Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Egg Crackers

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Martyn is dead, but unfortunately, no one's had the chance to tell that to Martyn. Martyn's in a fishbowl. Well, like… Martyn's soul is in the fishbowl- his skin fell in the Void. Or maybe got vaporized? Not sure. He looks like glowing blue smoothie stuff, complete with weird sprinkle colors, but Bdubs is pretty sure Etho would strangle him if he tried putting Martyn in a cup. Can you get drunk on real souls like you can on raw binary code? Huh…

Nobody in New Star Station's ever seen nothing like this. Or if they have, they sure haven't said that to Bdubs. Etho said the guy's trying to fight a system overload - Martyn; Martyn's trying (Etho says) - but it sure is violent. Geez…

Every couple minutes, Martyn's consciousness seizes up like a kicked cat. It twirls around like mashed-together clay. You get a huge spiral. You might even get part of a face or a clawing hand. Bdubs has been carrying the fishbowl for two days, even to that way fancy restaurant Etho likes, because it's really cool and you get to show him off to so many people this way, and he gets to be all "Sorry- Etho said only I can hold him." And Etho's the best healer ever and he can fix anything, so it's going to be okay.

But… still, even if he looks cool, Martyn can't hold his form. He comes crashing down every time. So Martyn stays in the fishbowl, because it's better than a bucket, and frankly this was a stupid waste of glass a couple years ago and it's good to put it to some use now. Bdubs keeps chucking pieces of sausage in there because maybe Martyn'll like that, but so far it's just been Martyn and the sausage and the other sausage and the other other sausage in the bowl, and Etho's probably gonna slap him for that.

"This is the voidfish market," Bdubs says anyway, holding Martyn's fishbowl above his head. Oh- we skipped forward. It's Wednesday now and not much has changed. If Martyn's a soul, he maybe won't be able to see out his eyes. If he's got free-cam, then probably. It's complicated; Bdubs leaves all that coding stuff to Etho anyway. He gives the fishbowl a slight rattle, just to wake Martyn up. "I guess you already know this place, huh? You flew out of the Void! Like, what? I can't believe you found us! We're a secret underground portal hub, and you just flew right in from the bottom! I never even knew you could do that! Ohhh, Scott's gonna fix it. You watch. He'll figure it out; no one's ever getting in again. You're lucky, Martyn. You're so lucky."

Martyn rests like impossibly bright jam inside the bowl. He doesn't seem interested in the market. Huh. Oh well. Bdubs swivels on his heel and walks down the street, even though the bowl bonks his head on every step. See, it's funnier when you're like, talking to people all normal and suddenly Martyn lurches up and makes grabby claw hands before he falls into the bowl again. Pixels spurt and crackle like tiny, tiny fireworks. Maybe he can't respawn inside the bowl. Is it too small?

How much sand does it take to make a giant bowl? Hmm… And would it be weird to reuse a giant "soul bowl" for cereal at a later time? I mean, you don't wanna waste something like that. That's a lot of glass. It'd be washed first, obviously.

It's been like three days. Nobody's gotten close enough to put a skin on Martyn yet, so Bdubs can't even put a face to his name. Martyn's just a hissing, writhing mess of blue and dashes of white - He's all claws and wings and sometimes teeth or tail. But even if they had a skin tailored to fit him, how're they supposed to get it on him? This guy can't hold his form! The only reason they even know his name is Martyn is 'cuz that's what the new guy Jimmy called him, and Jimmy's having problems keeping his arm together, so it's just a party where everyone's in pain, huh?

"I could eat you," Bdubs says, just to make casual polite conversation. The streets down here in the underground are okay-crowded today, though most people back off when they see a phantom hybrid coming. This may also be 'cuz he just said he might eat somebody and people don't really assume that Martyn can hear them or even get that he's still alive. "My player file's plugged into the server hub, right? So, y'know… I can cycle you through and you're s'posed to respawn just fine! My species' whole thing is stabilizing weird code like yours. Yours too!" (Martyn's also a phantom hybrid, Pearl said, and she's new too so she'd probably know.) "You're gonna join my flock, right? That'll be fun. A rest will make you less sleepy. You should let me eat you."

Martyn's soul doesn't do much unless he's thrashing around. You can kinda talk to him, but he's not much for conversation. Maybe he can't hear. He probably doesn't have ears. He can't seem to project enough conscious thoughts to signal anything to Bdubs' communicator- not even anything weird and panicky like "stop stop stop." He doesn't even swim around! Why's he in a fishbowl? That's stupid. Briefly, Bdubs debates dumping him in the town square fountain. Maybe cold water will wake him up. Maybe he needs more sausage.

"Oh, I've got an idea. Tango? You know Tango? You probably don't know Tango; you only saw him for like a sec before you melted, I heard. Yeah, I heard you crashed and went up in flames like two seconds after leaving the Void. Well, not flame, but you know what I mean. Hey, Tango's got this huge countertop! We should pour you on that and push a giant cookie cutter in you. Or maybe we should pour you inside a skin anyway and see what happens. I mean, skin's sticky on the inside, right? It's got… adhesion, or whatever."

Martyn doesn't respond. Bdubs takes the fishbowl off his head, hugging it to his chest. Nobody's bothering him. People are looking at him funny, but what are they gonna do about it, huh? He's captain of the phantom flock; he's lived here exactly as long as Scott, and Scott literally built the first starter base in New Star. Bdubs mulls over the shopfronts as he passes by. All the display stalls poke out into the street. It's like, books and stuff. There's only so much you can do with the limited resources down here underground, but some folks get real creative with it. Maybe Martyn likes books. Maybe he's just looking for the right book.

Anyway, he wraps up with, "We've been going about this all wrong! We don't need to hold you down and put the skin on you! We need to dump you in the skin, roll you with a rolling pin, and zip you up the front again. Problem solved. Hero! That's what they call me."

Martyn stays silent, even through that. Geez… He's probably got no ears. Poor thing. Bdubs sets the fishbowl to his hip, barely cupping it with one hand. He skims the books on display at the third stall down the road. Halfway through, Martyn lurches up, his voiceless face screaming from the goop, and that gets a few yelps out of the crowd. Yeah, yeah… Bdubs doesn't even look at him. These books are fiction. Martyn's probably classy- Martyn wants facts. After a couple seconds of twisting and crackling, Martyn melts into the fishbowl. Bdubs buys one book for him anyway, then goes looking in case there's a nonfiction one somewhere else.

"You know," he says, "this'd be easier if you didn't make me do all the work. Like, this is a lot of decision fatigue! You're so lucky I'm taking care of you. You'd be wallowing on the floor if I wasn't your friend. Oh! Hey! Cleo! Cleeeeoooo!" Cleo's standing in front of another stall, examining nail dye powder and pretty designs. She's got a gory white sample and an even gorier cyan in hand, weighing them both back and forth. For real? Cyan would look wild with her ginger hair. You've never met a zombie quite like her. Martyn sure hasn't. Bdubs sprints over, trying not to slosh him from his bowl. He holds it up for Cleo to get a better look at. "Hey! Have you met Martyn?"

"Ohhh, Bdubs," Cleo says, and stares down with incredible pity. She's just playing. She's funny. It prickles his wings and he can't help but flap and laugh, whisking his tail. The nail powder goes back on the stall counter. Cleo drags their fingers through messy curls and says, "I'm not sure I want to meet Martyn. He doesn't look presentable… I think I might be intruding."

"Oh, no… She doesn't mean that, baby. She likes you. You hear that? Cleo likes you!" He gives the bowl a shake. Martyn sparks for half a sec. Bdubs debates shaking harder, just in case that was a good thing, but he doesn't. He'll wait for a second opinion on that. "See? Martyn's fine!"

Cleo shakes her head, leaning back on one elbow. "Martyn, put a shirt on. You're in public. There's newbies and cam accounts around."

"Yeah, what? You should be dressed! … Cleo, guess what? I heard he didn't graduate from his Education courses. He just got out of that cult hub, right? Yes, okay. Right. Ah… So, it sounds kinda like he and his friends don't know stuff."

"That's a shame. They better get over it."

"What?" Mock gasp; snappy wings. Bdubs gives the fishbowl a rougher shake. "Aren't you gonna come over to Etho's with me and hang out and ask him what he knows? Where's your teacher spirit, huh?"

"Don't. It's… yeah, no- I'm good." Cleo turns their attention back to the nail powder in their little bags. "I'm sure 'Martyn' and I will have a proper chance to meet and chat some other time."

Bdubs shrugs, wings rattling. "More attention for me, then. Come on, Martyn- Let's get you back to Etho's. Thanks for nothing, Cleo."

Cleo chuckles, swishing aside so they're well out of the way as Bdubs and his big wings come tromping by. "May the coffee keep you warm tonight. And tell Etho to poke his head out of his man cave every once in a while. We should all get groceries together."

"I'll tell him. I'll tell him! Ooh, hey! Hey, Martyn- let's take the scenic route across the park! I bet you've never seen a custom tree and the root system terraforming like Scar's handiwork before; he's a beauty."

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Martyn is alive, and Bdubs would've slapped Etho if the guy forgot to tell him that. They were just talking, y'know? On the living room couch, absolutely nothing important going on, when all of a sudden Etho pushed him back so hard, Bdubs fell off his cushion and bent a wing.

"OH! Oh- Bdubs, get a skin for him!"

Bdubs jolts up, scrambling - Yes, yes, of course - Martyn's fishbowl rocks horrendously on Etho's barren desk in the corner, and by the time Bdubs is on his feet, the glass explodes all over the place. Ah, sheesh! Bdubs whips out his wings just in time to shield Etho from the worst of it. Etho's arms fly up a split-second too late to defend himself, so Bdubs pants for, like… Until he gets his breath back, you know, you know, and says, "Owww…"

Etho's got few decorations in his apartment. Mostly books and shelves. Bdubs keeps bringing him plants and Etho keeps putting them out on the balcony, not taking the hint. At least nothing broke. Nothing's fragile. Bdubs flaps his wings once, spilling glass from the membranes, and twists on his heel. Ah. Yeah… Yeah, he's out.

"Oh, wow- he looks really messed up! He looks like a fish when you tap the glass too much, huh?"

Yeah, for real. Martyn's a jagged shock of cyan energy on the floor, fritzing and melting and rebuilding his wobbly self as he crouches on all fours. Huh… He can't seem to decide whether he wants to have digitigrade or plantigrade legs (or webbed fingers or something else entirely). Martyn's wings take up a lot of space, though they're not as wide as Bdubs' are. They flap up and down, but propel no actual air. He does look like a Martyn. He's kind of ragged and shaky and he doesn't know what he wants. Yeah, that's big Martyn vibes. Bdubs has decided this. Martyn's stubby tail fritzes in and out. His arms dissolve. He slumps forward. Uh-oh…

"Too much phantom kicking in," Bdubs says, hurrying towards him. Martyn whaps his short tail around, but his eyes are huge empty sockets, just sliced in there and leaking white light on the floor, and it's not like he can do much right now anyway. His form sparks in some pathetic attempt to pick a fight. He looks like he'd be drooling if he had a body. Bdubs snaps his tail too, trying to get his attention. "Hey. Hey, you're gonna want those arms! Don't pass up the chance to reform with arms! Hybrids like those. You're a hybrid, yeah?"

A spluttered pinging sound hits his and Etho's communicators at the same time. Bdubs gives his a check, even though Martyn's wriggly body language (soul language) kinda answered this one for itself.

InTheLittleWood: hungry hungry hungry hungry

"I know," Bdubs says, swinging his tail again. This time, he doesn't startle Martyn with the single crack. He keeps it low, keeps it quiet, and tries to show the motion more than he shows any sound. "Everything in your soul is screaming at you 'We're a phantom; you wanna be a phantom' but trust me, don't go that route. Seriously, I've been there before. You're actually a hybrid. If you mess this one up, we're gonna have to drag your soul out and shake you silly until you wake up."

InTheLittleWood: hungry hungry hungry dying hungry dying

"Yeah, right! You can't be hungry. You can't even hold a vessel!"

Martyn writhes on the floor, then collapses in a flat puddle of pixels once again. He starts soaking in the carpet. He looks… pretty dead without the fishbowl, and a lot less solid than the jam-like goop Bdubs talked to like a friend. He leans forward, pressing his palms to his knees.

"Are you dead?"

The pixels whirlpool together. Martyn rears up, heaving like he's been dunked underwater, and crashes down in semi-solid form. Still blue and sparky, yeah, but the vessel's coming along this time.

"That's good! Look, see that white shine you're building up? Oh, you're doing so good, Martyn… Oh, yes. See? See it on your hand? That's adhesion- that'll let you stick to a skin. You keep doing that and you can have a body in no time flat. You're doing wonderful."

Martyn's soul shoots sparks like porcupine quills. He collapses in on himself. Oof.

"No, that's the opposite… That's not wonderful."

Etho's on the floor, trying to collect the broken glass nearest to the couch. "Bdubs, get him a skin."

"Yes. Okay." So he leaves, practically flying down the hall. Martyn can be Etho's problem for a sec. Even from two rooms over, he can hear the crackle and pop of Martyn struggling to take his form again. Oh, he's an inspiration. He's so cool. Pathetic, but… yeah, he's all right.

Etho's closet is full of white-haired skins with minor differences between the shirts and vests they wear. He keeps a few default skins around just in case situations like this ever come up. Bdubs runs his finger across four Steve skins hanging on the left, then stops. Wait… How big is Martyn?

I guess I'll just grab the size L. At least then we know if we need to go one in either direction instead of trying to guess how many jumps down. Does that make sense? It's not an XL. He pulls it from the hanger with a clack of stuff tapping against other stuff. Etho's skins rustle together. Bdubs takes a lingering look at them, picks a stray brown hair that somehow got on the hand of one, then bounds back down the hall to the den.

"Hey, buddy! Look at that! You've got arms!"

Martyn looks way out of it. He's sitting on his knees, his wings drooped behind him. The color's faded in his extremities, which Bdubs shoots a questioning look at Etho for, just in case it's important. Etho's not great at nonverbal communication because he, like, wears the face mask all the time, but he does twitch the fox tail a little at the tip, so that's kind of helpful.

He's concentrating all his soul energy in the middle right now. Gotta get him to spread it to his arms before the vessel decides he doesn't need wings after all. Why even be a phantom hybrid if you can't have wings? The flying's, like, the second best part. Eating souls is pretty good too.

"Oh, good job," he says anyway, prattling on. "Look at all that adhesion goop stuff you've got on! Etho, what's the special word for that?"

"… Glue."

"What? No… I must be thinking of something else. It's gotta be cooler than 'glue.'"

Etho sighs, but doesn't move any closer. Bdubs can hear him, though. He can hear him slide his hands in his pockets, the end of his tail brushing against his heels. "I mean, depends how technical you want to get. It's a membrane. You can see him trying to form chalaza." Etho pronounces it kuh-lay-zuh. "Plural, chalazae. It's… what's inside a spawn egg. A player soul is technically a type of light called RGB that's encased inside a vessel, slathered with chalaza, and sparked to life by an outside influence. It's like a bubble. If you pop the membrane, you get… well. You saw Martyn."

"Yeah, he looks like someone shook him too many times. Not me. I would never do that."

Etho points one finger at a thick sheen of chalaza stuff oozing down Martyn's shoulder. Martyn's panting, staring at nothing. Blue and white spirals whirl across his form as his energy shifts. "Martyn's chalaza burned off in the Void when he lost his skin. He's reverting to his phantom core. He's signaling to the game's code something like… 'Hey, I'm trying to hatch, but I'm gonna be born a mob instead of a hybrid if you don't help me produce chalaza right now." Etho shrugs, nonplussed by all of this. He's seen it all, Etho. "Honestly, I can't believe he's even alive."

"Ohhh… Eww." Bdubs flaps his hands a few times to shake the thought away. "So it's, like… goopy spawn egg stuff. From inside a dragon's belly. Why'd you tell me that?"

"I offered to say 'glue.'" Etho's eyes roll up and stay there. "Huge debate in the programming community on whether or not it comes from the belly, but…"

"Etho calls it glue," Bdubs informs Martyn, kneeling down beside him with the Steve skin. Martyn doesn't react. Oh, he looks like he's having problems. His empty eye sockets fixate on the floor, pulsing white. He's panting a lot (even without a body or lungs), so Bdubs pushes at him with a little tough love. See, Etho's got his coding skills, but Bdubs is a phantom. He's got the magic touch- the "ability to make physical contact with souls and do it right."

He switches his hand into bright blue soul energy, then takes Martyn's arm by the wrist. Martyn flinches, squirming against him. "Shh, shh… Hey, let's get you in a skin. I brought one; it's clean. This is safer! This is safe, yeah? You'll like this better. You're making glue- it's gonna stick! You'll like this."

His wrist-comm pings. Bdubs glances at it, not lowering his hands even when Martyn kicks and tries to twist away.

InTheLittleWood: Help help help help help help help scary scared bite scary wings wings bite escape Steve Steve help help help

"Bdubs, let go," Etho says. He's got his comm in hand, so Martyn probably projected the same message to him. Martyn can't make noise, but if a soul can whine, that's what Martyn's expression looks like right now. He looks like stretched honey or taffy. When Bdubs doesn't immediately let go, Martyn lashes around and starts gnawing at his own wrist. Bdubs drops his hand.

"Huh. I guess he's an Alex. That's cool. Me too." Bdubs takes the Steve skin back to Etho's room and throws it on the bed. Putting stuff on hangers is for freaks. This is time-sensitive or something. He pulls an Alex skin off a different hanger, then brings that back to the main room. Etho's pressed flat against the balcony door, barring the soul from getting past him. Martyn's still not all there in the head. He's curled in the corner now, his back arched up and stunted tail thrashing. Oh, his phantom traits are acting up way bad. He flaps his half-formed wings, hissing soundless noise. Bdubs' and Etho's communicators go 'Ping!' at the same time.

InTheLittleWood: Back back back back back back back back back

"Aw, Etho! Look at him! He's barely older than a spawnling… Can we keep him?"

Etho looks Martyn up and down, but doesn't budge an inch from the door. His arms stay spread wide. A gooey white cut fizzles sparks and tattered pixels in the air. Did Martyn do that? "Well… He's one of yours, right? You're New Star's flock captain. I guess you get to keep him…"

"For real? I'm gonna call him Teddy."

"Okay?" The word rolls out in a laugh. It's familiar, it's friendly, and Etho paces back and forth a couple steps. "Why?"

"Because I already have a friend named Buddy, that's why. I don't have any friends named Teddy. C'mere, Martyn."

Ping!

InTheLittleWood: Bite you bite you bite you bite you scared bite bite bite bite bite you bite hate get you chase you bite you scared scared bite you back back back bite you're scary scared

"You're scary," Etho says, his voice quavering in mock horror. And… maybe it's a little bit genuine way deep down in there. "Oh, Bdubs… What do we do? Do you have any captain tricks to make him stop?"

"Yeah." Bdubs hands over the Alex skin, then trots back to Etho's room. He rips off the bedsheets. This'll be easier if they stay flapped out, so he snaps them in the air. Ping! goes his wrist-comm.

InTheLittleWood: Scary loud scary scared go away go away scared scared scared scared

Bdubs flaps the sheets again, then drags them down the hall from Etho's room. "What? Did he already sync with a skin? How can he hear us?"

"My sheets!"

Etho's all distraught, but he's just silly or whatever; it's like an in-character thing. Bdubs shrugs, still pulling the blankets towards Martyn. "What? You don't need these anyway! It's not like we can sleep in this dimension."

That earns him a pouting lower lip. Etho's two-tone eyes (one gray, one red) stare back at him, eyelids fluttering. "But I like to get all snug and cozy…"

"Come cuddle with me tonight, then," Bdubs scoffs, and marches up to Martyn in the corner. Cleo said to drag Etho out of the lab more often anyway. Martyn snaps his wings. He tries to scrabble across the room on all fours, wings beating, but he's not as fast as he thinks he is. Bdubs lunges forward in a crack of real wings and slams the sheets down on top of him. "GOTCHA!"

Martyn's bright blue beneath the blankets. He thrashes, wriggles free with a twist, and scurries over to Etho's leather couch. Like a mouse, he squeezes beneath. Pixels sputter, sparking horrendously. A long gash opens across his back. Bdubs and Etho wince at the shaved-off streak of code, which unravels in strings and falls to the floor, but Martyn can't even feel it. He doesn't have a body. His wings squirm and struggle. But he fits. Somehow. He does jostle the couch, thumping it against the wall, but he makes it work. Martyn twists around and lies there, peering at them with bright white eye sockets. Bdubs' wrist buzzes again. Etho takes his comm from his pocket too.

InTheLittleWood: Hiding hiding small scared big loud scared small hiding calm good small calm good

"Yeah, I thought so… See, the world is big and scary, so he's trying to make it feel smaller by hiding 'til he can pay attention to it a little at a time." Bdubs lies down on the floor, resting his chin on folded hands. He blinks at Martyn, who can't blink back without eyelids. He just stares with empty white sockets, simply panting beneath the couch. He doesn't have real hair in this form, but from the shape his elastic soul seems to favor, Bdubs gets the impression that Martyn's normally got scruffy hair. Maybe even over his eyes. Martyn flexes his fingers against the edge of the rug. They look semi-solid. That's pretty good.

Bdubs eases his legs down until he's firmly on his stomach, legs flopped way far behind him. Phantoms don't really sploot like this after their adult fangs come in. They usually perch or roost by their tails instead, but some of the hybrids who didn't respawn with all their wing or tail pixels like to hang out like this. After a moment, Martyn turns his panting face to the side. In a ripple of snapping pixels, he sploots himself out too. His head brushes and sizzles against the bottom of Etho's couch. Etho makes an unhappy noise like he's worried it might catch fire. It won't. Souls don't burn. His fluffy white fox tail twitches up again.

"You're a beauty," murmurs Bdubs. "Look at those wings… Oh, baby." Louder, "Hey, Etho? We should probably leave him alone 'til he's ready to come out. Does that work with your schedule? … If it doesn't, I can just force him."

"Yeah, let him alone for a bit." Etho swishes his tail a few times. That kicks dirt flecks and dust into the air. It's honestly a miracle his white fluff stays so clean. "Actually… Bdubs, can you go hunt something for him?"

Hunting… Bdubs stretches like a cat, fingers flexing. Then, with a yawn that shows his fangs, he gets right back off the floor. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I'm flock captain; it's my job. What d'you think? Start him off small?"

Etho tilts his head, scrutinizing Martyn's glowing fingertips. He's not as shadowed or hidden away as he seems to think he is, though as Bdubs stares, Martyn curls in a ball and tucks his tail against his nose. Not a very long tail. "Maybe start him on mob souls. Something thin. Not too much weight in it. Whatever you feed actual spawnlings? He thinks he's a spawnling right now, but that should fade once he's built up a chalaza layer. Once he has one, he'll stop sending 'I'm a baby' signals to the world. If he doesn't pull it off, I think I can spark him and force it. I'll try that as a last resort."

"Yeah, all right." Bdubs makes a vague saluting sign in Martyn's direction, even though Martyn can't see it. "We'll hang out later. For now, I'm gonna get you food. It's what heroes do."

That gets a chuckle out of Etho, at least, which makes it all worth it in the end. "See you later. Bring a toothbrush on your way back if you want to stay the night with us."

"Yeah, he'll like it better here than the roost we have at the clock tower. Too noisy. The bells'll scare him. I should go check on 'em, though- the flock." Bdubs crosses the kitchen and rattles the handle of Etho's front apartment door. He twists it, almost cracking it open, when Etho taps the wall to get his attention.

"Look…"

Bdubs checks back. Martyn's wobbly blue and white face peeps out from under the couch, watching Bdubs go. Huh. Yeah, it's probably because he's making noise, or maybe there's a lot of smells wafting in from the outside world, but Bdubs flicks his tail and plants a hand against his chest.

"He's gonna miss me… He knows I'm his captain already! Hey, this is gonna be fun; it's been ages since we got a new spawnling in New Star. I haven't done this stuff for years."

Martyn disappears under the couch again, though the glow beneath it betrays him like a neon light. "Take care," Etho says, and Bdubs smirks and pats his hand. Like, it's all a motion and a show. It's all good stuff.

"I always do! Bye, Martyn! Good luck with the whole 'not having a body' thing. Back soon! Mwah!"

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Captain Uncaptain'd

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Martyn doesn't poke his head out when Bdubs comes back, even though the gular pouch at his throat holds three different mob souls he can choose from. Bdubs glitters with the aftereffects of a triple strike. Shiny post-feeding pixels float from his arms like snowflakes in reverse. It's like roosting upside-down in a blizzard. They twinkle in the air as each soul dissolves into energy and oozes back into the world's code stream. Martyn - who's still under the couch, just so we're clear - stares at him so intently that Bdubs is pretty sure he knows why he's twinkling and what that means (Free food, duh). But he doesn't come out. He licks his glowing blue lips, hunkered in the half-shadows while Etho works on some other project for some other person at his desk.

"Martyn, hey!" Bdubs kneels beside the couch. Martyn slides backwards, keeping wary distance. "You wanna come out now? … I brought you some souls- Chicken, pig, and sheep. I figured we could split. Oh, but if you want all three, well, of course…"

No reply pings his comm. Martyn presses those big, beautiful wings he's got going on tight against his glowing sides. Those empty eye sockets lock on Bdubs. Martyn's nose twitches. He parts his mouth, tasting the air, but it probably doesn't work that well. Not without a body.

"Y'know, if you want food, you're gonna have to put a skin on."

"Give him time," Etho advises with a shrug. "He doesn't even have his glue on yet. Maybe that has to happen first. And don't forget, he's thinking like a spawnling right now."

"At least he's mostly solid. That's a win for phantom hybrids everywhere. I'll take it." He sucks a glob of pixels from the end of his fingertip. "More for me, then. Hey Etho, watch how fast I can respawn these souls when I sprint three laps around the halls."

"Wanna race?"

"Yeah, let's go!"

The first time Etho sees Martyn fully out from under the couch, he has trouble on the brain. The phantom hybrid still lacks a skin, but that doesn't stop him from sniffing things around him. Etho sits at his desk, watching through his F5 eyes as Martyn - fraction by fraction - eases his glowing form back into full view.

Hm, Etho thinks. That shape won't be ideal long-term. True to Bdubs' fears, Martyn struggled to land the proper hybrid shape. The arms and legs aren't long enough for proper running or building. They mimic the form, but not precisely- the same way iron golems differ from the villagers they protect. As Martyn creeps on all fours behind the coffee table, Etho tries to catch what little he can see. Martyn's eyes still lack pupils, but that's no surprise. They glow white on bare naked souls; skins give a player protective mesh, color, and eyelashes.

Eyelids too. Martyn doesn't blink, but looks at the few objects on the table - the flower, the little chest, the books - and sniffs each one. He nips the book's edge like he can't remember what it is. Maybe to his roughed-up state, it reminds him of a turtle shell. The book's a solid object and his soul doesn't pass through it. Martyn lands one hand atop the book and gnaws the corner of the spine, fighting harder for a grip. Glowing claws curl like a row of tiny scythes. Huh… Bdubs doesn't have claws on his fingers. Only his toes. His feet are vulture-shaped, grabbing branches those few and far-between moments he doesn't roost by his tail.

Etho watches all of this without turning around. While disorienting at the worst of times, there are plenty of uses for F5 vision. Watching the way Martyn watches him, stare fixed for any sign of danger, seemed ideal. If Martyn watches him long enough, he might realize eventually that the tablet screen Etho sat in front of isn't on. But not yet. Your secrets are safe with me.

What will Martyn do without Bdubs flapping wings or shaking his bony tail? Both these things have meaning to phantoms, though whether Martyn is in the frame of mind to recognize them is anyone's guess.

Martyn shifts away from the book, dropping his hand beside the second. He stands that way like a cat, his focus on the kitchen one room over. The tiny nubs on his head that represent phantom ear tufts prick against his hair. Etho can barely glimpse the palms and tiny claws from where he sits, but what he does see makes him frown. Those are not a hybrid's hands. Martyn's brain is still clouded with thoughts of being something else.

A wild phantom.

Martyn stretches one hand forward, but looks to Etho before touching it to soft carpet. He waits, ear nubs lifted, to see if Etho reacts. Exploring can't hurt him. Etho shut the door to his room because the portal to his singleplayer server is in there, but nothing in the apartment should be dangerous. He doesn't keep a kitchen sword- all his forks and knives are carved from bamboo. If anything, the balcony door poses greater risk, because Martyn can very easily fail to catch the air with skinless wings and tumble to the ground. Etho locked that already. If Martyn can figure out item-specific locks in the state he's in, that'll be a wonder. To the point I'd suspect he might be faking.

Martyn takes another step, emboldened now. And this time, he moves far enough from the coffee table that Etho can drink in all of him. His shoulders look crooked, like his phantom brain didn't know where to slap an arm and just squeezed it on there as best it could. His back legs bend in a way a hybrid's wouldn't. He looks again at Etho. His glowing wings are up, his tail poised behind him to smack the ground. Phantoms aren't much good at taking off from ground level (if their roosting habit isn't enough indication). They propel themselves with sharp wingbeats and tail smacks, leaping through the grass until they catch the air enough to glide. Frankly terrifying, especially in the savanna where you see their bodies cresting high grasses like shark fins. No surprise great hungers sometimes catch them.

Etho's communicator pings with an incoming message. He looks down, expecting Bdubs, but it's Martyn who's projecting thoughts across the room.

InTheLittleWood: day or night?

"Uhhh… Depends, I guess." Etho tries to keep his voice low. Martyn jumps a little in surprise, but doesn't scamper for his hiding place beneath couch. That's progress. "We're underground, so it's difficult to tell and doesn't make much difference. We do have a clock tower. That's where the phantoms roost." He holds his hand flat, trying to represent the roosting platform, then gives up and makes a triangle with his hands for the roof instead. Martyn gazes back, eyes pulsing white. A pale glimmer of chalaza marks a few places on his soul, especially around his head, but the rest of him is mostly blue. Then he realizes what Martyn's probably asking. "Ah, if you go outside, you won't burn in the sun. We're fully covered here."

InTheLittleWood: Am I needed?

Needed? Etho doesn't have an answer for that one. He tries to cast his mind across the room, slipping into Martyn's shoes. Er… soul. Martyn found their server hub by flying out of the Void, using the gap in the bedrock where the endermen dip down to filter-feed. Etho hadn't been there, but Tango caught him up to speed. From the sound of it, Martyn came crashing down, his skin burned off by the Void itself, and he'd dissolved to a puddle right then and there. He'd been carrying an armful of soul crystals- or player files, to use Etho's preferred term. They'd spilled across the ground as the market crowd came closer to see this wild stranger, and luckily Tango had scooped them all up before anyone broke them with a stomping boot.

"They might be refugees," Tango suggested, and when Etho took a careful look at Martyn's spasms, his soul puddling on the ground and straining to reform, he agreed.

"I think… the phantom is cycling them. Look- He's got feed particles."

Martyn might be asking about those files. Etho gave it his best reply: "You're in New Star Station. We plugged the soul crystals you had into our system. Your friends reformed already- A little dizzy, but they're fine. They said your name is Martyn and you'd rescued them from another hub."

InTheLittleWood: I'm not needed?

That question doesn't inspire Etho with confidence either. "You're safe," he emphasizes. "New Star Station is safe. This place was built after the attack on First Moon City years ago. We take in refugees all the time."

InTheLittleWood: who needs me?

Maybe he's looking for a captain. Phantoms are a flock-oriented species. Martyn's mind might be a little foggy as he went through this resetting process of soul and skin, but even a phantom mob would seek structure amidst confusion. "Bdubs is the flock captain. He was here earlier. Do you remember?" Etho holds one hand about level with his shoulder, not getting out of his chair. "About this tall, curly brown hair, big wings? He wears a lot of green."

InTheLittleWood: I am captain

… Hm. "Well, maybe take that up with Bdubs. He knows more about phantoms than I do."

InTheLittleWood: Who needs me?

This is going 'round in circles. Etho scours his thoughts again. Is he overlooking something? Martyn stands there on all fours, looking at him intently, and he doesn't have an answer. The phantom flaps his wings. They beat, but don't blow any air Etho's way. Not without physical form. They shimmer, though, and traces of chalaza shine across the backs. "Uh, I don't think anyone needs you right now. Just rest up. When you're ready, we'll sync you with a skin."

Martyn sniffs in some reproach. At that exact moment, the doorknob rattles. Martyn shoots beneath the couch with a smack of wings and tail, vanishing as quick as he'd crawled out. Quicker, even. The door swings open, revealing Bdubs and his wide-stretched grin.

"Heeey, Etho! How's our little friend? Is he making any progress?" He throws his boots on the kitchen table with a clatter, back to flaunting his clawed feet. Etho's tail twitches at the end. Bdubs prattles on, crossing the room with bouncy steps. "Oh, he's gonna love the flock. They're all waiting for him- I can't wait to tour the clock tower with him." He crouches beside Martyn's hiding place, clicking his tongue and ticking teeth. "Aw, look at you… Your wings are beauty. How's it going, little guy?"

InTheLittleWood: scary loud scared scared help scary scared

Bdubs' lips twist in disappointment. "Huh… He doesn't talk much, does he, Etho?"

"… Nope. He's still settling in, I guess."

Bdubs flops down with his latest sewing project, huffing every time he struggles to thread the needle. He's making good progress, though. On… whatever it is he's making. Etho pages through the list of shows on his communicator for something that won't frighten Martyn with yelling or booms. The options don't look thrilling, but after a few minutes, he settles on an Emerald Hills stage play about a newbie with a lantern who hadn't yet discovered it held some ancient souls. The story fell a little flat - or maybe Etho just didn't have a thespian's tastes - but the backdrops did their job and the line delivery hit well enough to get a few nose exhales out of both of them.

Halfway through the show, Martyn creeps out enough to look at them both. They greet him by name, keeping distance as best they can. Martyn's tail gives a flick. He leaps on the cushion at Etho's other side, watching over his shoulder. The play doesn't hold his interest for long. Off he jumps, followed by sniffing around while Bdubs looks on in curious fascination. Martyn takes special interest in Etho's bookshelf. Bracing himself, he wobbles up to his hind legs and paws around at books and bookends.

"Oh, good," Etho sighs, getting up. "He's after my bottle of 1s. Hey, shoo. That's not for you." He waves an arm at Martyn, who drops back to all fours and bounds away down the hall without argument. The drink is safe another day. Etho never did unlock his door, so he doesn't worry. The only time he glances over, Martyn's got his head twisted for the best scratching angle, kicking with his back leg to itch nonexistent skin. Then the phantom twists around to chew at his wobbly wing.

"I like him," Bdubs announces, leaning so far off the couch to watch Martyn, he almost topples over. "You know what? I'm gonna train him personally. False doesn't need my help to be a better phantom anyway. This guy? He needs me now!"

"He'll probably like that."

Of course, they can't stay up watching movies forever. The bells on the distant clock tower sing across the station. Etho checks his communicator out of habit, but he isn't among the crowd who just dropped to "almost time to go online again." His comm still glows blue. He only hunts for the sport of it, and only when the full moon is tugging his fox instincts into play. That's not tonight. Bdubs, though, has somewhere to be. You can see it in the way his eyes flicker from black to green; he's sniffed a target without even trying. He reluctantly puts away his thread. "Time to go to work," he says, and Etho nods.

"Happy hunting. Bring Martyn back something nice."

"We'll see. I'm chasing hybrids to bed, remember- Not mobs."

Martyn, who's still on his belly by the closet, jerks up his head. He pings Etho's communicator with a thought (and from the sound of it, Bdubs' too).

InTheLittleWood: Am I needed?

"No, you can't hunt," Bdubs tells him, swinging the sewing bag on his shoulder. "You need to fly to get the speed, and you've gotta have a skin for that. You wait here, sugarplum. I'll be back before you know it."

Martyn whaps his stubby tail against the ground a few times, looking on as Bdubs says good-bye and leaves the room. Once he's gone, Etho turns to Martyn. He keeps plenty far back. He pockets the hand that doesn't hold his communicator and even leans his shoulder to the wall, putting off the most disinterested energy he can muster. That "I won't make any sudden moves, so don't be alarmed" kind of energy.

"So, Martyn… In your old hub, were you a captain?"

InTheLittleWood: There weren't other phantoms

Etho reads the message twice over. "Huh. I didn't think phantoms could live alone. I mean, one death and you respawn back in Duskfell Caves." It isn't even hard to kill one of those guys. A full flock can deliver devastating damage with their swoops and bites, but each individual had soft skin and brittle bones. Even Bdubs, who grew up in the zombie spawner hub of Underdark Crossing - with Cleo, by the way - had other phantoms to keep him company. Heck, even Impulse had a crew back in the day… He couldn't shake his tagalongs no matter how hard he tried to strike out on his own. At least, not 'til the raid on First Moon City scattered his flock, but that's a story for another day. "I guess that explains the big wings. Survival leaves its mark."

Martyn tilts his head, tongue scraping around his lipless lips. He pings again.

InTheLittleWood: I'm adopted

"Oh… Like, you didn't grow up in Duskfell? With the other phantoms?"

InTheLittleWood: With otter kids

Otter kids… Etho turns a list of place names through his head. Back when he lived aboveground, he used to travel with his mom. Only sometimes, but he'd seen a few hubs. There were many hybrids out there… but otter hybrids didn't sound too familiar. "Where is that? What was your hub name?"

But the only answer he gets for that is a yawn. Martyn stretches his back, tongue flicking out, then gives himself a shake. Streaks of chalaza fly off his wings and spatter the walls. He twists around to gnaw on his hip again. Etho leaves him to it. He got a pinch of info out of Martyn, and even that much concentration on speaking seems to have worn him out. Martyn can share more when he's ready. At least he isn't under the couch.

"Bdubs is New Star's flock captain," he says anyway, turning his back. "He's loud, gruff, and he's big on tough love, but he knows what he's doing. He's been around a long time. He's one of New Star's co-founders, you know."

Chances are, Martyn doesn't know. Well… He can figure that out on his own time. Maybe when he isn't scratching one foot behind his ear.

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That afternoon - or maybe the evening; there was no good way to tell - Etho tries again to coax Martyn into a skin. He brings an armful to the living room, but the moment Martyn sees him, he scrambles under the couch like before. Etho crouches down, spreading each skin out flat so the guy can get a better look. When he glances sideways, Martyn's watching very closely, his chin resting on his hands. It's tough to see his haunches from here, but from the way he's posed, Etho suspects he's ready to pounce.

"When you're ready," he says, straightening the Alex skin's sleeve, "you can put one of these on as a temporary cover. We have custom skin-makers here. They'll get you a better one."

InTheLittleWood: nah, no way. scary and scared

What's scary? "I can leave? Uh… I don't like changing in front of people either." Does Martyn have the same anxiety about undressing that he does? That doesn't seem likely, given how he's been naked this whole time, but it would explain the commitment to hiding under the couch. Etho, immediately burning with heat, resolves to avoid looking at him anymore if he can help it. What about wearing skins could have spooked Martyn so much, he'd face the terrors of nudity before the terrors of clothes?

Well. His last skin did burn off in the Void… Maybe he thinks he'll get burned again. Right now, he does have "spawnling brain." Adjusting to the world again will take some time. Martyn hunches up, drawing his head and hands in tight. He wraps himself with his stumpy tail. Etho's comm bleeps again.

InTheLittleWood: Am I needed?

"I'm not sure? What are you asking about?"

InTheLittleWood: If you think you're putting me to work anytime soon, you've got another thing coming.

This was the most eloquent sentence Martyn had yet produced. Etho snuffs in good humor, drawing back. "I won't make you wear it," he says, "but if you can help it, you shouldn't stay a soul for much longer. You're already dirty. That might slow your recovery." The thought of leaving Martyn alone with the skins so he'll have both privacy and time to adjust is very tempting. There are leftovers in the ice chest, but restaurants in the city beyond these walls. Showers, too. He doesn't have his own here in the apartment.

Etho examines his pointy nails, which have been losing strings of code for the last two hours (at least). Hmm… He really could use a wash and a change of skins himself, but he probably shouldn't go, especially if Martyn's coming into his senses. Locked or not, maybe he really will escape through the balcony door. Or the front door. If he gets out into the city, not only is that indecent, but drawing him back will be a pain. To say nothing of the people who might crowd around him, eager to see the newcomer. There's a reason dragons keep their spawnlings near until they're big enough to explore and express themselves with limited supervision. Even the Slime Dragon who calls New Star Station home keeps her babies in a hidden sewer tunnel. It's all too easy to get overwhelmed.

"I might go down to the shower house," he says, backing away even further. "Would you want to come?"

Martyn doesn't reply, nor does he crawl out from under the couch. Etho goes on, taking the unspoken answer anyway.

"All right. I guess I'll do some editing. My workstation's in my room. I'll be back in a few minutes to make food, but other than that, I'll give you some privacy." That sounds like a fair compromise. He can prop his door open so he'll hear the sound of Martyn messing with the locks. And he can check on Martyn a couple of times under the pretense of warming leftovers or putting his dishes away, without leaving Martyn feeling overly babied. Win-win.

But when Etho moves down the hall, Martyn squirms free of his hideaway and follows. Etho's tail snaps sideways on instinct, warning the guy about personal space. Martyn freezes. So does Etho, turning back to him. Martyn sits his rump down hard, peering upward with the same bug-eyed stare he's worn all day. He says nothing, but pats his own tail against the floor, like a dog.

Or a phantom. Bdubs does the same thing when Etho cooks a soul soup he can smell halfway across the station.

"Uhh…" Etho's fingers twitch. The fox deep inside him growls, territorial and stubborn, but the logical chunk of his brain is stubborn-er: Martyn has no skin, and therefore he can't hunt. Phantoms are aggressive scavengers, sure… but it isn't like Martyn has the fangs to rip the soul straight out of him and devour it sloppily on the floor. Not yet, anyway. And even when the teeth are on, spawnlings don't hunt; they eat what the captain brings home for them. It might take his brain a while to switch over, and that'll at least give Etho time to scramble off. "You've got a lot of nerve inviting yourself into my den there! … But that's fine. You can hang here with me if you want. We can stay up late, sharing all our hopes and secrets…"

He unlocks his bedroom door. With a flick of his hand, the lanterns spark on. Martyn takes one look at the double-layer mattress, thick pillows, and mob plushie pile before dropping to a crouch. He wriggles his rump, cracks down his tail, and launches from the floor to the bed. It happens so fast, Etho can only blink. He'd changed the sheets after Bdubs tore them off, though one corner hadn't gone on properly. The fwump hits his ears a second later as Martyn sinks among the blankets. His arms scramble-

InTheLittleWood: Help! Sinking!

- but he finds his footing soon enough. He braces himself on all fours, back arched, glaring mistrustfully at the squishy section he'd fallen into. The communicator pings again. The message that comes through confirms Martyn's growling noises that don't translate very well. He paws the blankets in reproach. They curl away. Well. Etho sighs, his breath fluttering back against his mask. But it's fine. He doesn't need the bed. If Martyn's comfy up there, he can have it. Etho pulls the chair from his editing desk and drops his butt down. "Let me know if you need anything. And don't chew on my stuff."

Martyn licks his lips. He settles in the mattress dip, this time intentionally, and droops his wings to either side. He looks like a nesting bird. Like a comfy hen. As Etho gets to work, he sneaks glances at Martyn through his F5 vision. Martyn's preening his claws, driving what Etho can only assume are stubby little teeth between the crevices. He licks up dirt and rustles his wings just often enough that it's hard to forget he's there. 30 minutes in, Etho starts to cave.

You know… A long rest would be nice. And lying down would help him keep an eye on Martyn so the phantom doesn't bore and pull the leg off some plush. Etho's fingers hover over his tablet keys.

You can't sleep in the Between dimension. So it isn't like if he swaddles himself in blankets and shuts his eyes, he'll drift off to dreamland. Martyn can't leave the bed without him knowing. And poor Martyn is new here, and probably lonely. Especially as a member of a flock-oriented species. A break couldn't hurt…

Etho leaves his chair. At the sight of him getting up, Martyn smacks his tail against the bed. He gives his whole body a wiggle. When Etho lies down, pulling the sheets over him as best he can with Martyn on top, Martyn rolls over and butts his head on Etho's arm. Oh, is that how he wants to play?

