then is bothering him now? That it’s the same thing?”

“I don’t know,” Mumbo admits, his voice tinged with frustration. “But it’s hard to ignore the similarities. It’s like… whatever it was back then, it never really went away. It just got buried. And now, with everything that’s happened, it’s come back again, stronger this time.” Scar lets out a low whistle, shaking his head.

“That’s… a lot to take in.” Mumbo glances toward the kitchen, his expression softening with concern.

“Yeah. And I don’t think he even realizes how much it’s weighing on him. It’s like he’s trying to make sense of it all, but the more he tries, the harder it gets.”

“Did you tell X all that?” Scar can’t help but asks. Mumbo hesitates, his expression tightening for a moment before he nods.

“Yeah. We told him about Grian feeling watched.”

“And?” Scar presses, curiosity mixed with worry. “What did he say?” Mumbo hesitates, his hands resting on the edge of a nearby counter.

“He got… worried. Like, immediately worried. He just sat there for a second after we said it, and the first thing out of his mouth was, ‘Oh.’” Scar raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly as he adjusts the blanket draped over his arm.

“Oh? That’s it? Doesn’t exactly scream helpful.”

“Not at first,” Mumbo admits. “But then he started talking about moving us off this server faster. He said if we noticed anything unusual, anything that didn’t feel right, we needed to tell him immediately.” Mumbo quietens his voice slightly. “X seemed… I don’t know. It wasn’t just concern, Scar. It was like he knew something he didn’t want to say outright. Like he was trying to get ahead of whatever he thought was happening.” Scar leans against the wall, his grip tightening slightly on the blankets he’s managed to pick up.

“So, he thinks this… feeling, or whatever it is, might be real? Not just paranoia?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just being cautious,” Mumbo replies, though his tone suggests he’s not entirely convinced. “But it was his reaction that got me. That ‘oh,’ like it clicked for him in a way it didn’t for us. And then how quickly he shifted to wanting to move us all off this server.”

Scar’s eyes narrow, his mind clearly turning over the possibilities.

“What about you? Do you think there’s something to it?” Mumbo hesitates, glancing toward the hallway leading back to the kitchen, where Grian is waiting.

“I don’t know. But I trust Grian. If he says he feels something, like he’s being watched, I believe him. I believed him back then, even if he didn’t say it outright, and I believe him now.” Scar nods slowly, his expression pensive.

“So what do we do? Just wait for X to pull the plug on this place and hope for the best?”

“For now, yeah,” Mumbo says. “But if Grian notices anything else, anything at all, we have to make sure he knows he can tell us. No more carrying this alone.” Scar shifts the blankets in his arms, grabbing another from a nearby shelf with an absentminded motion. His expression darkens slightly as he turns Mumbo’s words over in his head.

“That’s worrying, though,” Scar murmurs. “Xisuma didn’t say anything about that during the meeting. Not about Grian feeling watched, not about moving us off this server any faster than originally. And that almost makes it worse, you know? If he’s worried enough to push everything forward but didn’t tell the group why…” Mumbo nods, his brow furrowing.

“He didn’t? It does make you wonder, doesn’t it? Like he knows more than he’s saying. But that’s X, I guess. He’s always been the one to try and shield us from the heavy stuff when he can.” Scar hesitates, glancing at Mumbo as they walk down the hall, their arms full of mismatched pillows and blankets.

“Still. You’d think something like this would be worth mentioning. It’s not just the server, it’s Grian. If Xisuma knows why this is happening to him, or even if it’s happened before, we should know. Shouldn’t we?” Mumbo stops, and he shifts the bundle of pillows in his arms.

“Yeah, we should. But… it’s complicated.” His voice drops slightly, more reflective. “You know the rule Xisuma always had about backstories. No one has to share. If Grian felt something like this before, maybe it ties back to his own story in a way X doesn’t think he has the right to reveal.” Scar frowns at that, his gaze flicking down the hall toward where the kitchen door is still faintly visible.

“That’s… fair, I guess,” he admits reluctantly. “But it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. Grian’s stuck in the middle of this, and he’s got no idea why.”

“And neither do we,” Mumbo says quietly. “We’re all fumbling in the dark here. The only one who might have some answers is X, and if he’s keeping quiet… well, maybe it’s for a reason.” Scar shakes his head, frustration building behind his thoughtful expression.

“But this isn’t just backstory,” he says, his voice firmer now, pushing off the wall to adjust the blankets in his arms. “This isn’t some memory Grian’s wrestling with that’s only about his past. It’s happening now, Mumbo. Not just to him, either.” Mumbo looks at him, frowning slightly but listening intently as Scar continues.

