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The night was cold and dark, even with the blanket of stars twinkling weakly above the shivering Etho. He was freezing, ankle-deep in the snow, no matter how tight he pulled his coat around himself. But the dark walls of Deepfrost Citadel were getting closer and closer, towering high above him in the sky, and that was all that mattered. He just had to get there. To Tango, trapped somewhere in the depths of his Citadel, in the stomach of the monster of his own creation. His communicator hadn’t made a sound in a long time. Not since the initial, hurried messages that had arrived too long minutes before, cries for help that Etho should have reacted to quicker. But it was no use to wonder about what could have been. He was there, now. At the yawning entrance, pulling him closer with the promise of warmth, safety from the elements. Realistically, Etho knew that the things down there were a lot worse than whatever the weather had in store for him. But that did not change the fact that he had to get in there, find Tango as fast as he could, protect him from whatever it was that got him sending out signals at this late hour. He started his descent.
He didn’t dare take the long way, through the winding tunnels and stairways of the dungeons. There was only one man who could navigate them, anyone else would get hopelessly lost in no time. And those were precious minutes he would be wasting. So he pulled out his pick instead, mining his way as carefully as he could through the stone of the floor, feet greeted by air as the rocks tumbled down underneath them. He threw open his elytra just in time to not splatter across the floor, instead, gliding along the perimeter of the huge cavern at the heart of the operation, where he knew that Tango spent the most of his time. It was a mess. Bridges snaking across the empty space, platforms floating in midair, so much redstone, everywhere. There were a lot of spaces Tango could be, and yet no sign of him anywhere. No flash of burning blue hair. No fluttering dungeon-master cape. No beep from his communicator alerting him of someone else’s presence. Etho wished it wouldn’t have to come to this, but it appeared that he had to go deeper. Into the dungeon itself. He gulped as he angled his wings, turning toward a crevice that he knew would lead him where he needed to go. Tango had talked to him about starting on the newest level of the game. The most dangerous one, perhaps. Etho’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach as he thought of Tango getting a little too close to the warden. He brushed the thought from his mind. He’d have to deal with that if he got there. For now, he had to focus on getting there in the first place.
A chime from his communicator startled an almost-squeal from him, hurriedly pulling out the device to see what had made the noise. Player near-by. A little arrow moved across the screen, and Etho didn’t waste a second turning toward where it pointed, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed forward, toward where he was now certain Tango would be, the signal getting stronger and stronger and–
There was his communicator. Discarded on the floor. Which was not supposed to happen, because of situations like this exactly, when Etho knew he was in danger and now he wouldn’t be able to find him, and he wouldn’t be able to help him, and he ran over to the communicator as if that would give him any clues as to where Tango had gone after dropping it, very nearly dropping right into the pit beside it in his haste. But there was nothing of use on the slightly battered screen, blinking open to show the chat log that mirrored the one on his own communicator, three short messages from Tango followed by his frantic strand of questions and concerns, unanswered. Just as he should have guessed. Nothing of use. He was on the verge of just chucking the damn thing into the pit beside him, but something caught his eye before he could do that. A shimmer of blue, in the monotone grayness of the pit. A very familiar shimmer of blue, like a head of soulfire hair.
Tango. “Tango!”
There was no doubt that the crumpled form at the bottom of the pit was indeed him, no matter that he wasn’t answering the panicked calls of his name. Maybe he’d fallen unconscious. Etho just needed to get down there, try and rouse him, get him somewhere safe and comfortable. He glided down, careful to land far from Tango, not wanting to hurt him accidentally in his descent. He leapt to his side as soon as his feet touched the ground, though, falling to his knees without a care for the way they cracked against the rough stone. Tango faced the wall, so Etho slowly and carefully pushed him over to lie on his back. He could see his chest rising and falling. Not nearly fast enough, but at least it was something. It was a lot better a sight than his face was, blood trickling down the side of his head from a ghastly bruise over his temple, nose bent at an unnatural angle, lips slick with more of his bright blue blood. Etho pulled up a corner of his cape, already ruined with dust and grime, spots of blood, long slashes ripping it nearly in two, to wipe at his face, Tango twitching beneath his hands. His eyes were slowly blinking open, half-lidded and clouded over.
“Oh, Tango! You’re awake! Don’t worry, I will get you out of here, okay?”
His eyes slipped shut again, taking a long time before they reopened. He looked so far away, caught in a dream, and he was not answering.
“Tango?” His eyes shifted to lock their gazes together, but there was no hint of apprehension there. “Tango, do you recognise me? Do you know who I am?” The only noise he made was a pained grunt. Etho was starting to panic. He didn’t know whether that was supposed to be an answer, or if Tango couldn’t hear him at all. Both were worrying, though for different reasons.
“Alright, Tango… Blink twice if you can understand me.” His breath caught in his throat. It was slow, but it was there, the corners of his eyes scrunching up as he shut them, then opened them, once, and then again. Etho let out a shaky sigh of relief. He was obviously out of it, but present enough to be able to answer. Good. Significantly better than if he’d been too far gone to even comprehend when Etho was speaking to him.
“I’m going to get us out of here.” He raked his eyes up and down Tango’s battered body, seeing all the little things now that the panic had mostly subsided. Clothes torn apart in several places to reveal long gashes, slick with blood. Skin bruised bright blue patches. “It might hurt– It’s– It’s definitely gonna hurt, but you gotta trust me, okay Tango? I have to get you out of here to take care of you. Alright?” He hadn’t expected an answer, but Tango’s blinks made relief rush through him once more. It quickly dissipated as soon as he reached under his armpits, pulling him upright to properly wrap him in his arms. He could tell Tango was biting back his noises, only choked whimpers making it through his lips pressed in a thin line. He could feel wetness soaking into his shirt where Tango’s face was buried, pillowed by the hood of his coat. He gritted his teeth as he unfurled his elytra, pulling out a rocket to push them into the air, Tango gasping at the way it jostled them both. Etho just held on tightly, keeping his breaths even against Tango’s heaving chest, and sailed as smoothly as he could through the halls.
He was glad to feel the cold, crisp air around him, when they made it back through the entrance. He was glad to leave the dangers of the Citadel behind. He was glad that Tango was now safe in his arms. It was the one place of which he could say that with absolute certainty.