"Hey, Littlewood… Just resting my eyes. I'm not in your way, I hope. I mean, it is my room." Etho slides his hand over, tousling Martyn's glowing hair flops. He rubs and scratches him behind the ear tufts. The communicator in his pocket vibrates against his leg.

InTheLittleWood: Prrrrr

I'm not pressuring him to perform, am I? Martyn panicked so hard that first hour, the thought of twisting things around - convincing him he has to be someone he isn't just to avoid getting kicked out where sunshine can roast him alive - fills Etho's throat with yucky stings. But… He doesn't look scared anymore. He's sort of like a spawnling. They can't hunt for themselves. They can't fly right after hatching. They broil in the sun. They're easy to break. They need someone to look out for them… They need a captain. Martyn nestles up to Etho, flipping his goopy tail. And he'd probably do this around other phantoms, right? So petting him is okay.

He strokes Martyn's head more firmly this time. I wonder what color hair he likes. A soul can't feel the pressure of his hand, though it can feel temperature. Etho's soul naturally produces cool energy. Martyn's blazes hot and sharp beneath his hand. Funny…

He's not like Bdubs at all. Bdubs' soul is freezing, like the undead floating through the Void. No surprise there. But Martyn takes it farther. Bdubs probably would show his belly and croon for pets if Etho coaxed him to, but it would just be… Bdubs. An act. A game. Stripping the layers of clowning around off the guy could take hours, but the authentic figure you land on in the end is loyal to a fault and as complimentary as they get. Yeah, even when the bragging and teasing's been nudged away. Well. Bdubs is a high-level hybrid; he's been around a long time and worked his way up the ranks. Cream of the crop. Head honcho of the team.

What level is Martyn s'posed to be? They won't find out until he's focused enough to express that. Martyn's friends made it sound like he's about where they are. Pearl seemed adamant that Martyn doesn't have many levels at all. Those wings look big, and that might be a few years under his belt right there. His tail looks so little, though! I don't think he can roost like that. It wouldn't wrap around a sturdy enough branch. Even the clock tower's roosting bars might give him trouble.

Etho moves his arm, scratching around Martyn's neck. Martyn turns over again, back on his stomach. Etho stalls his hand. But instead of springing off the bed, Martyn shifts forward so their noses almost brush. His fingers find the white flops of Etho's hair. He pushes them sideways, then leans in - tongue extended - and starts lapping the hairs to one side. Etho blinks. Uhhh. Do souls even produce saliva? Martyn does drip a little, but that has more to do with not having a skin than having a mouth.

Etho swishes his tail, curling in his toes. If his fox brain were pushing harder right now, if it were a full moon night with mob instincts running at their strongest, then maybe he'd try to get comfortable and relax into Martyn's preening attempt. Maybe he'd even lick him back. But right now, with the moon who-knows-what aboveground but definitely not full, this crosses an "acceptable mob behavior" line. Etho pushes Martyn aside, sitting up.

"No."

Martyn gazes back at him, totally blank. And not just in the glowing eyes. Etho touches him again. Just, from more of a distance this time. Petting Martyn's hair feels "real" somehow from the very start. He isn't soft without a body. The plushies give better hugs. He'll overheat the sheets. It'd be far too easy to spook him, too, and send a startled Martyn diving off the bed. But for one flickering moment as Etho stretches on his belly, tracing fingers through the shape that will someday be Martyn's hair, he has a funny thought:

Bdubs gets to feel like this all the time. Phantoms love a good captain. Do they ask for scritches and cuddles too? Huh. I always thought that was a blaze thing. Maybe it's both. But phantoms have those giant wings, plus they do the whole allofeeding thing. They could easily lounge together as they preen each other's exposed bones, or intertwine tails while digesting their latest meal.

InTheLittleWood: Tk tk tk…

InTheLittleWood: Prrrrrrrrreeeee…

InTheLittleWood: Tk tk tk…

Something deep, deep down inside his omnivore soul itches to answer that ticking call, even if it's printed in typeface instead of clicked aloud. Martyn wants food. He knows he can't hunt. He wants his captain to bring him a little treat. Etho moves one leg towards the edge of the bed… then pulls it back again.

He's an anivore. He eats souls. I don't have any of those lying around. Bdubs will fly back after his shift, though. The brilliant thing about phantom biology is that devouring the energy of other players spikes their own up a level. Most people in New Star travel to a server so they can get some shut-eye, but phantoms never feel that sleepy urge. They swarm, they hunt, they eat. And they're loyal to the end.

"You've no idea how lucky you are," Etho murmurs, curling all his fingers now in Martyn's dirt-speckled hair. He's dripping chalaza on the bed. Did he stop trying to form a coating for his skin glue? Well… That's an after-the-break problem. "Bdubs is the greatest flock captain I've ever known. He's smart, he's reliable, he doesn't take being pushed around by messy smart-mouths who couldn't lead a patrol if the sunlight depended on them… Now that you're here, you'll get to roost at the clock tower every night. Even when the captain's away on a server, you'll have the flock with you. New Star doesn't host a lot of vex or great hunger hybrids, so we honestly might have built up one of the biggest phantom flocks in Between."

Not counting Duskfell Caves where they spawn, anyway.

"Watch out for alligators, though. But you're gonna love it here. Few natural predators, no burning sunlight, plenty of souls to hunt every day… People won't come banging down your door with the 'Problem of the Week' every time to want to rest. That must be nice. And you'll never have to sleep alone."

InTheLittleWood: Prree?

Etho shakes his head. Keeping one hand pressed to Martyn, he reaches for his pillow with the other. "You lucked out, y'know, with the RNG to be spawned a phantom. Hhhh… What I wouldn't give to switch places with you."

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Couch Potato

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You don't do a lot of grocery shopping when you're a phantom. Maybe for charcoal to clean your teeth with, and you should really see the tree farm for that. Martyn doesn't have a health or hunger meter while he's not in a skin. He's not even all there in the head. Bdubs makes a special effort to hit the market for sugar cookies and chocolate that might lure him out from under the couch, but Martyn stays put. Wow, okay. Don't say I never did anything for you.

He "sleeps" over at Etho’s place for the next three days. Martyn spends all of that hiding under the couch. Bdubs even plays up the whole "Ooh, look at me cuddled in Etho's lap while we watch movies on his comm" schtick in an attempt to shoo him out, but either Martyn's still deep in his mob-like mindset, or he's one stubborn butt. Etho says he's just taking his time to process his surroundings. Honestly, Bdubs clocked him for the same thing. It's weird though, right? Why's he like that?

On the fourth day, Bdubs lies on the rug in front of the couch again with his chin in his hand. Etho's sandals brush as he walks closer, one slow tap at a time. He crouches down. Beneath the couch, Martyn lays down his head. Etho studies him for a moment, but his thumb doesn't stop tapping at the corner of his lips. He's thinking heavy thoughts. What's that about? After a moment of mental "Huh?"-ing, Bdubs finally asks. Etho shrugs.

"Something's not right…"

"What?"

"Well, you'd know more about phantoms than me. Look at his tail. What do you think?"

Bdubs gives the guy under the couch another once-over. Martyn's not wearing clothes. He doesn't really need 'em, though, in this fuzzy blue and white state. Dirt won't stick to him and there's no skin to cut, so the cloth wouldn't protect anything. Oh… Oh, yeah! Now that Etho's pointed it out, it's freakin' obvious. There's no way that short, stubby tail sprouting from the base of Martyn's rump can support his weight once he's inside a skin! Bdubs presses his lips in a tight-stitched frown.

He slides a hand under the couch. His fingers close on the edge of Martyn's semi-chalaza-coated wing. There's a chunk missing near the edge. Martyn hisses, trying to wrench it back, but he doesn't have lots of room to move. Bdubs fans the membrane out as best he can. The wing's not even the whole length it should be, but it's more than enough to get the answer he's looking for. "Wait, what level is this guy at?"

"It's weird, right?"

"Are you kidding?" Bdubs releases the wing. Martyn tucks it back against his side, still splooted on his stomach and now all the more unhappy. "The wing size upgrades are way up the skill tree. He's still got spawnling tail? Has he just been hoarding all his points? … How'd he even get those skills if he can't roost yet?"

"Not sure. What would make you opt to skip XP in roosting?"

Hmm… "That's a good question." Bdubs lies in silence for a moment, watching Martyn stare at nothing. Patches of blue still show through his white membrane, but he's more goopy than sparkling right now. He looks like he'll stick inside a skin, if he'll just try it. His arms and spine are coated with the stuff. What little Bdubs can see of his chest and belly look raw and blue, though. Still. Even though it's been a couple days.

All eggs that hold a phantom soul are laid at the phantom soul spawner in Duskfell Caves. That's way far from here, on the other side of the Fox Dragon's tundra… New Star's underneath that right now (This place was built around the slime spawner). I mean, it's actually not far at all. He just forgot. Look, that's not the point. He says to Etho, "I might've skipped roosting XP if I left Duskfell young and fell in fast with a community that used beds and apartments instead of trees. You're probably not roosting if you have a room and a place to crash."

New Star Station, where they're living now underground, is a good example. Most all the trees are confined to the tree farm, with a few rare exceptions if they're growing by the streets and can hold lanterns. Some of the buildings down here are brick, others wood and stone. Scott designed this place himself from the ground up; Bdubs has been here since the start. There are some good tail roosts around certain window ledges if you know what you're looking for. Well, some people don't like you in their space 'cuz they think you'll knock their plants off or steal the souls from their pets. You might. But really, anyone with adult fangs isn't going to bother. Mob souls taste like frosting without cake; only spawnlings are still gnawing with their baby teeth. It's like… What's the point?

For legal reasons, let's clarify that part: Eating souls doesn't hurt no one. Everyone who gets eaten by a phantom gets dissolved into light particles, cycled through the system, and pops back via respawn again just fine. It's not gross. It's just the way it is. Every other hybrid was dropped in Between by the devs to be food for phantomkind, and they're delicious. Especially thoughtful people like Etho, who never makes you feel weird about the eating. Maybe 'cuz he deals with weird soul stuff all the time, like Martyn living in a fishbowl. Or hiding under his couch. Etho's soul tastes like maple syrup, and his hair might as well be pancakes.

The clock tower hosts a roosting platform underneath its many faces. Thanks to hidden redstone wires in the structure pillars, there's plenty of room for phantoms to come and go. It's even got fence posts hanging from the ceiling. You can roost from 'em. Martyn will like it. Bdubs tells as much to Etho, who shrugs and says, "I guess that makes sense. You might be onto something with him never roosting before, though."

They hang out a while, just looking at Martyn and eating fruit on the floor. Etho's not a sweets guy and Bdubs can only digest raw code, like souls. Martyn's looking pretty juicy right about now. Bdubs scoffs and flicks an apple slice aside. Hey, why'd I even get this stuff? See, it's tricky, having a scavenger's body. Especially 'cuz phantoms are undead mobs.

Etho's watching. He plucks up a cherry and says, "I never asked. Are phantoms first born some different mob, then respawned as phantoms later, or…?"

"Oh, that would've been cool. Nah, we're born dead."

"Born dead?"

"Yeah, it's complex-ified…"

"Try me," Etho says, picking grapes and cheese from the charcuterie board. "It's not any weirder than you guys being anivores."

Yeah, that's true. Y'know, people don't talk about it, but belonging to a species that can only refill their hunger meters by eating souls is sometimes a barrier in making friends. Etho's a fox hybrid, though. He's an omnivore, so he could eat souls if he wanted to. Etho gets it. He's cool. Bdubs coughs.

"Okay. So, you know how we do the whole allofeeding thing?" He brings thumb and forefinger to the base of his neck and gives a slight tug. His gular pouch pulls free (kinda reluctant, clinging close to his throat). "It's not swallowing, right? It's just unhinging the jaw, storing food down unda da tongue - like this, ah - and using natural soul energy to push it up later? … Well, that's how the Phantom Dragon cares for our spawn eggs."

"I think the Alligator Dragon does that too."

"The Fox Dragon doesn't?"

Etho quirks up his tail, stifling something like a laugh behind both his mask and the fingers on his chin. "Nah. My mom has a special birthing cave where she keeps all our eggs underground, out of the snow. She moves in and out collecting food a while, but once the first one in the batch hatches, she doesn't leave. Not 'til we're all out and weaned."

"Oh yeah. You're a mammal."

"Just easier to keep us clean and out of the cold that way, I think. We put our baby XP in growing cozy fluff. We don't go on 'adventures' with our mom like you guys."

"Yeah, we do that."

Brief pause. Martyn's just poked his head from under the couch. Etho takes another slice of cheese and crackers from the board, watching him watch them. Martyn doesn't even look like he's listening. His blank eyes narrow straight on the charcuterie. His mouth hangs open like he's tasting the air. He adjusts position fleck by fleck, gathering all his weight. Well, maybe not weight. He is a soul, after all. He's definitely gathering something, like muscles. Except he has no muscles. He did finish reforming his legs eventually. He'll probably be disappointed by the stuff on the board, though. You can take a soul and slice it up - It doesn't cause that person any pain, 'cuz they're already kicked offline and into their AFK server at that point; they don't know - and you can make a really good charcuterie like that. Especially with the livestock hybrids.

"Hey, you want any of this?" Bdubs asks. Martyn pretty much blinks. Two comms go off at that moment.

InTheLittleWood: cheese means cows

"Uh. Yeah, I guess so."

InTheLittleWood: hungry for cows

"Can it wait? We're hanging out."

Martyn tilts his head. He doesn't have eyelids in this state, so he can't really blink. Nonetheless, he sploots himself out flat. His stubby tail ticks to one side.

"Hang on," Etho says, getting to his feet. A clean Alex skin lies limp across his desk chair. "If he's a soul, he doesn't have a hunger meter. Maybe he's ready to try this so he can eat." He picks up the skin, but Martyn disappears back under the couch like before. Huh. Probably? There's still too much "I'm a baby" muddling going on in his head for him to go fully hybrid mode again. At least he's got arms and legs. Bdubs looks at Etho. They both shrug, so Bdubs goes back to talking. Talking's easy, especially with Etho; sitting and chatting probably makes them seem less scary to approach. Martyn's not thrashing and biting anymore, so that's a plus.

"Anyway-"

"Continue, Bdubs."

"Thank you. So, the Phantom Dragon keeps the eggs down in her gular pouch, plus plenty of souls to eat after we hatch. That's how she keeps us warm even though she's not alive. Once a new soul settles in an egg, the shell flashes really hot or really cold, right? So when our mom" - ugh - "feels that temperature shift, she just moves the egg around the throat pouch 'til she can squeeze it, and it cracks. Ta-da! Now you've got a spawnling surrounded by tasty soul juices. It's free food for days, baby!" Bdubs flits his hand. "We're born unalive, but we soak in XP orbs from all those souls until we get past those first couple levels. Once you're Level 3 or 4, then you're a lot more awake, believe me."

Etho chuckles. What's so funny, huh? "I'd call that weaning," he says, "but you guys never really give the allofeeding up."

"Yeah, hunting's real miserable if you're not settled at a hub. Escorting people through Between pays okay, though." At least that's one thing about eating souls… They're never dead and never gone. Not forever. Phantoms, like any anivore species, just recycle their pixels and energy back through a server hub's system 'til they respawn- Hey, we just went over this! Fresh body and everything, without unnecessary scratches or aches and pains. Very popular.

They check beneath the couch at Martyn together. Martyn's resting, shifting his wings against his back. The curve of his spine's a little off. Yeah, that's not right for someone who's supposed to hang upside-down when resting, and Etho notices that too. He lowers his voice. "When do you leave the throat pouch?" he asks. "Dragons lay a lot of eggs. She can't fit too many, right?"

"Well, phantoms are always hatched one clutch at a time. Linda doesn't lay more until we've all left. We can't fly 'til we're bigger, so we ride in her ribcage or on her back while she goes all around Between, hunting stuff."

"Wait- the ribs too? What happens if you fall out?"

Bdubs laughs. "Are you kidding? Aw, you know Linda. The soul spawner's down in the caves, so if you jump off or fall, you respawn back at Duskfell- you're on your own 'til she gets back. No food for you, unless someone from an older clutch gives you allofeeding."

"Oh noooo… GG. Maybe I lucked out being a fox hybrid."

"Yeah, but it's not a bad way to live. I mean, without Linda, you don't learn to hunt or fly until long after the rest of us. Falling off is runt behavior. Were you a runt, Etho? See, I clung onto Mom 'til I was the last one left. Each time she almost left a town without me, I flew fast enough to catch her tail and cling on. After weeks and weeks, she escorted me to Underdark Crossing and I took over my life from there. That's where I met Cleo! I worked my way up the ranks all by myself, and that's what makes me captain material."

Etho blinks, slowly, like this is the first time he's heard this story. Wait, is it? Huh. "'Escorted,'" he repeats. One finger rubs the base of his chin, scratching the soft mask he wears even in his own home on summer days. Honestly, good for him; the face mystery is fun. "Are you sure that's not just the one time she managed to dump you and ditch?"

"HEY! That's my mom you're talking about!"

Martyn hisses from under the couch, though whether that's in agreement or he's just making a noise complaint is anyone's guess. Well, like… It's Bdubs' and Etho's guess. He's probably upset about the noise. Honestly, Bdubs doesn't even call the Phantom Dragon 'Mom' unless he's making a point. She's just… y'know. Linda. Etho's mom is Charlotte, the Fox Dragon. She's cool too. Doesn't let the New Star phantoms hunt aboveground, though.

"But baby phantoms can't fly," Etho checks.

"Nope! At least, they're not supposed to. The skill tree starts with chirping, actually." Bdubs sits up, bracing himself on his hands. "We do contact calls, right?"

"Oh, don't remind me."

Bdubs smacks the guy with the edge of one wing. "Rude. But yeah, we use those calls to beg food off other phantoms and stuff. Plus, you shouldn't hunt young 'cuz this way, you can put XP in your skills for growing, wrestling, and roosting. Martyn knows what I mean. Huh, Martyn?"

Martyn thwacks his tail against the floor. That might be agreement or a request to stop looking at him. Who knows? Bdubs keeps looking at him anyway. What's Martyn gonna do about it? Fight a flock captain? Please. He won't even stick to a skin. What a baby.

"No, I get it," Etho says. "The fox spawnling skills are about sniffing, wrestling, and digesting solid food. We don't learn to hunt or burrow until we're higher-leveled."

"Yeah. Yeah, you get me." Bdubs shrugs. His wings flop out to either side. It startles Martyn. "Anyway, yeah. Upgrading your tail so it's long enough to roost from is definitely on the Baby To-Do List, and it's s'posed to be before you even get your fangs. Then you have to fledge out your flight muscles."

"Oh, we definitely don't do that."

"Yeah, I bet. There's a whole set of skills you need for balance, speed, and long-term gliding… I don't think you can keep stacking XP in wing size until you've mastered the basic skills. Wings come way after roosting."

They peek at Martyn again. Martyn turns his head, staring through them with blank white eyes. His stubby tail pats against the floor. Etho curls his fingers in the bushy tip of his own and starts brushing dirt out and onto the rug. "So, he's not exactly a spawnling… He's got too much XP for that."

InTheLittleWood: I can hear you

"Huh? Are you synced to a skin?"

InTheLittleWood: yeah sounds good

Nice try, lip-reader.

"He's real scrawny," Bdubs notes. It's easy to break your wings if you're just a lone fella on the hunt. He scoots towards the couch. Martyn bunches closer to the wall. Bdubs tsk-tsks, swinging his tail. "I can't get a good look at his teeth. If he's got spawnling teeth, he can't hunt… I gotta feed him, then." He sits back and shrugs, just to prove to Etho that this is no big deal and not even a bother. It's barely a ping on his radar. "I can take him up to the roost once he's got a skin. I told the flock he's here, so at least they know."

Etho nods. Slowly. "'S been a long time since we went underground. Have you taken care of spawnlings before?"

"Nah, but I could've. My mom took care of me, and look how I turned out! He's just one guy. How hard can it be?"

💙  🧡  💚

Afternoon draws along to evening. Really, you can't tell underneath the bedrock ceiling. Only the clock tower counts the passing minutes, and who knows if that's even accurate after all these years? It could've been ticking a second too fast all this time. Maybe even four. You don't know!

Regardless, Bdubs leaves Etho and Martyn to hang out by themselves and swoops across their server hub. There's a reason this place went into hiding, y'know. New Star Station's notable for its non-anarchy gameplay policy. Yeah, you won't find those aboveground much anymore. And server hub management's not an easy feat. Even though there are 98 dragons in Between, they're always so busy with their eggs that they don't really bother with interpersonal politics. Some hybrids crane their necks and try to take charge. Most who do give up within a couple months or years. Maybe weeks. On-server, at least an admin can blacklist someone who's causing trouble and wipe their hands of them. In the Between dimension, if you want someone physically out of your hub, you have to unplug their player file from the system and then kill 'em so they'll respawn at their species' soul spawner. Good luck if that happens to be in the hub you're trying to set rules for. Non-anarchy hubs rarely last for long.

New Star Station has Smajor1995 for a mayor. Scott's whole claim to fame is the rainbow star pulsing on the underside of his hand. It's made of these five blinky dots. You might recognize it from fun game modes like 'playing on a server with a command block.' There used to be 100 dragons in Between, each corresponding with a different mob (or at least an umbrella category).

But even dragons aren't invincible… And in a world of anarchy players, maybe it's not crazy news that a few fell here and there. Like the cluckshrooms. Oh, they've been extinct for centuries since their mama dragon died. Rumor has it that Herobrine himself slayed her years ago - Mallory was her name - and they're gone-zo. Scott wasn't born the Allay Dragon, but he took over from his mom, see.

Yeah.

Okay. It never feels good to lose dragons. The Allay Dragon's the only one that's died in Bdubs' lifetime, but he can still remember what it felt like. Gets harrowing when you think about it, because dragons don't respawn like players do. Or maybe we HAVE lost more dragons by now. New Star's tucked away underground, so the Allay Dragon's death could be totally outdated news by now.

Scott's not the one who slayed his mom, but he did kill the person who had her command star on his hand. See, now Scott's got world edit - at least a little bit - and he uses that to keep their server hub as non-anarchy as it can be. Don't like playing by the rules? Hope you enjoy being TP'd across the dimension. Probably. Honestly, Bdubs doesn't really know how Scott keeps things enforced, but he's got a command star and he does a lot of paperwork. Plus, he organizes the MC Championships and a lot of other parties. It prob'ly won't end well for you if you pick a fight with him. And Scott has Bdubs forever on deck, ready to dive in and bite anyone who tries. They're a team! Been together since the start. They built this hub with their own four hands. Thanks to them, New Star Station stays safe underground, tucked away from the chaos of the outside world. It's as non-anarchy as non-anarchy gets.

The city's shiny from this high above. Bdubs coasts across it on dragging wings. Colored lanterns light the whole place like constellations underneath you. No birds, though. Maybe one or two pet parrots, but they're rare and don't thrive well in the tundra's underground. Most of the birds you do see are actually slime hybrids - They live here - who just shapeshift to play with wings. Hey, there's some right now!

Bdubs swoops near their flock and swerves at the last moment. The guppies scatter. Three of 'em lose concentration on their avian forms and plummet towards the road. Ryguyrocky sighs and banks around to gather them up again. Ha! Yeah, New Star may be the Slime Dragon's nesting hub, but phantoms rule the airspace. Better get used to it, because he's not going anywhere. Not so long as Cleo, Etho, Tango, and all his other friends are down here.

Debbie's big, but she's all snappy teeth! She doesn't scare me. What's Ryguy gonna do? Tell Mommy that he saw the flock captain when he took the guppies out? They gotta grow up someday.

"Hey!" Ryguy shouts down. "Share the air! We're crossing here!"

The falling slime hybrids will respawn at their soul spawner when they hit the ground. It's literally three chunks over from this spot; they'll be fine. Nonetheless, because he's a good, responsible captain and everyone in New Star looks up to him, Bdubs swoops down and catches one in each arm. Squish, squoosh! Oh, they're extra goopy ones with the simple skin designs you often see brand new arrivals trying out. One's got a simple, scribbled face on his chest and blinks up with wobbly eyes. Bdubs scoffs. It'd only take a single bite to evaporate these little guys into energy and start their refresh cycle, but he won't.

Bdubs puts the two slimes on the nearest flat rooftop. Ryguy swoops down to drop off the third, muttering about flight plans and rules. Please. He's the flock captain. Nothing rules the airspace like phantoms do. He leaves the slimes to their shapeshifting lessons and leaps off with a flick of his tail good-bye.

Now, where do we find a cow…?

Okay. So, mob souls are thin and watered down, like broth without a lot of substance to 'em. Hybrid souls have all the nutrients. But since Martyn doesn't have a skin on, he's not gonna have the stomach for a full-on hybrid. Bdubs circles the exposed cow farm a few times, licking at his fangs. Skizz is down there herding sheep with his dog yapping at his heels, but no one seems to be watching the cows. Perfect storm. Bdubs banks around hard, gathers his momentum, and drops into a freefall. The cow doesn't even look up from the grass it's chewing. Bdubs dissolves himself into cyan energy, blitzes through it, and vaporizes it to soul form before it can moo. He's solid again and arcing up before Skizz even turns around.

"HEY! I just fed that one, you jerk!"

Bdubs snorts. The wispy, translucent cow soul hangs like a massive lasagna noodle between his fangs. He gnaws and tosses his head to hold it better. It'll respawn, though. It'll probably still answer to the same name once the remaining cows see it's gone and spawn another to fill the gap. With a titch more adjusting, it's easy to melt the cow soul into energy and slip it in the pouch beneath his tongue. Skizz throws a slimeball at him, but he's only playing. See? Look at that smile! Bdubs salutes, then skims off to get a drink. Just water. Maybe milk? Milk probably tastes good with cow soul. Yeah, that sounds right.

He'll share this soul with Martyn once he's had a chance to rest his wings. Etho too, if he wants any. Probably not, but the offer's on the table nonetheless. A good flock captain respects his role in the ecosystem and never takes it for granted. No, never! He puts in the work. He takes care of everyone, no matter if they're cool fox hybrids who don't need any help.

The captain even looks after weird semi-spawnlings who flew into the underground hub from the Void and dumped all their XP in their wings instead of basic body growth. Yeah, him too. That's why it feels like home.

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Pretty Boy

💙  🧡  💚

The thing about British players is that their energy starts dropping off long before a Canadian’s will. Well, not all the time. Some days, though. Is BigB even British? Honestly, Etho can’t remember; if cartographers could see through the sky to the world beyond, that’d make hunting trips like this a whole lot easier.

And you know what else might help? Not hanging rainbow lights above my stalking spots that throw my shadow on the ground. Etho keeps behind the storefront signs as best he can to shield himself, but certain spots on the path require him to weave in front or take a risky jump. New Star is full of noises, but if there’s one person who hears everything… Well, that’s BigB.

At least nobody can swoop down on him. Etho’s communicator still shines a brilliant blue. New Star Station thrives by its non-anarchy nature, which includes a book of careful rules. Most of ‘em? You don’t need to know. But for the anivores and omnivores, open hunting’s legal so long as it’s done quick, fair, and proper. And that means only taking down players whose comms have switched from blue to orange to green. Countdown timers can tell you how much time you get to spend in the Between dimension before you’re officially considered AFK, and the clock tower’s bells chime every hour on the dot. Some people head for their home portal as soon as their comms start glowing orange, which gives them an hour’s warning before they’re fair game. Emphasis on the game…

Some players, though, don’t actually mind being hunted. It saves them a walk home and refills the hunger meter during respawn, and for some people, that’s all the convincing it takes. BigB, you see, is one of those. Etho licks his lips. Hand over hand, the glowing shape of paws overlapping solid fingers, he moves between the skinny storefront ledges like a shadow from above. His tail brushes past a giant sign.

BigB once ran through life wearing illusioner robes, but the days of patrol and glowing arrows are long behind him. He’s wearing mods that give him moth wings… and the dark brown eyes look like chocolate chips. They shift in the light like they’re drinking in Etho’s every step. This hunt is nothing personal. He’s just an easy target for an omnivore who doesn’t normally go out like this. Since modded players have so little nutrition left in their code, not many hunters will target on him. And beyond that, why would a moth man who thinks he’s nobody’s top choice ever be on guard? Even if his timer is all the way down to green. Etho grips his mask, tugging it from nose and mouth so it exposes his teeth to empty air. Very sharp teeth with four massive canines to show for it.

Just like an arctic fox… Crouch, leap, and dive. Etho makes the move with a swish of his tail. He slams into BigB at an angle that makes the moth hybrid stagger forward while Etho bounces back and rolls across the ground. Aw, what? He didn’t look that big and sturdy from up there! BigB glances over his shoulder as Etho gets to his fours, and then he takes off running. Huge wings snap out with a whoosh.

“Oh, you get back here!” There’s no point in shifting back to bipedal form. Leaving his pixels in their jostled-up all-fours state, Etho takes after him like a fox right from the tundra. The cyan glow of paws and claws pulses with every thump his hands make against the road. BigB dives forward, ready for an upward swoop, and Etho kicks off in a flying leap. Claws of light snag the edge of BigB’s wing. It slips away. Etho lands with a fumble, but banks around the street without breaking stride.

C’mon, c’mon… If BigB gets the height, it’s over, but if he just-

BAM! Ice-cold iron slams against his face; a sharp wheel runs across his hand. Etho barks a yelp and springs back. Delivery minecart? Bad, bad time to cross the road.

“OOOH,” echoes from half a dozen voices, wincing for his pain. Etho spends a second to breathe deep, but he doesn’t return his throbbing hand to the blackstone. Oh, those wheels don’t play around. Did he just bait me right into the tracks? The moth hybrid flits away, soaring down another street. Etho huffs, then licks his wrist twice. It’ll heal, though. New Star gets a double regeneration bonus… one for being built around the slime spawner and one for existing underneath the fox one. At least if I’d died to minecart damage, getting back here wouldn’t take long.

He glances across the street. Impulse, Skizzleman, and three players he doesn’t recognize are watching from the sidewalk, all of them with cupcakes in hand. One woman might be a bat, the blond man a parrot with modded yellow wings that look unreal. The third person’s an anomaly. They’re wearing a skin that features gray fur and huge brown eyes, but Etho’s never seen the animal it mimics in his life. The newcomers drop eye contact, but Skizz breaks into claps so jarring, they quiver Etho’s glowing fox ears.

“Nice hunting, Newman! You’ll get the next one!”

Etho doesn’t grace that with a response. He turns his back, tail swishing in dismissal, and sits down to lick his stinging hand. That sends Skizz and Impulse into wheezy coughs.

“Oh, he got me,” he murmurs to nobody in particular. “Am I getting too old for this?” No… Hunting BigB is just a loser’s gamble. I mean, the guy’s got wings. And he wears mods that let him see through his chocolate chip eyespots. Etho learned all of this yesterday because BigB, actually, is one of Martyn’s rescued pals, and he’d poked his head in last night to ask how Martyn was. Now I look like the bad guy for chasing newbies when I’ve got homefield advantage. Well. They have to learn sometime.

BigB sure did.

He trots off down the street, away from the onlookers, until he finds a stack of barrels to slide behind. With another full-body shake, he rights his pixels back to biped form. Yeah… That feels better. Did feel nice to stretch that crick in my back, though. Etho glides both hands from his forehead, pressing the fox ears flat until their glow dims away. The stray pixels fade back into hair. If all’s in order, the plainer look of his head should be back like it never left. At least he wore gloves for this, so he’s not as scratched up as he might otherwise be.

“Eugh… They really saw me whiff it.”

“I’ll say,” pipes a voice from deeper shadow, and Etho flinches back.

“He-ey, Cleo. Uh. Nice night, huh?”

Cleo moves from the hiding place offered by a decorative bush and the edge of a stone wall. Etho stands his ground, but tugs the fold of his face mask back over nose and mouth. She moves the way a predator would: unbothered by proximity… unbothered by the risk of approaching threats. Huh. She must not be in “orange” or “green time” either. Cleo sways up to him, one hand set against their hip. Etho spies a glowing shred of soul caught on one of their teeth.

Yeah, they probably want me to notice that. Etho lifts his hands, palms forward. “Hey, hey… I don’t want any trouble, now.”

“Well, that’s funny. I don’t think I’ve seen you hunting on a not-full moon night in decades.” Cleo tilts their whole form sideways to check him over. “You going on a date?”

“Ha. In this old skin? Nah… I’ve just got a houseguest I try not to leave unsupervised. I’ve been eating at home a lot. I thought I’d mix it up.”

Cleo’s eyes slide up his aching wrist to the grit on his sleeve. Etho tries to look at her, but a prickle in his pixels made his own stare shift away. “Are you hunting for Martyn?” she asks.

“Why can’t I be celebrating a special occasion?”

“I mean, Martyn’s a phantom, right? They only eat code… Oh, Etho, you are!” Cleo smacks his elbow, which makes him hiss and rub the spot. “You should be ashamed of yourself. If you’re living with and feeding that man, what signals does that send about who the local captain is?”

“Nooo, don’t send me home… I’m hungry, Cleo! What is poor Etho going to eat tonight?”

“Aww. Let Bdubs hunt for him; it’s the captain’s job.”

“Whoa, someone’s got opinions on the status quo.”

“No, I support a bit of rebellion. I just also know how weird Bdubs gets about his captain title. I don’t envy your position right now.” She shakes her head, thick curls flapping like a campfire. Even the shadows behind her wreathe like dancing smoke. “Really, though… I’m serious. Have you ever seen a new phantom figure out hub life before?”

“Uhhh… A few times, yeah, but that’s when I lived with my mom.” The hub the phantoms spawn at isn’t too far from here. That’s Duskfell Caves… It’s in the south, past the mountains and across a whole biome full of ice spikes. You see a lot of undead mobs in this region. Most of them are anivores, so they get by on souls without digging in the snow for berries or roots. The fox hub gets whole flocks of phantoms gliding overhead sometimes. Proximity attracts them… but clever burrowers keep ‘em moving for easier targets that aren’t as good at jumping. “I guess it’s been a while.”

Cleo laughs. It’s sharp, like every tough and jagged tooth that lines her mouth. “Right! Well, I grew up watching Bdubs fumble his way around Underdark. And let me tell you… A phantom latches onto anyone who gives up food and nesting space. You don’t want Martyn roosting in your closet, right? Aw, Etho. Phantoms are clingy. They’re clingy… You don’t want them underfoot.”

“I do fine with Bdubs.”

“Okay, well, you know what I mean by it. If you let a couple phantoms in and they build a flock, your room will be overrun. You don’t want that paperwork.”

“We can’t tempt Martyn to eat the mob souls,” Etho pushes back. Okay, so his facade of “mixing up the omnivore diet” hadn’t swayed her, but there was always Plan B… Stall them out in case I can hunt their soul instead. “Bdubs keeps coming back around. Martyn will sit on the couch with me, but as soon as he hears him coming, he’s underneath it like he ender pearl’d. I thought a hybrid might tempt him to put a skin on. He’s probably grown out of the mob soul diet.”

Cleo frowns. Crimson light from one of the hanging lanterns paints rosy color in their eyes. “Well… Maybe you don’t have an eating problem.”

“What?”

“Martyn, I mean. Look- As long as he’s not wearing a skin, he won’t feel the hunger pangs. Hunger isn’t enough motivation to make him put it on… There must be something else. Uh, Bdubs said he’s acting like a spawnling would?”

“Something like that. Biting, staring, putting things in his mouth… Easily spooked. I’ve heard him say sentences, but he really only does that to me. When Bdubs is around, he gets agitated and squirrels-”

“-and squirrels off, yeah… Well, keep trying to talk to him with Bdubs away. If that’s what’s working, you may as well get information from him. But maybe don’t let him get too cozy in any one spot. Or feed him anything yourself.”

“Aww, Cleo… Are you saying I’ve gotta kick him off my bed? I’ve been closing him in my room when I go online to sleep so he won’t sneak out the doors. My bed’s finally seeing use.”

“Oh, yeah. If he’s nesting, you want to stop that now.” Cleo catches some look flicker through his face, mask or not, because next thing Etho knows, their arms are crossed and brows drawn in a line. “You don’t want him camping in your room. That’s a grown player, Etho; he’s not a real spawnling. We don’t know anything about him.”

Yeah. That’s a fair point. “Honestly, I don’t think I could handle mentoring anyone right now, spawnling or otherwise. Teaching Tango codework keeps me busy enough. Thanks for the nest advice. I guess you do teach mob stuff at the Education building, huh?”

Cleo shrugs. “I fed a phantom once. He ignored the Underdark captain completely… Slept on my bed like a blanket for 900 years.”

💙  🧡  💚

Soooo… That nest-removal plan. Yeah, that sounds like a great way to get scratched and bit. After a little waffling, Etho shuts his bedroom door. Two options here… either he boots Martyn to the hall in case that lowers the risk of attack, or he goes on the full frontal and clears the nest so Martyn can watch. Maybe that latter option will give him some clue that this isn’t a place to set his roots. With the door secure, Etho glances at his bed… and sighs against his mask.

Ohh, boy. Let’s see if I remember right… Wow, those mob and server basics classes feel like ages ago. Phantom flocks are always led by a captain, and the rest of the flock is split between hunters and nesting individuals. The roles can shift around. Oh. And there’s a beta, whose programmed behavior differs mildly from the captain, but that’s only important if you’re trying to shoo a whole flock from a build. Phantoms will nest anywhere high enough to swoop from, and once there’s an infestation, they’re a pain to remove. Maybe Cleo had a point, even though I’m dealing with a hybrid.

Baby phantoms can’t roost by their tails or feed themselves. They cling to the nesting parent - or the nest itself - until the captain comes around to feed them. So far, that tracks with Martyn’s situation. Bdubs still hasn’t gotten a look at Martyn’s teeth, and honestly, Etho’s fine keeping well out of the way. He definitely can’t roost from the stub tail he has.

Should I even be taking a spawnling’s nest? It's where he’ll try to eat and sleep. A hybrid won’t exactly be looking to a ‘nesting parent’ to raise it, but it should be looking to a dragon. Maybe phantom hybrids do build their own nests because they don’t have a parent to do it for them. Maybe that’s the point. Phantom hybrids get captains. The captain takes care of everyone, and Bdubs does an awfully good job of that. Even in a wild flock, all the babies are spawned by the captain’s love hearts… and Etho’s fingers twitch just thinking about it.

I guess it just makes sense that Bdubs is taking Martyn to the roost. All the other phantoms recognize him as the captain. Hybrids can’t make spawnlings, actually - only dragons lay the eggs that hatch them - but maybe Bdubs has extra lines of programming in his code that tell his brain exactly how to raise a younger phantom. Kind of like how blaze hybrids can turn to wildfires when enough blaze around them defer in that leader-and-submissive way.

What else? Well, you can build your own phantom roost if you want to, but they’ll kind of hang out anywhere. They like heights. They like walls that keep them safe from predators. You see a lot of phantoms in the forests, more so than the badlands or open ocean. A nesting phantom might use material like moss, feathers, bone, or rock.

Uh. So, Martyn’s grabbed whatever he could find. There are the bed covers, of course… and extra skins from Etho’s closet. Lots of Alexes in there. Two Sunnys. A couple alt Ethos. No Steves. All the green mob plushes are in the nest, except an upturned sniffer that fell on the floor. The green fabric must look like leaves and grass. Etho can’t even see Martyn’s head, he’s that buried is his hoard. His tail, however, wags at the sound of Etho’s breathing. And he has no skin, so he glows bright cyan. He’s not exactly winning Hide and Seek anytime soon. Etho rescues the fallen sniffer plush and moves it to a safer shelf.

“Hey, Martyn. Your captain’s coming to feed you soon. You want to try a skin today?”

InTheLittleWood: hiding

“All right, come on. You can’t stay under there forever.”

InTheLittleWood: I am sneaking away (cleverly)

The glowing lump squirms, burrowing deeper beneath the covers. Etho walks to the foot of the bed, grabs one corner of blankets, and flips it up. Half the nest material tumbles apart. A newly exposed Martyn snaps to attention. Have you ever seen a dog halt mid-run to tilt its head, tracking prey sounds? Well, imagine that, but on a glowing blue and white guy sitting in a heap of plushes and skins. With a ping of the communicator and a flap of his wings, Martyn dives off the bed and scrambles underneath instead. Etho checks that message on his comm too.

InTheLittleWood: If I’m not needed, don’t look for me

Huh. There’s that word again: Needed. Still lacking context even now. I guess that’s what Cleo said: try talking to him.

Etho kneels on the floor, peering underneath the bed. Martyn’s tense in sploot position, his chin between his hands. His soul heaves like it needs real air. He curls his tail in tight. And he doesn’t look at Etho. So Etho scoots back before he speaks. “Your chalaza’s looking good. The more it spreads, the closer you get to outgrowing this spawnling mindset. Is that… Is that exciting?”

Martyn doesn’t respond to that. His sides keep taking in air and whooshing it out again. It doesn’t matter that his soul doesn’t need it if his scrambled brain thinks he does. Etho waits a minute for an answer to trickle through, but no thoughts pulse in his direction. It’s like Martyn’s mind went flying through a total blank.

Something about being ‘needed’ is really getting to him. Should he go back and search for Impulse, Skizz, and those less familiar players? If those other three came from the same hub Martyn did, they might have an answer. Etho had talked a bit with BigB - who’d been the first to reform after Martyn’s feed cycle respawned him here in New Star - but he’d been pretty shaken up. He spent more time sitting with his head in his hands than actually answering questions, so Etho had left those guys alone.

Etho moves away for a minute, giving the guy some time to adjust to the world underneath the bed. He examines all the plushies for bite marks, but apart from a bit of chalaza on a tropical slime plush - which Martyn may have used as a chew toy or pillow - they’re in fine condition. Etho wipes the tropical slime with a piece of wool and returns it to its shelf. Then, having second thoughts, he moves it from the bottom shelf to the highest one. It is bright blue. So are the souls that phantoms hunt. Yeah, maybe that one’s best kept out of Martyn’s reach. Etho moves the allay, a parrot, and blue axolotl for the same reason.

Should I move the vex? Vex hybrids are apex predators… but Etho moves it anyway, just in case.

As for the skins, they all get their hangers replaced in their hoods. Etho sighs at an Alex with a tear at the neck, but Bdubs can fix it. He’s good with sewing this kind of thing. The skins go back in the closet. He makes the bed again. After a couple minutes spent moving around the room, it dawns on Martyn what he’s doing. Etho can tell; he almost kicks him in the face several times when Martyn pokes out his head. The guy just barely ducks away.

“Okay!” Etho dusts his hands, clapping hard on every scrape. “All done. Bed’s clean.”

InTheLittleWood: MY HOUSE!

Martyn scrabbles from under the bed and leaps on Etho’s desk chair. He gapes in disbelief at the flattened sheets, then turns his pitiful stare to Etho.

InTheLittleWood: :(

“Pfft. Uh, that's terrible news, Martyn. Seriously though, and I mean it, you can’t base here; this is my room. But when you have a skin, Bdubs will take you to roost with the other phantoms at the clock tower. Up there, you can have any nest material you want. Plus, skins don’t make the best blankets. Players can sync to them from outside the room and spy on you… You’re not gonna want that.”

InTheLittleWood: Why, wherever you go, is there always an HOA?

What? Etho chuffs like a tiger despite himself (and all the things that Martyn did to his poor, innocent plushie heads). “How are you feeling?”

Martyn doesn’t answer. He lifts one hand to his nose and paws a little at his face. Etho tries again.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how strong your memory or self-awareness is when your chalaza’s been fading in and out, so I’m gonna take you through the basics. Do you know your name?”

InTheLittleWood: M

Etho waits for the rest. Martyn’s tail ticks in disapproval. He springs from the chair to the bed again. “No,” Etho says, pushing Martyn sideways. Martyn twists like a ferret, going for Etho’s hand with his teeth. They sink into skin, and Martyn chomps. His mouth is goopy, but Etho winces at the burst of heat that comes with touching Martyn’s soul. Martyn, kicking, tips onto his back, but fights with Etho’s arm anyway, still gumming as best he can.