“Grian, he’s in the thick of it. But it wasn’t just him who disappeared. Ren, Cleo, Tango, Etho, Impulse, Bdubs, me; and not just Hermits. We all came back, Mumbo, and we’re all missing something. A gap. It’s terrifying.” Scar’s voice softens at the end, a flicker of unease creeping in. Scar’s words linger in the air as they walk, the dimly lit hallway suddenly feeling much quieter. Mumbo adjusts the bundle of pillows in his arms, his movements slightly more tense than before.

“You’re right,” Mumbo says eventually, his voice quieter, more measured. “It’s not just Grian. But despite him not remembering anything before, it’s like he feels… responsible somehow, and that’s what scares me.” Scar nods slowly, his expression troubled.

“Yeah, the way he said it. ‘It felt like it was my fault.’ I can’t get that out of my head. Why would he think that? What makes him believe this is on him?”

“I don’t know,” Mumbo admits, his voice shaky despite his attempt to keep it steady. “But the fact that he does; it’s eating at him, Scar. I can see it. I’ve seen it before, too. Grian has this… thing, this need to fix everything, even things that aren’t his to fix. And if he can’t…” Mumbo exhales sharply, his words trailing off. Scar stops walking, turning to face Mumbo.

“You’re worried about him,” he says plainly, though his voice is soft. It sounds stupid when it leaves his mouth, of course Mumbo is worried. It’s his best friend. Scar is also worried. But that isn’t exactly what he means either.

“Of course, I’m worried,” Mumbo snaps, then quickly shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I just, yeah, I’m worried. Grian doesn’t usually let things show, not like this. For him to admit he feels like it’s his fault? That’s not something he says lightly.” Scar shifts his grip on the blankets, his gaze distant for a moment.

“I don’t like it either. It’s… a lot, you know? The gaps in our memories, whatever happened to us, and then hearing him say something like that.” He pauses, hesitating before adding, “But I keep thinking, what if he’s right?” Mumbo stiffens, his face tightening.

“What do you mean? You think it really is his fault?”

“No!” Scar says quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not what I mean. But what if he’s caught up in something bigger than we realize? Something that’s tied to why this happened to all of us?” He looks at Mumbo, his voice quieter now. Mumbo swallows hard, gripping the pillows tightly against his chest.

“That’s… not impossible, I guess. But if that’s the case, it’s even more reason to worry about him.” He looks down the hallway, his expression shadowed. “He’s not talking about it, Scar. Maybe partially, but not really. And if he thinks he has to figure it all out on his own, I don’t know if he’ll let us help him.”

“I’ve noticed it too,” Mumbo continues, his voice quieter now. “Every time I say something about us being in this together, Grian looks… doubtful. Like he’s questioning it. Like he doesn’t believe it, not really.”

“Yeah,” Scar says, his voice tinged with frustration. “He does switch it up, doesn’t he? One moment, it’s like he trusts me completely, like I could tell him the sky’s green, and he’d believe it. And then the next, it’s like there’s this wall he’s built, and I’m just… on the other side of it.” He glances at Mumbo.

And as much as Scar has his theories, especially after his talk with Cub, after Xisuma explained the situation, it doesn’t help with that feeling of almost helplessness. Mumbo hesitates, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment.

“I might have an idea about why,” he admits quietly, his voice careful, measured. Scar stops in his tracks, his attention narrowing in on Mumbo.

“Why?” Scar asks, a flicker of hope and concern mingling in his tone. Mumbo shifts uncomfortably, glancing toward the kitchen, as if checking to make sure Grian isn’t within earshot.

“It’s something Grian and I talked about,” Mumbo says, his voice almost a whisper. “When he found me in the barge, or, maybe I found him? After the situation with you and Bdubs.”

Scar’s chest tightens at Mumbo’s words. His thoughts flicker back to the moment earlier that day, in the shopping district, when Bdubs had shown up unexpectedly. Grian had been fine one second, talking with Scar like everything was normal, and then suddenly he wasn’t. His entire body had gone rigid, his expression freezing into something unreadable but heavy, his eyes darting between Bdubs and Scar as though trying to process something too big, too fast.

But that also reminds Scar that Scar never actually told Mumbo about that. Scar had just said Grian was alone, and Mumbo had responded he knew and was with Grian. Does that mean Grian told Mumbo about it?

It does explain some things. It was clear the two of them had spoken in the barge. The way Grian had wanted Mumbo with him when he spoke with Xisuma, but for some reason it nevertheless surprises him.