“… Huh. You do have spawnling teeth.” Etho’s eyes trail to his window, and to the mayor’s office beyond the clock tower. “Wait a sec. Didn’t you eat your friends? They said that’s how you got them out of the old hub. If you have baby teeth- OW!” Etho yanks his hand away. “Okay, no more of that game. You’re getting real territorial and we're not having that; off the bed.”

Martyn sits up. He bends a back leg to kick an itch behind his neck. His next message pings through - feels so good, feels so good - before he gives up and tries scratching with his hand instead. He must have a loose code string back there, but that’s not why Etho lifts his eyebrows.

“You’re really making progress now. You’re using a hand.”

InTheLittleWood: feels so good, feels so good, feels so good

InTheLittleWood: Aw, hell. Can he hear me? I bet he can hear me

InTheLittleWood: Hey doctor. U up?

There we go. Etho waves a hand in front of Martyn’s face, but not close enough that it looks like an attack. Martyn’s eyes are still blank voids without a skin to give them color, but he pricks to full alertness. You can see it in the way he turns his head. It takes a moment for the world to click for Martyn - especially with the funny way he twisted his neck - but when he puts two and two together, his tail begins to wag.

InTheLittleWood: There IS a doctor in the house!

“How you feeling?” Etho asks again, but this time, Martyn seems a lot more lucid. The phantom hybrid makes a circle on the bed, taking in the whole bedroom. He’s not a small hybrid either, Etho observes. He does fit the stereotypical phantom body pretty well… A little tight in the chest area and less filling below that since he has no stomach or guts to support. You don’t need that stuff as an obligate anivore; they dissolve souls directly in their mouths.

“Can you tell me your name?” Etho asks, watching Martyn stare at his curtained window. Martyn’s tail gives a twitch, but he repeats it. Etho moves to another question: “Do you remember what my name is?”

InTheLittleWood: I’ll be honest dude, I wasn’t paying that much attention.

“I’m Etho. And the local flock captain is-”

InTheLittleWood: Bdubs… I remember that one.

His tone gives away no sign of emotion; no fear or admiration. At least Martyn’s talking. Etho lapses into silence as Martyn explores with a couple glances and hand motions, like pawing at the bed. Martyn paws a little too long, in fact, and Etho finally nudges him away from the distracting scrap of loose wool.

“Do you know where you are right now?”

Martyn wrinkles his nose. Well, that one might take him a minute, so Etho studies his looks in a little more detail. Now that Martyn isn’t dripping, dissolving, and reforming over and over again, the details on his soul are more clearly defined. He has the right number of fingers and toes, though walking on two legs might take some practice after five days on all fours. But it’s those wings that really catch the eye. And still, that question remains unanswered where it floats amidst the ooze: does a wide wingspan really do you much good if you don’t even have the fangs to hunt with?

InTheLittleWood: This is a better place, but loud. It smells like ore and mountains here

InTheLittleWood: I can’t find trees or sky

“Sounds about right. We’re in New Star Station… but don’t tell Bdubs that I told you that. He has a whole tour planned. Do you remember where you came from?”

InTheLittleWood: Cows were there

InTheLittleWood: Am I needed?

There it is. Etho presses harder. “You’ve been asking that ever since you came here. All I can say is, right now you’re in recovery, so you’re my patient. Nobody here needs your help unless you want to give it. What are you asking about here? I don’t know everything, but I’ll help out if I can.”

InTheLittleWood: …

InTheLittleWood: The Watchers don’t let players go to sleep. Am I needed for a hunt?

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Martyn InThyLittleWood

💙  🧡  💚

Have you ever stumbled across a spawn egg out of nowhere and picked it up because like, "Wow, that's a free baby!" Maybe not. It's never been a super common experience. Back in the old days, the dragons didn't have a lot of competition or struggle defending their nests (and they weren't being yanked around emotionally by high-level offspring who melted back to their needy state to ask for help with this or that).

But for a while in the old days, sometimes you'd find spawn eggs left abandoned between rocks without the rest of the nest around. Those don't usually make it. If they get too cold or are left in unloaded chunks too long, they hatch regular mobs instead of hybrids. Cleo used to make a whole weekend trip out of fishing eggs (or maybe confused, newly hatched babies) out of muddy riverbanks and setting them free on safer ground. What a beautiful mind she has, out there stomping through rainy weather with a loose-fitting jacket while the wind buffeted her hair back and forth. Even back then, she sometimes wore the skin that adds hissing snakes to her wild curls.

After Linda dumped him off in the overpopulated city of Underdark Crossing, Bdubs had to learn his way around the caves. His night vision wasn't great early on. Didn't exactly pour his XP in that while upping his hunting skills and roosting, but he could do one thing real good (Oh, baby!) With nostrils flared, it only took a bit of scampering to follow Cleo's scent up the rocking boulders beside the waterfall and into the open air. One slip would've meant taking a mouthful of water (dirtied from fallen trees and ripped-off leaves).

But Cleo had their own plans and habits. They hated going out in storms or the dark (Still do- and hey, so does he! They should make something of it), but they'd crouch under this one outcropping outside the cave where water gushed over the edges, and Bdubs would join her. Then they'd just stare and stare across the rolling plains. Cleo didn't fear death (No, never!) but she had no love for pain or water sloshing through the exposed patches in her zombie skin. She'd take off her shoes and pat soft dirt into place around her bony feet.

Sometimes Bdubs sat with her. Just talked, or just listened, or just sat in silence and watched the rain. As he got bigger, he started lifting one wing above their head at times the wind blew sideways and water splattered their faces. It rained a lot near Underdark Crossing, see, 'cuz of all the mountains and the ocean right next door. The drowned hybrids that spawned never minded it, but Cleo prob'ly appreciated his company. She never told him otherwise. Maybe the flicking tongues of those snakes were there to express feelings she didn't want to share in words.

The Rotten Dragon managed a large territory. No surprise, 'cuz zombies can aggro on someone from way far away. You can't get within 40 chunks of a zombie hybrid without them getting a ping on you unless they're real distracted at the time. But the Rotten Dragon rotates between eggs for zombie, drowned, and husk hybrids, and those three spawners are in separate places around the mountains. She's frazzled, works hard, but it's not like she can spend a lot of time with any individual. A lot of kids get overlooked.

Maybe Cleo resented that. Maybe that's why they kept sneaking out in the rain and chewing on bones they couldn't digest. And maybe that's why they'd go out after rain to look for lost spawn eggs.

Everything's a million times more intense in the Between dimension than it is on a server. This place's gimmick is souls, so heaven help you if you run into glowing skelly or creeper while sprinting across the grass far from home. It barely takes a tap to blow you up, and the worst part is, their spawn rates aren't even dependent on light levels! How is that fair? All kinds of things spawn in Between, from the classic enemies to the rarest early concept mobs you've never even heard of. Like otters. They're natural spawns, though not many people know about them. Sometimes they drop nautilus shells or fish. Their pelts make amazing rain coats, especially if mixed with duck feathers. Duck feathers feel the best.

Between's storms are ferocious. Like, 'We've literally got flash floods and avalanches and earthquakes and live volcanoes and hurricanes in this dimension' kind of ferocious. Going out in 'em may as well be a death wish. Cleo likes security. She likes predictability, she likes comfort, and she likes not jumping at every breaking twig. And she could've had all that if she stayed down in the underground, but… maybe the mommy issues ruined that for her, and the whole push-and-pull gave her some sense of control. Dunno! Not a therapist or nothin'. Just a stray thought.

Storms are one of the biggest reasons that spawn eggs get separated from their dragons. That or theft, 'cuz sometimes people pay adventurers to snatch eggs they can raise on their own. Or they go out themselves and brave a dragon's turf. Some dragons ask riddles, want references and proof of experienced parenthood, or they donate their eggs to research facilities. Others coddle their kids fiercely and lash out at anyone who dares approach a nest.

Some dragons set their babies loose on the world as soon as they ask to go. Those are usually the ones that multiply fast, like the livestock dragons. Others - like the Allay Dragon, whose babies are much more rare - prefer doting on each of their offspring one at a time. Heck, Scott worked in tourism for a huge part of his life before he set out to "find himself" and moved inland, away from Crystal Cove. Nice of her to teach him skills, though. The Phantom Dragon will care for you if you keep up, but if you fall behind, you're on your own. It's survival of the fittest out there.

But sometimes, eggs get lost. Some dragons lose interest in them. Maybe their clutch numbered in the hundreds and one eensy detail got overlooked. Maybe they're the type to bury their eggs- the rain might've sloshed the dirt away. Wild mobs don't just threaten hybrid lives, but spawn eggs too. They steal, trample, and eat 'em. I bet I could fit a spawn egg in my mouth. He can dislocate his jaw, so probably. But he's not built to digest them, so he's never tried. Maybe he should. How else is he gonna learn?

Or maybe even dragons face burnout sometimes… but if you ever try telling Linda that, she'll snap you up right there and dump you in the throat pouch 'til she's ready to let you out again. Maybe that's years. You don't know. (It's probably not.) Better not upset her, though.

Lost eggs grow cold and wet in the storms. They roll off carts or out of bags. Someone stumbles. Donkeys and llamas fall off cliffs. They get abandoned in unloaded chunks, and the baby that comes wriggling out is just a little otter or duck instead of a full-fledged hybrid. Cleo will plop some in the river, move others out of walking paths, or smuggle a few home to her little land plot. Some souls she eats. Some he eats.

Isn't it weird? So many things can happen to an egg, and so many things can happen to a baby. All that potential's just sitting there inside a tiny body. The world's so big. But for just a few heartbeats, while Cleo's pulling a struggling mole or hedgehog from tangled grass - or when they find a confused and shivering hybrid under a bush - it's like… Not so scary anymore. The future. Living. Existing since the beginning and rushing at lightspeed towards the end, just a bundle of eternal code and RGB.

Martyn feels like that. Like Cleo falling on her butt with a thrashing hedgehog in hand while Bdubs yelps and scrambles down the rocks to see. Like, that's a free baby. He's got a million gigabytes of potential floating in his limbs.

💙  🧡  💚

By the evening clock tower chime on Day 5, Martyn's out from under the couch. The flock's on the wing. Hunting, of course. Bdubs sees them off, then flies a few circles around Etho's apartment building. The lantern's on in the window. I mean, he's home, so that's as good an invitation to show up as any. He gives a few strong flaps of his wings and lights down on the plant-covered balcony. At least they're taken care of, even if they're not inside making the place feel more "lived in." They've got grow lamps and things. Bdubs shifts his mossy shawl aside and nibbles a cramp in his wing until Etho slides open the bamboo door and lets him in.

Martyn's sitting on the couch now, wearing an olive green bathrobe and a default Sunny skin. At least, we're just assuming that's Martyn. It could be anybody- you don't know! He's got one of those little heat block heat pads that used to be popular back in the day before most people switched to squishy magma alternatives. Those are fun; they have pretty colors. They squirm like snakes.

"Hey! Martyn, you're okay!"

The Sunny skin looks like it fits his sturdy soul shape better than default Steve or Alex would. Yeah, that's the classic phantom build- thick and round in the chest area where the ribs would be bulging and exposed if they were mobs instead of hybrids, hanging loose around the lower middle area (since he won't have a stomach 'til he's on-server). Actually, is 'Getting a stomach' up there somewhere in the skill tree? All this time, Bdubs has been dumping his spare XP in wing stats for the speed bonus (and the bragging), but maybe there's an overlooked path out there you can follow to upgrade your Between dimension diet options. Huh.

There aren't any sleeves in the Sunny skin for his wings, though. Bdubs can tell from the sound of it even though he can't see. Martyn lifts his head. He grimaces, but rises (slowly) to give some over-dramatic bow in greeting. "O captain, my captain," he quips, all gimmicky. "Your grace precedes you."

"Oh, wonderful!" Martyn's a full block taller than he is. Maybe a block and a half? It twitches at his wings, but he goes on smiling anyway like it doesn't matter. Nobody cares. He's not little. Kind of weird, though. Phantoms are usually on the smaller side. They're lightweight, so the extra stretch doesn't help a lot in a grappling match. It's better if you're compressed in a nice, dense package. Bdubs points at his back. "Hey, can I see your skin gash?"

"Whoa! At least treat me to dinner first."

Bdubs snorts. Hands go to hips, wings sweep out, and he makes a big show of the pomp and flair. Martyn's not impressed, but oh, he will be. One day. "Please… Like I haven't seen you skinless and crawling around the past four days; sweet goodness…"

This time, he actually gets an eye roll. "Hey, when you wake up in the doctor's office and the first words out of the ol' doc's mouth are 'Let me check out that sweet bod,' then you can let yourself get hit on. I'm keeping the robe."

Bdubs can tell right then and there that he and Martyn are going to get along beautifully. He cracks up, throwing back his head. The good news is, Martyn only looks taken aback for a second before he falls into smirky giggles too. Even Etho lets an exhale slip past his mask, shaking his head from the sidelines.

So, this is Martyn! Nice guy. A little people-pleasing, maybe. Bdubs figures that out pretty quick in their next few minutes of conversation. As New Star Station's flock captain, it's kind of a given that Bdubs would make the rounds and meet with Martyn's other refugee friends in turn. "Cult escapees" is what they're calling 'em. But they're doing that kind of hush-hush so as not to scuttle too many people's minds. I mean, there's locals here, and most of them ducked out of the aboveground world to seek safety underneath. You don't wanna spook 'em.

"Is Grian okay?" is Martyn's first question. His eyes flick back and forth, mouth still testing the shape and flow of the Sunny skin. He licks and chews like a horsie gnawing at a bit. Yeah, first priority (for real) is definitely gonna be taking the new guy out to get his skin tailored. Bdubs scratches behind his neck, glancing at Etho.

"Uh, I didn't meet a Grian yet. Did you, Etho?"

Etho shrugs. "I don't think I did. I mean, I don't get out much."

"Did Grian… not make it?"

Okay, so let's pause a second here. Imagine you're BdoubleO. You're in charge of New Star Station's phantom flock. You've been looking after this guy since he flopped from the Void and passed out, fritzing up and melting 'cuz he flew down too low and got caught in a cycle of suffocation damage and double regen from the soul spawners nearby. He's getting weird and panicky. What would you say?

"Huh?"

Martyn's agitated now, pixels sparking from his face. He staggers forward. Etho grabs his arm, but Martyn's a puddle inside his skin before he even hits the ground. He just deflates. Etho snaps his eyes to Bdubs, who throws out his hands.

"No, no! I didn't do it! I'm sorry! … What now? Do I get a bucket or something?"

Etho shakes his head. "We just put him in the ice chest. It'll make him solid again."

"WHAT!? For real?"

Etho splutters laughter. The way it scrunches up his eyes is so funny, Bdubs shoves a fist across his mouth and glares, which is like, a step up from yelling his head off. You just can't stay mad at the guy. "No," Etho says, but he crouches beside Martyn anyway. "He's not going in the freezer… Oh, Bdubs, I think he's crashing on us."

"He better not die," Bdubs huffs back. "Not after how much I fawned over him this week. Here- Outta my way, you. This is a flock captain's job."

Etho shuffles back on his knees. Martyn's borrowed skin is still whole. He just doesn't know how to use it. Bdubs crouches down, shooing Etho even farther back. This time, Etho retreats to his desk chair. Martyn's convulsing. Not in pain, probably, but gripping his shoulders and head and hair. Every time he tries to swell up in solid form, he collapses like sour milk. Bdubs moves a hand towards the back of his bathrobe… then thinks better of it. Martyn did reject him when he asked for a peek at his wings. It's not often you see slashes cut straight in a skin to let the wings out the back, but you don't wanna be weird about it.

He braces a hand beneath Martyn's back and rolls him over with maybe a little dignity, even though nobody's watching but Etho. Martyn gurgles, gripping the floor. The mouth of his skin's slipped out of place against his soul. Oh, yikes. Like, the hood of his skin's come loose. Bdubs can feel the rough, gangly shape of exposed wings beneath the robe. "Shh, shh," he says, clicking his tongue. Martyn slows his struggles. He gives a great groan, then attempts to imitate the call. Bdubs makes another, this time with a trill and a chirp.

The goop inside Martyn's skin slides around again. It takes root near the face, completes the contact call, and Martyn's eyes roll around to lock onto him. Bleary. Tired. Maybe embarrassed, 'cuz they flick away. "Yeah, you're beautiful," Bdubs murmurs, stroking a thumb across Martyn's hand. The knuckles bunch. His fingers twitch. There's not enough soul synced to them to properly curl, but the twitch is enough. Bdubs keeps up his stroking, watching Martyn through half-lidded eyes. "Captain's here, Martyn… We're gonna get you food. We're gonna get you up to roost." He clicks again. Martyn returns the call, starting to pant. He licks his lips and swallows. "Captain's here. Look at you… Your threads are so loose, you're gonna need me all the time. It'd be easier to zip you up inside my skin than let you wander around. You're just a baby; you'll get lost."

"Nah, I'm not a baby…"

"You wanna go back in the fishbowl? Hey, hey. Use your words."

"When was I in a fishbowl?" Martyn mumbles back.

"For real? You forgot all the good times we had together? Judas Priest… You're ungrateful." And he laughs. He laughs, and Etho snorts with one leg kicked over his knee and his cheek cradled in his hand, and it's fine. It's all good (Sweet goodness).

"… How'd I get in a bowl?"

Bdubs talks to him a moment longer, mostly stroking Martyn's hair. It's like petting a corpse. Probably 'cuz Martyn is dead, technically, or undead or something… All phantoms are. He's just animated skin and bones. His soul's squishy too, which makes it even funnier. Bdubs rubs the heel of his hand back and forth against Martyn's scalp until Martyn grunts and slaps him off. He starts to sit up. His arms go wibbly-wonky, then give out beneath him. "Oh, you," Bdubs sighs, and Martyn huffs into the crook of his arm (or what's left of it). Etho watches, flicking his tail against the side of his leg.

"Martyn, are you out of sync?"

Out of sync? Bdubs snaps up his head. Martyn coughs, this time feebly, and says, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Woo, tough question." Etho gets out of his chair, taking position on Martyn's other side. He grips the man's arm, hoisting him up. He steadies him out on his knees. Martyn's body slumps sideways, most of his soul still down in the lower half of his skin. Bdubs catches his head and positions it where it should go. Martyn thrums with energy, eyes rolling this way and that. Etho waits until he looks focused again, then goes on. "When's the last time you got an energy burst from the 'Outside' world?"

The look Martyn snaps at him could saw the firing arm off a skeleton. Not only that, but it could levitate the arm and thwack Etho on the head with it. "Don't see why that's any business of yours."

"I'm a programmer, and your medical advisor. You're gonna want me to know. I mean, if you would…"

Martyn's tail fizzles beneath the bathrobe. Yeah, that's the right word. Bdubs shoots his eyes down. The Sunny skin he's using isn't cut for a phantom's body, especially not his. Is the tail exposed too? I don't hear it rattling. No bony bits of code, then- just pure, raw, liquidy stuff. Bdubs wonders how Etho managed to keep this guy inside the skin in the first place without him leaking all over the place. Did he clip his code?

Martyn says, "I don't have one."

Etho blinks, lashes uncertain. "No sync with your player," he checks.

"Not since I was a spawnling." Martyn's eyes glint in daring. Ooh, spicy. "He snapped our sync early. Not worth his time. Surprised you two even fished me out of the Void, honestly."

Etho… doesn't have a great response to that. But Bdubs leans forward, thumping Martyn on the back so his hidden wings seize up. "Yeah, right! Who wouldn't want a sync with you? We didn't even have to fish ya out! You flew!"

"… I flew out?"

"Yeah! All on your own. And without leftover sync energy? You beauty…"

Martyn looks… confused. Unsure. He loosens the bathrobe around his throat, tightens the binding by his waist, and tries to stand. Etho and Bdubs help him up, supporting his weight even when he oozes. His legs wobble. Martyn grits his teeth. But after two minutes spent trying, he's on his feet again. He stumbles over to the couch, collapses onto it, and mops his brow like he's just scaled the clock tower and backflipped off the top. I mean, he probably has, if he's trying to walk without a player sync. Etho grimaces. Well, it's not obvious behind his mask, but Bdubs knows him well enough, he can read it through his two-tone eyes.

"You hungry?" Bdubs asks, padding forward. Martyn lifts his head. The wobble in his eyes mirrors the tremor in his legs.

"Are… Are you offering?"

"Yeah, hey! We're almost a week in now and I've been hunting for you every day. What? You just gonna make me carry all this in my throat pouch forever?"

Martyn blinks, eyes unfocused. He licks his lips. In that moment, he seems to realize he hasn't eaten since he left the Void. Hey, maybe since before the Void for all Bdubs knows. Martyn glances in question at Etho. Etho puts up his hands.

"Hey, I'm an omnivore; no judgment here. You just do your thing."

"Etho's fine," Bdubs tells him. "He's been around for ages- He's a programmer, you know. Best one New Star's ever had! He's seen everybody eat and everybody naked" (Etho chuckles in the background).

"New Star?" Martyn looks… lost. His eyes trail left, then right as he drinks in Etho's apartment from kitchen to living room to the bamboo balcony door. He even turns around to study the wall behind the couch. "Wait, where am I?"

"Where ARE you? Oh, please." Bdubs throws out his arms, mossy shawl sliding around his neck. "You're in New Star Station, baby! Welcome to the Invisible Hub! One of the last non-anarchy server hubs in all of Between, right here. We're hidden underground near the icy peaks, so secret-"

"Bdubs," Etho cuts in. Yeah… Too much? Right, too much; okay. Bdubs shuts up, dropping the hands with a slap. At least one looks good on his hip, especially with the shawl hanging forward all fancy or something. He looks like a captain. Feels like a king.

"I never introduced myself, huh? BdoubleO! Most people call me Bdubs. Sometimes 'Hundred,' but that's an oldie nickname. You're a phantom too? Well, that's good news for you. I'm captain of the flock here, and I'm taking you straight under my wing. You said you're hungry?"

Martyn blinks a couple times like he's trying to clear his head. Nonetheless, his tongue swipes around his lips a couple times. He clearly knows what's being asked. He sits forward, scooting to the couch cushion's edge. His head tilts back. The little tk-tk-tk noise clicks across the room like he's a spawnling ('cuz he kind of is). Bdubs leans in, bracing one hand on the couch arm and one on Martyn's shoulder. It's a bit of an awkward hold. The fun thing about players is that they're made of light, so they don't have great collision. They're coded not to make contact for very long. Bdubs can hold on for a bit… Can't put too much weight on him, though.

Isn't he sweet? Look at him… Martyn slips into the role like he was born for it. He cranes his neck. It'd be easy to put teeth through his throat, but Bdubs refrains. Martyn's not a rival to his rank. He's a baby. A freebie one no one else laid claim to. He's part of the flock now. There's safety in numbers, and because they have numbers, the flock survives. Even when its individuals have skin and bones.

Martyn's tongue stretches out, then rasps long, familiar stripes across Bdubs' chin and lips. He grimaces, but says nothing about the stubble. After a bit, Bdubs leans his head closer and parts his mouth. It's easier that way, feeding him with the help of gravity. He braces himself for nippy fangs, but they don't come. Martyn's got baby stub teeth. Huh?

Bdubs almost jerks back. Oh! Martyn can't tear chunks from a firm soul like a high-XP player would, so it's a good thing the food he brought's all wispy souls from cows. Like, mob cows. With a thought, Bdubs guides one of the souls from his throat pouch up above his tongue. He nibbles at the corner until the membrane pierces. White light spills into his mouth. Raw soul. Raw code. Martyn surges up, pushing forward. Bdubs catches one of his hands and doesn't try to stop him. Hey, it's not like he's saving these for anyone else. Mob souls are spawnling food. They're okay for low-XP phantoms… Okay for Martyn.

Martyn's desperate with his probing. When their lips come together, he drinks like a greedy spawnling. His licks come more rapidly, mixed with nips at mouth and tongue. Oh, you weren't dragon-raised, Bdubs observes. Martyn drinks like he was bottle-fed by hybrid caretakers, not offered soul chunks by the Phantom Dragon herself. He sort of sucks and snuffles, pulling back here and there to cough. Yeah, he's not used to guzzling from a pool instead of a stream. Hey, that's interesting! Glowing energy drips from the corners of his mouth and trickles down his chin.

But in the end, he laps up his fill. The glow spanning between their mouths fades thinner, wispier, and vanishes in a twitch of sparks. Martyn, with a few more pants, pulls his lips from Bdubs' once again. He sits back, avoiding eye contact. He rubs his mouth across his wrist. He's already sparkling with glittery white snowflakes as the soul he ate filters through the aeration points in his skin. It twinkles upward. Uh-huh. That cow will come back when it passes through. Won't be long. Bdubs dabs his mouth with the edge of his shawl, but mostly 'cuz he's polite- It's not that he thinks Martyn's slimy or gross. His skin better be clean.

"Can I see something?" Bdubs asks. He holds out his hand. Martyn grips it, wobbling back up to his feet. Sweet gravy, he's taller than most phantoms by a block. Bdubs blinks and squints at him. "Where'd you grow up? Adopted?" Not that location affected his height. More like… Why's he like this, huh? Why are his wings huge when his tail's so baby?

Martyn shrugs. The free-handing blobs of his wings shift against his bathrobe. "Does it show? Yeah, I was a rescue. Mum and Dad raised me in Fern Mountain. Dad's a raven hybrid, but we summered down in Black River every year."

Rescue. Cleo would be proud. Or hungry. One of the two. Bdubs lifts his eyebrows. "You lived with a raven flock? And with otters?" Okay, yeah. Accusatory. He doesn't meant to be. Still, Bdubs puzzles over his teeth. "Is that near New Bork City?"

Martyn lifts two fingers, crossing them to indicate how tightly woven they are. "Oh, yeah… Wolves and ravens are like this."

Gotcha. How fun, to think about the outside world! It's been ages since Bdubs went aboveground. Stuff makes sense now! See, Martyn wouldn't have needed fangs to rip through skin if the wolves were doing it for him. He could've kept his baby teeth a while, easy, and dumped that XP in something else. And if that's true about growing up with ravens, no wonder he didn't try learning to roost. Freakin' leeches.

Okay. So, ravens have an academic reputation, and yeah, sure, they're great. Apparently, their whole thing is that they learned to be symbiotic with wolf hybrids and they're a team now- Ravens scout the prey and wolves bring it down. Everybody eats more than they do while working apart. Happy, happy food time! But they sure don't pull their weight in a hunt. They'll never get the pride and thrill of a kill. They're not predators.

"Spent my life playing black sheep at all the summer camps," Martyn muses, tapping his chin. "Took me an age to get my confidence levels up. Still don't regret applying to an outside hub for Education, but geez, dude… I picked a rough one."

"Yes," Bdubs murmurs. He can't speak on it personally, but Martyn's friends have been talking. Called that place creepy. He pushes his thumb against Martyn's gumline. Martyn rolls his eyes, but doesn't bite. Maybe just to mess with him, Bdubs hitches the curve of his lip higher. "Huh. You've still got all your spawnling teeth. I don't even see any budding fangs… Hey- you wanna punch me in the face?"

"Yessir, but that's unrelated to the XP gain."

"Oh, you're freakin' hilarious…" Bdubs withdraws his hand, wiping it dry against his leg. Since all of Martyn's friends have been jumpy, wide-eyed sheep with extra evasive sprinkles since they got here, Bdubs cracks the conversation open like a smacked walnut: "Where did you get your Education? Some sort of cult, right?"

Etho shifts in his office chair, rotating it gently with one foot on the ground. Martyn's eyes fidget. Bdubs can hear the click of lenses. He glances off. Instead of answering, he says, "Can I get a tour first? I wanna look around before I put down roots… New Star, you said this hub was called?"

"Yes. New Star Station." Shame he's not talking about his past yet. Kinda fair, though; maybe he came on too strong. Nonetheless, he grabs Martyn beneath the arm, dragging him towards Etho's apartment door. "You'll like it, Martyn. Let's take a loop from above. Oh, baby, I can't wait to see what those wings can do!"

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Tour de New Star

💙  🧡  💚

There’s no better place for your first take-off than the highest roof in town. That’s Bdubs’ theory, anyway, and it’s gotten him this far in life. C’mon! The higher you fall from, the better the odds someone will react fast enough to catch you. That’s a good thing! Etho and Martyn are less agreeable about this (‘cuz they don’t see the world through big-eyed glasses like him), but after a li’l back and forth, Martyn agrees to practice his take-off on Etho’s building, where it’s flat on top. So basically, Bdubs’ theory of high roofs being the best place to try still has a 99% success rate. We don’t talk about Linguini.

It’s a good thing they’ve got bubblevators between floors. Martyn’s blue in the face in no time flat. Not gonna be a long tour, then… They’re only halfway down the hall. He’s shaky on his legs; he’s huffy in his lungs. He clutches Etho’s forearm with every spare pixel that he’s got. Oh, check how those muscles ripple, baby! Bdubs loops back to see him, patting Martyn’s shoulder and taking some of his weight without being way too showy about it. This is community. This is sound and touch and heartbeats under skin. Players build things. Relationships too. And we survive.

So Bdubs paints his smile on. “Hey, look at those arms! You’ll be a Grade-A hunter, Martyn. Ferocious, I think. That’s right- I think you’ll be pure ferocious once the big boy teeth come in. We might even call you ‘captain’ someday!” Not anytime soon, though. As sure as the carpet’s thick and ruffled beneath his clawed toes, Bdubs plans to stick around New Star for the long run. You’ll see. Only one thing’s ever getting him off the captain perch without a fight… and his own little newbies scampering around his feet won’t be coming for a long, long time.

“I need… a break…”

Etho shrugs, loosening his grip on Martyn’s back as Martyn slides down the wall. “No problem.”

“Sorry.” Martyn squeaks on every breath. “Sorry… Aw, woof.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Etho tells him, sitting too. “Walking’s hard. Anyway, it’s your tour. I already know how to get around this place, so I’m in no rush. Honestly, you’re doing better than I would if I fell out of sync with my boss’s energy. When his brain switches gears. I’m out like a light.”

Must be a real slow-burning candle, Bdubs thinks, but doesn’t say that. Hey, Martyn needs all the encouragement he can get right now. “Try your free-cam,” he suggests, bracing hands against his knees. “You’ll weigh like nothin’ then. Makes it real easy to spread the weight around.”

But Martyn shakes his head. “I’ve been outside a body long enough, cap’n. I want my mouth and legs right where I left ‘em. Just give a guy a minute.”

He can do that. Bdubs pockets his hands and strolls off down the hall, sniffing close to every door. Hm… Lori’s getting pretty low. Two hours ‘til a phantom can target on them, maybe? Bdubs flicks his tongue across his fangs, but Lori’s not gonna be one of his. Not tonight. He’s with Martyn! Martyn’s a barrel a’ monkey-fun all on his own. Yeah, even when he’s dragging one hand up his face, combing fingers through his hair while Etho watches on. Didn’t you hear him? You gotta give the guy some space.

Another sharp almost-run-out-of-online-time scent wafts towards Bdubs where the hallway turns, but most of the rooms up here are quiet. This city’s got rules, y’know; they’re non-anarchy down here. For one thing, phantom hybrids aren’t allowed to camp someone way before their logout time. Freaks people out. It’s eavesdropping, too. Stalking, really, when you know too much about who they see and where they go. And phantoms aren’t allowed to hunt anyone without a green light on their communicator. The light starts blue when they’re free to wander, drops to orange for an hour as a warning, and that last period in green? That’s phantom time. Phantoms can eat ‘em then, unless the wearer gets to the logout portals first. Then they can just jump AFK on their own.

Not that we WOULD take ‘em early… Not much, anyway. Souls taste way better the closer energy gets to fading out. Well, better to the scavengers. All the other soul-eating species have their own opinions, and Bdubs doesn’t butt heads about it. The lower the competition for scraps, the better the feed. Good news for Martyn, then. Yeah, I can keep him fed.

Hey, this could be a fun challenge! It’s been a long time since they’ve had a phantom with spawnling teeth in New Star. Usually, they get students coming out for school. Bdubs teaches ‘em how to hunt. Yes. But they’re a buncha students who grew up in Duskfell; they know full-well how flock dynamics work. How’s Martyn gonna act around the team? He’s adopted. By an otter and raven hybrid couple, right? You…

Martyn will need a nest on the clock tower platform. Moss is hard to come by in the underground city - the mountains are snowy up above and you won’t find a warm ocean for megachunks - but they’ve got wool stashed away. Scott’s always saying they should get some villagers underground, but that’s tricky business. Lots of moving parts (and that’s if you find a couple in the first place). It’s better for everyone if anarchy players don’t follow them home.

Isn’t it funny? It’s kinda funny! Martyn slipped inside New Star from the Void, down in the hole beneath the market where the endermen go to filter feed. You think Scott will let him sneak out and grab a villager’s soul, then slip back again as quiet as a mouse? ‘Cuz he won’t. Freakin’ no! He not like! He’ll be patching the holes as quick as he can, I guarantee. Scott’s part dragon now; he’s got world edit. He’ll fix. You watch.

But hey, that’s the only rest stop Martyn takes between Etho’s room and the rooftop. Bdubs charges ahead, bounding like a phantom should with his tail cracking loud on every leap. Nobody’s waiting out here to try and get ‘em… No vex out hunting, no eager fans prying for a glance at the guy who surfed the Void a couple days and lived. All the better, ‘cuz Martyn needs some space to breathe.

And from up here, you get a sweeping phantom’s eye view of the whole city. Hey, who doesn’t want that? There’s the clock tower out to the east, mirrored all perfect by the giant mangrove tree that arches above the Slime Dragon’s center nest. It’s custom-made! Call it a push gift, sure (We all know it’s true), with muscled branches stretching real close to Etho’s building. Well, not Etho’s building, but it’s only one street over and doesn't render out, so they’re basically the same. Bdubs watches for Debbie moving in the roots, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Prob’ly doing Slime Dragon things, looking after her baby guppies and whatnot. D’you think Ryguy told her Bdubs spooked the babies during flight-time lessons? Uh-oh. Bdubs bites his lip.

Nah, Debbie loves him… It’s cool. Of course, she does bite. She bit Cleo for taking one step between her and her spawnlings. Took a whole chunk right out of her ribs! Hey, how’s that for role reversal? The gap in Cleo’s shape still glows glitchy white to this day, no matter what skin they wear. Yeah… He’s not risking any dinner parties, but Debbie’s sweet on him. Bdubs will say so to anyone who asks. You just couldn’t pay him to put that theory to the test.

Hanging lanterns drape the streets in rainbow stripes. If you listen close, you can hear the twinkle of amethyst hidden here and there, tucked between some cracks of stone. It’s prettiest when claws tap against it mid-leap. Scrambling, if a flying species comes in too fast for the landing and thumps against the wall, their feet hit the crystals. The chime hits like rocks can sing! You should see what that sound does to Scott; he snaps to attention every time. Oh. Right. Scott’s an allay hybrid, but you’re not s’posed to know that. He doesn’t really talk about it, so just pretend you haven’t heard. Did we already cover this with the whole “the Allay Dragon is dead” thing? Anyway…

High, high above their heads, bedrock walls fade to blackened “sky.” It’s all flat up there. Devoid of stalactites and lights, even though it would’ve been cool to make the place look like a night sky or the inside of a lush cave. Scott had a point, though, which is that they’re lying low, trying not to attract too much attention from anarchy players aboveground who’ve hacked on the ability to spy item hitboxes through the roof. Living where they do is dangerous - Between itself is dangerous - but they do what they can to survive. They’ve sealed themselves inside the perimeter; it’s even got a roof. They’ve got weapons. They’ll kill ‘em; raiders. You know- People barging in with weapons where they don’t belong. Not Martyn, though. He can stay. He’s still gotta meet the flock.

You won’t find a lot of flying species willing to bunk underground. Except the bats and phantoms, of course, ‘cuz they grow up in caves, but a toucan hybrid with glossy black feathers skims right past them with a melon slice in hand. She dips below roof level and is gone as quick as she came. Lantern strings shiver in her wake. Martyn blinks like everything’s hazy, reaching for Etho and Bdubs both. He grips their shoulders to keep himself upright. Blue pixels ripple through his wobbly legs.

“Huh… You weren’t kidding. We really are underground.”

Oh baby, there’s my cue! Bdubs leaps forward, throwing out both arms (Etho’s got Martyn; Martyn’s fine). With a flap of his wings, his mossy shawl flutters like a cape. “Welcome to New Star Station, for real! Brought to you by none other than Mayor Smajor and yours especial-truly. You’ll be living up at the clock tower with me. I built that! Etho did the redstone, but the take-off platform is 100% phantom tested and phantom approved.” He pauses, just in case Martyn wants to, y’know… comment on the way that line of moss curls up the tower in a false crack, or how the tuff blocks soften the shadows. It looks so nice from here. Real nice. It’s like a sharp cloud! Like a whole tornado standing still.

“I live there?” Martyn echoes.

“Oh, yes… The view? It’s fantastic. You’ll love it. Us phantoms, it’s our job to feed all the anivores in New Star City if they can’t hunt for ‘emselves. We’re the devs’ favorite killing machines; the best ever coded in. The most efficient hunters of them all!”

Martyn blinks. “I thought that was dolphins.”

“Nah, they just play. It hardly even counts.” Bdubs slings an arm around Martyn’s neck, rubbing his skin with moss curls from the shawl. Martyn flinches, but doesn’t buck him off, which is a good thing (for people who don’t like getting bucked off). “You’ll see. You wouldn’t know this yet, but when you’re out with the flock, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.”

“Yeah, I think that’s how new experiences work, chief.”

Etho chuckles in the background. Bdubs slides his arm free and steps away, shaking his head. “Well, you’re lucky for real, Martyn. New Star’s the best hunting ground I’ve ever tried. The perimeter keeps rival flocks from crossing our path, so we stay on top of things; we’ve got each other down here. And you won’t find many vex in this city hunting us. Just a couple- maybe five. Maybe six. And zero great hungers! Ohhh, you don’t want to mess with great hungers, Martyn. We’re so safe in here. It’s a phantom paradise; that’s why the flock’s so big! Oh, but I’ll take care of you; of course… I bet you’ll fit right under my wing.”

Martyn’s eyes skim the city rooftops again. Bdubs watches the shift of his wings beneath cloth: soul flexing there without real membranes to rustle. “Are there alligators here?”

“We’ve got a few active alligator players. They can’t jump like great hungers can. Just don’t drink from the canals and you’ll be fine. Don’t even look at them.”

“What about tigers?”

“No mob ones here.” Regal tigers is their technical name in the code, but no one really calls ‘em that. “We’ve got more tigers than alligators, but they don’t hunt like we do. We’ll show ‘em. We can take those frisky felines any day.”

“Pillagers?” Martyn’s bare feet scrape against the roof as he walks, like he might fly off at the sudden crack of noise. Etho shifts forward, pressing close to him for some support. Martyn grips onto Etho a whole lot more than he’s ever clung to Bdubs, which is fine. It’s fine!

“Well, they can’t shoot you. Nobody’s allowed to hit phantoms in New Star. At least as long as they only hunt people whose comms glow green.” Bdubs holds out his arm so Martyn can see the communicator wrapped around his wrist. It buckles on tight. These things respawn if you leave ‘em behind, too. “That’s part of the contract everybody signs before they’re allowed to live here. See, the deal is, phantoms are so good at what we do, the mayor keeps us on a leash.”

“Lucky for you, I always was a leash kid. Serious, though- My parents had a chain and everything they hooked me to because they thought I’d bite straight through a lead. Wild stuff. I think if I hadn’t gone as far as I did for Education, they’d have tried to come with.”

Bdubs laughs (with a caw). “Yeah! We’re only allowed to hunt players who have an hour left before they drop AFK to the ground. As long as we don’t hunt anyone who’s got black, orange, or blue, no one can hit us back. We respect their time and don’t camp their portals or chase them all day, so they respect our lives. It’s easy take-out dinner every night! We catch more than what we need to stay fed down here. We store all our overflow at the clock tower, and that’s how we feed spawnling-teeth guys like you. Logouts keep the hub healthy, and a healthy hub keeps the servers online.”

“Orange screen?” Martyn repeats, unsure. Yeah… Yeah, see- Most places, they just have blue and black comm screens to differentiate players who come online from those who don’t.

“We use the Phantom Major system. It has all sorts of colors… The mayor invented it. He can set it up for you, once you sign the contract. We all agree. We’ve got no predators here. No get hurt at all. Oh, you’ll like it so much, Martyn. I can already see you bringing a big ol’ warden hybrid down right there beside me!”

Satisfied, Martyn settles his wings against his shoulders. And that’s good. Yes, that’s a very good thing. He’s comfortable; he’ll keep getting comfortable as time goes on. Bdubs gestures with a wing above the edge of the roof so Martyn knows to come join him by the edge. The clock tower’s the second best design on the skyline, but there’s a whole lot more to New Star than just its northeast corner. Martyn creeps forward, but the grip on his bathrobe stays as locked-in as his legs. He clears his throat. You can hear the sound ripple up his gular pouch.

“I think I’m good back here, Bdubs.”

“Oh, right… Mom didn’t push you over the cliff drops when you were new. You don’t trust fall.”

“Don’t phantoms break real easy when we get hit? I’d hate to see fall damage do me in. I’ll be honest, I don’t think I’m flying anywhere without a skin on my wings. These empty holes would chafe like mad, and that’s if I catch the air at all. Fool me twice, shame on me, right?”

Eh, fair point. You can’t set your spawn in Between ‘cuz you can’t sleep. They don’t even have respawn anchors here. Not that Bdubs knows of, anyway. If Martyn dies in a fall now, he’ll wake right back up in Duskfell Caves, under the Phantom Dragon’s watchful eye. And Scott, who makes a very, very big deal about keeping New Star off the map, won’t like it at all that there’s a guy wandering around out there knowing vaguely where to find ‘em.

“Well, I’ll just tell you the city tour, then.” Bdubs paces the edge of the roof, brushing his shoulder up with Etho’s. Huh… Where exactly do you start? Maybe talking about sleeping spots? Martyn’s looking shreepy as it is. Maybe he’s not ready to practice flying at all. “So, I built the whole clock tower all myself when we moved in. Scott did most the houses ‘cuz he cheats” - he doesn’t cheat - “and Cleo did most the tree. Scar helped, but his real magnum opus is the park. I bet you’ll get a kick out of Scar. You should watch out for him, though, ‘cuz he’s a vex and he’ll eat you when it’s fair play. He’s GoodTimesWithScar, but you won’t have a good time if he bites. Unless you’re into that.”

Martyn’s blink is slow and sticky. “Scar will get me; right. Cool. I’ll keep an ear out.”

“Oh, you’ll barely see him,” Bdubs assures Martyn, stepping closer. “He never comes up roofside. He hunts the bottom levels, chasing blaze and slimes. He’s got a room on the west wall and the clock tower’s way out here.”

“Right. Okay. And Scott and Cleo are…?”

“Scott’s the mayor, yes. You’ll see him real soon; he’ll go over your residence papers. You’re one of us now. Isn’t that fun?” Bdubs forges on without waiting for an answer. “And Cleo - You’ll like Cleo - Cleo’s my best friend! Well, after Etho… And Ren, and Scar, and Tango. Impulse is a sweetie too.” Bdubs shakes his head. “They’re the zombie I grew up with back in Underdark Crossing. She/they for Cleo, by the way.”

“What?”

“Pronouns.”

“… What’s a pronoun?”

Bdubs looks back at Martyn, his lips pursed on words he can’t quite say. Etho tilts his head very slightly, but Bdubs doesn’t stare; no, that’d be rude. The silence hangs between them, but it’s not weird. Martyn shrugs, all genuine and a bunch of nerves. Sweet goodness…

Is this what it’s like out there now? Outside? If Martyn was raised by hybrids far from the phantom hub, he probably missed some early development. The time he and his friends spent in that other hub must not’ve offered a well-rounded Education. Here and there (through the snippets poured in his hands like splashing water), Bdubs kinda figured that. It’s a mystery. Yes, a real mystery what the world is like. It’s so much better for ‘em all that they’re in New Star now. They’ve got a good program here.