“Wait,” Scar starts, his voice cautious. “You and Grian talked about it? About me and Bdubs?” He’s trying to keep his tone light, but there’s an edge of something else, worry, maybe. Mumbo nods slowly, meeting Scar’s gaze.

“Yeah, in the barge. He… he mentioned something about trust. Or, more like, the lack of it,” Mumbo says, his voice lowering as if he doesn’t quite want to admit it. “He said you betrayed him. That’s why he can’t fully trust you now. You were allies, and you… broke that.”

Scar freezes in place, the words sinking into him like a stone in water. He doesn’t remember any of it, had his own theories. But hearing it like this, in such plain terms, feels like a punch to the gut. His mind flashes back to earlier when Grian had seen him and Bdubs, the way Grian had stiffened, the way he’d looked at Scar like he didn’t quite know who he was seeing.

“I remember him freezing up when he saw us earlier,” Scar mutters, his voice distant. “But I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t even know what to think.” Scar exhales sharply, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t understand,” he says quietly. “If I betrayed him, if I broke his trust like that… why does he still trust me sometimes? Why did he let me help with his wings? He doesn’t let just anyone near them, and he made it sound like it was the same back there, even if he didn’t care about them the same way he does here.” He pauses, the questions tumbling over one another. “And what about his reaction when he first saw me here? He hugged me, Mumbo. He apologized. How does any of that make sense?”

“I don’t know,” Mumbo admits. “It’s… complicated. Grian’s not really straightforward about this kind of thing, and with everything else going on, I think even he’s struggling to sort out how he feels.”

Scar’s mind churns with the contradictions, the fragments of information that don’t quite fit together. The betrayal, the trust, the walls Grian keeps raising and lowering around him. Trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“And then there’s the move,” Scar says after a moment, his voice quieter. “If Grian reacted like that to Bdubs and me, what about the others? Ren, Cleo, Tango… all of them. Is he going to react like that to everyone?” His throat tightens at the thought, at the possibility that whatever Grian’s carrying might only grow heavier with each face he recognizes from the game. Mumbo leans against the wall beside him, his own face etched with worry.

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” he admits. “And honestly? I don’t know. But I think we’re going to have to be ready for it. For all of it.” Scar nods slowly, his mind swirling with unanswered questions, trying to grasp at a situation that feels as if it’s spiralling further out of control. He glances down at the blankets in his arms, their weight grounding him in a way his thoughts can’t seem to.

“Do you think we should talk to him about it?” Scar asks, his voice tentative. “I mean, before the move. Not tonight, obviously. I want tonight to be a good night, you know? But… before we get to the point where he has to face everyone. Maybe we could… test the waters.” Mumbo considers this for a moment, his expression thoughtful, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

“It’s probably a good idea,” Mumbo agrees eventually. “But it has to be the right time. If we push too hard, he’ll just pull away. And if he feels cornered…” He trails off, shaking his head. “We’ve seen how he reacts when it’s too much. We have to handle this carefully.”

“Carefully,” Scar echoes, his brow furrowing as he lets out a slow breath. “Yeah, that makes sense. It’s just… I hate seeing him like this, Mumbo. It’s like he’s carrying all this weight, and he doesn’t even know what it is. And I’m scared that when he runs into the others, it’s just going to pile on even more.” Scar’s voice softens, “I don’t know if I can stand seeing him go through that again. Not after how he reacted last time.” Mumbo glances at Scar, sensing the weight behind his words.

“Neither can I,” he admits. “That’s why we have to do this right. Let him feel like he’s got us, no matter what.” Scar sighs, his usual carefree demeanour dampened by the gravity of the moment.

“Alright,” he says, adjusting the blankets in his arms with a nod. “We’ll figure it out.” There’s a brief silence as the weight of the conversation settles between them, but then Scar suddenly straightens, his grin flashing back as he looks at the collection of blankets and pillows between them.

“Well,” he says dramatically, “this isn’t going to carry itself. More pillows for maximum cosiness!” Before Mumbo can react, Scar dumps the entire pile of blankets and pillows onto him, the weight threatening to topple Mumbo over. Mumbo staggers under the sudden weight of the blankets and pillows, letting out an exasperated laugh.

“Scar, you absolute menace!” he exclaims, his voice muffled by a particularly fluffy cushion that lands on his face. He fumbles to balance the load, glaring playfully at Scar, who’s grinning widely.

“Maximum cosiness requires maximum effort, Mumbo,” Scar declares, throwing his hands up in mock triumph. “You’ll thank me later when Grian’s all comfy and snuggled up.” Mumbo rolls his eyes, adjusting the pile to regain his balance.