Martyn’s been speaking Tweentext all night. He’s got a good grasp on it, but when the words come fast, you don’t always learn what all of ‘em are called or what every one means. The language phantoms use on the wing isn’t, like… big on pronouns. It doesn’t have any. It’s a bunch of clicks and calls, short and sweet: River Ripple on left, Snowstorm above. It’s call signs and hunting codes. Ender-Call doesn’t even have words to convey most usernames. I’ve gotta think up a good name for Martyn, Bdubs thinks, but blinks that thought away.

“Well, you know. ‘You,’ ‘me,’ ‘he,’ ‘she’… Those are pronouns. Are you a ‘he?’”

“Uhh… I answer to it?” Now Martyn looks real confused. “That’s what my mum and dad call me.”

“Yeah. We can meet Cleo later; she’s my best friend. She teaches at our Education hub. Maybe you’ll see her around. If you stick with me, you’ll cross paths soon enough. And oh, I bet you’ll like her.” Bdubs draws a flowery shape in the air with two fingers, trying to convey the outline of Cleo’s puffy hair. This doesn’t mean a lot to Martyn, but at least he’s nice about it. So Bdubs just keeps talking, waving hands past the roof drop to empty air. “We had a whole team work on our arena-”

“‘Arena?’”

“Yes. For sparring fights and sports games. Cleo did the locker rooms, and they built Rose House, too. Skizz and Impulse are working on a village, but it’s kind of a long play; we don’t even have villagers yet. No idea where to find ‘em, but Ren’s been snooping. Tango did a couple restaurants; really modernized the place after way too many years with our heads in the sand, believe me. And I did the skin shop. We’ll get you over there so you can get one tailored right for you.” He breaks off; Martyn’s eyes have wandered someplace else. Someplace interesting. “Oh. Am I touring bad? Stop me if I’m touring bad.”

“It’s not you,” Martyn mumbles back, shrugging his whole body through and through. “I just thought when we got out of EVO, I’d get to see the sun again.” He stares skyward like the aboveground light might pierce straight through it. His wings are still covered by the bathrobe. His fangs don’t poke out. There’s no real way to tell he’s a phantom hybrid… but that’s a beauty of a shot with his face right there: lit by a rosy lantern, two faces of the clock tower ticking not so far behind him. It’s almost time for bells to ring. Just the thought (The thought!? For real?) gets saliva pooling in Bdubs’ mouth. He flicks his tongue around his lips.

“No. No sunshine down here… but you get used to the dark real quick. It feels like this back home. Hey, you’re one tough cookie, Martyn!”

Martyn- Martyn, though- “But there’s stairs to get outside when we want to, right? Or ladders. We’ve got wings.”

“We don’t go outside.” Bdubs says it quickly, firmly, with no room for argument. That’s how captains talk, and they snap their tails just like that for punctuation (‘cuz he’s serious). “The whole world’s anarchy out there now. Worse than ever since the Allay Dragon died. The tunnels are trapped. Rivers corrupted. There’s withers and griefing all over the place, even right next to dragon hubs. Babies can barely sleep inside the nests. People lose their soul crystals, portals get camped, towns raided, farms destroyed- Ever heard of First Moon City?”

Martyn shrugs. “I know it caught fire… Look, my mum said she’d tell me when I’m older-”

“Oh, not just fire!” Bdubs crosses back to join Martyn and Etho in the middle of the roof, though Martyn’s trying not to look at him. “Well, I’ll just tell ya now. You’re old enough and it’s our history; I give permission; you should know. See, First Moon was built by termite and shulker hybrids way up northwest. It used to be this huge, thriving city in all Between - The biggest one ever built by people who weren’t illagers - but 1,000-somethin’ years ago, it went down in the anarchy raids. There was this library there that kept player files, and a whole bunch of people tried to make a move on ‘em. Huge groups of people died, servers lost connection, and all these files got corrupted.”

“And then it caught fire,” Etho puts in.

“Yes. Oh, yes… So much fire. Public servers get invaded and blown up too; sweet goodness. And even before the raid, that place was always anarchy. You’d get traps in the streets or anivores camping portals, ready to pounce on whoever set foot outside their house. Lots of low-XP players couldn’t even leave their servers to go anywhere else in Between. Believe me, Martyn- You’re better sticking with us. New Star’s full non-anarchy; you’ll never have to worry about traps in the streets or withers in your house. Not down here.”

“I guess,” Martyn mutters back, tugging at the loose skin of his arm. Yeah, the skin’s a little big on him, even though Etho probably gave him the best one he had. “But c’mon, boss- I’ll just pop out a few minutes to see the sun. Where do I go for that?”

“No,” Bdubs says. “It’s not safe out there. If even one anarchy player follows us to New Star, this whole place is in danger. Nobody leaves the perimeter.” Pointing vaguely south (towards the voidfish market), he adds, “You flew in here from underneath! We’ve never had someone find us that way before. You’re lucky, Littlewood. This isn’t a place anybody ever finds.” This time, Bdubs lifts his hands to the bedrock ceiling high, high overhead. “Scott and I built this place right under the Fox Dragon’s turf. She protects us. Nobody on the outside knows we’re down here but her. You should say ‘Hi!’”

“But I can’t go out,” Martyn checks, his eyelids droopy now.

“Yes.” Bdubs reaches out a hand. “Hey, if you miss the sunshine, it helps to try a few servers. I grew up in it, though; not sure how it works for adopted rescue kids. If you dip in and out, you’ll get as much daytime as you like. Or the moon, if you’re into her. I poured all my XP in heatproofing when I was just a little Bdubs.” Growing up with zombies, he learned pretty fast what straying outside the cave could do to a guy. The Between dimension’s sun’s a lot less intense than the Overworld sky, and you’ll only burn at the hottest times of day. Still, who wants that headache? Prolonged scorch-time hours will still give him migraines. Maybe he’ll catch fire if he’s real unlucky (or way too dry).

XP coverage there is one of the best blessings you can ever give yourself. Some of the more flammable mobs rub themselves down with magma cream. The outside world really only gets those from magma cubes now… which leads precisely into Martyn’s next question. Well, first it’s the jump he makes, all gasps and stutters, and then the words pop out. One finger snaps out, jabbing towards the big custom mangrove squatting in New Star’s middle.

“Is that the Slime Dragon? Did I just find-? Is this the slime spawner?” He spins, grabbing Bdubs’ arm, then lets go and grabs both of Etho’s instead. “Oh, you guys have slime! No one out there has slime! My word, you’ve been holding out on us!”

Etho’s eyes crinkle as he smiles behind his face mask, as patient with Martyn as he’s ever been. “If you like redstone, you’ll like it here. All the pistons you could want, right in the palm of your hand.”

Martyn whistles. And this time, when he releases Etho and turns to Bdubs again, there’s real interest in his eyes. Like, maybe he’s figured out the underground’s not so bad. “I’ll be honest, my parents always told me the Slime Dragon left her hub and flew away long ago, but I thought that was a nice way of saying someone killed her… White Moon Swamp is gone, right?”

“Taken over by random players; yes, you are correct. Not that it was much to look at to begin with. No defenses. Not a one.”

“Hey, hey,” Etho protests, swishing his tail. “I always liked visiting Aunt Debbie down at the swamp. There were huts and treehouses everywhere. They had all these rope bridges strung with lights!”

Bdubs gives a shrug. “Well, she moved the spawner down here. And she lets us share. She lets us share; we keep her safe.” He motions for Martyn, and when they’re both standing closer to the edge, he points towards the custom tree again. It’s huge, honestly. Cleo did a great job with the shape. “That’s Debbie’s nest down there. She’s nursing guppies right now, so don’t get too close. She bites.” Cleo can attest to that.

Martyn studies the cityscape, his wings flexing beneath the bathrobe. Bdubs gives him a little room. He moves back towards Etho, ‘cuz Etho’s job is done; Martyn’s in a skin now and it’s time to say good-bye.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his head to Etho’s cheek. “I had nice time. You’ve been busy, but we pulled through again. That’s the dream team right there. Bdubs and Etho all the way!”

“Yeah, and he’s your problem now,” Etho says, nosing his face back. Hands all pocketed; he should touch. Bdubs would let him if he did, but Etho keeps all that affection in the soft swish of his tail. Hm. Etho clears his throat then, dropping his voice a little lower. “You know, if you have time to get away tonight… I wouldn’t mind if you stay late and cuddle.”

“Of course I will. Let me see; let me see when you hit zero.” Bdubs moves his hand towards Etho’s vest pocket, but waits for Etho to withdraw his communicator on his own. The screen pulses blue. Still in wander time. The countdown timer marks the numbers, and they’re lower than you’d think. Bdubs clicks his tongue. “Look at that! I’ll be back to eat your soul four hours from now. Huh. Has it really been that long?”

Etho’s tail quirks in amusement; it swats at Bdubs’ leg. “See you then, captain. I’ll just be editing.”

“Always busy and productive, you. Don’t try to run. I’ll come find you.” And with one hand-blown “Mwah!” of dismissal, Bdubs trots back to join Martyn at the roof. He stands alert, wings spread beneath the robe. His legs are primed for take-off; even his hands are lowered half to crouching. If he were a real phantom, you’d see his ear tufts snap up. Bdubs tilts his head, but Martyn’s eyes don’t glow green with the hunter’s aggro… He’s not targeting anyone. He just stares below with parted lips and baby fangs. Bdubs checks the road for any of Martyn’s friends, but there’s nobody down there you’d think he’d recognize.

What’s going on inside that head, huh? “Hey, Martyn… You wanna practice any gliding before we go down there? We should get you to Scott. He’s gotta do your paperwork.”

Like the snap of a twig, the words break Martyn’s concentration. He jerks his head aside. It’s two seconds, though, before his eyes fix on Bdubs’. “Sorry- Yeah, yeah, I’m up for whatever. Just watching someone try and climb the wall.” He gives himself a shake. His skin makes a wub-flp, wub-flp sound where it hangs loose and whacks his soul beneath. “It might’ve been your friend, actually. You know.” Martyn makes the same bouncy motion with his fingers to shape Cleo’s plumes of hair.

“Oh, Cleo! You’ll like her, Martyn. Yes, they’re always climbing here. They like to be tall!”

“You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Hey! What?” Bdubs shakes his head, shoving Martyn with his hand. “No, we should hunt her when you’re done meeting Scott. Well, I should; you’ve got baby teeth. Watch me, then you- You copy after. We’ll go hunt Cleo. There’s no better way to say ‘Hello!’”

Martyn nods, his dull blue eyes skittering away. He puts out an arm to stretch, then stops. “Hey, I’m not sure I’m allowed to say this, but where can I get some of that code Etho’s using on his ears?” He cups his hands behind his own, wiggling the fingers. “I’m sure the buzzing would drive me mad, but I’d honestly love to keep my tail inside the skin. I didn’t even think you could do that with your moon traits, though? Don’t they force their way out? I mean, moon be moon no matter what you wear.”

Bdubs gives Martyn a curious appraisal. Yeah, Etho’s got an extra mod in his code. Purely aesthetic. And comfort. What’s he mean by buzzing? Is there something wrong? “Etho showed you his code?”

Martyn sputters, backpedaling with his wings. They lash beneath his robe. “Okay, when you say it like that-”

“No, seriously- He doesn’t let anyone see his raw code. Never, ever, ever. How’d you know he pins the ears down? Did he say something, or did his mod break? ‘Cuz if I know Etho, he’ll try to fix it himself without telling me, and I fix it better.” Not having a curfew time, just staying up all night for over a decade, has its advantages. He picks up a lot of hobbies. Grew up helping Cleo with her stitches, of course. He’s better with skins than souls, but he can do basics for Etho’s needs. Not that Etho asks. Etho, as mentioned, doesn’t undress for anyone. Bdubs has to use special phantom soul powers to push his hands through skin to touch Etho’s soul, basically the same way he grabbed Martyn when the guy was skinless and trying to buck and run. It’s real easy for phantom hybrids to touch souls without skins ‘cuz they’re the best.

But Martyn just looks taken aback, like he just licked his lips over a sandwich he was handed, then watched it get yanked away. “Is it supposed to be a secret? I could win every game of hide and seek, it’s that loud.” Martyn makes the cupping gesture again. “It is the ears, isn’t it? Unless he modded the eye, but I could hear it on both sides. I even walked around him to make sure. Is he a third-quarter respawn trying to pass as a new moon hybrid or something? I saw the mask; assume he’s got the big ol’ teeth. He’d look cute with fox ears on top, like a catboy.” It’s said in flat jest, not anything Bdubs fears getting jealous over (Not that he would). But.

… Mods shouldn’t be loud. Bdubs didn’t hear anything, and Etho was just here two minutes ago. “Uh. I mean, I don’t think he’s hiding secrets, or pretending he’s a different kind of hybrid? He just doesn’t like the ears pressing against the top of his skin. He doesn’t have skins with ear sleeves; there’s pins in his soul to hold them down.” Bdubs makes a motion with his fingers, cupping Etho’s imaginary ear and driving a pin forward with his thumb. “So they don’t itch. It’s making noise? That seems not so good.”

This question gets ignored by the fascination glittering back in big blue eyes. “Is that it? They itch his scalp? Why not set himself up with new skins that have ear sleeves?”

“Oh, Martyn,” Bdubs sighs, and claps his hand on the guy’s shoulder. Martyn’s taller; it’s more like a hand to his bicep. “Yeah, you’ll come to figure out Etho someday. He knows what he likes and he’s not easy t’budge. Never changes anything. Probably because he’s a fox hybrid and doesn't like throwing stuff out. Now, come on. Let’s do glide practice real quick; I gotta get you to Scott.”

Martyn’s awkward laughter follows him across the rooftop. "Wait, are you not joking? He’d rather pin the soul ears down than get new skins that fit? Believe me, I saw his closet! He’s got at least 8 just like the one he’s wearing.”

“Yes. One for every day of moon cycle. Two extra, sterile for surgeries. Small differences in clothes design, but all the same cut. Had ‘em since he really was a waxing crescent spawn, before he died and respawned with ears. Getting new skins is a pain. Don’t die under a different moon phase, Martyn. It’s just inconvenient.” Etho loves routine like he loves his plush mob collection. He tracks the passing of time by the skins he wears. Bdubs loves that for him. Doesn’t understand it, but it’s real sweet. Firm, unwavering routine is just how Etho’s mind works. He spins on his heel, ready to watch Martyn test his wings, though Martyn still looks a little woozy.

“Two steriles? He does that many surgeries?”

“Etho’s the best at it, yes. Gets asked sometimes. I keep tellin’ him to teach at Education, but he keeps shutting that down. He’s teaching Tango, though. Tango, he- Tango’s the one who saw you at the voidfish market. Well, you turned into goo. Anyway, you’ll meet him soon.”

“And he never got new skins with ear sleeves?” Martyn seems real hung up on that, but he’s laughing. Still laughing, shaking his head. “Geez. Etho’s got options, and he chose the hard way? Good gosh, what have I walked into here?”

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Martyn Meets the Mayor

💙  🧡  💚

“So, explain this to me like I’m Level 5. What exactly… is a phantom flock?” Martyn holds to Bdubs for every step down the deepslate street. It’s helping. His legs are definitely getting stronger as he re-learns the steps to piloting a vessel body. Aw, there we go. He’s had vertigo all his life, and he’s fighting with every ounce of energy he can. Bang-up job, honestly. A little less wobble now; maybe he should flaunt some high heels just because he can. It’s real dark out here, though. This whole city’s buried underground, which leaves it looking like a wolf’s den more than a hunting ground or cozy place to socialize. Lanterns glow with rainbows, which leaves the vibes ambiguous instead of warm. Aw, nah. Clearing his throat, he adds (about basing on the clock tower’s open, fenced-off platform with other phantom hybrids), “I mean, who needs ‘em anyway, amirite? Isn’t that just a lot of mouths to feed and stink to smell?”

Bdubs twitches his head around. He’s clearly got his player file plugged into this hub; his eyes glow bedrock-gray and aren’t dulled out. Been here a long time then, yeah? They’ve got a whole set-up down here. “Didn’t you grow up with ravens?” Bdubs asks. He never stops walking, every stride quick and forceful to balance out his shorter legs. Martyn snorts.

“Yeah, but the way my dad talks about his flock has nothing on you, and I’ve only known you 20 minutes. Give me the spill.”

“Well…” Evidently, Bdubs has to think about that. His mossy cloak swishes and bounces, the big clasps on the front clicking like iron every time he moves. His shoes are leather, though. Is that the best this hub can do? Martyn makes a mental note about the cows here before redirecting his attention to Bdubs’ words. “The flock’s security; protection. Phantoms have brittle bones, right? We get our strength from swooping… Biting and darting out of reach, one after another. We bring down a target, everybody feeds.”

“So it’s not like ravens,” Martyn checks. Or pushes. Honestly, he’s not sure. Sometimes he just emphasizes things and his brain only catches up down the road. Bdubs shrugs, rolling his shoulders in a way that flaunts the spiral veins in his wings.

“Not like ravens,” he agrees. “Phantoms- Phantoms actually hunt. I’ll teach you. You’ll need a teacher ‘til your fangs grow in.”

Martyn doesn’t respond to that, opting to lapse into thoughtful quiet instead. I’m supposed to hunt here. He’ll probably get free handouts if he plays dumb a while and doesn’t upgrade his fang stats, which he’s not opposed to. Maybe if Bdubs goes off to hunt for him, Martyn can spend those free moments snooping around the city. Or at least around that clock tower. Bdubs made it very clear he wants Martyn basing up there, which means he’ll be keeping close tabs on him every chance he can. Which is nothing new (and completely understandable), but Martyn will feel loads better once he knows the nooks and crannies around his future nest.

Is this some kind of trick? The Watchers didn’t really… let him gain XP, once he started wandering the EVO hub. Whether or not they suspected Martyn’s trick of devouring other students for energy and taking off is anybody’s guess, and not one he’d like to dwell on very long, but either way, they didn’t want him lording the power of his fangs as freely as they lorded theirs. But… Bdubs doesn’t mind?

Martyn glances again across the city as they pass between some lower-roofed buildings. The clock tower’s the tallest building down here, although the custom tree where he saw the Slime Dragon lurking looms about the same. There must be six to eight oversized clock faces on that thing, given the angles he can see. It’s morning. Past dawn, but not yet noon. Martyn wonders if the many, many colorful lanterns dangling on strings down here brighten and dim with the sun, or whether anybody cares.

What am I getting myself into? The phantoms are allowed to have fangs? They have a special tower that lets them see the whole city, and they enforce the curfew? It feels a little dubious, unless it’s genius. Maybe it’s a bit of both.

“And it’s not dangerous,” he says, faltering through the word. It hits at the same time his foot catches a crack in the deepslate; his fingers tighten in Bdubs’ fuzzy arm. “I mean the hunting. You said phantoms don’t get attacked here? That sounds like a giant fib. Like a hazing ritual or something.”

“Yes. It’s in the phantom hour contract; we only hunt when someone’s comm is glowing green. You’ll smell it, when they’re an hour off from logging out. We can’t hunt them any other time, but they can’t kill us either. It’s a restriction, ‘cuz phantoms are the best. There aren’t a lot of vex here; we’d just take over if we could do whatever we want.”

“Right…” Is that how it works? Martyn’s mind flitters back to his EVO enrollment. He’d been fed his fellow students quite a few times. That’s kind of a necessity when you’re an anivore, right? Circling souls through the local hub system so they get all patched up? EVO had special rules about when you could and couldn’t be plugged in; they didn’t want anybody wandering in and out of servers without a project lead monitoring. There hadn’t been free-range hunting there for the same reason, because… Well, it’s just messy and uncoordinated.

The Watchers had done the hard work of tearing souls from skin, portioning Martyn his small share of the feed. Usually after they’d boiled it into a soup- once the player had been properly logged out and wouldn’t feel the heat or teeth, of course. Technically, he’d been tasked with logging out his fellow students by accepting what meals he was given, but he sure as hell hadn’t felt like he was in charge. Maybe enforcing curfew if anything, but mostly just eating the only thing he could: the souls. On most servers, he has a stomach. You can actually crank the settings up so they reflect the Between dimension, but you can’t edit Between itself. And out here, meat and veggies don’t fill him up. There’s only one food in existence that could boost his hunger meter regardless, and carrots went extinct long before his mum and dad were spawned. So he’s heard, anyway, but all his education supported that belief.

There’s no doubt in his mind that the watchlings who mostly ran the EVO hub - watchlings are a type of enderman, just so we’re clear - could’ve eaten his code too, if they’d wanted to. They never tried. Not with Martyn, who kept his head down and slipped into the courtyard only when he knew with absolute certainty nobody would see him go. That took ages on his own, sometimes hours of sitting very still until the perfect moment to dart outside fell into his lap. His reward had been a few ferns to roll around in and a tree to climb. Which wasn’t much, but it was something. And once, he’d almost gotten past the big wall that kept him shut indoors.

He wasn’t one of those kids who got tangled up in trouble. Just… It wasn’t worth the risk? And things were fine. They were fine; nobody ever bothered him more than he could take. He has seen enderman teeth up close. There might be baleen in their mouths, granting the ability to filter-feed in the Void, but there’s more to that lurking underneath.

Back in EVO, Martyn was the only phantom. That he knew of, at least, and he thought he knew a lot. He talked to people, right? He acted nice and chummy; he got around. He didn’t have a flock, though… and absolutely lacked the muscle for taking on the Watchers or overpowering anyone. He probably wouldn’t have gotten through the first attack before they offed him pretty quick, and he likes to think he’s good with a sword. Decent, at least. He used to practice with Pearl.

I guess there’s… social expectation here, that I’ll defer to Bdubs? Is Bdubs like his dad, in the absence of a dad? Martyn used to defer to both his parents, seeing as he was adopted; didn’t grow up beneath a dragon’s wing like his otter and raven friends. A couple times, they teased him. He never really minded, though, because at least his mum wouldn’t snap at him with massive teeth if he really got on her nerves. Martyn searches for better words to categorize Bdubs’ role with. Maybe ‘dad’ isn’t right, but something like ‘protector’ or ‘mentor’ or ‘guide?’

They’re on their way to meet New Star Station’s mayor. Bdubs says it’s required; there’s paperwork to jot down and tuck away. Seriously? Someone’s out there spending their hub-visit time and hard-won squid ink on that? Whatever… This Mayor Smajor person wants everybody’s name in his books before they can wander the city without an escort hovering at their shoulder. Non-anarchy hubs thrive on tally marks and tittles, apparently. Martyn tongues the inside of his cheek, but he didn’t make a damn complaint when Bdubs ran him through the basics on their way down the stairs: Mayor visit first. Skin shop after. And at some point, he’ll get to touch base with his friends again.

We made it. THEY made it: Tim, Pearl, Tomohawk, Taurtis, Netty, Syszee, BigB, Mini Muka, Salem. If what he’s heard is true, he collapsed on the floor when he reached New Star by flying into the market through the Void. That trip was long, cold, and a major strain on wings and energy. Upon crashing to the ground, he spilled the smuggled player files from his hands all over the place, and some blaze hybrid named Tango brought them to the mayor, who got them plugged in. So this is the place his friends respawned once the data cycle through his system was complete. The EVO hub’s far behind them now… Martyn’s trembling lips can’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

It worked. Oh my gods; eating them and running off really worked. They really got away? Ha. Even with all their eyes, the Watchers never saw that coming. Martyn pushes his toes hard on every step he takes like he’s driving his feet to crush their grabby fingers. It doesn’t feel at all safe walking on the ground instead of flying on the wing. Martyn sizes up every building, market stall, and alleyway they pass, but without a proper skin to coat his soul, flying’s not really an option. He won’t catch the air for the necessary lift and glide.

So… This place really is a refuge, right? Bdubs sang its praises so sweetly back in Etho’s room. Non-anarchy, he said. Which is exactly what the EVO brochures bragged, and look how that turned out. Who’s really the protected class down here, underground? And what’s the curfew? Martyn’s taking those lurching thoughts one step at a time, but he can’t fight the glitchy tremors coursing through his arms. EVO was a lot of things, but at least it was predictable; so long as you followed basic instructions, it was safe.

Martyn cranes his neck, scanning the streets with his eyes. There’s no sign yet of his friends, even though Etho and Bdubs implied they respawned and have been seen wandering the streets. He’ll feel a million times better once he sees that for himself. He’s their captain. Their safety is his responsibility. And he’ll never forgive himself if…

Maybe he could celebrate a little more if there hadn’t been a casualty. That’s the most bitter copper tang of all the bile in his mouth. Not my fault, Martyn reminds himself, but that’s not the whole story. Frankly, he can’t stomach the whole story. Or… or how what happened could’ve been avoided if he’d just pushed harder to get Grian to join them in escape, when Grian shook his head and clung to the door and said they were all going to get themselves hurt, running from the Watchers like they were.

But he came. Late. Uneaten, flying by his own merit. Phantom hybrids fall under the Enderkin umbrella, at least; they’ve got better resistance to the nippy chill of the Void and the lashes of its currents. Grian didn’t. And he didn’t have the hearts, the energy flowing through his system from devoured friends. Etho and Bdubs both said they hadn’t seen Grian here in New Star, although they’d identified others like BigB and Pearl by name when Martyn asked. So… So that means when Grian’s straining wings failed him during their flight through the Void, his voice ragged from shouting in the cold, his fingers stretching desperately upward past the blank stare of panicked eyes…

Martyn’s throat strangles shut, like a shulker watching from the walls. He’s not sure he can trust his own eyes, his own mind - given some of the descriptions Bdubs and Etho provided about the Void he apparently flew out of on his own, plus something about sausage and a fishbowl - yet for a blurry moment, he’s there again. Diving down to catch that wobbly hand. And he’s there, snapping his teeth in a rushed and messy attempt to catch Grian in his mouth. Which is-

-fleeting. Icy. Unclear in success or failure. Martyn shivers, rolling his shoulders as a jolty glitch thrums from his head down his back. He flicks his tail, which shakes off the clingiest thoughts. Bdubs shoots him a long glance, but he doesn’t say anything. Every footstep is a little too quick, right on the border of being obnoxious to keep up with. Martyn wonders if Bdubs would rather fly. He wonders too if there might be more hunters on the streets than Bdubs made it sound up on the roof, when Martyn asked about alligators and things. He’s never been eaten by an alligator, actually, or a great hunger (hybrid or otherwise). The emerald savanna biome those guys call home, though, lies down the mountain from where the raven hybrids nest. Fern Mountain’s beautiful, especially in spring and autumn when colors are lush and bright. Martyn misses the scarlet maple leaves and low glow of the sun more than he misses his parents so far. That’s mean. It’s true.

He’d really like to see the sun.

The deepslate street isn’t unpleasant, but the cracks in the stone feel lumpy under Martyn’s uneven footsteps. Bdubs takes opportunity to crow on and on in his tour guide voice, talking up all his favorite details like the half-slabs that prevent mobs from spawning in this dimension where light sources are irrelevant. Apparently everything in New Star is either half slabs or carpets… or water sloshing through one of several canals. Well. Not the bridges. Those are wooden, aren’t they? He can’t be sure, still unfamiliar with blocks non-native to the region where he grew up. Martyn asks about that. Bdubs has an answer for everything.

“I’ve been here since New Star’s birth,” he brags, which Martyn politely doesn’t point out he’s already said before. “Me and Scott built this place- The mayor. I was out one time, hunting, when I spotted him. Even saved his life. I followed him here. Could’ve eaten him, but I didn’t. Look what’s happened! We’ve really built this place up.”

“It’s quite defensible for a stronghold,” Martyn says by way of compliment, but only because he can’t think of a polite way to say, “I’m happy for you?” in the questioning tone that bounces in his head. Bdubs is…

Well. Bdubs. Martyn tries to hang back and study him, though doing so and keeping pace with the man (all while relearning how to walk) is a tricky line to balance. He’s never seen another phantom hybrid this close before. There weren’t any in Fern Mountain where he grew up, and although he spent his summers at the Black River hub, phantoms were few and far between. Martyn watched them only from a distance, recognizing their species and coordination, but not daring to get close. Not that he had much opportunity, seeing as his parents shepherded him away if they heard the hunting cries. Martyn hardly blamed them. It might’ve been nice to meet some other phantoms, but if they’d invited him to fly around with them, he could’ve gotten lost. Or just caught up in the thrills, never looking back.

That’s the thing about Martyn. He’s… He likes to keep the peace, y’know? Even now, he bites his lip at the thought of ire invoked against him by the Watchers, who’ll surely look for him if they figure out where he’s gone. He fled with their students and secrets, after all. Grian was one night from getting his teacher’s greenlight. Maybe they’ll scour the parrot hub in search of him. If Grian’s okay, after a plunge into the Void with his player file in hand. Martyn… doesn’t want to think about it. He glances up, scanning the sky as wingbeats swoop past his head. It’s a pair of phantoms on the hunt, if he had to guess, but they’re off before he can chirp a greeting.

Bdubs points out more pretty buildings and starts going off about the local tree farm and how it provides fenceposts, which New Star apparently indulges in for decoration. Yeah, man; we can tell, Martyn thinks, glancing at yet another window marked with a lowercase ‘t’ of wood. Makes sense, really… Keeping yourselves tucked away underground can’t be good for the trade routes and resource-gathering. They must not have a lot of sand down here. Martyn’s never even met anyone who’s been to the slime hub… except BigB, who swore up and down he’d been to White Moon Swamp and can confirm the Slime Dragon doesn’t live there anymore. That’s it.

And New Star isn’t White Moon. The Slime Dragon picked up her spawner and went somewhere else, probably about the time sculk swept across her swamp. The Cluckshroom Dragon’s long dead, and they used to live within a few minutes’ flight of each other. That whole section of the dark oak woods is overrun, so he’s heard. Martyn knows the gist from his dad and BigB filled in the cracks. Two well-traveled sources he has no reason to doubt can’t both be wrong.

Martyn muses whether good ol’ Cap’n Bdubs here is old enough to have met the Cluckshroom Dragon. Or if he didn’t meet her personally, maybe they still lived during the same time. BigB used to run in a high-ranking social circle just below the Allay Dragon. He met her on occasion; even danced with her at a couple fancy parties.

But what about Bdubs? Martyn can’t put his senses into perfect words, but there’s a certain… aura around Bdubs that assures Martyn quite firmly of his rank and skill. In Between, you never lose XP levels when you die. This dimension’s claim to fame is the ties it has with souls, and the way you can invest your XP in different branches of the skill tree really attests to that. Martyn never saw a point in building up his wingspan when he lived in EVO, considering the whole hub was indoors and the hallways only so wide. He still doesn’t have a skin over his wings, so he can’t technically feel pain there, but there’s an ache around the joints that he’s not looking forward to. Did dumping too much XP too fast into that stat on his getaway night put him through the wringer? Aw…

Bdubs, though… He’s got a wide wingspan, jutting fangs, and the look of a man who knows how to use ‘em. He might wear a mossy cloak that blurs the outline of his shape, but Martyn’s seen enough to keep cautious of the muscles hidden underneath. Bdubs even put XP in his tail, for some reason. As the tour continues, Martyn tries to keep out of the way so he won’t get clipped on the knee when Bdubs gets excited and the tail starts to swing. He’s old enough for a betrothal ring, he reflects. Not that age has much to do with that; some people spawn with them. And a lot of people never get one. It’s all whatever. 

I don’t care. Martyn cranes his neck anyway, trying to catch a glimpse of that small black band wrapped around a finger on Bdubs’ left hand. It sure looks more like code than something he’s wearing just for fun. You think that’s embedded in his source code? If that’s the case, he’ll never get that off. Only the folks Outside can modify a source code, and they don’t bother replying to digital prayers.

Unless they do. Not mine, though. Not ever. Not anymore. Not unless that slackened sync-cord gets picked up again, but there’s not a record in any book that suggests you can repair a snapped-off link. Martyn fights the urge to bug Bdubs with questions for most the way up the street before he finally relents.

“Uh… So, your ring, boss. Is your partner a phantom?” It’s just…

It’d be good to know, if the stereotypes are true. Years ago, Mum and Dad sat him down for a serious talk on how it’s totally okay to find a partner outside his own species, even if his instincts might be urging him to find a fellow phantom to snuggle up to. Martyn never saw the point. By then, he’d had half a dozen crushes and already figured out his inclination towards both cool and chilly souls over warm and hot ones. And he knew he liked neatly maintained hair, so. Hey, it might not even be a ring for a mate - some people wear them for other relations, friends or player-cam duos and such - but it can’t hurt to ask.

“Not a phantom,” Bdubs says, not elaborating. He didn’t reject the partner comment. Maybe it is his betrothal jewel.

“But you know them?” They found each other, even when this hub is hidden underground?

“Yes. Married. Happy with it.”

“Is it Etho?” Martyn hadn’t seen a ring on him, but again, not everybody gets one. Loads of people never even meet the person represented by a ring they may have woken up with one random morning, and don’t make them a priority or partner if they do track each other down. You could call it soulmates, but don’t get caught up in fantasy (Martyn’s never believed in soulmates much at all, though he’d like to, if there was evidence). This time, Bdubs actually turns to look back.

“Why you prying, huh?”

Martyn shrugs. Bdubs neither denied Etho nor ruled him out as a second partner. May as well go for three; maybe he can hit a bingo and really piss him off. “Is it Cleo?”

“Sweet goodness… No. And I thank my beloved every day for that.”

“Aw, that feels like quite the slight towards Cleo when she can’t defend her honor. I’m sure she’s a lovely lady.”

Bdubs chuckles. “She won’t like the way you said that. And don’t say words like ‘lady’ much. It’s she/they pronouns, with Cleo, and general terms. Like, you can just say ‘person’ instead, unless you ask them and they say it’s okay if you use ‘lady.’”

Ugh. A few minutes of walking and there are already unspoken social rules. It’s like playing in a pile of leaves just to feel a pressure plate click dangerously beneath his foot. Martyn decides he will, actually, call Cleo a lady if he ever meets her, and if she’s not allowed to fight a phantom, she can’t do a thing about it. Martyn strays his eyes around again, also resolving to nudge this Cleo person for dirt on Bdubs if opportunity ever arrives. These buildings still give him the creeps. He’s not crazy about the lack of windows down here, even if the lack of sand is a valid excuse. He’ll try to keep his voice down if he holds private conversations. Maybe that’s the mayor’s real goal here: setting up the environment so it’s a smidge more difficult to organize rebellions or escape plans. They had lots of glass in EVO. It stood uphill from a beach.

They reach the Headquarters building soon enough, which Bdubs says is where he’ll meet the mayor and get things squared away. Cool. He then points out a nearby tunnel-like building made up of white blocks, which he says holds loads of portals for multiplayer enjoyment. The size of that place gives Martyn pause, even when he and Bdubs are well off the street and heading down Headquarters’ halls. How many research projects are they running to justify a building THAT big?

Bdubs leads the way into the ground-floor cafeteria and holds the door open for Martyn. The room’s spattered with a few people getting food off to the side, but it isn’t crowded. A single hybrid sits at the nearest table, eating a block of cheese and apparently waiting for them to arrive.

Martyn’s not sure what he expected of New Star Station’s mayor. Maybe not a phantom, seeing as Bdubs throws his dominance around so blatantly here. Possibly a slime, given the proximity to that spawner, or a warden who can fend for himself. This guy doesn’t seem… intimidating. Martyn looks at him for a moment, running his eyes up and down a few times. He tilts his head, which does little to help him size anything up. What kind of hybrid are you?

The mayor doesn’t show any visible mob traits, even in his fingertips. No claws. No paw pads. No wings. No feathers, cheek fluff, or other markings on his face. Is he in his new moon form? That would make sense; if you last respawned under a full moon, you’ll show a lot more mob traits. Moon does things to you. That blue hair might suggest traces of breeze, parrot, or axolotl, but Martyn can’t be sure. It looks a little damp, sort of sparkly. Maybe axolotl is right? Or is that just his skin design?

He’s… not very big, is he? Quite small, light on his feet, and not at all broad in the shoulders. I could take him, Martyn thinks, and immediately slinks against the protective barrier of his shirt. Oh, if he were still grayed out, he’d be in trouble. Would’ve projected that thought to the nearest comms on accident. But despite all of that… there’s a sort of sixth sense hovering around Martyn that keeps him biting his lip, aggression fluttery at bay. Maybe not a sixth sense, but basic logic connections: This man’s lived in New Star at least as long as Bdubs, if they built it, and Bdubs defers to him. I reckon he’s got at least as much XP as the dear captain does.

Martyn does not like the fact that the mayor’s body offers no visual cues as to where that XP may be. No claws. No wings. The man’s an enigma - possibly on purpose - and nonexistent hackles lift at the back of his neck. Martyn hones his hearing, but the mayor doesn’t have mods that hum the way Etho did. It doesn’t mean there aren’t any, but it’s almost disappointing he can’t tell. No ring, Martyn thinks. Most likely, Bdubs isn’t married to this man either.

The mayor, however, jumps at the shoulders when he sees Martyn, quickly returning his cheese block to his tray. “Oh, hi! We must be friends.”

“We’re friends?” Martyn takes another hard look at the man in front of him, but he’s never seen this guy in his life. At least, not that he remembers- It’s tricky, of course, when he’s spent most his life on servers with sweet ol’ mum and dad. Uhh… Maybe there’s something familiar? In his hair color? The design on his sweatshirt suggests Japanese influence (because anime), and that’s sort of throwing him off.

“Sorry,” says the man, running fingers through his hair. It twinkles. Maybe that is a mod. He comes around the table to greet Martyn more properly. “Our bosses are friends, I think.” He gives a small bow, but straightens up so fast, he knocks the hood of his sweatshirt off his head. “I’m Mayor Smajor. Or just Scott. Either one.”

Martyn says nothing for the nanoseconds it takes to process what just happened. Aha. He can feel something through his sync-cord. You know. With his Outside player. Because his boss still likes him and didn’t cut him off, leaving him wobbly and hungry more often than any of his peers. His boss can’t possibly know I’m here, though? Why is he getting a sync feeling for this? Wouldn’t… the Outside Scott have to see him through Hybrid Scott’s eyes for a thought like that to trickle through? Like, is this guy just lying?

The pause stretches just long enough that Scott’s smile fades into awkward acceptance. He leans back, gripping the cafeteria table. “Netty was in here three days ago. She did mention you. I used to play in Sims with her, she said, over in their version of Between. I don’t remember it as well as she does, but I’d believe it in a heartbeat; I did think she looked familiar. Your friends Jimmy, Pearl, and BigB are very nice too. I really think I hit it off with Pearl; I don’t meet a lot of people who like anime. I might try to start a club. Do you watch?”

You grew up with Netty? And she still remembers you? Never told me about some guy with blue hair. Okay, yeah- She probably did, but Netty has a lot of Simmer friends and it’s not like he remembers all of them. She’d also once told Martyn something very similar about how she suspects the hands guiding her soul are on great terms with his ol’ chum in that ethereal Outside dimension so many people lock their faith in. Only, she said it in a more sympathetic way that didn’t rub the citrus-juice You’ve been cut off implication this deep in his papercut skin. Martyn tightens his fingers into fists. He decides immediately that he does not like Scott, just on principle. He takes cold comfort, at least, in deducing that they can’t have been that close of friends or Martyn definitely would’ve remembered hearing his name in some of her stories.

“My name’s Martyn,” he says anyway. He does not volunteer his username. It’ll probably come up, but he’ll resist until it has to. Some calculating, undefinable thing glittering behind Scott’s eyes leaves Martyn pretty sure this man didn’t volunteer his actual username either, and that annoys him all over again. He smells like cheese. This room smells like cleaning products fresh off the lab table. Bdubs just plain smells. “I know a bit of anime, yeah. That’s Your Buddy Totoro on your shirt, right?” He’s not trying to be polite, really - just talking - and he seethes in silence when Scott beams back and tugs the shirt out so Martyn can get a better look.

“Isn’t it cute? I’ll put you down as a ‘maybe’ for the club.”

“Great.” Martyn hopes that word doesn’t sound as sarcastic aloud as it does inside his head. Bdubs shoots him a puzzled look, so maybe it did. Which makes Martyn feel awful, unless it doesn’t. He can’t get a read on the buzzes spinning around his own damn mind. Gods.

Scott pauses too, like he’s not sure if he overstepped. He should walk off and eat more cheese. His tone’s a bit more cautious when he continues, because to hell with consistency. “While you’re staying in New Star, I need to get your name on a residency contract. I’ve gone over this with your friends too; I’d like to discuss yours today. New Star Station is dedicated to the non-anarchy lifestyle, and we protect our residents with paperwork and rules. There are rules about taking resources, barging into bases, and killing, for example, and requests for how you want your player file handled if you respawn in your hub at some point and it’s still plugged in here. I suppose Bdubs told you about New Star and how phantoms play a role in logging people out?”

Martyn shrugs. “Something like that. I still have questions.”

“We’ll get to those. We allow hunting in New Star, but camping portals is off limits; that’s part of these rules we cover. I’ll discuss each one here, but you don’t have to memorize them all right now. Bdubs will cover them while you’re training with the flock.”

“‘Training?’” I don’t like the sound of that.

“To hunt,” Bdubs supplies, sitting on the cafeteria bench next to Scott. This puts them both up against Martyn, who’s feeling very lost and outnumbered right about now. He takes a few silent seconds to turn what just happened over in his mind.

1. Scott is inviting him to stay here in New Star Station. Great! He might even live with Bdubs and other phantom hybrids at the clock tower, from the sound of it. Which is good?
2. Bdubs did warn him that when you live in New Star, you’re not allowed to go back aboveground. People might follow them down here, exposing this safe haven to the world. Honestly, Martyn would believe that’s well-enforced; after all, nobody outside knows where the Slime Dragon's hub lies (so he’s heard).
3. Signing an agreement not to kill, steal, or commit B&E doesn’t sound unreasonable. If that’s the price he pays for safety, especially with the Watchers on his tail for smuggling his friends out of EVO, that’s worth surrendering a small amount of freedom.

Still… “I’m not signing any contract unless BigB’s here.” BigB grew up an illusioner. He’s not anymore - Modded out because a dragon bite centuries back did major damage to his lungs - but if anybody knows contracts, it’s illagers. Well, anyone under the Tradebond kin category, but you know what he means.

BigB’s modded now, but all those illusioner brains are still rattling around in his head. Martyn likes to think Scott’s the faintest bit annoyed with this request, but he calls someone over anyway and asks them to please bring BigB to the table. The person nods and hurries out of the cafeteria to do exactly that. Martyn stares at the bamboo texture of the table, wishing Scott would have left himself. He entertains himself with thoughts of dangling Scott off the side of the clock tower instead, but participates politely when the mayor initiates basic conversation. He asks about EVO. About where Martyn grew up. Martyn doesn’t share very much, but he does have a few questions he can't resist prying about.

“Did Grian make it? Wait- Let me give you the whole list.” He knows exactly who he ate. He took more than he needed, burned a lot of energy, and pushed his limits as far as they could go. He didn’t have to sleep when skimming the upper part of the Void, and thankfully his anivore body healed its aches and sores as he budgeted out his food. Thank the pouch at his throat for that: carrying what he needed, eating what he had to. Martyn writes the names down on some provided blank paper, then slides the book across the table. Scott tilts his head. Bdubs is right there, peering over his shoulder. Martyn waits with thumping heartbeats in his throat as Scott’s finger traces every name.

“Netty, Pearl, BigB… Yes, they’re all here. Syszee’s here.” Scott frowns. His nail scratches the soft padding of the paper. Martyn stares through it. He hates its every noise. “I haven’t met Salems_Lady, Grian, or Mini Muka. Netty did ask if-”

“Salem didn’t-?” He’d only seen Grian fall. Grian, because Martyn never ate him and he flew through the Void on wings of his own. The world tilts in a rush that splatters spots across his eyes. “I took too long. I ate her first; Muka second. My body must’ve cycled them.” He bangs his fist on the table, then slams his face against his hands. He wants to scream; wants to yell something that Grian would’ve shot him an annoyed look for and a reminder to bleep out. Well. At least Netty knows already. She was close to both of them, but he won’t have to look at her when all his friends find out. They know. Are they still his friends? I got them out… Still feels like he failed. He lost two.