“Oh, sure. And when my back gives out from carrying all of this, you’ll be the one explaining to Grian why his cosy setup came at such a great cost.”

“Sacrifices must be made for the greater good,” Scar says with a wink, stepping ahead and dramatically gesturing Mumbo forward.

“The greater good better appreciate it,” Mumbo mutters. Scar leads the way back to the kitchen, his dramatic swagger entirely at odds with the seriousness of their earlier conversation. Mumbo follows behind, staggering slightly under the mound of pillows and blankets Scar had so gleefully dumped on him.

“I’m just saying,” Mumbo calls after Scar, adjusting the precarious pile for the third time, “next time, you carry the lot of it. Maximum cosiness, my foot.”

“Oh, come on, Mumbo,” Scar replies with a grin, glancing back. “It’s a privilege, really. You’re practically a hero, bringing warmth and comfort to our dear Grian. I’d give you a medal if I had one handy.” Mumbo snorts.

“You can keep your imaginary medals, Scar. I’ll settle for you not sabotaging me with another sneak blanket attack.”

By the time they reach the kitchen door, Mumbo’s arms are wobbling under the unwieldy pile. Scar, as if sensing the perfect opportunity, leans over and gently knocks on the door frame with an exaggerated flourish.

“Presenting,” Scar announces, his voice grand and theatrical, “the cosiest, comfiest, most luxurious sleepover setup in the history of Hermitcraft!” He throws the door open with a dramatic sweep of his arm, stepping aside so Mumbo can stumble in with the load of supplies.

Grian, seated at the counter and idly spinning an empty cup between his fingers, looks up at the commotion. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in the sight of Mumbo nearly buried under the pile of cushions and blankets.

“What… what is this?” Grian asks, a laugh already slipping into his voice as he sets the cup down.

“Maximum cosiness!” Scar says triumphantly, striding into the room as if he’s just conquered a great challenge. “We’re not just staying the night. We’re staying in style.” Mumbo, finally dropping the pile onto the floor with a huff, gestures at Scar with mock frustration.

“He dumped the whole load on me halfway here. I’m starting to think this was less about cosiness and more about him proving he doesn’t need to carry anything.”

“Efficiency, Mumbo!” Scar replies without missing a beat, his grin widening. “Why carry it myself when I have a capable, strong friend like you to help? Delegation is key, you know.” Mumbo raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Delegation, right. You’re a real team player, Scar.” Scar laughs, brushing off Mumbo’s jab with a wave of his hand. He moves to help sort the heap of blankets and pillows now spilling onto the floor, glancing at Grian as he does. There’s a small smile on Grian’s face, faint but genuine, and Scar feels a flicker of relief. The tension that had weighed on Grian earlier seems to have eased, at least a little, though Scar knows better than to believe it’s gone entirely. Scar crouches down, rifling through the pile of blankets with an exaggerated air of importance, pulling out one with a bold, mismatched pattern and holding it up for inspection.

“This one, Grian,” he declares, turning the blanket over as if appraising a fine work of art. “This screams maximum comfort. Very bold, very you.” Grian leans forward, his eyes narrowing as he tries to suppress a laugh.

“Bold? That’s a polite way to say it’s hideous.”

“Horribly hideous!” Scar agrees with a grin, tossing the blanket toward the growing nest of softness they’re assembling in the middle of the room. “But that’s what makes it charming. A real statement piece.” Mumbo, sitting on the floor and trying to untangle two particularly uncooperative pillows, sighs.

“It’s a statement, all right.” Grian’s laugh comes easily now, warm and clear, and Scar feels the tension in the room shift. It’s lighter, easier, as if the weight they’ve all been carrying has been set aside for just a moment. He looks up from his self-appointed role as blanket curator, catching Grian’s expression. There’s something softer there, more open, and it makes Scar’s grin widen just a little.

Scar’s rummaging takes on a new level of intensity as he dramatically rifles through the remaining pile. With a flourish, he pulls out a blanket adorned with garish pink and yellow flowers, a stark clash against the previous one. He stands and holds it up proudly, turning toward Grian with wide, gleaming eyes.

“I present to you, the piece—uh—wait, the ‘peace day resistance!’” For a second, there’s silence as Mumbo freezes mid-pillow fluff, and Grian just stares, his mouth slightly open. Then it hits.

“The what?” Grian chokes out, doubling over as laughter bursts from him, uncontrollable and loud. He grabs onto the counter for support, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Mumbo, though trying to maintain composure, fails spectacularly and joins in. Scar frowns, looking between the two of them, his hands resting on his hips.

“What? What’s so funny? That’s how you say it, isn’t it?” Grian is gasping now, barely able to get the words out through his laughter.

“It’s ‘pièce de résistance,’ Scar! Pièce! Not peace! Oh my god…” He dissolves into laughter again, practically sinking to the floor. Scar tilts his head, genuinely baffled.

“That’s what I said. Peace day resistance.”

“No!” Mumbo wheezes, wiping a tear from his eye. “It’s—Scar, it’s French. ‘Pièce de résistance.’ You’re mangling it, mate.” Scar squints, waving a hand dismissively.

“Eh, same difference. Everyone knows what I meant. Besides, it’s not like anyone really speaks French.” Grian wheezes, shaking his head as he leans back against the counter, his laughter finally settling into a softer chuckle.

“Oh, Scar…” Not one to back down, Scar points at a particularly lumpy pillow as if challenging it.

“Fine, but my next trick will blow you away. Behold, my magnum oops!” Grian and Mumbo lose it again, Grian sinking to the floor entirely as he clutches his stomach.

“Magnum oops!” Grian repeats, his voice cracking with disbelief and mirth. “Scar, I can’t–this is–it’s too much!”

“What?” Scar says innocently, his grin widening as he watches them both lose control. “That’s the phrase, right? Like your best work?”

“Magnum opus!” Mumbo corrects, trying to sit up but failing as another wave of laughter overtakes him. “Oh, Scar, you’re killing me.”

Scar stands there for a moment, watching the two of them lose themselves in laughter, and he can’t help but let out a chuckle himself. The sound fills the room, warm and contagious, and he feels a lightness he hasn’t felt all day. Whatever tension had lingered in the background fades into the ridiculousness of the moment.

“Well,” Scar says after a beat, clapping his hands again and turning back to the blanket fort with exaggerated flair, “let’s finish this masterpiece, shall we? Magnum otus, piece de resistant, and all.” Mumbo collapses onto the nearest pile of blankets, utterly spent from laughter, his face buried in a mismatched cushion.

“Scar, you are…” he starts, then waves a hand weakly, as if no words could possibly do the man justice. Grian is still half-slumped against the counter, wiping at his eyes, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

“Honestly,” Grian manages between chuckles, “you’ve ruined both the French and Latin language. I don’t even know if they’re recoverable.” Scar, utterly unbothered, drops onto the floor and lounges among the chaos as if he’s a king surveying his kingdom.

“Ruined it?” he echoes, one eyebrow raised in mock indignation. “No, no, no. Improved it. Made it accessible. You’re welcome, world.” He strikes a ridiculous pose, reclining back against the pile with one arm draped dramatically over his forehead.

“Accessible,” Mumbo repeats, his voice laced with dry amusement. He pulls himself up just enough to throw a pillow at Scar. “Scar, the French aren’t sending you a thank-you card. They’re probably drafting a formal complaint.” The pillow smacks Scar squarely in the chest, and he lets out a theatrical “oof,” clutching it as if gravely wounded.

“You wound me, Mumbo. But fine, no card. I’ll settle for a monument. Something tasteful, of course.” Grian snickers, shaking his head as he finally slides down to sit cross-legged on the floor.

“A monument to your… linguistic crimes?”

“To my genius,” Scar corrects with a smirk. “Imagine it: ‘Here lies Scar’s legacy. Words so bold, so groundbreaking, they transcended meaning.’” Grian groans, leaning back against the counter and tossing his head back in exaggerated despair.

“I don’t know whether to applaud or cry. Probably both.” Mumbo, propping himself up on one elbow, points at the mess of blankets and pillows scattered across the room.

“You know, Grian, I think we’re sitting in your monument right now. Maximum cosiness, minimum sense.”

“That,” Scar says, sitting up with renewed vigor, “is the perfect tagline. Someone write that down. Mumbo, get your notepad.”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” Mumbo replies, but he’s smiling as he stretches out on the nearest blanket pile. “You’ve already dragged me into this madness. That’s enough for one day.”

Scar grins, his gaze shifting between his two friends. Grian’s smile hasn’t quite faded, his cheeks still flushed from laughing so hard. Mumbo looks relaxed. Scar leans back, letting out a satisfied sigh. The room feels warmer now, not just from the haphazard nest of blankets.

“You know,” Scar says, his voice quieter but no less light, “you two make this all too easy. We’re unstoppable. Like the ultimate team.” Grian raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching upward again.

“Ultimate team, huh? That’s a bold claim coming from the guy who called it ‘peace day resistance.’” Scar clutches his chest again, feigning another dramatic blow.