Oh my gods, I lost two. How long was he flying? He felt a wee bit underfed back at EVO, but really, they were just trying to be smart about it. He surely wasn’t the only one. Anivores are just tricky, right? Usually their food is plentiful - Just look to your left - but loads of people he could eat the soul of want it done a certain way, like waiting ‘til they’re at a stopping place on their projects. It’s just an inconvenience. With phantoms, it’s even weirder. Most anivores like eating earlier in the sleep cycle when energy is fresh. Phantoms prefer raw code once it starts coming apart at the seams on its own. That takes careful coordination. He didn’t have the teeth to hunt with by himself and there were other mouths to feed; he accepted what he got and didn’t complain for more.

The Watchers promised him that someday, when he had the XP for it, he’d have a lot more freedom to eat whenever he wanted to. Since you can’t sleep in the Between dimension, most people jump on a server when they get tired. In the EVO hub, portals were for research and science; carefully managed. All his friends just rested ‘til they reached the end of the energy, and their soul would be taken and handed off to Martyn then.

It’s just… odd, to actually feel like a phantom. That’s one thing he did enjoy about the halls of EVO, even if he did stumble over his extra newbie flab or bang his wings against the walls. As wee little Martyn, he shared a server with Mum and Dad, who called for him to join them offline whether he was tired or not. Theirs was low-trait (As in, manually set to tamp down most their hybrid traits; made ‘em look “standard”). And it was creative gameplay, when he was new. He didn’t have to learn the crafting recipes for the longest time because anything he wanted could be selected straight away. Phantom life - experimenting with the pros and limits of his phantom body in general - is still new to him. He wonders if Bdubs can tell.

Martyn massages the awkward part of his skin where the seam rubs the lens mounts that guard the eyes. Bit of a gap in those places that sometimes leaks sparks when you get a little flustered. Wiping it helps. Somehow, it feels more right than usual, like he’s made that gesture a thousand times. He hones in on that as best he can. Timmy’s safe, in spite of the first level of force-modding the Watchers just put him through. He’s safe. At least, Martyn wants to believe he’s safe. Netty, BigB, Pearl, Tomohawk, and Taurtis are all safe. He can’t fuss about Salem, Muka, or Grian right now. Task 1 was the escape. Task 2 is all about keeping his guard up and checking in.

“So, what kind of hybrid are you?” he asks the mayor. Scott looks up from his book and quill, where he’d been taking notes.

“That’s actually private.”

Huh. Is withholding that information usual? He grew up with otters and ravens; he knew them all. Martyn wishes he could pry without coming off as some kind of weirdo. He half-expects Bdubs to volunteer that information, but he likes the lip-licking move Bdubs quietly makes a little less than not knowing at all. Well, Scott’s likely not a phantom or a cat. Bdubs is clearly the guy in charge, and a cat likely wouldn’t let an undead man get away with that kind of bragging. You know how it is.

Several minutes later, the person who fetched BigB returns with him. Martyn quickly stands, and BigB mirrors his grin and outstretched arms. “Heeeey,” BigB calls, smiling wide. His fuzzy hair and beard look freshly trimmed, which is sort of a relief. BigB’s a real cautious person who doesn’t let his walls down too quick. Either his smile is a lie to throw Scott and Bdubs off his true feelings, or he’s actually enjoying his time in New Star. If he took the time to groom himself, Martyn likes his odds. Did they really get out? Are they seriously safe out here in the unknown?

The Slime Dragon’s hub… It hardly feels real!

The closer BigB gets, though, the more puzzled Martyn becomes. He embraces BigB regardless, patting his shoulder and exchanging pleasant words, but he almost flinches back. BigB is buzzing. The same way the space around Etho’s temples was. This time, Martyn’s even more sure that for whatever reason, he’s picking up on the sound of BigB’s mods. Makes sense- BigB’s got a lot of them. He’s a full-body moth hybrid now, wings patterned like chocolate chip cookies. Two silver antennae fluff from his hair like spoon handles from a bowl of dough. But why is he humming? Did he replace the mods once he got to New Star? Seriously, Martyn's spent a lot of hours snuggled up to this man, and he’s never heard a buzz quite like this before.

Maybe I’m having an allergic reaction to something in the code. Except instead of allergies, he’s got tinnitus. Maybe somewhere between the EVO escape and putting on a skin at Etho’s place, he banged his head so hard, he split something in his code strings. Better get that checked when he can.

“Oh my word… B, we made it out. I don’t even know what to say.”

“I can’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.” BigB does believe it, though, and shakes his head before putting on a grin. “Good to see you in one piece, dude! Everyone’s talking about your flight through the Void.”

“Aw… celebrity already? And I’m still so young!”

He doesn't want to stop hugging BigB, even when the Z-fighting breaks out between their pixels. Martyn asks quickly about the others; BigB gives the same report that Scott did about who made it, who's missing. Scott waits patiently through all of this, though Martyn tries not to keep him waiting long. He gives BigB’s hand a squeeze. He’s physical. He’s cycled. His eyes glow; he’s plugged in here. It’s nice to have him back.

There’s paperwork to sign; Scott gets out another book. Martyn hesitates. Scott recognizes this, because he taps the end of his quill against the second paragraph. “I’ll be covering things pretty fast so we can move along, but you can stop me if there’s anything you don’t understand. I’m happy to explain.”

“Cool.” Martyn itches to run. Just bolt right out the door. He swallows that, though. Swallows it like every other twitchy discomfort in his wings and back and feet. EVO’s paperwork was fairly basic, or at least that’s how he remembers it. New Star’s residency contract isn’t terribly thick, but it’s a little daunting.

“This first part just gives the date, your name, and the definitions for suzerain and vassal.”

“What are those?” He’s floundering. BigB, though, stays steady the whole time, still holding Martyn’s hand. When Scott relays appropriate information, Martyn looks to BigB, who gives an encouraging nod. Both words mean something along the lines of ‘witness’ or ‘authority in charge.’ Specifically, New Star’s suzerain is the Slime Dragon; she gets to speak for them under certain circumstances, and there are rules for what type of deference is shown to her and when other people - like the mayor - get to run this place instead. Scott explains it like, even with his role as mayor, he can’t authorize construction in the place designated for the Slime Dragon’s guppies, and the guppies have priority on a few specific play areas around the station.

“What about the vassal?” Martyn asks, staring down at the book’s spread-open pages. They look like butterfly wings. The words would be ugly markings, though.

“The vassal is basically like, the person who enforces this contract. They’re a step between you and our local government. Say you killed someone, but you claim you did it in self-defense- It’s the vassal who decides if your case is strong enough to take before the HALO team.” Scott points to the blank place there, which lacks even the first letter of any name. “This gets signed at the end, after I finish processing things with you and take it to the offices.”

“Ah. And what’s the HALO team?” His knowledge exists, but it wobbles a lot. HALO wasn’t a big thing where he grew up in Fern Mountain, and it wasn’t much bigger in Black River.

“Help and Luminary Office members; people who’ve gotten certified in safety and ethics studies; that sort of thing. They wear blue and white robes when they’re on the job. Like them.” Scott nods his head towards the group on the far side of the room, one of whom is the person who went looking for BigB. “The organization’s widespread across the lands, but only in hubs that have welcomed them. They do research on mob pen and farm designs to evaluate if the mobs are unduly stressed. Things like that.” Scott touches his chest with the feather of his quill, one eyebrow bouncing high. “We’re non-anarchy and ethical here, so I take their advice. Most hubs these days… Well, HALO’s not as big as it once was.”

“The HALO team here seems legit,” BigB tells him, and Martyn nods. If anybody knows things about this wild world, it’s BigB. Most people who ended up in EVO did so because they needed their basic low-level Education; low-XP players seeking answers for things not easily provided by their crafting book. BigB, though, lost all his newbie fat well before retiring from illager patrols, and after he got the moth mods, he joined EVO to seek further schooling. Martyn trusts him with everything. Especially his life.

They make their way down the contract with care. BigB points out a few suggestions Martyn might want to request adjustments for (and Scott adjusts them without complaint), but all in all, Martyn felt like he understood just about everything. Rules about staying underground. Rules about following ‘proper phantom protocol,’ which apparently means if he wants to start his own flock, he has to present a case arguing there’s enough food in the hunting ground and he won’t overstep (Geez).

It just keeps going. Rules about not eating people who aren’t plugged into the system, seeing as that would kick them back to their soul spawners and make it tough to return to New Star. Rules about respecting the wildfire’s authority with the local blaze pack. Rules about respecting the local build style, plus a disclaimer about the Deny field preventing much building in the hub anyway. Rules against zombies force-turning villagers, or vex force-turning allays, or anyone force-turning a converted zombie villager to a villager again with a golden apple, and so on. Simple enough. No unthreading players from their servers without a HALO license, but that’s a non-issue; Martyn has no interest in learning medical work anyway. He signs. Scott smiles and packs all the things away. Not a single flicker in his face suggests annoyance with the contract adjustments, which Martyn (albeit reluctantly) takes as a good sign.

BigB leaves Martyn a paper with the room and building number of where most of them are saying - “Ask for Imp and Skizz” - then says he’s going to check on the others who’ve bunked elsewhere. “I'll let you go get a skin on, and catch you later,” he says, and Martyn’s hearts lurch at the thought. Yeah, he’s about ready to see his friends again. Why does covering safety rules have to take so long?

He and Bdubs say their good-byes and leave the cafeteria. Once they’re outside the whole Headquarters, Martyn throws his hands in the air. “My gods, can you believe him? What was all that about Netty and Pearl? He doesn’t even know them. He said himself he doesn’t remember growing up in Sims; just that he ‘believes it’ if Netty told him. Okay, Mr. Baby Duck. So if I told him I’d first spawned in some kind of Pokémon world before my egg ever hatched in Minecraft and I saw him there, would he believe that too? I dunno, man; that’s real creep behavior. Is that guy a freakin’ allay or something?” He shakes his head. “Clingy. My word. He doesn’t even know her and there he is, trying to imprint. Go off, I guess, but keep it under your wingspan? I don’t need to know your fantasies.”

“… Scott’s gay.”

Martyn glances over his shoulder to find Bdubs watching him from the stairs, both hands resting on the wooden rail down the center. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“He’s not gonna ask Netty out?” Bdubs asks it like a question, but delivers Martyn an appraising look. A very appraising look. All the tight feelings Martyn had been carrying in his chest swell into his face like a burst from a fountain.

“That’s not- That’s not the point. Oh, don’t spread rumors or I’ll never hear the end of it.” The words I’m only into cool and chilly souls dance against his tongue, but he keeps that to himself. Y’know, just… so it won’t get back to Netty. And make her feel like the reason he started cuddling Pearl and BigB instead of her is because he didn’t like that she was warm. That’s not the POINT. “And what was that bit about Pearl? It’s like he wants to come across as a creep. Ugh. Never mind… Where do I sleep? I hope I get a nice big bed.”

“Listen, Martyn. Scott is…” Bdubs hesitates, now two steps further down the stairs. “… overly helpful, and overly volunteers information. He doesn’t mean offense; he just relays things different than we do. Talking to him takes a little getting used to, but he’s nice. Very smart.”

“What d’you mean ‘we?’ Phantoms?”

“Yeah. Do you speak Ender-call?”

Ender-CALL? Martyn turns to look at Bdubs, dropping the frustrated hands he’d linked behind his neck in some attempt to not peel his own skin off. “I’m not sure. Is that what phantoms speak? I never had anyone to practice with back home, so I didn’t really try.” Once found a book like that in the library, but his parents told him it wasn’t worth wasting time on given that otters and ravens didn’t speak it, so he left it where it was. Kinda kicking himself for it now, but they weren’t wrong.

Bdubs, however, doesn’t look annoyed that Martyn’s lacking knowledge in that area. If anything, he seems excited. “All the Enderkin spawn in speaking Ender, but different parts of Between use it different ways. Phantoms, we’re always on the wing; in the air. Our chirps and shrieks carry a long way, so we use a variation for quick communication.” He shrugs. “It’s not good for novels or writing home about - literally - but it gets the job done. Very opposite how someone like Scott talks. He does detail.”

“Oh.” Well, that’s not scary. Martyn speaks River-Sign with his hands for underwater communication at times pressing buttons on the comm is a struggle, especially around people who prefer pocket communicators over the modern design that hangs on your wrist like a watch. He didn’t grow up by the ocean, but he’s heard about Sea-Sign. Sea-Sign is spoken very, very fast with basically no detail to it. You use it to signal immediate danger, or you keep sentences short because you’re communicating longer distances. There’s a lot less danger in the river where the otters swim, so River-Sign tends to be slower and more detail-oriented. Martyn dreads the thought of trying to reshape his mind to fit a new style entirely; he’ll probably end up speaking Ender-Call with an accent so drawling, it makes his newfound phantom flock laugh. “How do you say ‘I met the mayor, and all I got was this contract and no T-shirt?’”

“You wouldn’t,” Bdubs says. “You’d just say ‘I’m here.’ Except there are no pronouns in Ender-Call, so you’d use your name instead. And it wouldn’t be your name- It’d be your call sign. Other phantoms pick that up, take note of where you are, and that’s it. There’s another call you can use if you’re in distress, but you can’t ask for shirts. It’s not that kind of language.”

“Oh. Well, that’s no fun.”

“It’s not descriptive; it’s call and response. We talk pretty well with phantom mobs this way, though, and not many hybrids can say that.”

Martyn’s never heard that… but then, phantoms don’t exist on servers yet. Rumor has it they’re just around the corner, but people say that about everything these days. For now, the mobs are locked to Between and they’re not common where he grew up. Fern Mountain certainly isn’t as far north or west as you can go, but it’s pretty far from the overly southeastern hub of Duskfell where the Phantom Dragon lives. “What’s a call sign?” Martyn asks. If he’s not supposed to say his name, he’d better figure out what Bdubs really wants of him.

“Well, Ender-Call’s similar to how phantom mobs talk, right? I just said that. Phantoms call a lot to each other on the hunt, but they don’t use hybrid names. Every flock member gets a call sign; you’ll get yours too, someday- Once you’ve got the tail length for roosting and the fangs to hunt with. And yeah, the first captain you hunt with gets to choose it, so don’t get comfy picking out your own.” Bdubs shrugs. “The mobs pick call signs for ‘emselves too. Once you’re familiar with the language, you’ll recognize them. Theirs are a bit different - they’ve got this ‘localized prefix’ style we don’t use - but we hybrids pick nature names too, just like them.”

“Oh.” Martyn’s not sure what a prefix is and doesn’t really care to ask. If it’s important, the lore will come around again. “So… I guess you’ll pick my call sign, huh? Once I can hunt? What’s yours, then? I gotta know what to shout tonight when I want a second dinner.”

Bdubs rolls his eyes, but chirps the noise. “Did you get that?” he asks, and though Martyn’s a bit surprised, he did. He nods. The words flew right through his head like they were imprinted there long ago… which is probably that ‘all Enderkin spawn in speaking Ender’ bit of code inside him.

“‘River Ripple.’ Is that right?” It’s neither here nor there. It’s… certainly a name.

“Oh, yes. I grew up in Underdark Crossing; Cleo picked it out for me. Love Cleo.”

“Cleo’s a phantom?” That possibility hadn’t crossed Martyn’s mind. She hadn’t looked like one from afar, if that was even her with the fluffy hair puffs. Why would she climb the wall if she could fly?

Bdubs laughs. He springs forward instead to pat Martyn on the shoulder; his undead hand’s more skeletal than Martyn would’ve guessed after holding to his muscled arm. “Oh, the real captain of Underdark was furious, but I didn’t listen. I wasn’t sleeping at their roost anyway; Cleo’s all I ever needed. You’ll like Cleo. And you’ll learn fast, hanging out with me. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Maybe you’ll be captain someday!” Bdubs laughs, then cuts off before Martyn can even pretend to laugh along with him. “That won’t happen while I’m still at the top of the pyramid, of course. And just because I didn’t listen doesn’t mean that’s permission for you to run off and mess around.”

“We’ll see,” Martyn says. He’s not really sure what it takes to become a captain, but hell, if he can be a nuisance, maybe he’ll go for it. You’ve gotta keep everyone on your toes. You’ve gotta add some spice to life. Make it fun to watch and play.

“Oh, we’ll have fun together.” Bdubs pats his back firmly before releasing him again, strutting off. His wings flap out in what seems like a dominant display, and a small smile creeps over Martyn’s mouth. Maybe he wriggled a bit more under Bdubs’ skin than the captain’s letting on. He follows, letting Bdubs ramble as they go. “C’mon; let’s walk and talk. Get you an order for a proper skin, poke around for your friends, and if you’re up for it, we’ll head to the clock tower. It’s about time I introduce you to the flock!”

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Shopping Haul

💙  🧡  💚

You can get anywhere in life if you have skin. Wearing what you’ve got should make you feel alive, huh? And once Martyn’s got his own design, not the borrowed Sunny costume with a piece ripped out to fit his wings, he’ll feel a lot more like himself. They should really hit the skin designers up ASAP. Bdubs tries to say this as they walk through the deepslate streets, but Martyn’s twitchy as a bird. Still wobbly on his legs too, which likely doesn’t help. He keeps prancing forward in a small display of dominance, then changing his mind and hanging back, like he’s got second thoughts about a relative stranger creeping up behind him. Bdubs catches one glimpse of exposed, skinless tail flashing blue when it swats behind him.

“So how are my friends doing, Bdubs?” Martyn hits the ‘B’ hard, like he’s bringing down a foot.

“Oh, so good. Yes… At least, that’s what they tell me. They’re settling in. Skizz and Impulse, they do fostering. Mostly Skizz. You know, I think he’s really found his calling! Uh, you said something about leaving cam accounts behind?”

Martyn’s skittering eyes drift into empty space. “Yessir. TwoMuchGrian stayed, I know, plus PearlescentMoo, Sprinkles, Rosetta, Ranger, and LittleCam.” His breath hitches a bit at the end. He rolls his shoulders to buck it off. “Uhhh. We were trying to get out of there without being noticed. By the Watchers, y’know. They volunteered to stay, trying to pass themselves off as us in the skins we left behind for as long as they could. Thought it might buy us time.”

“Aha! Smart. So LittleCam’s your twin?” That’d be the assumption. The name flickery above Martyn’s head is InTheLittleWood (if you strain to see it), and all cam twins are born with ‘Cam’ on the ends of their titles. Though when the right moniker speaks to them, you’ll know. Even his sister used to be BdoubleCam before switching her name to WellsGlazes. Skizz heard it exactly once and started calling her Good Lookin’ for life. But hey, that’s Skizz… He gives all his close friends nicknames. Bdubs wonders what Martyn’s gonna get. They have to meet first, though. Kind of a requirement. Well, not really, but-

“Yeah, LittleCam’s my bud,” Martyn says back. The way he’s scratching fingers at his throat, rustling the pouch folded there, implies he’s holding back a lot of what he wants to say. What’s that about, huh? It wouldn’t be a secret if Bdubs already knew, but he blinks wide eyes and bats his tail anyway, all innocent for pity party. Martyn shifts back. “Uhh… I mean, we talked about it. Didn’t feel right to call ourselves brothers - since I’m adopted, right? It’s confusing - so we went with ‘just friends’ instead. He works for me. I pay him in charging ports and microchips.”

Charging ports refers to the soft space inside a player’s head where only cam accounts can lie down and switch off to sleep. Glaze spent years resting in Bdubs’, uninterested in getting around and meeting people, ‘cuz she’s like that. “That’s fun,” Bdubs says, feeling wistful. Everybody gets camera twins. Well, players get camera twins and cam accounts get player twins. Not always same species, so sometimes twins can hatch on opposite sides of Between. “Yeah? Glaze and I didn’t really plan a dynamic ‘cuz we’re same spawn egg; grew up together and just clicked like that. You’ll meet her tonight at clock roost. And Pungence! That’s my brother.”

“… You and your sister are identical?”

“Yes?”

Martyn looks at him for a heartbeat, then jerks his gaze away and shakes his head. “Yeah, uh… I’ve got a sister too. Adopted just like I am; my parents really wanted to try their hand at phantom kids twice.” He does not elaborate beyond this. Bdubs takes the lead, heading down the road towards the skin designers’ place. Then Martyn says, “Did my friends say anything about me?”

“Said you ate ‘em and flew under the world to get out of your old hub. Said there were enderman hybrids there.” Bdubs studies Martyn’s face for any ticks or twitches. He’s answered by smooth nothing. “They called it a freaking cult?” Maybe that’s how Martyn can stand so calm, so still. Too scared to bend or break.

Martyn’s eyes slide down to his hands, where fingers hang interlocked. “I don’t know. I mean, it was nice there? We were safe from the outside. The Watchers, they talked to me personally about my diet needs and we figured out a way to make it work. They asked me where I wanted to go in life and were helping me get the Education to support that. I really did feel like they cared; they wanted to help. I was getting good schooling. I volunteered for their SMP research. It wasn’t what I’d been warned a cult would be… I never felt unsafe, personally? I just left because the others needed me to. I was their only way out.”

“Oh,” says Bdubs.

“I mean, I should’ve known. They hurt Timmy.” Martyn’s fingers slide across his hair, winding through the dark bangs on Sunny’s default face. “Thing is, I… I don’t think they meant to scare him so bad? Modding keeps us safe - them, the cerivores” - non-anivores - “and the Watchers weren’t wrong in pointing out the benefits of it. ‘Modded code tastes bland, so the anivores are less likely to target you over an unmodded guy’ and all that; they’re all modded too. I dunno…” He looks up with eyes of glass. “But Tim- Jimmy. He shouted when they were halfway through that he changed his mind; he wanted to stop. They didn’t. And I told him he was doing great; I made him stay. That… I have to live with that.”

Bdubs doesn’t say anything for a second, tongue in his cheek. He’s got his hands in pockets right now. Just thinking. No threat. Martyn keeps wary anyway, sizing him up. Then, very carefully, Bdubs says, “Let’s get your skin request in and take a walk in the park. I want to ask some questions. Not weird! It just might be important for me to know, before bringing you to the other phantoms.”

“Why?” Martyn asks, his wings puffing beneath the bathrobe. And to this, Bdubs tilts his head as he starts to walk again, coaxing Martyn to trot after him.

“You sound nervous.”

“I’m not; I’m doing fine.”

“Yeah, but phantoms fight. Are you okay watching that? If it’s gonna trigger something, we’ve gotta work something out: You not at the clock tower, but I feed you.”

This jerks Martyn’s attention around, fully pricked. Yeah, he can tell; Bdubs can tell. Martyn’s too loud about it, even in his silence. “I didn’t mind hanging out with Etho. He’s good conversation. He’s not looking for a roommate, is he?”

A thin prickle races up Bdubs’ spine; he holds it back as best he can. “No, Etho’s busy. Most people, non-phantoms- It’s risky asking them to hunt for you. Maybe they’ll make time for it, but it’s a lot! Exhausting; we’re obligate; we’re not like omnivores. Phantoms eat all the time. We don’t get to stop moving to preserve our hunger meter; energy keeps cycling through us.”

“True…”

“Flock captains, we’ve got instincts for feeding; we know responsibility and we stay in Between when others go to sleep. You need feeding, you get it from me.”

He’s half-expecting Martyn to quip back, laughing and teasing in his Martyn way. And he sort of does, mumbling some light thing about how he’s great at bothering people and not too proud to beg. His heart’s not in it, though. They turn another street, closing in on the skin designer’s place not far ahead now. One more turn to go. Cautiously, Martyn probes again. “So this slime spawning hub, it’s all under the umbrella of New Star Station. Where you’re non-anarchy. You follow HALO protocols.”

“Yes. The whole perimeter belongs to us.” Bdubs gestures to it with a flap of both arms. 33 chunks by another 33, perfect square. Bedrock walls stand guard at either end. City buildings stand tall, full of rooms and portals, and lanterns hang on strings everywhere you look. They’re still rainbow after Pride Month, but they’ll be green and yellow soon. The roof’s flat, capping them off from the snow and frozen lake above. “Up there, that’s the Fox Dragon’s turf. She has phantoms; we don’t hunt their grounds.”

Martyn whistles. “Ah, no wonder you’ve kept hidden… No one’s lookin’ for you underneath the Fox Dragon. And you have a hybrid mayor, so you’re not just taking orders from… What’s the Slime Dragon’s name?”

“Debbie.”

“Right.” A skeptical look coasts across his eyes. “My dad always said it’s flock captains who take charge of hubs. Why aren’t you?”

“I do help,” Bdubs says, turning left on the next street. He has to put his hand out to stop Martyn from walking right into the minecart rail; the cart speeds by a second later. He can feel Martyn’s flinch of surprise against his fingertips. “I advise Scott; I help run the city. We founded it together, making it safe. I don’t like the paperwork and talking to HALO takes a lot of time; it’s just easier, I think, if I’m flock captain and the mayor does mayor things. We’re like two independent leaders: we follow flock politics and he does regular politics. Then there’s blaze who choose a wildfire. There are smaller flocks, different species… Roleplay groups too. And some people get advice from queens. Etho’s a queen.”

This is news to Martyn, who’s struggling to keep pace (Oh, shoot; Bdubs drops to a slower walk). “A queen? In that apartment? Queen of what?”

“Okay, not like a royal queen. Not like illager royals. It’s not really leadership; are you familiar with illagers?”

“Uh… Not with the intricacies, but I have friends who are; I’ve picked up the basics from conversation. Definitely lotta gaps.”

“Well, it’s like this.” Bdubs holds up his fingers to start counting off. “Phantoms are so freaking efficient at logging people out, but we get eaten by vex. If there’s just a few vex around, they don’t bother the flock; a whole flock can take a couple vex. It’s only when there’s loads that it’s a real problem. A group of vex is called a curse. So who do curses listen to?”

Martyn’s answer is immediate: “Evokers, unless I’ve gone deaf and blind in the last hundred years.”

“That’s right.” Bonded vex, at least; unbonded ones do what they want, but Bdubs ain’t that picky. He’s just ‘splaining. “And who’s the boss of evokers?”

“Like… academy professors, I guess? Or patrol captains?” Martyn frowns, gripping the fluffy edges of his bathrobe. “Hold on. Are they still called ‘patrol captains’ when they’re in a hub, not on the road? I’m really not sure.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Walking backwards, Bdubs stacks his hands like ladder rungs, counting up the list. “Illagers in patrols, see… they answer to captains. Illagers live in tribes; all their spawn hubs are up in the northwest, so they’re all close to each other; that’s where there are megacities, and each one has a string of tribes. There’s at least a thousand!”

Martyn tilts his head a little. “I know that place. The rabbits are around there too. Is that ZnHeITtk HTvkH IkItn?” He uses the Illagescript name instead of the more widespread Tweentext version (Carmine River Delta). And he says it fluently, at least to Bdubs’ Ender-speaking ear. Maybe one of his parents taught him how to read it. You can say one thing for illager patrols, and it’s that they definitely get around. Or maybe Martyn learned the pronunciation at EVO… It is a big, important place to know, though the memory of his own tongue tripping up every time he tries it makes him flush a bit behind the ears. Phantom mouths weren’t made for sounds like ‘Z’ or ‘HT.’ It’s weird off the beaks and fangs.

What’s weirder, though… is that Martyn himself looks surprised by the words that left his mouth. “Oh wow,” he says. “Did I actually say it right? I’ve never done that before; must’ve learned a lot from BigB.”

Bdubs hides the fidget at the tip of his tail. Or tries to. Impulse must’ve said the name a hundred times, but even with practice, it just dances out of Bdubs’ reach. Maybe Martyn can say it because he has spawnling teeth. He tries ignoring that, even though it burns his skin. “Yes; Carmine River Delta is the biggest megacity. Very, very big. Mostly pillagers, but lots of other kinds- Illagers, I mean.” He slows his pace even further. No use exhausting himself walking; it’s not a race and he needs the extra breath. And Martyn looks interested, so Bdubs keeps on talking in case he doesn’t know stuff. He was adopted, y’know… Didn’t have a dragon to tell him stories about her sisters or take him traveling. Linda flew everywhere, spreading phantoms in all the hubs; Bdubs met a lot of people before he ended up in Underdark Crossing with Cleo and the other zombies.

“What I mean is, Carmine River Delta is all set up for illager society. There’s academies, military training, and all sorts of skills they encourage each other to learn. Other hubs, they aren’t that kind of organized, and ‘specially not today. So much griefing out there, and everybody’s clinging to what food and safety they can get.” No one’s ever taking down Carmine River Delta. No one’s even getting close to sieging one of its outposts, probably; it’s got too many resources and too many people who love to call it home. “Illagers have tribe leaders, who gain experience and join the royal councils. Other hybrids don’t have royals, but this idea of getting advice from someone with experience, that’s still there.”

“Mm…”

Is this making sense? Maybe he just went around in circles, but it’s important. The difference in royal queens and non-royal queens matters if you care about semantics; if you need to know who you take orders from ‘cuz they have authority and who you ignore ‘cuz they just have a title and nothing to back it up. Bdubs moves ahead, reaching for the skin shop door.

“Etho? He’s a queen. He’s got so much XP, sweet goodness. He doesn’t boss anyone around, but people come to him for advice; he’s a queen because of that. He’s called a queen because he would be invited to a council if we did that sort of thing here. There’s nothing he does that’s special; he just knows a lot of stuff. You only have political authority if you’re given it, and illagers give it. Most people don’t. But everyone still knows how smart Etho is and they listen to him. Oh, he’s very smart. Scott too.”

“Scott does give ‘queen’ vibes; I won’t deny. So…” Martyn scoots past Bdubs, heading inside the shop. A rattle of hanging seeds announces their arrival. “Besides Scott and Etho, are there other queens I should know about?”

“It doesn’t really matter because like I said, we don’t mix it with politics, but I’ll tell ya.” People bustle around in here; it’s a little loud. It won’t hurt to take another minute to explain. “Cub’s an evoker queen. CaptainSparklez and Doc are creeper queens. DanTDM and Ryguyrocky are slime ones. Don’t let them get under your skin; they just want to make you jump. Mm. Mythical Sausage, he’s straight-up head brute; you do NOT mess around with him when he starts a hunt.”

“Sausage the piglin,” Martyn mutters to himself. “Make it make sense.”

“And Keralis is alpha wolf; we turn tail when we see him prowlin’ too.” Bdubs appraises Martyn, then shrugs. “Well, maybe you don’t. You like wolves.”

"They’ve got useful mouths.”

“Yeesh; don’t tell him you said that; he won’t let you forget. There’s… VintageBeef, with the cows. And there’s a few more we don’t see in Between that often, but these guys - Dan, Scott, Doc, Etho, CaptainSparklez, Ryguy, Cub, Keralis, Beef, and Sausage? They’re the big ones; you’ll want to keep an eye out. Queens will go for you if you make a move on their friends.” Bdubs switches fingers to his other hand, holding up two more (Ignoring the fact he had to switch once to list all those names already). “Also important: A vex named Scar; he lives with Cub. And Welsknight is the wildfire. He leads the blaze pack. The blaze and slimes fight each other. That’s the most important takeaway.”

“‘They fight?’ Is that allowed, non-anarchy?”

“It’s supervised. On the full moon, they play a game of moving the banners around the city. I let them sort it out, but a lot of guys who can’t fly go see the blaze and slimes when they want something. The city’s divided; if you’re in slime turf, you get help from slimes, and it’s opposite for blaze. But you’re a phantom, so if you’ve got complaints or need extra blankets in your room, you come see me.”

Martyn lets out a noise of confirmation. They lapse into silence, waiting their turn for the front of the line at the desk. Bdubs brings Martyn a sample book of skins, which they page through briefly, but Martyn says he already has a concept for himself in mind.

“It’ll look a lot like my old one, but I wouldn’t mind a professional taking charge; I did the last design myself. I’ll keep the hair short. The bandana’s coded on, never pops off me, so that’ll be automatic.” Martyn studies one of the samples that his finger rests on, which shows a long yellow braid. “I might brighten the hair. I think I want flashy. And less of a ‘creeper’ green; I want to stand out when I approach a guy, not get whacked on instinct just for being me. Maybe sunglasses would be fun.”

“Yeah, you’d look good as a blond.”

“I love the texture of my hair. I hope they have samples I can touch.”

Bdubs nods, watching the way that Martyn moves (Sitting instead of standing, book in his lap). Martyn… Well, when you know what you’re looking for, you can tell he’s got that broken sync with his player outside. No extra energy is flowing in. The sitting’s understandable; Martyn’s conserving whatever he can. It can’t be easy coming back to the waking world after your mind’s been a little floaty. His skin gleams with dots of white. Flecks of soul shimmer from his skin and twirl into the air, becoming one with the world again. That’s the cow soul Bdubs fed him, circling back around so the cow that respawns will have the memories of the old. It looks like Martyn’s system is working fine. He seems healthy… just a little rough around the edges. A little tired.

He didn’t mean to be obvious, but big eyes make your stares a bit intense. Martyn looks up, halfway through flipping the page in the skin book. “What?”

“… Just thinking. You came out of the Void with nothing; Etho and I didn’t even think of getting you a cane or something. Do you want one?”

“I’ll be all right once I get re-skinned. When I hold the wings the right way, I feel a lot more balanced. Don’t need a cane; my tail does just fine.”

Hm, Bdubs thinks, but all he says is, “Yeah, that makes sense.” Back in Etho’s room, Martyn talked about the lost sync while getting all defensive. If Martyn’s stubborn about wanting to ‘walk for himself’ without any help, Bdubs won’t push it. Martyn already took most the help he was offered, using them for support as he walked down the hall. He even called for sit breaks. Bdubs doesn’t want to make him feel awkward or ashamed, and his tail twitches at the thought of Martyn standing before the other phantom hybrids and feeling overwhelmed.

Martyn’s gonna have a hard time with flock hierarchy. You need energy to grapple. He’s on automatic disadvantage if he can only use his own without dragging from the outside.

You don’t see broken syncs all too often. Bdubs chews his lip, wondering the best way to approach this situation, and makes a few quick decisions: Get a library book on syncs and maybe don’t introduce Martyn to the rest of the flock too soon. He needs to figure some things out.

Phantoms aren’t strangers to throwing matches, backing down quick if another on the team shows interest in their flock position. Really, it doesn’t matter where in the flock you rank; it only matters when it comes to how you group the hunting teams. It’s best to divy assignments on an alternate system, counting off 1-2-3, 1-2-3 and assigning them by number. You want phantoms hunting with people they’re not close to in the pecking order, because jumping too many ranks at once is tricky, and it’s more peaceful for all involved if nobody’s fretting they’re gonna get nipped by a hotshot too big for their britches.

Flock ranks change all the time, especially at the lower levels. No joke, but switching around keeps the flock healthy. Everyone likes to feel like they’ve got skills, and as long as you win a few, you feel competitive; you feel good about where you are, even when you sometimes lose. Bdubs doesn’t know enough about non-synced phantoms to know how good they are at fighting. Will Martyn have the strength to pull off a couple wins?

Martyn doesn’t strike him as the type who’d be happy if his peers threw matches for him on purpose, even if they’d do it anyway, sync or not. This… will take some big-brain thinking.

I’ll introduce Martyn to the flock later. Not today. We’ll put him somewhere else tonight. Unless Martyn’s acting like he’s ready. It must be big shock, living with so many phantoms all at once after growing up the only one. Or only two? He said he has a sister.

Etho might be one of the local queens, but he’s not the best to talk to about bringing new arrivals to a standing group. Reluctantly, Bdubs knits his brows and admits there might be a better play. Welsknight gets new blazes in his pack all the time. He’d be the one with smart answers.

“That’s gonna be trouble,” he mutters under his tongue, and Martyn glances up at him again. Hmph. Bdubs drifts a few steps away without answering, trying to shake the jitters out. Blaze don’t get on too great with phantoms. He and Wels are friends - it’s fine - but blaze are Nether species, and they’ve got bodies that react to sleep a bit different from the Overworld types. It might be stimulation overload if he doesn’t time this meet-up perfectly. He’s gotta get Wels alone.

The clock tower tolls with the turn of the hour. A low ripple passes through the hub, signaling to Bdubs that a new round of players just dropped a bit closer to nodding off, but he blinks hard to break the aggro as best he can. Luckily the pressure’s light. He can ignore. He glances at Martyn, who rubs his eyes a few times, but doesn’t tip into full-on aggro. ‘Course not. Not with stub teeth.

The minutes pass absentmindedly, with people chatting and Martyn looking around now and then, but Bdubs likes to think he’s letting down his walls. See? It’s not scary in New Star. It’s just busy. Lots of people. Eventually, it’s their turn to sit at a table with a designer. Bdubs hangs back for this part, letting Martyn do all the talking about what he’s looking for.

“What’s the currency down here?”

“Credit. Plus tips; I like to give mine about building, but you can leave tips about anything. If they’re facts.” He digs in his pocket, then holds up his communicator. “You track credits on this, but they’re not a big deal. If you have a bunch, you can trade them in for things like passes to good seats during sports games, or dibs on best weapons at the sparring ring. Mostly, people use ‘em for things we have that are in short supply and you can’t just get on servers. Some people sell templates for their redstone projects.” He motions towards the woman packing away her things after taking notes with Martyn. “Books can be tricky to come by because of leather, so some people use credits for those and others just type notes on comms. And skin designs, you can get those with credits if you don’t want to do your own.”

“Ah. At the Black River hub, we mostly traded fish.” He looks amused by the system, and thanks the artist one more time before following Bdubs towards the racks hanging deeper in the shot. Martyn needs something he can wear that fits his wings and tail until his custom order’s done. Bdubs walks directly to the section that will offer those. Martyn seems to get this without being asked, because he runs his fingers along the options and starts picking through them while Bdubs stands nearby. “So… How does it work, following HALO rules for mob farms? That limits the cows you can kill and breed, right? And villagers, plus their trade methods?”

“You know much about HALO?”

“Just basics, I guess. I know they have rules about ‘limiting mob distress’ and ensuring food, water, bedding… stuff they don’t really need, but which is s’posed to be good for them.” Martyn pulls a grayscale cloak off the rack and inspects the hand design. He turns it over, then returns it where it was. “They were hella anti-HALO in the Fern Mountain hub; it’s all about innovation up there. Ravens, you know. And Black River wasn’t all that picky; sort of did what they wanted, just getting by. Lots of wandering traders came to see us down there, and we were happy to have excess from the farms they could trade away.”

That sounds about right. HALO policies are all about ethics, but not many hubs adopt them. Never a lot to begin with, but probably even fewer now. Y’know… It’s almost a shame. But it’s not? There are so many different ways to play Minecraft and Bdubs doesn’t like discussing it. He stays out; lets Scott handle all that stuff. If Scott says they follow HALO, then they follow HALO.

Bdubs knows he’s an efficient predator. Good scavenger. He has claws and fangs. He wasn’t made for pretty patience- Not when there’s meals to eat. He and Impulse get along about this: Why, if you have all the knowledge and tools to maximize efficiency, would you not want to? Impulse likes chasing that, brimming with ideas. And Bdubs doesn’t crave max efficiency so much, but… He’d like the safehouse to be useful.

“There are lines,” he tells Martyn, “that we need to follow to keep people safe. Every hub’s gonna do it different. I grew up in Underdark with zombies, drowned, and husks. We couldn’t trade easy with villagers because they’d become zombies too if they got bit or exposed to sickness in the air. Irene - she’s the Rotten Dragon - she cares about keeping peace with her sister Olivia, who lays all the villager spawn eggs. So in Underdark, we had a rule: no villager trade centers, and no breeding them either. We couldn’t promise they’d be safe, happy, or healthy, but ‘cuz we couldn’t trade, we built other farms to sustain us. Lots of mob farms ‘cuz anivores: zombies don’t really eat bread, unless they were villagers first. We ate a lot of fish souls. You know what phantom hybrids drop? Would you wanna live in a hub that kills ‘em?”

“Oh,” Martyn murmurs, eyes downcast on a set of midnight blue robes. “Yeeeeah… Membranes to repair elytras with.”

“There have to be limits, I think, if you want to have safety: If the hub is allowed to kill wild phantoms because they bite, but then the phantom hybrids come and bite, people will want to kill the hybrids too. And species like zombies, who can turn villagers into zombies, make those feelings run hot. I like New Star. You can’t kill phantoms here. It’s like that, with HALO.”

Martyn nods. He picks up a skin with a red shirt, then exchanges it for a similar version wearing green. “My mum and dad kept me on a leash for a reason. I guess they always figured if they didn’t mark me as ‘claimed’ and someone took a swipe, I’d respawn in Duskfell Caves and never look back.”

“Yes. Always tricky, if kids are adopted. What about your sister?”

“My sister’s a mob. Parents paid for a second egg a few years after mine, but when it hatched, they got her. I think I have a printscreen.” Martyn looks through his comm for a minute, then turns the screen around to show Bdubs. “Aw, look at her… She’s Baby.”

The screenshot in question takes Bdubs aback straight sway. It’s his first time seeing Martyn’s skin design; the self-perception he opted for. His skin’s a little gaunt, but not unusual for the undead. The blond hair’s been tamed into submission, but Bdubs can see the same rebellious scruff that was reflected in Martyn’s soul back when he was hiding in Etho’s room. He’s wearing sky blue. And in the picture, Martyn wields much smaller wings. They hang like paper off his shoulders. He’s up to his calves in very dark water, hugging a smaller phantom - the mob kind - to his chest while showing off the widest grin. The mob’s got a nametag. The name Baby is super clear, and she doesn’t look like she’s distressed.

This must’ve been taken at the Black River hub, where otters live. Bdubs’ eyes hover around the two figures standing behind Martyn, each with a hand on his shoulder. The one with thick brown curls and a crown of rosy pink flowers must be his otter hybrid mom. Yeah- She’s got a tail like a rudder. Good for thwacking. The black-haired man with looming wings must be his raven dad. Geez. Look at the XP on ‘em. They’ve got oodles. It’s clearly a family portrait, taken with intention. Bits of newbie fat still hang loose around Martyn’s neck and arms, proving he had a long ways to go before growing into his full skin. He was tall even then. But he looks so new…

There’s a familiar stir in Bdubs’ insides when he studies Martyn’s parents. I want that too. Not yet. He’s still holding out for now, focusing all attention on leading the flock, even though the thought of raising newbies sounds like it might be fun. Half-consciously, Bdubs rotates the ring on his hand around his knuckle a few times. One day, he reminds himself. He’s found his betrothed. They share an AFK server too. But right now, his role is keeping New Star safe. It’s in building it up so it’s the place he really does want to raise his future kids.

They talk a little more about HALO as Martyn keeps searching for the right temporary skin. There isn’t much to say, so Bdubs just shares the basics: They don’t mass breed the cows. They absolutely don’t force-breed villagers, even though the thought of iron farms is enough to make Impulse and Tango drool. If the villagers want to breed, it has to be their own choice. As far as HALO’s concerned, that’s non-negotiable, and Scott’s all-in for that.

“We’re friendly to all players, all play styles,” Bdubs says, watching Martyn load his arms with three designs he likes. “Some people don’t like seeing mobs in distress. New Star should be safe and welcoming for everyone, and we don’t want anyone to feel like their feelings aren’t important.”

“Fair; I get it. ‘How are these clowns planning to earn my vote if I can’t trust them to be kind to mobs, let alone little ol’ me?’”

“That’s it exactly.”

Martyn disappears into the back room to dress. Bdubs waits outside the door. And when he returns a few minutes later, the robe slung over one arm, he even strikes a pose.

“Well? How do I look, captain? I’ll be honest, this isn’t half-bad.”

… Yeah. Not half-bad at all. Martyn picked a skin with a ‘flush’ in its color that makes it brighter than the one from the screenshot. The hair looks softer, wispier than the haybale scruff he grew up with, but it’s blond. It looks like it fits okay. It was cut for phantoms with more height and bigger wings, and Martyn flaunts the full wingspan. That means the tail’s big too (following the traditional path of growing that length out before the wings), but no biggie. Bdubs can fold it and wrap it with piece of string so the empty part won’t flop around. The signature piece? Martyn wears a dark blue shawl, perfect phantom coloration, marked with bony white decorations. It hangs from his shoulders like a second set of wings. It flutters when he breathes or turns.

“Looks great! Feels good? I can’t believe you found a blond one that fits your height!”