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“Not a chance,” Grian says, his grin breaking free. Mumbo chuckles, and the three of them sit there for a moment, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of fabric as they adjust their impromptu seats. Finally, Scar claps his hands together and springs to his feet with an almost alarming amount of energy.

“All right, break’s over! We’ve got a blanket fort to finish. Our magnum otus won’t build itself!”

That sets them off laughing again, and Scar doesn’t even mind. It’s worth every second.

Chapter Text

The blanket fort is, quite frankly, a structural disaster.

Grian tilts his head, eyeing the precarious arrangement of cushions, chairs, and what appears to be a broom holding up one particularly sagging corner. The blankets drape over the makeshift frame in a chaotic patchwork of colours and patterns; bright yellows jostling with dark greens, stripes colliding with florals in a way that makes Grian squint. It’s so visually offensive it’s almost impressive, as though they’d tried to recreate a rainbow and missed every mark. That’s not even mentioning the fact that the whole thing looks like it might collapse if someone so much as breathes too hard near it. Or sneezes.

Definitely, if someone sneezes.

He takes a step back to get a good look at it, silently hoping his wings won’t be what does it over. Although just looking from outside, he can’t say he’s optimistic, even though they all had claimed to keep it in mind while building. The blankets bow out slightly where the larger ones hang loose, forming a kind of cocoon. It’s thoughtful, in its way, though the execution leaves much to be desired.

“It’s awful,” Grian says, flatly. Scar’s head pops out from one of the sagging entrances, his grin wide and unrepentant.

“Awfully cosy, you mean!” Grian raises an eyebrow, gesturing at the broom, which wobbles ominously with the shift in air as Scar ducks in further.

“It’s going to collapse the second someone breathes on it wrong.”

“No-” Scar says, extending the word in a way that doesn’t ease any worries, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away Grian’s concerns. “It’s got character. Every great fort needs a bit of character. And if it’s a little rickety, that just adds to the adventure, right, Mumbo?” Mumbo’s voice floats in from somewhere within the fort, muffled and distinctly unimpressed.

“Right. Because nothing says ‘relaxing’ like a health and safety hazard.”

“See?” Scar beams. “He agrees.” Grian sighs, shaking his head. He ducks his head to peer inside, his wings twitching slightly at the thought of navigating the narrow entrance. He attempts to press them as close to his body as possible.

“I’m not convinced this is going to hold long enough for us to actually relax in it. Are you sure it’s… safe?” Scar gives him a mock-serious look, furrowing his brow and puffing out his chest as if he were a royal inspector evaluating the fort for its dubious craftsmanship.

“It’s been through rigorous testing. I even gave it the patented Scar Shake Test.” He reaches out and gives one of the broom handles a light tap. The entire fort groans in protest, the broom slipping half an inch before Scar quickly steadies it with both hands. “See? The steadiest.” Grian narrows his eyes. Scar gestures grandly toward the fort. “Come on, Grian. Get in here. You’re going to love it.”

“I highly doubt that,” Grian mutters, but he folds his wings tighter and crouches low, shuffling through the uneven opening. Inside, it’s… well, it’s certainly something. Blankets hang like curtains, some pooling on the floor while others bunch awkwardly around the makeshift supports. Pillows of various sizes are scattered about. The space is cramped but warm, and as Grian shifts to sit, his wings find a comfortable position without catching on anything. Mumbo sits cross-legged on a nest of blankets, his hair slightly dishevelled as he adjusts a cushion behind his back.

“Well? It’s not as bad as you thought, is it?” he asks, his tone caught somewhere between smug and tired.

“It’s awful,” Grian replies again, though there’s less bite to it this time. He shifts a little, settling in, and glances at Scar, who’s somehow sprawled out in the smallest available space. “But I’ll admit it’s… sort of cosy. In a terrifying, might-fall-apart-at-any-moment way.” Scar claps his hands together, the noise startlingly loud in the confined space.

“Victory!”

“It’s hardly a victory,” Grian retorts, but he can’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. Scar sits up, his grin widening.

“Oh, don’t downplay it. This is the pinnacle of fort-building engineering. If anything, we should write a book about it.”

“It would be a very short book,” Mumbo quips. “Mostly just a list of things not to do.”

“Like using a broom as structural support,” Grian adds, deadpan. Scar holds up a finger, mock indignation.

“Excuse me, that broom is doing its best. And it’s doing great, thank you very much.” Grian shakes his head, laughing softly.

“Honestly, I thought the first base I built was bad, but this? This takes the cake.” Mumbo perks up at that, curious.