Martyn stretches his arms, then winces. “Pinches here and there, especially on the toes and scalp, but I’ll get by. It’s just a couple days. I’ll wash it in the shower. I’ll be good.”

Bdubs walks closer, lifting the bathrobe from Martyn’s hand. He’ll bring it to Etho later; for now, it’s wool and it can go straight in his inventory. He takes a careful look at Martyn’s wings. The way they twitch certainly gives the impression that they synced up right. From the thickness, he wonders if the skin Martyn’s wearing doesn’t even allow him to stretch it to the full length they’ll go. He didn’t take note of Martyn’s measurements, but he lets out a low whistle. “Well, chalaza’s come in. Those are sticking tight! Let’s see what we can do about that tail.”

“And then we see my friends?” There’s half a tremor in his voice. Almost like a beg.

“Straight away,” Bdubs assures him, crouching to get a better look at what he’s working with. Oh, yes… the tail drags on the floor. “Scott sent a whisper while you were in there; he’s got all your friends together. Hope you brought an appetite, ‘cuz tonight, we eat fancy! We set a reservation up as soon as you were looking better, and we can make it if we hurry… We’ll talk later, those things I wanted to say, about how you think you might handle watching aggressive phantom behavior play out. You can think about it. Don’t worry. If Scott sits me next to Netty, I’ll switch you spots.”

Martyn sputters the same way he did out on the street, giving his head a shake and his tail a lash; he yanks it straight from Bdubs’ hand. “I don’t care if I sit by Netty. I’ll sit by anyone I please, thank you very much. For the record, I’m literally with Pearl and BigB. We’re not dating, but we’re, y’know…” Martyn makes a vague gesture with his tapping knuckles, which Bdubs doesn’t really get, but takes mental note of. Martyn clears his throat, then says, “Cuddling? Erm. Don’t… It’s not a big deal, but I just… I don’t have a crush on Netty. I really don’t. Don’t even joke about that around her; she’ll get the wrong idea.” He pauses half a beat, then says, “I don’t swing that way.”

Huh. Bdubs tilts his head. “For non-phantoms, or…? You don’t have to say, but phantoms can date non-phantoms down here. You asked me earlier and I wasn’t clear, but my wife’s a sniffer hybrid.”

Martyn bounces his knees like he’s annoyed he has to say it. He really doesn’t have to, but he says, “I don’t swing for warm or hot souls. I’m a hot soul; I like cooling off when I cuddle, not boiling over. I do either/or with cool or chilly folks. And like, don’t go blabbing to my friends you think I have a crush on them? That’s hella weird even if I swung any way. Geez, captain. I appreciate the wingman schtick, but I really don’t want it. I’ll go after who I like on my own, thank you.”

… Yeah. Okay. There’s challenge in the uplifted chin and sparks in his eyes, but Bdubs lets it slide. Maybe he did go too far. “I’ll see if I can get you next to BigB and Pearl, then. Hey, you’re in good hands, Martyn- Nobody gets Scott to change his plans quite like me.”

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Dinner Served

💙  🧡  💚

Restaurants that serve souls are always branded with a Silverclaw banner. At least, so long as there’s wool around; people make do in its absence, using wood or candles. The hybrids who need souls can pick something up easy and the folks who don’t like supporting soul hunts (regardless of living in a world where obligate anivores are a thing) can take their business elsewhere without getting caught off guard upfront.

But as far as Martyn’s concerned, Silverclaws have always felt ethical. His parents had emeralds in ludicrous amounts, so they took him out to eat a lot growing up; he never needed to hunt. And Silverclaws have gotta be extra ethical in a hub that follows HALO rules. Judging by the paperwork Scott had him sign, it wouldn’t surprise Martyn at all if knowing your soul might get served on a plate is just as opt-in as agreeing not to grief. Plenty of people to go around in a busy city like this. Maybe some of ‘em even like it. Y’know… Helping the community, paying it forward- That sort of thing. Maybe you get discounts on rent if you sell your soul.

I smell tripe… Well, the inner part of a cow’s soul that passes for tripe, anyway. Actually, is that cow? Maybe he’s been spoiled by EVO, where cows and horses are aplenty. Might be something I’ve never tasted. There’s definitely meat sizzling in warm dishes, and not just cooked fish, chicken, or steak. Martyn’s loved culinary crafting since the day he first watched his dad throw food on a crafter, but it’s a shame he can only digest fancy meals on-server. Doesn’t really have the stomach for it in Between (Har har).

Still, he can’t help but wag his tail at the scents wafting to his mouth when Bdubs leads him through the door. Beyond fine meats, he can smell burgers, salted chips, and… is that cinnamon? Oh, I haven’t had cinnamon in years.

Salt reminds him of EVO, but not in a bad way. After growing up in the woods, uphill and downhill when the seasons changed, he’ll never forget the freedom of standing on the beach with wind in his hair, ocean washing across his ankles. Between has a few creatures of its own that don’t exist on servers, and leviathans that sometimes venture near the beach are one of them. They’re so massive, multiple players can ride on their backs, and it can take multiple carrots-and-sticks to steer them where you want to go. What he wouldn’t give to soar above it, ocean spray in his face, while the EVO crew whipped their fishing rods below.

Aww, and this place looks as lovely as it smells. Quite loud, though. It’s more of the humming he heard around Etho and BigB, which he’s silently drawing some conclusions for…

Heads turn as he crosses the entryway. There’s Mayor Scott again. Excited voices- Pearl, Netty, and Jimmy cheer and rush forward to give him hugs. They’re lookin’ fresh- No bruises, no tears in their clothing.

I did that. I cycled their data just fine; cleaned them all up. Martyn grins, shouts a nice “Hello, hello!” and wraps them all in his arms. Netty gets hers around his neck and Pearl’s reach around his stomach, leaving Jimmy to press up against his wings… not to mention the way all three of them try ruffling his hair. BigB joins in more patiently, followed by Taurtis (who looks like his mind is elsewhere). Noise, Martyn thinks, a wee bit distracted when his ear bumps with BigB’s chest. Syszee and Tomohawk wave from where they stand by the hostess desk, but Martyn makes sure they get a smile.

And that’s everyone. No more Salems_Lady. No more Mini Muka. No more Grian. Martyn can still taste the first two on the backs of his teeth. And the cam accounts aren’t here, but at least they said their good-byes before parting ways. He has no idea whether he’ll see LittleCam again. They aren’t even the same species… They die together, souls linked, but won’t respawn in the same hub.

Pearl’s breath is cool against his skin, like a smile printed on his cheek. “You really made it out! All good, mate? I thought we lost you for a week there.”

“Yeah? Feels nice to be recognized…” As me, the blond hair a dead giveaway despite the new face- As the guy who got you out on aching wings. “And back in a body, even if it’s a borrowed one.”

“‘Course I recognize you. I’d know your li’l stub tail anywhere, mate.”

“Aw, c’mere,” he says, pushing his face into her hair. Pearl smells the way she always does: like butter and sprinkles and snickerdoodles all rolled into one. It’s familiar by now after months of sharing one big bed. Can you believe it worked out that way, cookie scent on each side? BigB smells like chocolate so scrumptious, he probably gets naive parrots all over him. And, well… Martyn’s just as cheery as he can make himself be. He hugs his friends tight until pixels start to blur. Netty’s all in his face, too (with a soul that carries a tree bark scent like nothing he’s ever smelled in person before). And apparently nothing anyone else has either, because even the Watchers were flummoxed by her taste.

Buzzing. I mean… Something’s up with my ears. I’m definitely hearing mods. Odd. It was never like this back in EVO. Is this usual for players who were outside their skins too long, or is it something intertwined with his health? Ah, I gotta talk to Etho. Etho seems to listen, even back when Martyn couldn’t put his warbled spawnling thoughts in words.

Well, maybe the ringing sound will dissipate once he’s had a cycle ‘round the system. Y’know… Let another anivore eat his soul. He signed a residency contract with the mayor. It’s supposed to mean his player file gets plugged into this hub, which will allow him access to the portals. When you go too long without cycling, you’ll end up with problems… Your strings will start unraveling. It’ll make you feel all weak. There are cleaning tools you can use if you don’t want to let anivores like vex, zombies, endermen, or phantoms eat you, but you’re supposed to hop on a server and go to bed anyway. Anivores are thorough. Gods, cleaning tools wish they could be them.

A cycle will fix this. He’ll ask Bdubs to show him where to stand. The ringing might get better then.

Timmy’s still behind his back, his hands gripping Martyn’s wing joints. That’s no reason to overlook a personalized greeting. “Aha!” Martyn shouts, spinning around, and he hoists Timmy straight off the ground with hands beneath his arms. Tim squawks and flaps his wings, but his wriggles can only get him so far. “Didn’t think I’d ever be so lucky as to get a nip off your soul. Bread and strawberry jam? Is that it?”

“‘Ey, ‘ey… Listen, I don’t know what the system’s put in me, but this stays between us, all right?”

Martyn smirks, playing right along. The Silverclaw entryway certainly isn’t private, so Jimmy’s only saying that for the bit. Martyn thuds him back to the floor, unwilling to risk the chance of Jimmy glitching straight through his hands. And from there, he turns around, arms wide for another embrace. “Netty!

It’s good to see her under better circumstances. I mean, that could be applied to anyone, but the lanterns here in the restaurant are just dim enough to set a nice mood for relaxation and bright enough, her smile glows. When he goes for the hug, she catches his hands with a squeeze. “Way to go, Martyn! MVP for sure!”

“Aww, lookit you… I missed you funny lot. You been getting by okay without me?” His friends don’t look terrified, but this is still a location whose iffy underbelly is unknown. He wishes they’d all put their heads together and made a code word to drop if their new whereabouts seemed suspicious. Of course, he hadn’t planned to die along the way… Thought he’d be the one to scout around before deciding whether it was worth putting down roots.

He’d sort of expected to get to solid ground sooner. Their ancient forefathers had punched holes through the sculk in a reason, granting fast fliers the chance to swoop up into a little safe place now and then throughout their travels; these resting points formed a trail called the Voidpath. Martyn had lingered long enough to drink fresh water, but sped off fast. “Rest stop” did not inherently mean “safe place to bunk.” Eerie hunters eyeballed him when he drank his fill, and they didn’t sell him any snacks. Most creatures don’t hunt phantoms - very bony, not a lot of tasty code clinging to their bits - but hey, any rat in a famine. Never trust a herbivore will really leave you untouched. Never drop the guard around another anivore. With phantoms, they’re at least coded with the inability to log each other out. It’s endermen that worry him, and since they can teleport, they really get around. The Between dimension has loads of vex hybrids. And they can swim through walls, tracking you from above while you strain your wings flying below. Garbage game balance.

If I’d stayed longer at a rest point, though, Grian might’ve caught up to me. I could’ve logged him out and taken him along.

He shakes his wings like he’s shaking off the blame. It was Grian’s choice to stay behind in EVO. He shook his head, clinging to the doorway, and told them if they ran, they’d get themselves killed. So they left him. Him and his twin TwoMuchGrian and all the rest of the cam accounts who stayed to cover their butts.

Grian didn’t have the kind of Between dimension XP Martyn did to pour into strengthening his wings. His parrot body was not up to the task of skimming through the Void. The chilly cold can’t have done him any favors. He likely ate stolen bread to keep his strength up, but must’ve run down to the crusts by the time Martyn came into view. And while Martyn didn’t need to sleep so long as he had souls to eat, Grian’s exhaustion caught him by the throat. If he closed the distance on Martyn despite the long head start, he must not have stopped for rest and water at those gaps in sculk and bedrock.

Those eyes. The breathless, scratchy huff that left Grian’s mouth when he plunged to lower levels of the Void. Martyn thinks he might’ve screamed too, jackknifing after him in a dive that’d make a flock captain proud, but he has no idea. Nah, he can’t remember much. Just the slam of crashing against the bottom layer of the Void. The Void shouldn’t have even had a bottom, yet there he was, yelping and scrambling as it sucked him through some kind of purple rift. It got Grian.

… It got Grian.

Martyn still feels like he’s falling, throwing both hands towards the terrified parrot reaching back for him. But he’s had vertigo all his life… Probably a side effect of stumbling around, teaching himself to walk with no outside force to strengthen the legs.

“We’re doing all right,” Netty says. “This couple, Skizz and Vera, have let us crash with them.” She turns, gesturing to a pair of figures standing in the shadows; Martyn jumps. The man is tall, thin, and Martyn didn’t see him ‘til now. What in the world? He’s got feathered wings flapping at either side. White ones, which spread from his torso the way that Jimmy’s do. Martyn’s never seen a white parrot before. Before Jimmy was modded, he had gray wings, and parrots are supposed to be colorful birds. Modded, I think? Maybe. No sleeves hide his arms, and they’re marked up a lot. Those are mod insertion scars if he’s ever seen ‘em.

Martyn loosens his jaw just enough to taste the air, drawing in a sniff. The restaurant’s too overstimulating to get a good read on the man. His senses have lost their familiarity with his EVO friends; BigB’s ring stong, and Martyn clamps his mouth shut again. Huh. He’s gone ALL the way… I don’t have a clue what he used to be. And someone who puts in the work for that extreme a transition probably doesn’t want him asking.

He wonders if this man roamed aboveground above not too long ago. These days, it’s just safer to mod your code if you plan to wander and can’t defend yourself reliably against hunting anivores. Threading body-change mods through your system really wrecks your nutrients and taste. Doubly so if you do it as extreme as this Skizz guy. Both BigB and Netty modded out; the Watchers taught him a little culinary crafting, which helps boil some of that out after yanking souls from skin. It’s a way bigger pain than a one-hit logout, but it puts extra pixels in the hitbox. You need that sometimes. And it’s not permanent damage, of course.

The woman… Martyn thought would be less intimidating after seeing Skizz, but looking at her again, he isn’t so sure. Vera, Netty said? Skid and Veer, he thinks, and cracks a smile. Hey, it’s not a stupid mnemonic if it works.

Anyway, she’s a glow squid hybrid. That much is obvious just lookin’ at her. Woo-wee! How would you like to be on the receiving end of those muscled arms? Her hair’s long, held up with a bandana that spills braided tentacles out the back. Martyn wishes he could wear his bandana like that, but even in his regular body, there’s not much hair there to make it fun.

Martyn nods due greeting to the couple. Vera smiles. Skizz waves a hand, but bequeaths Netty the remaining conversation. “We’re getting a place,” she says, turning again to Martyn. “The mayor said he’ll set the paperwork. I’ll be with Jimmy. We’re thinking of getting a three-bedroom space, maybe turn it into an office, use it for storage, but you could join us if you call in now. You’re just in time!” She smiles. “Almost too slow. Ah, but look at you…”

Yeah, Martyn thinks, but look at YOU. These days in New Star have clearly been an uptick for her mental health, and he finds himself relaxing into it. She stands a little straighter than she used to, making full eye contact. Absolutely radiant; Atta girl.

“Sharing a room?” he questions anyway. “With Timmy?” His hearts pound hard enough at his chest, he can hear them tingle in his ears. Back in the EVO hub, their whole group shared one big room; that whole hub was a leading research facility, and they separated groups by their assigned servers. Martyn had sort of liked that part. He liked that the Watchers didn’t divide them in arbitrary categories like gender or soul temperature, even if there are plenty of stereotypes about the drama that comes with letting them intermingle. He liked that it wasn’t separated by XP levels, because he got to learn a lot about the outside world from BigB. Martyn’s older than a lot of his friends, but growing up a leash kid didn’t allow him much room to mess around. Up until his final moments at EVO, he had some pretty baby wings.

He, Timmy, Salems_Lady, and Netty were on a project team that researched non-mob wildlife- Y’know, like… birds, lizards, and butterflies. Grian, Pearl, Taurtis, and BigB were assigned to biome and structure research, which left Mini Muka, Tomohawk, and Syszee to analyze mob behavior. Their cubbyholes were grouped by these arrangements (They didn’t have beds, which were dangerous because they could explode, but they had wool spaces to lie down in and plenty of shulker boxes to keep their things). Martyn had a space right beside the dorm’s door, with Jimmy to his left and Netty straight ahead of him, Salem kitty-corner. He passed many hours listening to his friends’ chit-chat. He chit a lot himself, and you better believe he chatted. LittleCam didn’t speak up in late-night talks, because he crawled inside Martyn’s head to switch himself off at night, obviously- You know how cameras are.

Miss him. But LittleCam wouldn’t leave, totally afraid Martyn wouldn’t make it through the Void. Seemed like a lot of cams agreed.

Anyway, he and his team got along quite well. It was only towards the end, once he started seeking BigB out for advice, that Martyn slipped from his place to crawl into the cubby beside the far-higher-XP moth man, who spent hours regaling him with tales of the outside world. Aw, sounded something special. Pearl and BigB were cuddling at the time; had gotten practiced at lowering the divider between their spots in a way that wouldn’t be hard to fix if the Watchers strayed near. Martyn sort of fell in with them. And let’s be clear, they were all chaste about it! Not an ounce of forehead touching on his watch.

Well… Not unless Grian and Taurtis got up to it. Grian liked to mutter that if they weren’t careful, the Watchers would prob’ly split them up in separate rooms. But he didn’t push Taurtis away when they were snuggled up, and that definitely happened more than once.

… Martyn’s not sure, actually, if there was a defined relationship status between those two, and the very thought dries his lips. Is Taurtis holding up okay? He’s standing next to Tomohawk, staring off across the restaurant while hands grip hands. And maybe he should know, y’know, that Grian changed his mind. That he flew after Martyn, fighting towards them with all he had.

But those eyes…

Martyn blinks, once, trying to focus a little harder on Netty and Tim instead. They just said they’re sharing a room. Will they start up another project out here? Does the slime hub even do research like EVO did? Are they planning to share a bed, too? As the only-lightly-discussed cuddle situation blossomed between him, BigB, and Pearl, Martyn hadn’t given much thought to how he’d left his other friends far across the room. Often he wasn’t even in there at the same time they were, because the Watchers had him juggling some extra tasks. They’d wanted an anivore’s assistance; he’d volunteered. Maybe when he wasn’t in the room, Tim and Netty were a little more… “couple-ish” than they were willing to act in front of him.

If they were careful enough to hide that from the Watchers, I can’t be surprised they managed to hide that from me. Martyn feels… squirmy? He isn’t sure if that’s the right word. Have they been cuddling lately too? More and more now, probably, since arriving here in New Star Station? With EVO behind them, did they decide they were better off throwing caution to the wind and embracing everything the Watchers had not explicitly allowed? He, um-

Tim and Netty might be a thing right now. He hadn’t quite anticipated how weird that makes him feel.

“We’re sharing the flat. The…” Netty looks like she’s struggling to remember the word. She makes a square with her fingers, holding them up for Martyn to see. “‘Apartment,’ I think it’s called? Three bedrooms.” There’s something smirky in her eyes that makes Martyn bite his tongue an extra heartbeat.

“Ooh! Were you two saving one for me?”

“You could join us,” she says. And Timmy, who’s suddenly appeared behind her, leans over her head with a smile and encircles his arms in light embrace around her neck.

“Yeah! Scott’s practically giving spots away! We’ve even got real beds. A whole room for each of us, so we never have to squish into one again. Unless you want to, of course.”

There it is. Both Netty and Tim watch him in question, like they really miss those meaningless late-night rambles. Yeah, must’ve been real lonely without their camera twins around- and with Salem apparently waking in her spawn hub, not here. Netty reaches up, gripping Timmy’s hands.

Nope. I’m out. Just watching their PDA makes his skin crawl like he’s caught a virus. He’d rather dunk his head in water and hold it there for 20 minutes. “Ah, righto,” he says, forcing his teeth in a grin. “Uh… I appreciate the offer, you two - I really do - but I’m sort of with Pearl and BigB, y’know?” He hooks a thumb behind his shoulder. “Maybe some other time down the road.”

“Ah,” says Netty. She leans her head back to look at Tim, who tilts forward to look at hers. The way their foreheads almost brush nearly shatters his hearts right there. Aw, nah. I can’t be the third wheel, watching them be all gooey with each other. Not when he’s trying to build safe walls around his hearts and shake sense back into his own head.

He doesn’t mean to imply they’re scandalous, but touchy-feely is not how he grew up. He, Pearl, and BigB are taking things reeeeeeal slow. Pearl’s not even into dating as a concept, which Martyn’s sort of glad about, because when she said that, it meant none of them had to worry too hard about what the hey was going on with their limbs sprawled across each other’s space. And BigB’s sort of just “looking for something interesting to pass the time.” Martyn knows that (of course he knows that), but he can’t exactly volunteer his way into Netty and Tim’s relationship “if they’re willing to wait a bit longer for him to leave his current one.” It wouldn’t feel right. He might not be, like, dating BigB or Pearl, but he’s not about to walk out on them.

They’re like my flock away from flock. He likes that they can both fly. A phantom, bat, and moth make up the perfect trio of the night, the three of them entangled like breathing puzzle pieces in a way that feels like home.

“Cool, cool,” Timmy says, maybe a little too quickly (trying to brush the awkward feeling of dead conversation under a massive rug). “Yeah, we’ll figure something out then- Just didn’t want to cut you out or anything.”

Martyn can actually feel a smirk curling across Bdubs’ face as the man watches him from his place beside the host stand. Jeb’s sake… Has that man gossiped with the mayor yet? Something like, “Hey, Martyn thinks you got overly familiar with Netty; isn’t it hilarious he didn’t know you’re gay?” Heat twirls around his wrists and burns against his neck. Oh, this guy. Bdubs has only walked around with him a couple hours, and already, he’s acting like he can read Martyn to his code strings.

“Nah,” he says. “It’s cool. I’m happy where I am right now. Still feeling kinda woozy, but as soon as my head clears up, I’ll chat with Pearl and BigB and get you a confirmed answer. I mean, uhh… I did join ‘em after they were already together, and I was out late with the Watchers a lot; I wouldn’t blame them if they wanted to get more cuddly, just the two of ‘em.”

He winces even as he says it. Oi, it cuts extra deep when Tim and Netty exchange a look like they think he’s being weird, talking like that. Did he just make it sound like he didn’t trust BigB and Pearl to say they really want him? Gods. He loves his mum and dad - he really does - but even with summer camp every year, it doesn’t feel like he really grew up talking to people right.

And it hurts. Bad, bad. The low pulse of disapproval rattles through his wrists and ankles, swamping all his limbs until it forms a massive knot in his chest. Martyn swears he’s plunging downward, even more than he usually does with vertigo tearing through his soul. He tries to scramble back, sputtering, “I mean, well… I really like being part of a trio. I wouldn’t wanna leave ‘em hanging, right? Really, I think Bdubs wants me bunking at the flock roost. It’s on the clock tower- Have you seen that thing? Big, innit? Love the open roosting platform.”

“It’s nice,” says Tim, nodding his head vaguely behind him. “There’s a new neighborhood set up just over that way- that’s where Netty and I’ll be. Clock tower’s a bit farther north, but we’ve got a good view of things. We’re getting a room pretty high up. Come visit, if you’d like!”

“Really nice view,” Netty agrees. “Great take-off spot for fliers, too.”

“Well, this is a brand new page turn! Can you believe it? Rooms of our own?” Martyn shakes his head, then loops his arms around both their necks until he bops their heads together. “Sounds a little scandalous, if you’re asking me~”

Conversation swivels to New Star’s building style, where each neighborhood has its own block palette, and relief washes down Martyn’s spine when their host finally walks them to a table. They’re all given menus on scraps of paper, and Martyn admires the penmanship as much as the meal options themselves. Aw, there we go…

This feels a lot like home. Gods, it’s been far too long since he last sat down at a Silverclaw establishment. The logo’s so pretty in the upper corner of the menu, it might literally be embroidered instead of penned with ink. Not everything on the menu has ingredients that can be substituted with souls, but there are pages upon pages in this thing - Breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert - and saliva floods across his mouth.

This place is as classy as anything in Fern Mountain, but I get the vibe that this hub takes in everyone and all their tastes. Are there casual diners and cafés I could eat at too? There are cows in New Star. He saw the cheese on Etho’s charcuterie plate. Martyn’s only ever tasted milkshakes down in Black River every summer, and even then, only before and after camp.

Do they…? He turns the menu to its back page, then tastes the rush of stinging saliva all over again. He can’t help the fidget in his wings and tail. They do! Milkshakes! Can he have one? Do you think? He wishes he could try something with berries, but they don’t have souls. Maybe foxes taste like berries. I’ve never tried fox. They live too far away.

Well… Not anymore.

True to form, Bdubs did somehow swerve and plop Martyn in a middle seat beside Netty, leaving him with the one before the end. Martyn can’t help feeling just a wee bit anxious about it, because it feels like Bdubs expects him to react some specific way. Scott takes the head of the table. Pearl sits at the opposite end. BigB’s next to her. Martyn wishes he could switch places with Skizz, who just sat down by BigB, but Vera’s right there.

His girlfriend? His wife? Probably girlfriend; there’s no rings on their hands. ‘Course, y’know… Different cultures do it different. Either way, Netty called them a couple, which implies that they’re together. At this point, shuffling chairs would be awkward for all involved. Feels hella rude to ditch Bdubs, who’s made multiple visits to Etho’s flat, checking up on him. His mum would yank him by the ear.

Guess I’ll stick here; see if I can wiggle information out of him and Mayor Guy. Might be better this way, if we’re honest. He’s about as far from Skizz as he can get, and whatever’s going on with Skizz’s mods is loud. BigB is loud. Netty’s about the same, but no one else can hear any of this. Or they don’t care. Martyn shakes his head. Skizz’s definitely the worst of all. What’s that man taking? System overload.

He doesn’t have a stomach in this dimension - the energy transfer’s pretty instant, when it’s souls - but he can feel it clench and growl regardless. Hungry… This place doesn’t feel all real. “Your hub can provide all this?” he asks Bdubs, trying to keep the words as light as he can. Scott’s right there at the head of the table, so he looks up too. Martyn clears his throat and pushes on regardless of those curious eyes burning through his brain. “How does that all work?”

“It’s all voluntary,” Bdubs goes on, tapping a finger up against the pouch of his neck. “Phantoms, we have the fastest metabolisms of any anivore, right?”

“Do we?”

“Yes. We eat lots. We sleep lots. And as phantoms, it’s our job to catch souls for food, or keep ‘em in storage if we can. The flock brings souls to Silverclaw places like this so even more people can eat. Plus, we take them around, doing deliveries raw. It’s real noble.”

Share with others? So all the anivores in the hub can eat? Martyn looks at Bdubs. “That’s… not what my dad said phantoms do.”

Scott muffles a laugh behind his lips, tucking deeper into his menu. Bdubs frowns. “Well, how does he tell it, huh?”

Void. Fern Mountain was the raven hub, just a smidge north of New Bork City. Loads of wolves came around to hunt all the time. You got a lot of mobs spawning in those woods. And the maple mountains biome was just next to it- You could find wild llamas and allays roaming there. Martyn’s never met an allay hybrid, but the mobs are delicious, multiply like nuts, and are so stubborn about claiming territory, they try to burrow instead of run. Easy pickings. Like plucking fruit off a tree. That was just east of Fern Mountain, and if you went west instead, you could find a lotta toucans and monkeys. Big hotspot for armadillos, brilliant beetles, bats, and creepers too. You ever seen those beetles? People ride ‘em downriver, they’re that big.

The Black River hub had plenty of fish and crabs. EVO had crabs too, sitting there by the beach, but Martyn didn’t do the hunting himself. It’s been a long time since he’s had this many options for a meal. That Silverclaw logo feels as welcoming as his friends’ smiles and open arms, and he lets his wings relax against his seat.

This hub offers food to people like me. Otters can eat caught fish and fish souls. Either will fill their hunger meter, so most people didn’t bother cooking. He looks up, peeking down the table at Pearl and BigB. They’ve leaned their heads together, talking soft. BigB’s an omnivore- He was an illusioner before he modded his body to fit the moth hybrid template he’s used the last few years. Pearl’s a vampire bat right now, though she claims the last time she respawned, she mostly ate fruit. They look chill. They’ve been here a few days. Must be liking it. BigB catches Martyn’s eye; he smiles back and offers a wave. Martyn gives a tight-lipped smile in reply, then turns to Bdubs again.

“Well, he told me phantoms only care about other phantoms. And that we overstep, taking more than our fair share from the ground hunters.”

Bdubs’ claws tighten in the bamboo of the table. Oh, so he does get mad! What a relief to find out he’s a mortal too. “Phantoms,” he says next, “aren’t really seen as noble. But in New Star, we cycle souls; we clean ‘em. We do our job. And nobody does that job better than phantoms. You too. You’re not dirty, Martyn- You’re with us!”

Dirty slices deeper than Bdubs maybe meant it too. Who knows though, honestly. “Aw,” Martyn pushes back. “What if I don’t want to ‘do a job,’ Bdubs?” What’s the job anyway? Hunting? Over and over again? Nah. “It’s been a good couple centuries workin’ hard or hardly working. I might just put up my feet.”

Oh, it’s a good thing Bdubs isn’t a vex. He grips the table so tight, his face would be all red. Scott presses warningly to the back of his hand, not looking up from his menu. Bdubs flaps his wings out anyway. “Then you can’t be in the flock. You can hang out with Impulse. He not flock.”

Who is Impulse? For one split second, panic spurts right down his spine. I can’t hunt. The flock hunts. The captain feeds. He knows this deep inside him, even if he grew up with otters and ravens instead of fellow phantoms. It’s like something churning in his code. And if Bdubs cuts him off, staying alive will get that little pinch trickier. Martyn stops pressing buttons, pulling back instantly. Better not burn bridges. Not ‘til he knows what’s going on in New Star. He hasn’t even had time to talk with BigB and Pearl.

“Nah, nah… If you’re providing, I’ll stick with you. Put me to work, Bdubs. Where do I sign up?”

“That’s right,” Bdubs says, sounding almost satisfied. The tension leaves his claws and shoulders. “We’ll make you flock, Martyn. When you’re ready, we’ll bring you to roost and get you claimed. I take good care of you.”

That’s the thing, though. No one can take care of you forever. And no one will ever get you everything you want and need. If you want everything you’ve dreamed about, you have to put that work in yourself. Maybe, though, keeping under Captain Bdubs’ wing would be a good start. At least until he learns how to hunt on his own. Martyn looks at the flock captain, not… loving the lack of lead-up to his next question. He’s just gonna have to ask.

“So, uh, do I have any credits to use here, or-?”

“Eat what you want,” Bdubs replies. “My flock provides, so flock eats here free.”

“Really? That IS good news!” Is that unfair? That’s not unfair. I mean, Bdubs just said we put in the work.

Bdubs nods down the table at Netty and Tim, who both looked over when Bdubs spoke. “Scott’s got one half the bill, I’ve got the other. Eat, eat. That’s why we do what we do.” And to Martyn, “On future days, if you don’t want to hunt, you don’t have to. Some people don’t. I’ll hunt for you- I can feed you every day; it’s my job.”

“Cool, cool.” Martyn stares at his menu until it burns behind his eyes. I’m not a child, ‘captain.’ I’ll figure it out. Chronic vertigo and all. He’s not sure what to think, though, about the grouch in Bdubs’ voice when he implied he wouldn’t hunt… over the curt reminder that he'd be fed without complaint if he can't. Isn’t that a little weird? A little bit forced? I mean… Well, I guess it’s fair. He wants me to pay it forward someday, right? Bdubs is offering him a place at the clock tower and will keep him safe and fed. He should give back to this city when he can.

Martyn orders steak and cheese nachos off the menu. Is it fancy? It sounds fancy. Bdubs says something about switching it from a player soul to a mob soul, which Martyn doesn’t fight him on. His body’s sore enough from his long flight and multiple attempts to reform. He’ll take the softer, easier-to-tear food.

It’s hard to keep down the wagging in his tail. Conversation sparks around the table, all his EVO friends going back and forth, but Martyn can’t help turning around a few times to scan the restaurant in anticipation. He already had a taste of souls when Bdubs let him allofeed back in Etho’s room. His body, though, feels drained. Not totally unusual. Blame the man upstairs for cutting him loose and leaving him to plunge. Figure it out yourself, nerd. That sort of thing.

Martyn tries to pay attention to the talk around him, though it’s very loud and buzzy. His mind drifts sideways. Am I a nerd? Maybe so. Who’s asking? He used to collect trading cards for all the dragons, which was a PAIN with a mob for a sister, because she always wanted to look and bite. There’s a lot of cards he never got, but he does have one for the Slime Dragon. Debbie, she calls herself. Martyn wonders if she looks any different now than she used to look when she lived aboveground. She’s gonna bite my head off, though…

“How was your trip?” Netty asks, breaking Martyn’s stare from the way BigB holds Pearl with an arm around her shoulders.

“Uh… Oooh. Rough flight the whole way. Super cold, and no in-flight snacks! Take me straight to the devs, because I’m filing a complaint.”

She laughs, patting him hard on the arm. Netty has big purple-white paws… lilac color, or whatever you call it. Martyn doesn’t know what species she modded into really - Netty is a very cryptic person of a thousand secrets and he never really pried - but he’s always assumed that she’s a sugar glider. He’s never seen her fly, but it sounds like she’s working up to it. If that’s true, that scratches a few possibilities off the list of what she might be underneath the mod layers she’s got already. Martyn sips from the wooden water cup that was set in front of him.

I know what you are. BigB, Pearl, TwoMuchGrian, and LittleCam had to help him, working as fast as they could to rip souls into pieces that Martyn could even eat. But he tasted all his friends. Yeah, he knows. But he’ll never tell. That’s Netty’s secret to share if she ever wants to come out to their friends about it. It’s not like it really matters. She’s a sugar glider now. Or whatever it is she’s going for. That’s all anyone needs to know.

“Thank you,” Netty tells him, squeezing his wrist. “I feel so much better here in New Star. I think we all do.”

“I’d do it again,” he says, and startles himself by how serious he sounds. But it’s true.

The plates arrive arrive in twos and threes, full of color and spirit. And in Martyn’s case… full of spirit! When the nachos arrive, the smell of cow smeared across them fills his mouth with saliva instantly. Everything on his plate is white. It’d be blue like Bdubs’ meal if he’d opted for hybrid souls, but this is a good place to start. Martyn coaxes energy to the surface of his hand. Once his own is blue, he can make contact with the food, plucking up one “chip” and bringing it near his mouth.

What’s this? His mind was so full of soul-steak and soul-cheese, he forgot to ask about the rest. He sniffs, then nibbles the chip on the end. Hm. If this soul was grabbed from storage and prepped for dinner, maybe this is another part of cow. Mixing and matching multiple souls is probably a bad idea; that’ll delay respawn. Probably. Honestly, not sure. It sounds like it would, unless another anivore eats it. That’d fix things up.

… It tastes good. Martyn takes the chip softly with his nubby teeth. It breaks at the faintest pressure. Goo sticks against his tongue, but it’s not unpleasant. In fact, Martyn pulls back, staring at the rest of his chips. Was the cow that got jumped for this meal really close to needing bedtime? Maybe even over the limit, and woken up for the killing.

I never thought about sleepy levels sticking with a knocked-out soul after it’s pulled. Did the chefs know he was a phantom? Did they pull from a stock set aside just for them? Or maybe all of New Star’s cows taste this savory. “Oh,” he says to Netty and Tim, gesturing to his plate. “These are amazing! What d’you think they do to them back there? Chop ‘em into bits? Heat some of them up until they turn to soup?”

“Probably,” is Timmy’s cheery response. “It could work like that!”

“Well, I’m tellin’ you, you’re missing out.” Martyn scoops up more, wolfing them down with as much fancy decorum as he can muster. Goo catches on his fingertips, spiderwebbing between the Vs.

“Beautiful,” someone murmurs, and Martyn glances up to see Bdubs watching him, a piece of something fileted balanced on a tiny trident. Smells like running wild: trees and moss. Definitely some kind of illager. Martyn would know that smell anywhere after long evenings with his nose in BigB’s neck. A geomancer, maybe? Uh. A bit ruffled by the gazing, Martyn looks away. His eyes land on Scott, who’s eating cake instead of dinner, but puts down his fork when Martyn inadvertently pings him for conversation.

“Martyn? BigB and Pearl have suggested server sharing. If that’s what you want, I can set that up, but I want to make sure you know you can have a separate AFK server too. I’m putting this one in her name, and the apartment.”

Suggested server sharing? Martyn’s not sure whether that means BigB and Pearl asked for him, or whether all his EVO friends are getting plonked down and Martyn’s some leftover puzzle piece about to be squished in. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah, I… I have to share. I don’t have an admin certificate.”

“We don’t require those for singles.”

“You don’t?” All those contracts, all those rules about non-anarchy, and you don’t need an admin certificate?

“When hosting multiplayers, you do,” Scott amends. “There’s several classes you need to take for health and safety. Pearl took our check-up test yesterday and passed, so you can stay with her if you want, but you don’t have to. We have options for people to AFK alone.”

“Oh,” says Martyn. “Uhh… Really? Is there enough data in the system to allow that?”

Scott nods, swirling his finger. “Anivores like you keep data flowing through the system. The infrastructure supports our current population; it’s fine. In fact, adding you to the ranks should more than balance out the energy that needs to go to servers for you and your friends.”

“Once you start hunting,” Bdubs puts in. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you hunting.”

“… Are you sure?”

Scott laughs. He sounds like metal or crystals bonking in the wind. “Phantoms are very efficient predators. I promise, it’s fine.”

“But… but…” Now he’s just grabbing things, clutching whatever water’s gushing through his fingertips. “If I’m not certified, I might-” He puts up his hands, shaking them back and forth, and tries not to notice the rest of his friends looking over from way down the table. “No, sorry. I’ll room with someone else. I can’t run my own.”

Scott shrugs, utterly unbothered. “All right, but come find me if you change your mind.”

Martyn nods, picking at his nachos again. His hearts race each other around his system, but he can’t quite cool them off. Why would New Star’s mayor want to give him server rights? Especially without making him take a class or tests. Now he’s all mixed up. Scott just said they had plenty of anivores to cycle souls through the hub’s system, powering all the servers as they went along. But if that’s true, how can there be AFK servers? Especially without certificates to limit access to those who know what they’re doing. Not to mention the singleplayers…

Are those seriously a thing out here? The thought of living with BigB and Pearl alone is as daunting as it is intriguing, but shouldn’t someone be watching AFK players when they sleep? You know, to ensure they aren’t messing around.

Something’s weird here. All servers were supervised back at the EVO hub.

💙 🧡 💚

Scott swings open the door to Apartment 552 with all the dramatic flair of the queen Bdubs said he was. His hair literally sparkles like he went bobbing for apples in a barrel of glitter. “Well, here’s where you’ll be staying! At least for now. I’ll show you around.”

5th floor, Martyn thinks. Or 6th, if you’re American (Hi, BigB). That’s not bad. Netty and Jimmy are three floors up from here, Room 810. Scott pointed out the easy take-off and landing balconies at the open ends of the halls, as promised.

It’s not a very big place. It’s not a very long tour. Scott shows them the little kitchen to the right, the couch space across from it, and each of the three bedrooms. They have a shared toilet space. No in-house bath or shower, though. Scott says copper pipes are hard to come by, even for dragons. Fair? He did point out the public shower house when they walked down the street. A lot of people hang out there by the lockers, changing skins between play. There’s also an enclosed multiplayer hub full of lobbies in the northeast corner. That’s not too far from the southeast corner of the perimeter where Scott’s set them up. Australian Quarter, it’s called. But according to rumor at dinner, nobody ever calls it that; it’s Simmers’ Quarter to everyone you meet.

Fair enough that copper pipes and breeze rods can bring them sink water, but not enough force or consistency for lengthy showers. Sure. Still, Martyn wonders why the place isn’t just… bigger. This is Minecraft. Can’t Scott just build it wider? In Between, you can’t break or place blocks if you’re too far from a dragon. It’s just a little nerf of the devs to keep their world from getting too broken, or at least that’s what people say. ‘Course, the world’s getting worse out there every day.

I guess he’s just making do with the resources he’s got. The dimension’s been torn apart and even resources once thought prominent are growing scarcer now. Honestly, it’s a wonder he has enough pipes for this many sinks as it is. I dunno, dude… Smells like hacks.

It’s not a bad flat, though. Apartment, Netty called it, and Scott said unit. It doesn’t matter. Martyn likes that there’s a good amount of cabinet space, though he’s got nothing to put in it. He bats the trapdoors anyway, only half-listening when Pearl and Scott start gushing over anime. He’s fallen off in keeping up, even with his favorites. Too busy, wrapped inside his own mind. Mostly, he follows BigB around, watching him test all the faucets and examine every crack.

No window panes, Martyn thinks, eyeballing the fencepost and curtain set that stands in its place. It doesn’t totally block the wall. Someone who really wanted to could get inside in their soul form… Although, so could a cam account. They can pass through walls and turn solid again on the other side. Vex are pretty much the same. But Bdubs called this place non-anarchy, right? Hm. In this underground hub where glass is a novelty, maybe people respect a Keep Out sign. Martyn moves his hand around the window, but there’s no wind down here, unless you count the occasional spurt of nearby flapping wings.

“What d’you think?” he asks when BigB joins him in the bedroom. There’s no bed set out. Scott said they’d find wool and wood in the chest so they could craft it to their liking. Martyn doesn’t see a point. You can’t sleep in this dimension. His parents never let him have his own room growing up; he was under their eye all the time. And if he wasn’t, he was sharing his space with Baby.

“Seems nice,” BigB says, though his expression seems to hover about where Martyn’s is. The buzzing is endless. Martyn pulls the hood of his shawl over his head, making up for his reluctance to blatantly cover his ears. Seriously, is there a fix for this? Something’s gone wrong with my head. He almost misses the next words BigB speaks, rubbing behind his neck: “I’ve never had my own, like… permanent space before. Not in Between, anyway. I used to live with my uncle and cousin. And when we’re on patrol, we play our housing by ear based on resources in the area.”

“It’s uber-detailed,” says Martyn. He peers through the window. “D’you think all those interiors are really done? That must’ve taken ages.” EVO was all hallways and dorms. Simple enough; easy to replicate in bulk.

“Honestly, I’m surprised Scott didn’t put our whole crew inside the same one. You heard what he said about sharing portals?”

“Yeah, but that’s only if the population gets high up there. Should give us plenty of time to enjoy each other.” Martyn, because he’s childish, elbows BigB in the side. “If you know what I mean~”

“You smell like cow,” BigB says, petting him fondly on the hair before wandering back to look for Pearl.

She and Scott are wrapping up. Or, BigB’s presence prompts them into wrapping up. Scott gives her a solid handshake and leaves a few minutes later. “Well, he’s friendly,” Pearl says, stuffing her fists away in her hoodie. “I think we’ll get on all right down here.”

Is that ‘we’ as in you and him, or as in you and us? Her smile puts him on defensive overdrive immediately. “He’s-” Martyn begins, then cuts himself off. If Scott hasn’t told Pearl he’s gay, maybe Martyn won’t say it either. Bdubs spilled the news, but if his friends ask him how he knows the truth behind the statement, Martyn might have to bring up the conversation about Netty. He’d rather not. They might take Bdubs’ word over his.

“He’s what?” Pearl asks, and both she and BigB look at him.

“… He’s nice.” Martyn turns back to the nearest bedroom, shoving the door open. He gives it a once-over glance just to make a point, then glances at his friends with a question in his eyes. “Uh, are we sharing a room? Or are we gonna… split off?” Not break their situation thing apart, surely? Martyn turned down Scott’s offer of a private server. Sudden panic washes through him at the thought of running after Scott, needing to beg him for a server anyway because BigB and Pearl went ahead and got their own. As a duo.

“Up to you, mate,” Pearl says. “I’d like one room on my own for an office. Prob’ly plop a bed down.”

BigB nods. “I wouldn’t mind storage either. I might skip on beds. I like keeping work in Between and bedrooms on servers.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“Something wrong?”

“It’s just…” Martyn tilts his head, not looking up from his fingertips. “Y’know. Two of you were cuddling before I joined in. Are you…?” A back and forth motion with his finger. “Just to clarify.”

“You’re not overstepping,” BigB says, moving towards him, and Pearl’s a step behind. Martyn’s eyes are burning by the time they reach him, but he can’t help it. Not anymore. Not after holding up his tough front all day. “If you want to split off, you can, but-”

“-but we want you here,” says Pearl. She’s soft and wrinkled in her baggy hoodie. How can she be so tall and that hoodie still so loose? Both his friends are tall, and when they embrace him from either side, it feels like being the one block in a hundred picked up by delighted endermen.

I’m wanted? Finally in the arms of his friends again, Martyn lets the mask fall apart. He starts to tremble, and not only from the strain he’s been pushing his legs to take all day. “Maybe we do need beds in Between. I wouldn’t mind the cuddling. Can I join your server?”

“Always,” BigB assures him. Big, sturdy hands rub circles behind his back. “You’re amazing, Martyn. We could build a starter base right now, get some sleep, then talk plans in the morning?”

There’s the patrol captain in him. You never really mod out everything. What time is it? Surely this isn’t phantom narcolepsy dragging at his eyes. “That sounds good, yeah.”

“You did amazing getting us out of there.” Pearl sighs into the fabric of his phantom-patterned shawl. Martyn makes a mumbly noise, and her fingers move to scrunch up the back. “Thank you… I think in time, we’ll really feel at home here.”

“I lost three,” he whispers. No Salems_Lady. No Mini Muka. And no Grian.

“Three?” BigB sounds surprised. He looks to Pearl, who looks to him. They look at Martyn together. “But… Grian stayed behind. Right?”

Martyn says nothing for a heartbeat. Did they notice? “Yeah. Oh, yeah. You’re right.” That’s right. No one except for him saw the dead look in Grian’s eyes when he plunged past Martyn’s fingertips and through the Void. He never has to tell them.

Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll dream they all pulled through. That’s not really lying. Grian probably respawned in the Parrot Dragon’s nest where he grew up, all snug and safe and sound.

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Easy to Break

💙  🧡  💚

Bdubs does not often linger on the ground. Not on the west and south borders of New Star Station’s perimeter, at least, where the blaze like to play. Heck, he doesn’t mess with the slimes in the north, east, and center areas either… but at least the slimeballs they throw don’t burn like blaze fire.

This is dangerous, you know. Well, not really. No one can kill phantoms in New Star. You shouldn’t kill anyone - It’s all bad - but especially not phantoms. The streets are well-lit, but it’s still creepy down here. He keeps glancing left and right, watching for eyes peeping from the darkness. He sees a few creeper hybrids. One rabbit. A bunch of other species. No blaze, though. They’re very territorial, usually on the ball at watching their streets for visitors. Huh. Their absence feels even more stabby in his guts than the sight of their stares would. Pixelated fuzz prickles behind his neck. It’s been a long time since he last felt like prey.

It’s for Martyn, he reminds himself. We gotta get advice to help Martyn adjust.

There’s a thin path separating the bedrock walls of the perimeter from the innards of New Star Station. That road is aptly called the ‘border road.’ It’s just bedrock. Not exciting, but it’s where Icky hunts low-energy souls. It’s all for him; he’s flock beta- See how that works? You could have your own hunting ground too, if you were beta. But you’re not, unless you are.

Between that road and the city, there’s an unbroken loop of halls and buildings called the bailey wall. That just helps keep non-flying people out, if someone somehow sneaks in. There’s apartments in it. Scar and Cub live around here. A lot of Americans do- It’s not a rule they have to live here or anything, but a lot of people like neighbors who tend to drop off to sleep around the same time. You see a lot of British players on the east side. Just makes things easier.

Bdubs takes some guy’s front steps two at a time, all hop-hop-hup. Is this the hall? Yeah, this is it. He pushes through the door, into the hall as quick as he came. See, here’s something you should know if you want to live in New Star too: there’s weird rivalry between the slimes and blazes. New Star is the slime hub, but they’re not the only guys who live here. It makes things weird.

The slimes have claim over all the sewers, but the blaze have almost half the roads and buildings. They’re territorial that way. Every full moon, they do their whole rivalry thing and switch the turf borders up. They steal banners, y’know? Anyway. If you live in slime turf, you’re supposed to go see slimes when you want help or favors. If you’re in blaze turf, you see blazes. Bdubs, who’s a phantom (which are obviously the best) doesn’t visit very often.

We’re gonna brush past the part about how both the clock tower and his own apartment are in slime turf this month. Slimes won’t like if they found out he’s here tonight, which is why he’s sneaking around on foot instead of swooping in. He even covered his wings. See, he wants to talk to Wels about taking in newbies from the outside world, teaching them how to join New Star’s pack. He’s the wildfire; he knows what’s going on. Blaze spawn outside, not inside. Slimes don’t have wildfires. Ryguyrocky has a thousand million babies to teach how to be slimes, but they all grow up here when they’re spawnlings. He’s not helpful, Ryguy.

Blaze are good guards. That’s why Mayor Scott set them up with a nice place on the west side when he was first doing layout plans; this edge of the perimeter is where the secret tunnel from above lets out to the city. There’s a meeting room for blaze around here. Bdubs snoops up and down the hall until he finds it. The sign on the door, doused with glowing red ink, says QUIET HOURS - NO ENTRY.

That sign’s not for phantoms. He enters. All his pixels buffet and reload against steamy air. It’s hotter inside than it was out in the hall. Smells like smoke and brimstone. Bdubs wrinkles his nose at it, trying to bite back the urge to cough. Whoa. He’s not often in here; other phantoms eat blaze, but he does street hunting. This isn’t like him.

He can see perfectly fine in the dark. The way the blaze hybrids glow like embers helps a lot. He breathes slowly, evenly, and tries to tell his body not to fly into a panic. It might be hot down here, but this isn’t sunlight. He’s not gonna burn. Even if he could, he upgraded his body a long time ago to just not burn in sunlight. It’s real; you can do that with Between dimension XP, if you’ve been playing long enough. Look it up.

Blaze hybrids in all shapes and sizes lie across the floor. Well… Most of ‘em are pretty thin, lightweight. So not that many sizes. There’s variation, but lots of blaze are like that- See also, phantoms are short and dense (Ignoring all the tall ones). Blaze rest in piles, bodies overlapping and inside each other from no collision. They’re not sleep sleeping, but they think they are. They lie there in chains so if someone jolts awake, they’ll wake the people in their row and figure the problem out together, but hopefully not wake the whole pack.

Bdubs really doesn’t want to wake the whole pack. He hunts the piles with his eyes, his hands still buried in jacket pockets. Where’s Welsknight, huh? Shouldn’t he be in the middle? I don’t see him. Maybe he’s covered in people. Like they’re eating him alive. They’re not, but there’s something beautiful in that thought, like a thousand different creatures all feeding on the bone and unesu blocks from a spawned-in dracofall. Or from a dead dragon, but Scott wouldn’t like it if he heard Bdubs talk like that. He talks sometimes, but not like that in front of Scott. Scott lost his mom the Allay Dragon years ago, you remember.

Nooooo wildfire, though. Most the blaze have feathered wings, marked with stripes, but when Bdubs runs his eyes across the room, he finds a familiar one without them. Aha; perfect. If he can’t get Welsknight, he’ll just kick Tango awake. At least Tango’s easy to find in a blaze pile. He’s got a face you don’t forget. Big red goggles on his forehead help. He won’t tell you this, but he’s got the rarest wing placement in the game: on his ankles. Not now, though. He didn’t get ‘em in his last respawn. He’d have to die and bounce back under a different moon to get another roll for maybe wings, and he not do that when he lives in New Star. Still, he’s totally blaze. You can see the bird bits in him by the talons and fangs… Avian hybrids get fangs if they spawn without beaks. That’s why Bdubs has fangs. And Martyn, but baby teeth.

Anyway, Tango’s curled up on the floor three rows of sleepy blaze from where Bdubs stands. His mouth tingles with drool, so someone in this room is probably close to being phantom hour-legit. This is not a good place for take-off. Phantoms have to jump into it. Bdubs hesitates, studying the floor for blank places where he can land his feet. Right about now, you might be asking something. Like, was it really smart to come wandering in here when the slimes are gooey soft and don’t have beaks or fangs to fight with? These, and other questions, we know the answer to. It not matter so much.

Bdubs paces up and down the first row of blaze, trying his hardest to walk soft so he won’t spook ‘em. He’s barefoot, which is usual for him (‘cuz it’s easier on the claws). One player shifts when his talons snag on a bit of carpet, but try as he might, he still can’t find Welsknight. Oh, blast. Well…

Bdubs scoots closer to the nearest blaze: one with little wings that shine like gold. He takes a big step across their torso, where another blaze rests her head. There’s blank carpet here. Hot. Everything is hot, especially the blaze rods that rest like crowns against all the sleepy people’s heads. Bdubs sucks on saliva, looking for another landing spot. There’s one that’ll take him next to Tango. He steps far, takes one more jump, then bends down to shake Tango by the arm.

“Hey. Hey.”

A jolt ripples through Tango’s energy. He jerks up his head, and all the blaze he’s overlapping with (and they’re overlapping with) spook at the same time to look at Bdubs. Tango gives a muffled yelp, scooting back on his hands ‘til he’s on his butt, blocking his face with his arm. Sparks zip across his hair. He’s shirtless, rumpled, sticky pixels rolling down his bare front. He scrabbles for his pants pocket, jerking out his communicator. His blaze buddies look tense, puffing their wings. Oh, those guys…

Tango flips his comm around, flashing the screen to Bdubs. “What?” he whispers. “What’chu want, huh? You can’t eat me; I’m not in phantom hour. See this? All blue. No green.”

Bdubs leans over him, hands braced on his knees. He doesn’t get to talk to people like he’s taller very often. Now it makes sense why people do this, leaning down (‘cuz he’s whispering). “Where’s Welsknight? I can’t find him.”

Tango blinks back, drawing deeper and deeper breaths as he gathers focus. He stuffs the comm away again. “Do you have any idea how cold it is right now?”

Is it? That makes no sense. See, it’s so hot in here, Tango took his vest and sweater off. Is this cold, for blaze? No way is this cold; it’s colder in the street. “Uhh… Shoot. You’re American with British sleepy time. I forget.”

Tango’s mouth pulls into a line. His blaze friends are grumpy now, woken up. Well, they should stop touching each other when they sleep, then. What did they think would happen if they let their pixels merge? Tango makes three leaps like a cat back to the door, then stands on two legs again and waits for Bdubs to join him. Bdubs does, and Tango makes a point of dragging him back into the hall. When he lets go of Bdubs’ arm, that door keeps them separate, Tango glaring out behind. See, this is blaze behavior. They don’t like you in their forts.

“What do you want?” Tango intones. He makes goggles with his fingers. “What? What’s this? I don’t see no aggro on you. What?”

“Nah, not here for hunting.” Blaze are so easy to catch, though; they just lie down when they’re in torpor and you can walk in and eat ‘em. It’s better that way; AFK servers are how you get real sleep. Torpor still sets off phantom hunting aggro, so it’s not a real rest method; don’t listen when they complain. Bdubs leans his hand against the doorframe, trying to flap out the wings he’s got covered by his jacket. It does not work. “Here on business. I gotta talk to Welsie.”

Tango keeps himself planted firmly, like a mangrove full of roots. “It’s quiet hours. If you’re not hunting, it can wait.”

“This is a good time for me,” Bdubs presses back, just nipping along that little edge. Hey, that’s how it works- Just a little push and tug. “It’s about Martyn. He put a skin on today.”

“Great,” Tango deadpans. “I’ll give you two some alone time.” His eyes narrow in sudden sparky suspicion. “Don’t you live in slime turf?”

“Yeah, but I don’t care. Martyn’s got no background with a flock, see? He was adopted. Not by phantoms. Wels knows more than me about taking new guys in. Better than Ryguy. That’s why I ask him first.”

“It can wait.” Tango moves his hand like he might shut the door. Bdubs pushes against wood with both palms, forcing it back open. Restless blaze hybrids stir on the other side.

“This is important! Martyn’s fragile - Oh, so soft and fragile - and I might be a bad influence if I teach him wrong.” He puffs his chest, nodding to suggest some people really do say that, and just what does Tango think? He cares about Martyn. He cares.

“I don’t care,” Tango says. “This can wait ‘til after night-night hours.” He says that like Bdubs is a child. “Hey, what do? What gives? Don’t you guys bother us enough?”

“Yeah, enough to know that quiet hours only end when you guys go offline. Then I have to wait for you to get back!”

“Shh!”

Sheesh.

There’s a brushing, scraping noise from inside, like several bodies slithering to the floor. Bdubs glances past Tango through the doorway. Oh. Theeeere’s Welsknight… He was sleeping off to one side of the room, not in the center or back (like a flock captain would). Four big, big wings fan out in the air behind him. And he is not twig-thin and easy-to-break-looking. Bdubs tries to steel himself against the big, almost metallic stretch and yawn. The wings are metal, anyway. Or not. They flap wide like a dragon’s, cupping the air above Welsknight’s back. Several smallish blaze around him cough against the smoke and rearrange themselves. They tuck beneath his arms and chest like they were made to fit there. Golden wings and feathered tails are all that show when the rest of ‘em disappear.

Welsknight’s eyes hook on Bdubs. He only flinches inside his head. He’s flock captain. Doesn’t matter if Wels is way bigger than him. Doesn’t matter if he can fly and shoot fireballs and tear things apart with claws and fangs. It’s phantoms who are best, and don’t you forget it. They’re the devs’ perfect hunters. Blaze are nothing special; they just look flashy when they’re glowing in the dark. Welsknight’s only big because all the blaze here flipped him into wildfire state with, like… cuddles and pheromones or something. Phantoms could do that too, if there were an alt form programmed into them. Bdubs would be like that. They’re literally the same kind of person. So he keeps his legs stiff, jaw tight, and stares straight back at him. He’s not got the wings out. He should. For intimidation. Not because he might want to run. Captains never run.

“Tango,” Welsknight whisper-calls in warning, like a rolling purr. It rustles past Bdubs like the stroke of a hand against soft hair. “Come back to bed, please.” (He can feel it snagging in his curls.)

“Yes, sir.” Tango turns back to Bdubs. “I gotta go,” he says, and tries to shove the door shut. Bdubs jams his knee in it. The iron door hits hard. There’s a crunch of brittle phantom bone-code. Bdubs recoils with a yelp. A ripple goes off through the blaze room; Tango groans and meanders out to take a look at it. “For real? C’mon. Lemme see, lemme see.”

Tango knows codework. He might not have wings, but he modded a fun tail (that’s not even his species’ type) on his butt for fun. Yeah, Tango didn’t get the wings or the tail from the moon. He got the claws and fangs, plus fire in his hair.

Bdubs tries to watch as Tango looks his knee over, holding the broken bits apart. He still glitters from the geomancer soul he ate at dinner. They wait in silence as white sparks swish across the breaking point. After Tango picks a few crumpled bits out, the code strings loop together again. It takes finangling. Good thing Tango’s got big hands. He keeps the skin apart until the hub’s regen aura heals the wound, then removes himself slowly. Now that the underneath parts are better, it’s safe to let the top heal. Skin knits together bit by bit. Breathing out, Bdubs lowers his leg. A little whimper goes with it.

“We gotta talk to Scott,” Tango mutters. “See if we can change the heal settings on the spawners. I don’t know if it works that way, but…”

“It’s fine!” Scott doesn’t need to know he came snooping out here, bothering blazes when he wasn’t even hunting. Oh, shoot. Yeah, he shouldn’t have done that.

“Shh!”

The blaze stir and mutter behind the mostly-shut door. They sound like someone came in banging pots and pans and woke ‘em up. “I’ve never raised a phantom,” Bdubs says, with more of a quaver than he meant to. “He might mess up his learning. If I push him too rough, he could get way hurt.”

It was never necessary that he learn how to teach spawnlings. Mom was always there to do that when he was young. Bdubs survived the whole flight loop she made around Between- the one that made his clutchmates fall off. She circled all the way back around to the zombie spawner, near her hub with the other undead. That’s where he found home. He and Cleo played there for ages, just young and silly. Why join flock? Bdubs didn’t care. Not when he could tussle Cleo in her room instead, smugly pinning her down and curling up in bed with her as his justified reward. He built his bite XP up that way. Grew his fangs big. Cleo used to bring him food so he didn’t even need to hunt in the airspace the phantom flock had claimed. Being little was easy!

… Being big’s much harder. Especially without good teaching. Everything Bdubs knows about captain stuff, he just learned from watching. And ‘cuz his wife reads him books when they’re snuggled in their AFK server. Maybe it’s a sniffer instinct, but she’ll dig up anything… Make ‘im share it with her, too.

All the phantoms who come to New Star have to get screened by the Fox Dragon and the Lone Spruce captain before they’re allowed to go underground- Lone Spruce is the hub where fox hybrids spawn. Spawnlings don’t show up down here out of nowhere, unless they’re slimes. You’re not supposed to be in New Star if you’re a spawnling, or in your very early levels. You’re s’posed to stay in your nest ‘til you’re adjusted to Between and its social rules enough for Education. Martyn’s not a spawnling, but definitely low-XP (despite the world-weariness that lurks within his eyes).

“Martyn tried to get an Education,” Bdubs says, flapping one hand around in explanation, emphasis-ization. “It went bad. They ran away, this new crew. He didn’t grow up with other phantoms, or even other undead. I have to do this right. I gotta talk to Welsknight- He takes in new blaze sometimes. He’ll know.”

Tango, though, looks seriously unimpressed. “My wildfire wants me. I’m going back to bed. You can ask him when he’s up and moving.”

You don’t real sleep, Bdubs thinks, but doesn’t say anything more than muttered words as Tango slips back through the door. Must be nice, though. All the blaze get sluggish when it’s cold, and as long as they’re cold together, they all lie down and wake up together too. That must be fun. Bdubs is glad there’s no real sleep in Between, and he’s glad phantoms get their energy up by eating souls. Captain work would be a nightmare if he slept in late and had to chase his guys around.

Well! Operation ‘Talk to Welsknight About Martyn Advice’ was a bust, but maybe he can still make this work. He’s not captain for nothing- He can figure this out. Welsknight rests in the quiet room with all his blaze. Bdubs does that too, at flock roost. He’s off to a good start. He just needs to teach Martyn more things. He’ll introduce him to the flock, then take him hunting 1 on 1. It’ll be good for him, seeing how the work gets done even if he hasn’t got the teeth to do it. He’ll try to catch Cleo; Cleo won’t mind. Bdubs isn’t sharing Etho if he can help it, but Cleo will do anything he asks.

Too bad his leg now hurts so bad. Bdubs winces on every step, trying to step extra far to stretch it out. It’ll fix. Just takes extra time not to hurt, when you’re brittle and undead.

💙  🧡  💚

Narcolepsy is a fast-track to nightmares. The scenes are jarring, leaving Martyn feeling like he’s treading slime with no escape from goo. It sucks at him, pulling hard on every joint. It’s inside the rips and tears in his undead skin. He’s standing with a group of tall figures. Everything is dark, grayish, wobbly. Voices warble. One says something that sounds about right, but if you asked Martyn for the words, he couldn’t repeat them back.

The room is dark, but it’s easy (somehow) to split off from the group and sprint through one of the walls, out into the greenhouse. Martyn dives into a water trough without thinking. Then he’s tumbling through the Void, trying to right himself. He’s falling. He’s always falling, of course (that’d be the vertigo), but he doesn’t even hit the floor. His breath squeezes past his hearts. He flashes red with damage. Martyn flails his arms in frozen darkness. His hand catches a glowing lead. When he grabs it, there’s a pressure inside his very soul. It swings sideways with full force. Martyn clings on as it spins him higher, higher, higher…

It snaps.

The lifeline snaps. At the top. Martyn’s insides flip around, changing direction. The line falls through his glowing fingers. It doesn’t matter if he dropped it- He’s impaled on the other end. Then he’s falling. Falling in the dark.

He splats in something rippling and warm. It’s deep, but when Martyn starts to paddle through it, it sucks him down to his nose. It’s purple. It pulses like a heartbeat. Something’s got his ankles. Martyn fights, beating wings and lashing arms to keep his head above the surface. He’s been here before- He knows what this is-

A second shape swoops towards him- Get out, get out, get out! Martyn snaps up a hand, spewing purple goo from his mouth. The figure clasps him in a handshake. Martyn clings to him, pulling at him, as his own wings strain to fly. The thing sucking him through the rift’s not letting him get away. And Grian’s face is terrified. He grabs for Martyn’s shirt. Little wings snap the air in wild attempt to lift. He tries to fish Martyn from the pond, but it’s not working- body stuck- Has to rip the soul out. He lunges forward, fangs glowing for a bite. Martyn spins away, heartbeats in the thousands, and Grian banks around for a second try. He’s shouting things neither of them can hear. Then the purple waves shift. A mound lurches like a great hunger springing high, snapping Grian in its jaws-

Martyn jolts awake, his nails embedded in white sheets. He’s on his stomach. He’s on his forearms. What? All ten of his hearts pound against his chest like they got slurped up too. Devs above, he needs every single one of them.

It’s dark and warm in the room where he finds himself. Martyn sits up. The mattress dips to either side of him, weighed down by the sleeping BigB on his left and Pearl to his right. Her stripey, cinnamon hair’s strewn across her pillow and falls near his hand. Martyn blinks, adjusting the zoom of his lenses in and out. In and out. In and out.

He’s in bed, with his friends, in the frame of the starter base they threw together last night. Well, it was daytime on the server… Not that it matters. It’s nighttime now. Who knows how many days will pass before he’s called to leave this place; participate in some other test or game. If you don’t have the energy, you can’t jump from an AFK server to Between. Well, unless you’re a wandering trader and the double full moons align, or you’re an unthreaded player, but that’s a whole separate thing.

The only time he ever gets off an AFK server is if he’s forcibly yanked by hands unseen. His close sync with his outside-world player may have snapped years ago, but he’s still some kind of avatar- He still has jobs to do. He’s gotta get up and do them when he’s called. Unlike all his friends, though, he doesn’t get any feel of spillover, any exciting minutes or hours (or even days) of energy flow leading up to the big “Let’s go outside” event. One minute he’s on a server. The next, he’s tumbling across a floor. Carpet if he’s lucky. He’s often not.

Martyn sucks at his teeth. It’s been a hot minute since his presence was formally requested on the Evo SMP. And that server is hosted in the East Verdant Oasis hub. Martyn knows from Etho and Bdubs that the New Star hub - this one - this is underground in the Fox Dragon’s territory. He doesn’t know enough about the outside world to guess whether EVO is north or south from here. He’s pretty sure he flew south, though doubtless at an angle.

What exactly is going to happen if the Martyn-of-Beyond tries to play again on the Evo server? It’s difficult to be sure. There was a whole lot of shuffling each time they made a leap from one server event to the next. Downloads, copies, world adjustments… that sort of thing. All the fine details were managed by the Watchers, so Martyn can’t be sure how frequently the servers changed hands; he just reported to the portal room most days like he was told.

People say this world exists in parallel with the one beyond. That sometimes you can get sick even before your outside player does, or come up with your own base plan and someone outside gets just as excited as you. Some say there’s no telling who comes up with ideas first; it’s all he-said, she-said. Martyn’s not sure what he believes. But he does… wonder.

He’s seen what happens to players who try to ignore the siren call to jump on-world. Most people get lured in by the thump of excited energy in their chest. They’re very good about it. Martyn’s seen a few now and then try to run. Martyn’s been that person who tries to run. There’s even a sport about this - It’s called outlast - and when he was little, he joined a kiddie team. It’s only played in Between, and can last days if you don’t have anivores on the prowl. It’s clever keep-away: grabbing the opposing teams’ flag and planting it past a certain marker if you can, knowing you only have so much time before you’re either sucked into a portal to play with an out-world friend or kicked by anivores to your AFK server. Martyn always did quite well. He doesn’t feel the burn of energy growing tighter and tighter within him. Only the snap when buttons beyond his reach click him into place.

Maybe that’s what happened to Grian when he was paddling through that weird rift they splashed into deep down inside the Void. Maybe whatever that pulsing purple thing was, it sucked him in the way that portals do when you’re needed on a server. Martyn’s dad always said that you can try to run, but if this world gives up on you, it can and will just cut you loose. It’ll read your code and spawn a replacement who’s just like you. Just like you, but which obeys. Martyn’s heard those rumors in a thousand bedtime stories. He doesn’t like the endings to any of them.

Maybe in parallel, those of us who got out are joining a new Evo server. Is that how it works? Martyn only got out of there, brought his friends to a new hub, because it was predetermined that they play with people only plugged in over here? He hates the thought. He hates most thoughts that crawl around his head when he’s thinking of the Outside world.

He’s no idea if he’s leaving the AFK server today. Proooobably not? From hanging around his friends, comparing accents and usual play session times, he’s gathered enough evidence to suspect that Outside Martyn might be British. Martyn examines the sleeping faces of the two figures on either side of him. Pearl’s got her arms in an X at her chest, her small wings equally wrapped around her waist. BigB’s facing the other wall, arms mushing his pillow in a hug. The way they softly breathe (like they’re low energy right now and preserving the dregs they have) leaves Martyn guessing their players might be sleeping too. They’re not British… Or are they? It’s really hard to know.

Can he get out of bed without waking BigB or Pearl? He’s a moth and she’s a bat; they’ve both got sensitive ears. Well, so does he. I’m part bat, I think? Phantoms have parallel lines of code with them. And with vultures. Bats are birds, right?

Their bed is triple-wide. They each colored their beds different, but the blankets still merged themselves into one massive thing. Martyn, half-shrugging from his covers, is wedged between his friends. He’s not really sure why. Used to be that BigB was the middle one, he with his hands tucked under his cheek while Pearl and Martyn clung onto him from opposite sides. BigB doesn’t like leaving his hands exposed. It’s probably an illager thing. Pearl… Martyn’s not sure what she likes. BigB probably knows. The right thing to do would be to ask, but uhhh… Asking that means taking on the burden of meeting expectations. And Martyn is so tired…

Later. They’ll chat later, for sure! He’s just got a lot on his mind right now. He lost three people in that escape.

He lost three.

He does not deserve these cuddles. Not that either of his pals is giving them, but… y’know. Martyn backs up on his knees, taking each tuck and stretch as slowly as he can. Is this all right? All good? As long as he doesn’t shake them awake (or break the beds beneath them), Pearl and BigB probably won’t wake up. That’s fine. That’s fine. He wants to walk alone.

Nah, they won’t follow me. If their players are asleep, they’ve got no energy coming in. They’re just like me. They’ll wobble when they walk ‘til they get the hang of it again. It’s hard to brute-force if you don’t live like that every day. Martyn sort of liked how the Watchers let his friends stay awake, talking to each other during their low-energy periods, instead of sending them off to AFK for weeks at a time, fending for themselves. It’s like they thought of everything. They really did want to help.

Timmy cried. Martyn forces his mind back to that wet, despondent weeping every time he misses home. EVO. Whatever; same thing. When he closes his eyes too long, it paints vague gray-on-gray shapes in his mind’s eye: Timmy twisting in his surgery chair. Timmy lunging, straining, and glitching past people ‘til he sprawled across the floor. His talons scraping wood. The way he looked back. Looked at Martyn, who’d been brought in to be his hand to squeeze if things got rough. They weren’t supposed to get that rough.

Martyn lifted him back to the chair. Martyn told him it would be over soon. Martyn did that to him. Martyn surfaced soul energy to his hands, holding him down by the shoulders even when Timmy cried. And for what? To lose three more in a half-baked escape plan? And what if New Star ends up being just as much a concern?

It doesn’t matter if Martyn saw a future for himself at EVO. It doesn’t matter that he ditched the night before finals in a semester where he was doing swell in class. It doesn’t matter he’s probably got charges on file and wanted posters slapped on walls with his name in red. Timmy cried. And Martyn trusts no one who makes Timmy cry. Especially not himself.

Maybe it’s damn time he joined a phantom flock. Dad always said they’re violent, but maybe he should be put in his place. Force-fed ‘community values,’ or whatever flocks push on their members. Something went wrong. He messed up. He didn’t read the body language. He didn’t listen to the begging. He couldn’t tell when Timmy was past his breaking point. Why didn’t he know? Martyn always did wonder if the leash his parents kept him on stunted his ability to socialize. Maybe a flock is exactly what he needs to fix himself. Even if Bdubs is bossy and loud.

I’ll make it up to you. I promise. He’s not sure how he can. Flowers and candy doesn’t scratch the surface. It was nice of Tim to offer a place on the server with him and Netty, but now, Martyn’s grateful to have some extra space. He’s fine cuddling Pearl and BigB. It’ll be a while still before he can look at Jimmy’s sickly yellow feathers without feeling like he’s plunging towards a dripstone pit.

Martyn slips off the bed, then creeps across the birch planks that make up the floor. This really isn’t much of a starter home. Well, it is, but the emphasis is heavy on ‘starter.’ They’ve only been AFK one night. It’s the first time Martyn’s slept in a week.

Pearl set up a vague floor plan. Martyn did some basic terraforming while BigB made all the tools, brought iron from the mines, and flew out to look for other saplings. They’ve got one enclosed room to keep them safe from nighttime mobs. He has to step over random blocks elsewhere on the ground. It should come together, though. Pearl outlined a kitchen and dining space. Martyn, who’s got a stomach again now that he’s on-server, rumbles at the thought.

He breathes crisp wind blowing through the hills. It’s autumn here. At least, Martyn asked Scott if he’d lock their AFK’s settings into autumn. He asked Pearl and BigB first, of course, and they said they didn’t mind. BigB grew up in Carmine River Delta, where there are cherry trees everywhere. Cherry biomes haven’t been pushed to servers yet, and Scott just put them on a vanilla one to start. He said they could change it when they’ve had some time to settle in, and when their personal mods have been checked to confirm there won’t be a data conflict. Pearl meanwhile grew up in a cave, so she had no real preference for tree design. She said she’d enjoy pops of color, but didn’t mind whether they came from the house blocks or the leaves.

Martyn likes the way the birches fade from yellow to orange and red. He was hatched and raised in the maple mountains, you know. All the leaves are scarlet up there. He stands by the blocks that will one day be the front door, crossing his arms against cool air. Does being undead make the cold bite harder? Or is it muffled for him compared to what his friends can feel?

The Void was colder. Martyn doesn’t miss the bitter sting of that escape flight, but for his friends? For himself? Well.

He’d do it all again.

💙  🧡  💚

Bdubs eats Etho alive every day he’s awake. It’s sort of their thing, y’know? All the other phantoms steer clear of Etho, bequeathing that precious feed to the captain. Etho’s all for him. At a certain point, it becomes routine.

It always goes like this at the end of a shift. Bdubs is still frizzing high with energy, but after Etho, he won’t be hunting for a while. He’s got roost things to do. There’s always people to talk to, delivery routes to sort out, and discussions to be had with Scott. Sometimes Scott has special favors for him to run. Sometimes he’s set a meeting with a dragon and wants Bdubs to be there. They built this city together; Scott says they should both get a say when there’s bartering to be done. Bdubs listens in because he’s asked to, but leaves all the back-and-forth and contract stuff to Scott. He’s an allay hybrid; they know stuff like that. Scott’s the brains of Team Keep This City Safe. Bdubs is the muscle. And together, they make a pretty good team.

Scott will prob’ly ask him what he thinks about Martyn, now that he’s awake. And the rest of their friends. It doesn’t matter a whole lot what Bdubs thinks now, because they’d already agreed the refugees could stay. That’s kind of what New Star was founded for.

Yeah… but now I’ve met Martyn. Is he gonna mesh well with the rest of the flock? This is called ‘vibing.’ You gotta check for that. Bdubs idles across this thought as he glides down one street, then swoops up to land on Etho’s balcony rail. Click-click go his talons. He’s still barefoot, wrapping his feet over fence wood. A bubble of pain’s made a home in the leg that Tango smashed with door, but it’s fine! It’s just a little sore right now. Not damaged big. It’d hurt way worse if Tango hadn’t pulled it apart ‘til it sealed underneath, not on top first.

Oh, blast. He showed up early, huh? Etho’s scent’s hit the point of drawing every phantom’s attention, but it’s thinner than it should be if he wants to get inside (Etho likes to stall him out). You want the smell thick with juices. Some hunters, they tear out the whole sync-cord and eat it like a noodle- That’s how they get extra energy. Phantoms lick it up when it’s already dripped down to the person it’s meant for. Pooled energy makes ‘em soggy (people). Bdubs likes the way it soaks into skin, like soup or sauce wiped up with a bread roll.

Etho’s in the green. Bdubs could eat him if he wants. But he waits outside - waits several minutes for the shuffle of Etho’s shoes - because they’re good friends who respect each other’s time.

Schloook! That’s the bamboo door. It slides, but it’s still mob-proof. Etho’s a genius that way. Bdubs slides off the rail with a hum in his throat and a wag in his tail.

“You know what, Etho? I think you need more plants out here. It could be a nice place! You’re a doctor or something- You deserve a proper waiting room. I’ll make you one.”

“I expect only the best from you,” Etho returns in kind. He lets Bdubs in with a swish of his tail. “After you.”

Bdubs never knows what to do with his hands when he’s a guest at Etho’s place. That might be the environment more than Etho; since there’s a Deny field laid over the hub, Etho avoids filing the paperwork to get it lifted long enough to decorate in his room. Beef and Pause live here too (Plus their partners, sharing portals), but the whole Team Canada seems to have let the interior fall second, third, or last compared to prioritizing the comfort of their on-server spaces. The living area’s got a coffee table, stacked cube shelves, and Etho’s coding desk, but it’s mostly bare past that. It feels sterile in here. It feels like a clinic. Maybe he really does need those plants, unironically. Bdubs will take care of it. That’s what best friends do.

He wipes his hands against his pants, then stuffs them in his mossy pockets. Nothing in here feels okay to touch. Not unless Etho prompts him to do so first. He doesn’t love it. Creepy in here. Not how phantoms design things, where everything should be free to touch or jump on or roll around in. It’s nice to bring his embroidery bag around, but he doesn’t carry that when he’s on the clock for logouts.

Etho made him wait outside ‘til he’d finished washing his cup, silverware, and bowl. He always does that. And makes him wait ‘til all the counters are wiped down. It doesn’t feel lived-in here. Bdubs crosses and uncrosses his arms, pacing around while Etho does some final stretches of his arms. There’s no point in that; he’s not gonna be sore. That’s the whole point of logouts! He not trust? I’m good at my job.

Etho’s stalling him out on purpose, even though he’s green. Frustrating. Not unexpected. The gnawing urge to log him out chases claw taps up his spine. Bdubs walks down the hall, trying to break that aggro spark. He can smell Martyn up and down the hall (maple tree smoke, crushed jasmine flowers, bits of clam).

Bdubs pauses. He tests the air again, anchoring himself in the center of that energy. Martyn’s got a wonky scent. You can sort of tell he’s out of sync with his Outside player when you know what to look for- If you don’t, it’s easy to wave him off as freshly awake. Martyn’s energy doesn’t pool inside him like most people’s. His body puts every little bit it gets to immediate use. Bdubs adjusts the zoom of his eyes, turning to Etho’s bedroom door. It’s shut. Martyn’s scent is stronger, though, on the other side. It’s puddled in one place, probably on the right side of the room from the door, where Etho’s bed is. Like he was in there for a while. Longer than it would take to change skins. How long was he awake before Bdubs came to find him?

Martyn smells like excessively oily skin and a thin layer of chalaza, not just naked soul. Why’d he hang out in Etho’s room once he put a skin on? It smells like he was in here for longer than dressing. Bubbles flow in a steady stream through Bdubs’ ears, leaving him feeling like all his thoughts are sliding in one ear and out the other. He tastes the air again. It’s cool, though. He’s not being obvious or anything.

Like a cam account, Etho materializes silently and watchful at the end of the hall. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no… ‘course not. Just wondering stuff about Martyn and his sync. I hate when mine flickers out. Can’t imagine living that way all the freakin’ time.”

Etho gives him an appraising look. Then he turns and pads back to the couch.

Etho works so hard, you know, in New Star. Doing stuff. Bdubs doesn’t know what stuff, exactly, but he’s always working. Sometimes, like today, he’s got recordings to edit down to clips and line them nicely in portfolios. He gets wrapped up in his own head. It’s good to help him unwind. It helps himself unwind, working the code strings like this.

‘Course, Etho does most the talking, and mostly about redstone. That’s how it’s usual; Bdubs’ mouth is sort of busy. For the early minutes, he not bite at all, just resting with his face buried in the fluffed-up pixels of Etho’s vest. A tight grip in his hair keeps him pinned down. Then, soon, the flickers of aggro that shudder through him grow tougher and tougher to ignore. Bdubs licks his lips and gets to work. He gnaws his way along the strings that thread down Etho’s arm. They’re falling apart from basic wear and tear. See, even though Etho doesn’t walk too much every day, keeping mostly to his room (and sometimes going out to eat), he burns his energy. He needs sleep. He needs a phantom to send him off to bed.

He does not ask about Martyn’s scent heavy in Etho’s bedroom. It’s none of his freakin’ business. But then Etho, ‘cuz he’s stupid, dumps a whole pot of tea and soup in the smidgen of space between them. Almost literally.

“So… What’s the plan for Martyn’s sleeping space?”

Good grief. Bdubs frees his tongue from the strings wrapped around it. Letters and underscores drip like cyan snowflakes to Etho's arm again, where they fritz like a glitch. Etho’s skin’s still there- Bdubs only eats the cold soul beneath, see, eating blue stuff without breaking the leather-like body that holds it like a coconut husk. “Scott set him up with some friends. The moth one and the bat; they’re AFK tonight.”

“And once he’s moved to the clock tower? He can’t roost yet… Does he get assigned to snuggle with the captain?”

Huh? Why he ask that? That’s a weird thing to ask. Etho’s never cared what goes on at flock roost. Bdubs pushes that thought away, feeling the arm with his fingers to find the spot he was nipping at. Etho’s too vertical. Now he’s got shoulder code oozing down to his elbow; he better not go nowhere, or that’s gonna hurt his back. “He gets his own. I’m building a nest for him tonight. We’ve got an alcove; we’ll give him space he can defend and keep him out of the way. Let him get used to our sounds and smells. And he gets a toy to bite. Big, like a roosting parent to cling to. I don’t know how spawnling brain he is; might regress again when he’s up at roost, with higher-XP phantoms. I don’t know. He seems fine? I’m more worried he might bolt.”

Etho hums in thought. He adjusts his legs, stretching out a little more beneath Bdubs. It’s a weird feeling, pixels mushy and merged. Bdubs can feel the backs of Etho’s legs brush against the tops of his own. “Sounds lonely.”

Bdubs’ teeth stall above soft turtleneck sleeve. A drip of energy plips off one fang and glitters like a gem on Etho’s arm. He glances up. There’s a faint flutter through their shared systems as Etho’s muscles tense. “He’s just right there with the rest of us. He can roost when he gets out of spawnling tail.”

Etho shrugs, uncaring. Etho never not cares. “Well, there’s room for him here if he changes his mind.”

“Why change mind?” Bdubs demands, shoving to a kneeling position now. This leaves his thighs straddled around Etho’s waist, and Etho flits his gaze like a rabbit bolting off. “I can take care of phantoms; for a thousand years, that’s all I’ve been doing.” It’s not really a thousand in the Between calendar, but it sounds more ferocious this way. It’s good to be ferocious. Claws nip at Etho’s legs. “Why stay here?”

“If he needs to acclimate-”

“I smelled him back there, middle of your room. For a long time! Did you cuddle?”

Etho’s deafening silence answers the question. Freakin’ knew it. Not that it matters. Bdubs huffs, digging his nails against the couch.

“You don’t cuddle me on your bed.”

“He was more mob than person,” Etho murmurs back. “And he didn’t have a flock; I don’t like seeing him stress out. It seemed to calm him down when I stayed with him, so I stayed.”

“In his skin?”

“I mean… Partly, yeah. I used to take care of my mom’s kits all the time. Is it a problem?”

“No, no. No problem. Just thinking; thinking hard.” Bdubs taps his fingers against Etho’s sides. “That’s why we never work, you know. You’re into mob play. I don’t like thinking of myself as too much mob.”

“No?” Etho jerks his head back around, eyes scrunched up all confused. “I don’t play… I’m not even seeing anyone.”

He’s got too much energy. That’s what this is. “We need to get you a mob friend. Especially with full moon coming. You need mob play. That’s why you’re cranky; you’re moon-riled with no outlet. Do you need more snow to dig? I’ll ask Scott to get you more snow. You broke into the chicken coop one time. Ate some of ‘em. There are better ways for foxes to shake off moonfluence.”

Etho winces.

“Maybe you need games to play,” he goes on. “You know- enrichment! You like stealing things; foxes like that. You need a flock, but I guess your kind doesn’t do that. You need some kind of pack.” Bdubs pauses, the next words hovering on his lips. Foxes sort of… partner up, huh? Two by two, sometimes. Or alone. They’re not like wolves, with packs. He lowers his voice. “You need a mate to play with. Even if it’s just a hundred days. You should come to Rose House with me. I’ve got connections; I’ll hook you up.”

“I like not seeing anyone,” Etho corrects. “I dunno, Bdubs… I’m waiting.” He tries to move his arms, which spark sluggishly as they drag through Bdubs’ code to surface. Then, giving up on that (surrendering to the pin), Etho nods at Bdubs’ left hand. “I want one of those.”

The betrothal ring. It’s made of code, not real metal or wood. It’s dark material. Feels like metal of some kind, but it’s silver-black. Maybe lodestone. Bdubs stares down at the smudge of his own reflection in its shiny surface. At the tiny letters carved along the edge. “It’s nice, I guess. Doesn’t come for everyone.” Not even Skizz and Vera, who’re the tightest lovebirds you’ve ever seen, pretty much (except for Bdubs and Brighty, obviously). “It might not come, Etho. Not for a long time, or maybe not ever. You don’t need feedback from the Outside world to be happy. ‘specially not in Between. They can barely touch us in Between. This is where we’re real. Why wait?”

“I don’t really date around. It’s…”

Bdubs lets out a ruffled sigh. “I know. You’re Mr. ‘Three Weeks of Courtship,’ ‘cuz you’re all fox brain. And you only start that when the moon is full, and by the time it’s new, you’re all normal brain thoughts instead of mob brain again, and you stop. Don't flinch; it’s really sweet. Wish I could find you someone who likes you as much as I do. I love you, even if I don’t get as ‘mob play’ as you want.”

Etho’s next noise is frustrated; whiny like a canine. “It’s not ‘play,’ though? It’s just how I am. I don’t do 100-day flirt games. And I don’t want to date? Outside something…” He cups his hands. “-made for me?”

“I know. I know, sweetheart. I love you for it. Might never happen, though. Hey, hey! Don’t hide your face like that, gorgeous. I wanna look at you while I finish your strings.”

The logout gets done, of course. It always gets done, even if it takes time to settle Etho down enough that he drops his clingy grip on this dimension. Etho’s weird about undressing, so he always wants to get logged out before Bdubs really goes to town. The clothes are the best part! They rip so easy, even Martyn could maybe do it with his teeth.

Bdubs pins the empty Etho skin to the couch and licks up the sticky blue strings that let his clothes respawn on skin. Etho doesn’t undress much, so the cling of clothes to body pools thick as pudding. This is insulation. This is like how snow keeps houses warm. Canada is like this, probably. Bdubs loses himself for several minutes, just ripping up the empty shirt and shaking his head to squeeze juice from the sleeves. Bodies and fabric are no fun to eat - that's just leather and wool - but players shed a lot of loose strings inside their shirts. Turtlenecks are prime cut. Etho’s not here, not watching, or he’d probably bemoan the stray splatter on his rug. At one point, Bdubs pauses with a lifted hand, twitching at a noise. He swings his head sideways. Vex?

He waits, tracking weird predators and thieves. One torn-off turtleneck sleeve hangs from his teeth, still sticky with semicolons and little letter 'm's. No predators. Lantern light slants in from the balcony. It shines off the leaves of all the potted plants. He tilts his head. Huh. Maybe it's not such a clinical view after all.

Could still use some moss and vines.