“Your first base? What was so bad about it?” Scar leans forward, clearly interested as well.

“Yeah, What was it? A dirt hut? That’s a classic.” Grian shakes his head slightly.

“I just made a small hole in a mountain, nothing special. At least the house we built in the desert made up for it,” Grian says, smiling. Scar grins.

“A desert house sounds fancy. Big windows, maybe a pool?”

“Not quite,” Grian says, his tone nostalgic. “It was simple. Built on top of a hill. It didn’t survive the entire game, but it was nice while it lasted.” Scar’s curiosity sharpens, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on a particularly precarious pillow.

“Wait, wait, it didn’t survive? What happened? Did someone blow it up? Please tell me someone blew it up.” Grian doesn’t quite understand why Scar is so excited about their house blowing up, but then again, it’s not a secret they both enjoyed blowing things up during the games. It makes sense that translates here, even if it is about his own house. Well, other version of his house.. Mumbo just raises an eyebrow in response to Scar.

“You’re a bit too enthusiastic about the concept of explosions, mate.”

“No, no, I’m just appreciating the drama of it,” Scar insists, waving a hand. Grian snorts, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, technically, we blew it up. It wasn’t exactly planned, though.” Scar's jaw drops, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

“We blew it up? That’s even better! What happened? Was it a trap?” Grian laughs, shaking his head.

“Calm down, dude. It wasn’t some grand plan or anything. We set up a pressure plate at the entrance. One of those traps where if anyone stepped on it, the whole place would go. Except, well… it didn’t exactly work at first.” Mumbo frowns.

“Didn’t work? How do you botch something as simple as a pressure plate? That’s so simple!”

“Don’t ask me,” Grian replies, shrugging. “I wasn’t even there when it happened. I just remember Scar coming over after, looking like a kicked puppy, and dragging me back to see the damage. Almost killed himself and Tango in the process.” Scar's grin falters for just a second before he forces it back into place.

“Well, I’m sure I had a good reason for it. I mean, I’m resourceful! Maybe I was just… innovating.” Grian snorts, leaning back against a pillow.

“Innovating? Scar, he–you–set off the trap for no reason, and it didn’t even work properly. No one got caught in it, no one lost a life, and you almost blew yourself and Tango sky-high. All we ended up with was a smoking crater.” Scar straightens up, crossing his arms in mock indignation.

“Okay, first of all, I’m sure it was a very impressive crater. Second, traps are tricky business! Maybe the pressure plate malfunctioned because of, I don’t know, humidity or something.”

“Humidity,” Mumbo echoes, deadpan, before letting out a soft laugh. “Scar, Grian said it was in the middle of a desert.”

“Exactly! Desert humidity!” Scar gestures wildly, clearly grasping at straws. “It messes with the redstone! Or… something.” Mumbo shakes his head, an incredulous smile tugging at his lips.

“Scar, that’s not how redstone works. Humidity doesn’t mess with it. TNT traps are one of the simplest mechanisms you can make. The fact that it didn’t go off properly suggests someone didn’t set it up right in the first place.” Grian feels his face heat up, a sudden pang of guilt twisting in his stomach. He shifts slightly, avoiding Mumbo’s gaze.

“Well, yeah... funny story about that.” Scar glances at Grian, his mock indignation melting into curiosity.

“Wait, are you saying this wasn’t even my fault? You set up the trap?” Grian groans, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Yes, alright? I set up the trap. But in my defence, I was working with TNT minecarts, and apparently, I didn’t give them enough space to crash into something. I might have… misunderstood how they work.” Mumbo’s jaw drops, and he stares at Grian as if he’s just admitted to committing a cardinal sin of redstone.

“Grian, you misunderstood TNT minecarts? They’re literally designed to explode if they crash. All you needed was a wall for them to hit.”

“I didn’t know that at the time!” Grian snaps, though his tone is more defensive than angry. “It’s not like I go around studying redstone mechanics. I just figured it would work. I didn’t exactly have a textbook on the subject, alright?” Mumbo lets out a long, theatrical sigh, shaking his head.

“Unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m sitting here listening to you blame Scar for a failed trap you set up wrong.” Scar, undeterred by the revelation, puffs out his chest and points a finger at Grian.

“See? I knew it wasn’t my fault! I’m an innocent victim here. Poor Scar, bravely stepping into danger without knowing the trap was faulty.” Grian rolls his eyes.

“Bravely stepping into danger? Scar, the entire Red Army was there when you set it off. You almost lost your last life! That wasn’t bravery, that was sheer recklessness.”

“The Red Army? What’s the Red Army?”

Grian blinks, a pang of discomfort threading through him as he remembers. Right. Scar doesn’t remember. He’s defending himself for something he doesn’t even remember, which he has to begrudgingly admit is very Scar of him. Although Grian did the same with Mumbo and that potato, or whatever that was about, so he can’t exactly blame him either.

Grian rubs the back of his neck, his gaze darting to Mumbo, who’s frowning slightly. Grian lets out a breath, his tone softening slightly.

“Just the people we were up against, I guess. Ren, Martyn, Skizz, BigB, Impulse, kinda, not really. It was complicated.” Scar and Mumbo exchange a glance, and Grian doesn’t miss the brief flicker of something unspoken passing between them. It’s subtle, just a shared look, quick enough that he’s sure most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Grian recognises they’re silently filing something away. A question for later, maybe, or a suspicion they don’t want to voice. He doesn’t push, though; the knot in his stomach tells him he wouldn’t want to hear the question anyway. Knowing that doesn’t change how much he dislikes their silent conversations though. Especially since he’s sure it’s about him.

Scar’s grin returns, though it’s just a touch tighter than before, and he claps his hands together, breaking the tension with a burst of forced enthusiasm.

“Well, now that we’ve established I’m the true victim here, what do you say we refocus on the real masterpiece of the evening?” He gestures dramatically at the fort, nearly knocking over one of the sagging broom supports in the process. Mumbo huffs a laugh, picking up on Scar’s lead.

“Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t collapsed yet.”

“It’s not going to collapse!” Scar protests, leaning forward on the precarious pile of pillows in front of him as if to prove its stability. The entire fort shifts, and Grian instinctively tenses, his wings brushing against the blankets, which does very little to help the situation. He does his best to reach over for a broom to steady it, even if only slightly.

“Are you sure, Scar?” Grian asks. “This thing’s hanging on by sheer willpower and your overinflated confidence.” Scar waves him off, his grin widening.

“Nonsense. It’s a marvel of modern construction!”

“It’s a deathtrap,” Mumbo says, raising an eyebrow.

“Deathtrap or not,” Grian mutters, adjusting one of the cushions behind him, “it’s probably the safest place I’ve been in ages.” The words slip out before he realises how they sound, and he shifts uncomfortably, hoping neither of them latches onto the unintended weight behind them. Scar doesn’t, thankfully.

“Exactly!” he says, spreading his arms grandly. “This is a sanctuary. A haven. A place of peace and snacks.” Mumbo leans back against a pillow stack, chuckling softly.

“Snacks you barely remembered to bring.”

“Hey, I delivered, didn’t I?” Scar counters. “Cookies, chips, even sweets. What more could you want?”

“Structural stability,” Grian offers, smirking. Scar gasps in mock offence, clutching his chest.

“You wound me, G! After all the effort I put into all this, this is the thanks I get?” Grian laughs, the sound light and genuine, and for a moment, the earlier tension fades into the background. It’s ridiculous, really, this whole situation. Mumbo stretches his legs out, which isn’t a very good idea considering how tall he is, but he seems to make it work as he leans into the mismatched blankets and pillows.

“Alright, then. If this is such a sanctuary, what do we do? Are we just going to sit here admiring the... craftsmanship, or do we have an activity lined up?” Scar lights up immediately, his earlier unease melting away entirely.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea! We should tell scary stories. I’m amazing at those!” Mumbo raises an eyebrow.

“Scary stories? Really?”

“Absolutely,” Scar says, nodding fervently. “What’s a sleepover without a good spook? Uh, Grian, you start.” Scar points directly at him, and Grian blinks in return, caught off guard.

“Why me? Weren’t you oh so amazing at those?” Scar grins, leaning back with a flourish, waving his hand.

“Because you’ve got that spooky winged aesthetic going on. Very ominous. Very mysterious. Perfect for storytelling.” Grian glances back at his pointedly very not spooky wings, before shaking his head, laughing despite himself.

“Alright, fine. But don’t blame me if you end up too scared to sleep.”

“Please,” Scar says, waving him on. “I’m unshakeable. Lay it on me.” Mumbo mutters something before settling in, a faint smile playing at his lips. Grian takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his wings brushing softly against the blankets as he shifts into a more comfortable position.

“Well,” he begins, his voice dipping into a low, dramatic tone, trying to come up with something while speaking, “there was this one time, on a server far, far away…” Scar leans in eagerly, and Mumbo chuckles, his scepticism giving way to curiosity. Grian smirks. If nothing else, this would be entertaining.