Bdubs has his shift schedule set so Etho can always be his last hunt of the night. He’s gotta get back to the clock tower to prep a starter nest for Martyn. He won’t make the shape, but he’ll put leaves, moss, and wool in the alcove chest so Martyn can build something he likes. The only problem with the alcove is getting Icky out of it, but he’ll be moved by the time Martyn’s there. Bdubs will make him move.

Etho’s skin despawns 5 minutes after he’s been kicked, taking what’s left of his clothes with it. Bdubs licks his hand clean and turns out the lanterns when he leaves. He takes a detour from Etho’s place, stopping in his own building to pick something up from the apartment he and his wife share (along with a couple of her friends). He needs a present for Impulse. He wants to try to get a spare thermos off him; Martyn can drink souls from a thermos just like him. Impulse won’t let one go easy, so it has to be a good present. And he wants to get the dolphin soul he’s been saving to bribe Icky with. Now’s as good a time as any to use it… Icky won’t surrender the alcove to Martyn without grumping, unless there’s fish.

As he comes around the hallway corner, Bdubs slows his pace. He frowns. A wooden sign hangs beside his door. A sniff of air confirms the presence of a slime. Ryguyrocky himself, if he’s not mistaken. Uh-oh. Sucking his lip, he scans the scribbled words:

Violation: Visiting blaze base during slime turf claim. Second violation will be a fine.

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes…” Bdubs breaks the notice, crunching wood splinters in his fist. They’re so annoying, blaze and slimes, and they get in everybody’s face.

Chapter Text

Chalaza

A Hermit Among Hermits

💙  🧡  💚

Bedtime is important. Hey, some would even argue that it’s critical for health and life. The day after Martyn wakes up, Bdubs swings by the apartment he, Pearl, and BigB now share. He’s not supposed to just walk into private space, even though standing by the portal would make checking player data easier, so he hovers for a moment in the hall to check signals floating through the air. Phantoms have impeccably good sense of smell. That’s because they’re the best.

Hm… Nobody’s out yet. It’s getting “late” (if you measure time by Between’s day/night cycle). People say Between runs on British Land time, and British Land is well past sunset now. It’s not impossible one of the new friends might make appearances, but it’s not looking likely either.

See, players can’t just leave their assigned AFK server and jump into Between whenever they want: only during special circumstances. This is a rule in all Between, not just a New Star thing. It’s biological. This is why we have bedtime. If your Outside player’s settling in to enjoy a little Minecraft, then you can leave your server a few minutes before playtime begins. As you get older - Get more Between dimension XP in your body - you get more sensitive to the threshold, so if your player’s even wanting to play Minecraft, you can leave your AFK too. That’s natural. That’s just benefits of healthy living.

Some people dump extra XP in their sensitivity stat on top of it. Scott? Very sensitive. He’s out in Between all the time, until his player goes to bed. Not even Scott’s immune to a snoozing man behind the curtain, who can knock him flat once his mind goes dark. Etho’s less sensitive to early exits, but he’s spent years layering XP on his wander time: Never early to rise, but a very late bedtime. Works out great for meeting up.

But sometimes, people can’t leave until play time is right upon them- Low-XP players especially. BigB talks like he’s been across the world, but not on servers that much. Pearl’s the opposite: lots of server time, not a lot of Between experience. And Martyn, well… Martyn’s out of sync. Any bonus time he wants, that’s going to have to come from his own XP stash. He could fight for higher sensitivity all he wants… but it would be like laying down a rail track when the minecarts will never come. There’s nothing to link to. Not unless there’s a way to fix a broken sync.

Martyn’s put all his XP in his wings. He doesn’t even have enough left over to up his fang and tail size. The itchy back of Bdubs’ brain warns of what his eyes can see: Martyn’s never seen a reason to up those other stats. Is he even gonna bother now?

It’s a good thing Martyn’s a phantom. Phantoms are scavengers: they’re built to hunt people low on energy. The devs made it so eating others gives them energy of their own. It’s why they don’t have curfew time. Martyn, he won’t ever need to go AFK unless he doesn’t eat. Eating, for phantoms, tidies up their code strings without the need to sleep.

He did seem like he wanted sleep. He ate food at dinner. Phantoms only have to feed every three days. Will Martyn pop around? Time moves faster on a server; he’ll feel like he’s been gone for weeks.

No sign of him, though… or BigB and Pearl. Bdubs lingers anyway, hands in his pockets, and hopes Martyn and his friends are having fun. Then he sets off, running through his tasks of the working day.

Bdubs checks the next morning too, but the Night-Flying Trio’s still offline. Nobody’s seen them. The apartment smells empty. Aren’t they so lucky, getting that whole place to themselves?

Hermitcraft Season 6 launches today. That means Bdubs gon’ be busy. He takes one more walk past that room, just in case Martyn needs him, but no such happening. With a shrug and a strong flap of wings, he’s soaring above the city, banking past the clock.

The Hermitcraft servers are registered to a single lobby room in the mass multiplayer building. You can access it from private portals too. Every bedroom has a portal you can set to whichever whitelisted world you want to visit; standard benefit of living in New Star. Because it’s kick-off day for Season 6, all the Hermits will be in the lobby all at once. Plenty of cam accounts too. Bdubs, though…

… Bdubs is whitelisted on Hermitcraft. But he won’t be jumping online with all his friends. Maybe later. Not for the kick-off event today. He can taste the blinky warning lights like soap-flavored leaves burning on his tongue… In the same way he can register cheerful shifts in the air when bonus Outside energy surges through his code, his hackles lift at the curdled sensation of Bad, Wrong, Don’t rippling through the air.

Euuhhh. He never did bake the cupcake tray he volunteered to bring. Nobody’s gonna judge him for it. But Bdubs will.

💙 🧡 💚

It’s bright in the multiplayer building’s hallways. White blocks. Scalding copper bulbs. In the main area, Bdubs could spread his wings no problem, but he’s walking through a thinner hall when the alarm block starts to ring.

“Error: Room HRM. Error: Room HRM.”

Uh-oh. He breaks into a run. Anything big enough to trigger the alarms isn’t gonna be an easy fix.

Two chunks later, he’s slammed against the door. Doesn’t open. He bangs it with a hand. Impulse pushes it from the inside, giving Bdubs space to scurry inside their private room. Between all the players and their camera twins - Plus a few significant others who came for the send-off party - There must be 40, 50 people in here. Whole place is steaming hot and full of bodies. Their portal to Hermitcraft - white blocks, unlit nothingness inside - stands bare against the wall. Everybody’s talking, standing around the chairs or by the counter space. There’s Tango. His red eyes are bigger than his goggles; he’s over by the wall.

“It’s happening! What’s happening?” Bdubs gives Tango’s arm a shake, but only gets a helpless shrug. Not helpful. He scurries towards the curtain by the portal that hides the admin desk, even when Doc and Joe are pushing forward to beat him there.

“What?” Doc calls. There are fish designs all over the curtain, celebrating Update Aquatic. Doc just wrenches it aside, exposing Xisuma huddled over his desk with both hands pressed against his helmet. It’s a good thing it helps him breathe, or he’d squeeze the air from his own face. “What is wrong here?”

“Error: Room HRM. Error: Room HRM.”

Sensitive phantom ears were made for long-distance contact calls. This is not that. Bdubs clamps his palms tight with a grimace, but keeps them loose enough to pick up every word. Xisuma wipes a thumb across his helmet like he’s clearing static pixels from his head. He’s spooked enough that he keeps his shoulders high, but when he speaks, he’s a whole lot calmer about the situation than Bdubs would be.

“Luckily no one went in just yet… The server’s having trouble booting up. Nobody’s hurt; just an automatic shutdown procedure.” Xisuma points at a couple lines of server code Bdubs can’t read from where he’s standing, though Doc and Joe both lean forward to get a better view. “Looks like there’s a corrupted file in our server. Something’s been cycled incorrectly. Maybe a soul that wasn’t processed right… or junk that wasn’t a soul at all.”

Doc, Joe, Jev, and Cleo all shift their eyes to Bdubs. Oh- Zedaph too. And Impulse? Tango? Bdubs’ pixels puff before he can even think to defend himself without them. “Hey, don’t look at me! I’ve only eaten cat twice.” Some phantoms have gotten theirs fixed with an XP upgrade, but the ‘undead displacement’ code in a cat’s body does not agree with him. Bdubs flops his hand vaguely in False’s direction. “I mean, False is equally as likely to test if her allergies are still in effect as I am.”

False glances up from her steaming cup of soul juice. “Bdubs, I think that’s just you.”

While Bdubs squawks, Xisuma motions Doc forward with his hand. “Can you disconnect the portal?”

“We dump it,” Doc replies. When Xisuma jerks up his head, Doc signals for Impulse and Beef to help him with this next job. “Don’t refill with more juice until we’ve flushed out what we have. If the problem’s on the hub’s end, we don’t want more of that in here. Ren, can you get the bowls? Bdubs, stay close.”

“Me?” What’s he good for? All the juice that powers hub portals is made from souls that are cycling through the system and haven’t yet respawned. His body can send him there, yeah, because his code absorbs them and transfers feed data to the hub, but Bdubs doesn’t have a clue where you start with code manipulation. He’s watched Etho work, but gets bored of staring pretty fast. Being the muscle is much more his thing than being brains. “Why me?”

“Good at grabbing.”

Huh? A little puzzled, Bdubs nonetheless follows along as the crowd fans out, making room for Doc to get a plan set up. Ren trots over with a stack of clean bowls. Behind him, everyone exchanges worried glances. Tango and Zedaph talk in whispers. Impulse takes position beside the portal while Beef stands opposite, awaiting instruction. Etho’s in the background next to TFC, watching without a word. Everybody else rustles around. Nobody’s less clear about what’s going on than Bdubs. It takes him another couple seconds to even realize Brittney is in the crowd, whispering with her friends. Oh, shoot. He taps a quick message on his comm.

BdoubleO100: i spy wife 💚

Brightshine13: 💛

Doc stretches on his toes, reaching for a little glass-like capsule set within the capstone block. With ginger hands, he twists it free. Pink energy starts wafting from the hole, but within seconds, it cools to liquid form. The dimension-leaping pink fades out to white. Doc takes two bowls at a time from Ren and holds them up to catch the dripping ooze. Impulse and Beef, taking the hint, unscrew the two capsules on the portal’s other soul-catch blocks. Bdubs can hear the hiss of steam and a flutter that sounds like flower petals brushing down your cheek.

The bowls fill quickly, forcing Doc to hand them off to anyone who approaches before grabbing an empty one from Ren. “Look for anomalies,” he says, not really elaborating. Aha; it’s starting to come together now. As energy drains from the portal into every bowl, Bdubs cranes his neck. Souls are blue when he consumes them. Certain bits of it are white. Chalaza is white. What makes portal energy turn pink anyway?

Zedaph has his pants legs rolled up to the knees, like he’d totally go full strider and jump into the liquid if he’s asked to. Cleo twists their bowl in their hands like they’re trying to tell the future from its ripples. Doc hands another bowl to Bdubs. Yeah, Bdubs doesn’t know what they’re looking for. Maybe a glitchy bit of code?

Huh. All looks white to me. “Should I eat it?”

“No.”

Sheesh. I wasn’t gonna! He can’t help but make a face at the stuff; it’s already been cycled once anyway. Bdubs makes his way over to Brittney, who’s sitting next to WellsGlazes, Ferks, and CocoaTek. He’s staring so intently at the flatness in the bowl, he almost misses when Jevin calls out. Bdubs snaps up his head. Doc’s already halfway there. Jev points at his bowl, handing it off to Doc. “Ren, Bdubs, c’mere,” Doc calls, so Bdubs sets the bowl aside and scrambles over. Voices break out, people moving. Xisuma stands and warns them all to please stay seated and raise their hand if they think they’ve found something worthy of Doc’s attention.

I don’t even know what we’re looking for.

But then he does. Doc surfaces blue soul energy on his non-metal hand. He scoops his fingers like a ladle and pries out a long, snaky cord of letters and numbers that didn’t quite dissolve. It’s purple? Bdubs’ brows shoot high.

“Oh, what happened there? … Some cerivore try to force something down?” You have to be an anivore to eat code. Or an omnivore. Cerivores, that’s what you call anyone who eats “real food” instead. Can't do soul digestion.

Doc lifts the string delicately, muttering for Ren to hand over another bowl. The string gleams like an amethyst necklace in his hand, dripping white goo. Doc lets the end flop into Ren’s clean bowl, then pulls more and more. “Look for this gristley magenta,” he tells Bdubs, nodding to the room. “HALO will come; they’ll want to check it all. We can at least give them a head start. It’s faster when we put our heads together.”

Look for purple? Yeah, he can do that. Phantoms are the best at getting soul energy up to surface. All the Hermits are settling in with their bowls, talking and picking up new ones as Impulse and Beef bring them more. Bdubs walks up and down with a clean one, and every time someone says they found something, he hurries over to take a look. Glowing hands slide up to the wrists like gloves.

What IS this stuff? It feels weirdly hard between his soul fingers, like crunchy bone. Or a crunchy millipede, given the way it twists. Bdubs keeps waiting for this game of hide-and-seek to end, but by the time HALO Star is here to ask Xisuma what’s going on, they’re still pulling purple ropes from every other bowl. It’s long, long minutes of shifting around, trying not to crowd or make a mess, before everyone feels like they’ve found all the stray bits they could. Oh, good.

In Bdubs’ bowl, stripped of most the white energy, this stuff looks like purple noodles. He’s not sure what he expected. Half thought they might pull a fish up on the end of this tattered line. Turtles and dolphins get caught in non-despawned nets all the time, you know, in the ocean. Maybe hallways too.

Hybrids have blue souls… Mobs have white ones. Whatever this purple is, it doesn’t belong. Is this some kind of disease? Surreptitiously, Bdubs wipes his hand on his leg, then moves to the sink by the counters. Yeah, he better wash off. That’d be smart. As he’s rinsing, a shadow falls across his arms. Oh, he’d know those floppy sniffer hybrid ears anywhere… And that hug.

When Brittney stands on her toes and stretches arms behind her head like that, she looks a little taller than him. She’s not. Bdubs lets her flop against him, though, as he dries his hands. “Hi, sweetie. Eat enough party treats for both of us?”

“Not yet,” she murmurs in his ear. “We’ve barely gotten started… How’d Icky like the dolphin soul?”

Hmm… Icky gets a little too deep into mob roleplay sometimes. He doesn’t talk much, but that’s okay. Some people just don’t. Icky likes their fish, their stuffed animals, and their hidey hole. They’re very not happy to give their space to Martyn, but this was always part of the upfront deal. Bdubs is captain. And because he’s captain, all the clock tower is his to do with what he may please. Icky’ll get over it; it’s fine. Bdubs flaps his hands.

“Oh, I gave them a couple free bites upfront and told ‘em they could have the rest once they clean the alcove out for Martyn. Worth every moment we kept it in storage. You… are so good for me. And you will let me fill the pantry with six more squids and dolphins, because I love you and I am the best provider for this family. I have many creative ways of getting what we need. How much d’you think I’d have to pay Vera before she’d let me shelve her like that?”

She chuckles in his hair. The way she sways, gripping him around the neck and his torso with four sniffer arms, sends a tingle down his spine like they’re both out at a dance. “Oh, that would cost us far too much. Broke by midnight. And if you told Skizz he can’t see his wife a couple weeks, I think he’d tear you apart.” She lets out a shlurp and pop sound rolled into one. That’s disgusting.

“Oh, shoot. He would do that, and I’d be on the run for the rest of my life. You would miss me.”

“Yeah… But Icky didn’t argue about moving things around? That sounds like progress.”

Bdubs leans back until Brittney’s chin rests against his forehead. His fingers wind around those droopy ears until they’re wrapped like bracelets at his wrists. “Mmm… No argue. Quiet guy. At least, nothing comes to mind. But I never can think straight when you’re right here.”

“Is that so?”

“Very…” Bdubs hooks grabby fingers behind her neck, pulling her forehead even tighter against his own. Energy crackles, drawing the closest eyes. Cub lets out a whoop and a “Let’s go!” while Tango (loudly) ranks them on form and apparent skill in holding contact at that twisted angle. Aw, sheesh. Bdubs flaps his wings in some vague shooing gesture, then lifts them to make a privacy cone. Brighty’s a sweetheart. And no matter what personal issues Bdubs might take with the big guy upstairs, betrothing him to Brittney is the one thing he’d wear the puppet strings for every time.

He doesn’t hear whatever Xisuma and HALO Star talk about. HALO Star wears a skin decorated like a purple night sky, which doesn’t show a lot of facial emotion. For agonizing minutes, Bdubs exchanges only the briefest murmurs with his friends. When he can take it no longer, he trots up to Xisuma and tugs his sleeve.

“Hey… I can bring this purple stuff to Scott. You don’t need me? I wasn’t gonna join you guys on-server anyway.”

“Oh?” Xisuma glances over, but thankfully (‘cuz he’s good) he doesn’t pry. “Yes, that’s all right. I sent Major a whisper a few minutes ago; he said he was about to get lunch around here. Look for him in the food court?”

Bdubs nods. If Scott’s eating, it’s one of the only times he ever takes a break. He’ll try not to be a bother over lunch, but if he’s lucky, Scott won’t mind a buddy hanging around. And if he does, well…

… Then Bdubs can always come back and see his wife. Later, maybe, after he wanders around. There’s no good reason to tear her from her friends.

Etho, however, sees Bdubs struggle with the door and beelines straight for him. He presses the bar handle on the side opposite the one Bdubs pinned his shoulder up to. “It’s a push.”

“Yes, I know it’s a push!”

Etho chuckles. At least he’s all smiles as they head into the shiny white hall. They turn towards the food court, just like two minecarts on the delivery track to the food court. Bdubs, squinting hard, tries to unravel whatever’s lurking behind Etho’s thousand-chunk stare. The face mask doesn’t help at all. What’s the secret to pulling his mind out through his eyes?

Bdubs sweeps a kick behind his ankle. “Hey, what you follow me for? You’re not gonna stay with the crew? It’s debut day back there.”

“Ow… No, I don’t think I’m jumping on. Not for this one.” Etho, cool like a watermelon, gives a perfect shrug. “Loud parties aren’t my thing.”

Sure, yeah. They’ve got that in common. Honestly, props to Impulse and False for seeing things through, even with their equally sensitive ears. But… Etho’s walking out? On Season 6 debut day? The party isn’t just a random thing for fun; everybody’s logging on to start the new season with a bang. Bdubs’ body prickles so fast, he’s basically been twirled three times and dunked between a couple icebergs. “Because of me?”

Etho halts midway through a step. “What?”

“You’re not going,” Bdubs says, lurching around to look at him. Bare feet squeak against the shiny floor. The copper bulbs flicker, or maybe that’s just the wary nerves in Etho’s eyes. Bdubs holds his ground. He kinda has to. Can’t go anywhere when his hearts are dragging all gooey on the floor. “Etho, you should play. Are you not jumping on Hermitcraft because you think I’m having a hard time?” Is he allowed to ditch his creator like that? Etho’s got a job to do. His job is go and play.

“No, that’s not-”

“It’s fine!” Really is! “Etho, don’t- Just… I’m fine.” This bowl of purple glop is weird. Etho’s being weird. Maybe I’m being super weird. “You should still play.” Etho can still play. Etho isn’t ex-Hermit. Etho can’t be kicked from a group where everybody likes him. Bdubs squeezes the bowl in his hands. He could splinter this easy if he wanted to. Snap. Something here is dead.

“Hey.” Etho, soft, sees past the armor dressed in thorns. His voice is half-drowned by passersby. Bdubs avoids eye contact, but Etho can read him like a buncha picture books. His hand finds Bdubs’ shoulder, and Bdubs finds a different place on Etho’s body he wishes he were brave enough to kick. The hand gives a gentle squeeze. “I know you don’t wanna believe it… but I’m pretty sure you were never kicked out of Hermitcraft. Don’t pull that face- I’m serious!”

Yeah, right. Etho’s a scientist, and scientists only know science things. Bdubs digs his fingers in his own palms. Just one hand, but hurts like it’s twice mirrored across his skin. Every breath… every breath, it’s-

“I know what upcoming playtime feels like through the sync,” he pushes back. He snaps out the wings. Etho doesn’t even jump. “For goodness’ sakes- If I were still a Hermit, I’d feel it. I’d know.” But inside his chest, wrapped around his neck, and clipped like a leash against his back… there is no playtime on the way. And what kind of weirdo “totally serious” Hermit doesn’t pass inklings of plans down the sync-cord, trickling them into the back of a thoughtful mind? Shouldn’t I get to see ‘em? Offer you some moodboards and ideas? Don’t I get a say in what we’re doing this season? No way the guy upstairs has him totally blocked off. Not when there’s so much misery and hurt and confusion and dread leaking down the cord twenty times a day.

Except when it doesn’t. Like when he watches Martyn study something new he’s never seen before. The first time Bdubs ever saw the stained glass at the Fox Dragon’s museum, he couldn’t stop staring at it. And that’s how Martyn stares at New Star… and stares at Bdubs’ wings. Yeah, he thought nobody noticed.

New blocks. Ocean update. No build plans. Come on; the answer’s pretty clear.

BdoubleO100 was not invited to Hermitcraft Season 6. And it’s okay. He needs a second right now; he really just does. No build plans. There’s new items released- a whole Update Aquatic. He laughs. “I’ve made my freakin’ peace with it.” Oh, shoot. Is this too loud a conversation for the middle of the hall? Every light burns like a pocket sun dipped in grease.

Etho’s brows bounce in a triangle on his head. “Okay. I’m not saying I have all the answers, but I feel like… your player already came back to Hermitcraft once after a long break. I seriously doubt you’ve been cut from the team.” He stares off then, frowning so deeply, Bdubs can trace the lines of it against that skintight mask. “I wonder why our breaks aligned. Is that a good thing? I dunno, man. Do you think… we both started hurting for the same reason?”

“No.” Bdubs doesn’t have to think about it. Nobody could ever hurt the way he hurts nowadays when the Big Boss is awake and scraping by. Only Brittney feels those deep cuts too. And they can talk and cry and try to guess what’s going on in the outer world all they want… but that’s the worst part of living synced to a freak you’ve never met. You don’t get to know why you crash like lightning on a yo-yo over and over again nowadays. You never did before. Nothing about the sync is broken ‘cuz it’s working as intended. Will the hurt ever not hurt so much? … At this point, months and months into a downward spiral you tuck behind smiling teeth, you’re still denied the answer. Random pain. No reason! Just random pain, random times, that tears you to the core. Bandages, ice packs, and regen won’t fix the inside kind of hurt.

Things are fine: his body’s strong, marriage happy at home, and a low-XP apprentice who’s got no clue how to be a proper phantom. He’s gonna teach him how to hunt! Run through contact calls! Give him a call sign of his own someday. It’s like, hanging around Martyn heals… something he can’t land a finger on. Teaching Martyn new things numbs the slump lurking in his brain.

Fresh-spawned phantoms cling to their nurse up at roost. That’s why he’s getting Martyn a soft toy to play with. Unless… Martyn would rather have an actual phantom hybrid to snuggle with while he adjusts to the tower flock?

His cheeks smart with sparks as soon as he thinks that. No, that’s stupid. Martyn’s low-XP, but he’s still an adult. Why would he wanna cuddle, even if Bdubs did carry him around nearly a week (and has hunted for him every day)? Martyn’s also scared of everybody, even if he’s trying not to show it. Like it or hate it, Bdubs is still a stranger in his mind, and no amount of “Nuh-uh”s is gonna fix that.

Nah… Cuddling like a captain and his newest spawnling would never work. It’d be a big spook for Martyn. Bdubs cups one hand over the bowl that holds the purple noodle stuff. He breaks into a jog, feet flying over shiny white blocks, then shouts a challenge to Etho for a race.

💙  🧡  💚

Scott does not look happy when Bdubs thrusts the weird bowl of gunk at him in the middle of lunchtime. Scott’s eating noodles, which kinda makes the whole thing worse. Bdubs first told him he was here to hang, but when Scott heard there were problems, he insisted he’d work through lunch. Well, okay. That’s probably fine; as far as Bdubs can tell, mayor work is mostly play. He catches Scott up quick while Scott either chokes or swallows food.

“But what is that stuff?”

“I dunno. You’re the allay- You tell me.” He keeps that part a whisper, and dares bring it up at all because he and Etho both know Scott’s big secret; nobody else is here to listen in. Bdubs gestures towards the crunchy code. “You know every item in Minecraft, right? Can’t you touch it and just know?”

“Can’t you?” Scott retorts.

“Yeah, with my mouth. I ain’t licking this stuff! It’d give me a virus for sure!”

“Ihhh… Well, it can’t be a virus if it’s not glitching. I think.” Reluctantly, like he’s poking a dead eel with a stick, Scott reaches his chopsticks into the bowl. See, he’s done with lunch; now it’s regular work time anyway, so interrupting him wasn’t a loss at all. Scott catches a bit of the gross stuff and lifts it higher. Purple goo stretches between his chopsticks and the bowl. Bdubs makes a face that involves a rolled-up tongue. Etho gives a grimace everyone can hear. Scott rotates the chopsticks a couple times… and then, like a bird on a window, he stops. “And you guys found this in your portal?”

“Yeah. Someone eating garbage? All my friends thought it was me.”

“No… I think it’s a player.” Scott lifts his eyes to Bdubs, who doesn’t even have a word to express his confusion right now. “It’s thicker consistency than the mob souls. See the way it reflects light?”

Bdubs looks at Scott, the thing inside the bowl, and Scott again. “Purple?” Nobody’s ever had a purple soul before.

“Maybe it’s sick. Hang on, I’ve got…” Scott lays the chopsticks down. He feels around his pockets, but doesn’t find what he’s looking for. “Shoot. Well, I’ll tp to my office; I want to catch this in a blank crystal. Hmm… Etho, what do you think?”

“Sorry?” Etho tears his eyes off a plate of grilled chicken hot and steamy one table over.

“I think it’s a player soul. Some kind of bird? I think I’m looking at a piece of wing code; the anatomy words are typed out here.”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm…” Scott pokes the jelly liquid. “I don’t want this in the main system. I’ll take it down to hospital; I think a quarantine’s in order. Bdubs, come with?”

“Sure.” Why not? Martyn’s not around to need him. It’s not like Hermitcraft’s on the mental calendar anyway.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before. I can’t believe you pried it out of your server.”

“Yeah,” Bdubs murmurs back. “Gee, I hope that doesn’t have lasting consequences.”

Etho laughs. “We can dream.”

💙  🧡  💚

Martyn’s out of the AFK server the next morning. Bdubs just misses him, which is fine, because Martyn’s due for on-server play. Pearl and BigB speed off about as fast, stuffing food in their mouths as they bolt towards the multiplayer hub. Huh. Bdubs glances at Brittney, who shrugs in light response. “Busy day, I guess.”

He walks her to the library, gives a love-tap of good-bye, then swishes up to the roosting platform. Perfect landing! Nobody can tell you otherwise. A couple phantoms mill around, but they’re definitely missing some. Pungence and WellsGlazes are here, playing a card game in the corner. Icky’s digging stuff out of the corner alcove, his tail flitting in the air behind him. He’s already got the blankets and most of the toys out. The alcove’s really not that big - Just some blocks that form a small hidey-hole near one of the clock tower’s four pillars - but it’ll work for what Martyn needs. No sign of iCam or False ‘cuz they’re both on Hermitcraft. Bdubs stares at False’s favorite stool at the bar counter, painting every twist of her tail in his mind. Then he looks away. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

You know, there’s nothing wrong with not being a Hermit anymore. It’s fine! Even if his Outside player’s pulled the plug and called it quits, Bdubs can still hang out with his friends sometimes! Maybe not as often. Maybe not on the public server. But if he still feels like a Hermit, he doesn’t see why he should give the title up.

Me and my beloved are just on break, Bdubs tells himself, and hides the way his legs wobble the way he hides the sparks in his eyes every time he blinks. He’s not given up on me. Why would he? They’re the same deep down in there somewhere… and Bdubs sure won’t give up on him.

Martyn’s whole life feels this topsy-turvy. And he’s a fighter anyway.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Hey, lots of people go on sudden breaks that last for months and months on end! Heck, Etho’s on break right now! He says he needs this for a while- Needs it for himself. He came around for the kick-off party, but like Bdubs, nothing inside his hearts felt the pull to step through the fixed-up portal. And when your instincts scream “No,” you’d better freakin’ believe them. Before the game decides you’re disobedient and erases you for good.

It would not do that. Between is best world. Bdubs has a couple deep-seeded fears, but this dimension is the only one where he knows he’s “only him.” The Outside players cannot see them here.

Everybody needs a break sometimes. It doesn’t mean the gameplay’s dead and gone for good. He ain’t retiring for nobody! Not ‘til he and Brittney have spawnlings to bring home and raise.

… He just can’t ever stop eating. In case his energy dips too low and he never makes the jump between worlds again.

Yeah.

Bdubs strolls across the roost, though he has to duck when Icky tosses a pillow behind his shoulder. Huh. You never realize how weird it feels to single a guy out 1-on-1 to talk until you’re doing it without familiar background chatter. Nobody moving around, either. This feels like holding an axe, wielding it back before a strike to exposed neck. So Bdubs chirps a contact call. Pungence and Glaze answer automatically. Icky doesn’t, but when they twist around, Bdubs can see why. A ratty angelfish toy hangs from the jagged phantom beak. Huh. I didn’t even know I knew that one.

Icky’s eyes narrow to sword swipes. Leathery wings drag open behind him. Big. Big. Bdubs, though? He just smiles! Once you’re flock captain, smiles can get you almost anywhere. He’s not scared… even though Icky’s got beefy muscles and the proper phantom face. That’s nothing. Bdubs was born with the full moon mob look too. He’s different now - Respawned with fangs instead of a beak; no more blue fur showing past his pretty skin designs - but when he was little, he had a long neck just like that one. And the neck ruff, and the big ol’ wings. Kinda miss the neck ruff, though. Suits and ties don’t really do it justice.

“Hey, Icky… How’s it going up here? You’ve been busy! It’s lookin’ clean!”

He’s answered by a whuff of breath. A long tail drawls across the stone. Icky’s big in body, but Bdubs has the bigger spirit. He stands his ground, just like he stood it in front of Welsknight when he almost caused a problem for the blaze.

“I just wanted to say, I’m bringing Martyn up to roost when I can, and I’m giving him a special toy. It’s a big one, but it’s not a fish. Very different from yours. It’ll be a cow.”

“I ‘on’t steal toys,” Icky mutters back.

“I know! That’s why I’m here tellin’ you about Martyn’s new one. It’s gonna help him settle in; I don’t want it getting mixed up with anybody’s stuff. If you see someone move it, can you make sure it gets back to Martyn? That’d mean a lot to me.”

Icky’s wingspan hooks the air like it’s been pinned against a wall. Green eyes comb Bdubs up and down. Around again. Bdubs stares through it. Nobody breaks this poker face. See? It’s all part of being captain. You just gotta remember that you hurt.

Icky lowers the angelfish plush to the ground. “Martyn can eat the cows… but not my fish.”

“No, never! I’ll tell him- All the fish are Icky’s claim.” Bdubs can’t remember the last time he ate a fish. Icky eats a lot. Icky’s always hungry. What a wild combination. He wishes he could give a hug. Etho likes hugs, but Icky doesn’t, so he settles for standing there with hands tucked away. “Thank you, Ick. You’re best beta I’ve ever had! I will bring you dolphin for this… You’ve done a great job with the cleaning.”

“Dolphins are not fish.”

“I know,” he says, smiling on. “But we can just pretend.”

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Surgeon Bird

💙  🧡  💚

The unnamed player is down to one heart. At least, Tango’s pretty sure. It’d be easier to confirm this if the unnamed player maintained enough patience to, y’know… attempt to shape itself into hybrid form. Or build enough chalaza to stick inside a skin?

Yeah, no. Nooooo, nooo, no. Turns out, patience is way too much to ask someone with a mob brain. Thank the Guardians the hospital room’s door got shut, ‘cuz that’s the only thing keeping the scraggly purple parrot from tearing through the city on wild wings. It bangs against the fence post in the window. Its tail knocks the papers off his desk. Tango’s half certain it ate a syringe in the time it took to blink.

Well, this is a nightmare and a half, and I doubt I’m getting paid overtime. The purple soul’s the size and shape of a parrot mob, so you’d think catching it would be easier. Sure, maybe if he had seeds in hand. Do souls like seeds?

He starts off slow, trying to coax the soul down from the filing cabinet, but once it starts pecking a sharp beak at his coding panel, he goes in hot. The bird scatters. Goopy purple feathers shed behind it. In the end, he slams a wooden chest on top of it, upside-down, and pins the naughty bird against the floor.

“Haha! Got you in one, my friend! Weed ‘em and reap.”

The chest jolts as the bird fights to shove him off; Tango has to climb on top of it to keep it pinned. Hey, counting blessings right now this thing’s not a cam account; he’s more than happy to use dirty tricks like “Trap this thing under something it can’t phase through.” The chest jerks again. Then it stills. When a good 15 seconds flicker past without further attempts at lashing out. Tango moves off it, down to his knees.

“Hey, bud… Let’s get a look at you.” With collector’s levels of care, like he’s handling freshly crafted lodestone, Tango tips the chest and slides his hand beneath the gap. A gooey beak chomps his finger. He jumps, but it hardly hurts- This is fine! Ignore the stutter of that nervous giggle. That- That happens, sometimes. Tiny bird feet hop and scuttle. A few grabs later, Tango catches the parrot by its ankles. With his soul energy surfaced like a glove on his hand, it’s easy to pull the bird free and hold it upside-down. The soul beats its wings, trying again to twist and bite, but Tango only grins.

“Try me, buddy… I’ve got two kids at home and my wife’s a ravager. I think I can keep a birdie like you in line.”

The soul doesn’t have a skin, so it doesn’t have ears. Empty white eyes gawk back at him. The struggles keep up, especially the snapping wings. With some effort, the parrot manages to flip itself around his hand. Straight away, it digs its beak against a knuckle. It’s like getting a headbutt from a slime. One of the really little ones that bops into your ankles when you walk. Ignoring this attempt at causing pain, Tango takes the opportunity to study its back and head.

Never, and I mean never, has he seen a case study quite like this. It definitely wasn’t on his med exam. All player souls are bright blue and all mob souls are white, so how can a soul be purple? Is it both? Is it sick? He’d be tempted to believe the virus theory if color were localized to a single area, like a glitchy foot or shriveled wing. If it were pale, it could be argued energy is getting sucked up by too many mod layers, or maybe it could pass as a tint of blue. But it’s not pale at all. The color’s deep magenta… Too deep to be denied. Brighter than netherite. Kind of like a plum. Huh. If this is some kind of infection, it’s permeated every fleck of energy this soul’s got.

Maybe… it’s been infected for a long time? Hearts push energy around the system. Eventually, energy gets everywhere. If this is a virus, maybe some kind of replication’s going on- He should probably only hold the bird in bursts.

He’s had his recording eyes rolling since the start; you better believe he’s writing a paper on this. Prob’ly get accused of faking it, but this is going right to the top. #1 priority. Tango shifts the bird around in his hands until it’s facing down. Feeble talons kick the air. He holds it by its sides, pinning its wings, while both thumbs rest atop its chest. Feels like he’s caught an evil wiggling hoagie. One test bounce leaves him certain he’s got a firm grip. Okay! Not too bad for a guy flying solo tonight.

Tango carries the bird to the narrow hospital bed. It’ll be easier to see what’s going on using white sheets for a backdrop. For the sake of reference material, he rotates the bird several different ways (like he’s rinsing off a bowl) and lingers on every angle. There’s not a single trace of chalaza on this guy! The purple energy is easy to study, interrupted only by the gleaming silver-white of code strings. Wow. Those are aligned a lot straighter in the bird’s form than the spiral patterns you see in everyone else. It's definitely a warm soul. Warm code rises; Tango can see more of its strings floating near the surface than he’d be able to if it were cooler.

O…kay. But why no spirals? Spirals good; spirals are a very efficient shape for powering a body. The only time you ever see straight strings on a player is if their free-cam went wandering too long or their soul is incapacitated. Does not compute. If the soul had a free-cam wandering the world, it’d be unconscious in his hands. Body, mind, and soul go together to form the sandwich that is a functioning player. No mind, no stirring the body awake, even if the rest of the soul is still inside.

I mean, the bird is clearly hurt. It won’t put weight on one leg. Maybe incapacitation isn't too bad a guess.

He rotates the bird to its back, holding it with a gentle hand atop its belly. “Ah. Yeah, I thought so. Just the one heart? Even with double regen on?” If the body can’t heal, that’s bizarre. Is it stuck in a custom game mode that doesn’t allow nearby spawners to fix it up? That’d be one for the books- You can add mods to your body, but half of them only work when you’re actually on a server. Between’s not a server, so you can’t just change what game mode you play out here. It’s basically locked to Hard. This dimension’s gimmick is souls; wild mobs spawn in their semi-translucent soul forms. They look funny, they move weird, and they deliver double damage compared to server life. Big, huge explodey; very bad if you wander outside on your own. Especially at night.

The bird flaps, slamming glowing wings against the sheets. A bright gold scar zigzags across its chest. It looks like a lightning bolt and only covers its left side. Well, no doubt what that is. Totems of Undying aren’t uncommon in the northwest where he grew up, though they are very difficult to get your hands on.

You’re gonna be a troublemaker. Totems are precious things, and evokers don’t give them out lightly. Isn’t that basically a marriage proposal in their culture? It takes a clever head to find yourself with one of those. Innuendo intended, yeah, totally.

The code lines aren’t just straight, but long, too. Tango needs a moment to process all of that. He pinches the bird enough to make it part its beak, and also in a way that shows the glints of white more clearly. Tango tracks with his eyes, then with his finger (for the camera) as he follows lines back to their source. Huh. All the strings lead to the single active heart. That’s weird. Why aren’t there any for the inactive ones? He draws his pointer sideways. The right side of the chest is sealed. Thick… purple. No signs of tatters. Tango stares, even switching on his zoom function, but he can’t see any hearts in there. He even disables the glow of soul on his thumb so he can bear the regular skin through the goop. One wrong move might take the bird down to half a heart, and two would kill it off (in theory), but when he wiggles his thumb, it doesn’t come in contact with anything. No hearts. No connected strings.

Huh? He pulls back. Is that one heart doing all the work? Maybe this player spawned with only one, and it turns out it takes ten to achieve the cyan color. That might explain why this soul feels so thick and dense. It’s like muddy water- There’s not enough energy moving through it to prevent the soul from clouding up.

I bet we can fix that. It’ll take a couple tricks. “Why are you so small?” he mutters next. It literally looks like a parrot hybrid’s free-cam form, but it feels just like a soul. Is the free-cam stuck inside? Tango flicks his tail at the minecart chest beside him, wraps the handle, and tugs it closer. Keeping one hand on the parrot’s chest, he flips the lid open and starts feeling around for proper tools. The bird flaps its wings, but pinned to the bed, there’s little it can do.

He needs a filing tool for this. A very special kind. And lucky for me, the hospital’s got it covered. Tango takes it by the handle. He covers most of the bird’s face with his palm in a way that pins its cheek against the bed. He lays the scratchy file behind its neck and gently saws his way down. Gooey soul parts like jelly. The bird fusses, nipping at the Vs of his fingers and the puff of its chest. When his file meets resistance, Tango sets it down and uses the tips of his claws to hook the free-cam by its scruff. Breath by breath, he starts to peel the filmy thing free. There’s no substance to the gossamer “body” of a free-cam, but it definitely glitters purple, so the owner is undeniably clear.

“There we go… We’re cooking now, huh? Sizzling hot!”

A soul provides the shape and size of your hybrid body. A free-cam mirrors the mob you draw half your data from. In this case, the parrot is mob-shaped, so the free-cam he pries out looks about the same. One’s definitely thicker with juice than the other. The bird jolts beneath his hand, then goes very still. Tango glances down, then remembers (Oh, shoot!) what’s about to happen. Switching gears, he clamps both hands on top of the free-cam bird. It lurches up a second later, fighting for escape.

“Nuh-uh-uh! You gotta get up pretty early in the morning to tango with the Tango!”

The bird strains for all its worth. It blurs against his fingers. With a scrape of his hand, Tango brushes it atop the soul and watches it sink back into place. Well, that answers the question of whether or not it’s stuck.

“What are you?” Tango bears his thumb against the golden mark and strokes it in a single swipe. It’s solid beneath his skin, even when the rest of the bird is squishy to the touch. Feels warm, like metal in the sun. The bird kicks, arching its whole body as it strains, but it’s totally helpless in his glowing hands. Empty white eyes stare up at him while the beak starts to clack. No matter how he pins it down, it just won’t quit, huh?

“I know. I’m a big, scary blaze and you don’t know what’s going on; I’ll stop. I’m just checking for cracks.” His other best guess for weird color was “Didn’t fully pop the totem.” But it doesn’t look like that’s the case. A Totem of Undying only saves you once before it shatters in your hand. The golden scars stick with you until the next respawn. So… No respawn for the birdie here?

But something sure shocked the system enough to poof it down to mob form, kind of like Martyn turning to glop before gathering enough energy to regain his phantom hybrid shape. That happened because he vaporized his skin into extra energy, pushed his wings for all the salt they were worth, and collapsed as soon as he hit solid ground. He might be an Enderkin, but even a phantom will take Void damage if they don’t play by the rules. Enderkin still have to stay in the upper layers to fly unbothered. Martyn clearly dove down low, caught the game’s attention, and paid the price.

He hasn’t met Martyn, but from what he gathered off Bdubs, it sounds like he came together fine. It’s not unheard of for players to stumble after a bad respawn, struggling to remember which limb connectors go where. Hey, bodies are hard! A lot of people don’t pay enough attention in anatomy class to fix themselves on the first try; you gotta ‘body harder’ to shove through the weird jumble of a mind under pressure.

He’s just never seen a player turn out like… this. And honestly? Not really loving that. Where did it come from? Not even Martyn, who had to stay in a fishbowl a while, turned out this greasy and lumpy. He didn’t even need Tango’s eyes on him; Bdubs and Etho handled everything. And when Martyn escaped the Void, all his soul goop made it into New Star. Teeny tiny bird, though? Uhh… Whatever happened to this player, it took a hit right in the front and lost a lot of chunks in the process. Gored by a ravager? Lightning? Enderman trying to rip a block out of its hands and tearing through it instead? Creeper boom? The bird is only as big as the game can make it.

Unless it’s not? The purple soul feels really thick, like creamy soup. Maybe it’s just condensed. If they can force the bird to dissolve back into goop, maybe it’ll realize thinner broth style is the way to go. Is its mind even there enough to do that? Tango grips the “muscle” near the parrot’s shoulder area and fans one wing sideways. It parts its beak in silent squawk, wriggling against him. Then it bites again, right between the knuckles. No chalaza. The game thinks you’re a mob. But it’s not… Right?

Well, for all intents and purposes, the player also thinks it’s a mob. Big hybrid brain switch off, tiny mob hindbrain switch on. A mob’s skin doesn’t peel off like a hybrid’s. It doesn’t know how to signal the game to help it make new chalaza so it can stick to one. Tango chews his lip. Yeah, this thing needs to be re-dissolved. His eyes shift to the chest cart beside him. He’s definitely got some scary-looking tools that can help with that.

But… should he? The player struggling to nip his hand thinks it’s a mob. Maybe it really doesn’t have enough soul juice to fit a player body, huh? Ever think of that? The Totem clearly tried to save its life as best it could, even if that meant regressing it to a feral state. What are the ethical implications of snuffing out this form and forcing it to reshape into a hybrid, only for the soul stretch so thin, it can’t fill a proper skin? What would that do? Long-term damage? Permanent damage? Tango hovers at the crossroads as the bird flaps at him a little more, trying to puff its neck.

What if it’s not meant to be a full-sized player? Maybe it’s a spawnling. Maybe there’s been a game update and spawnlings are purple now. But it doesn’t have lens caps on its eyes? Huh. Maybe it’s a big beak, not a parrot. Big beaks aren’t official yet, so their feather colors are still in a state of flux. Might be true for their insides too? Not likely. He ran a physical on BigB, and under the moth mods, BigB’s an illusioner. You wanna talk about unstable code? Ask a Tweenborn; there’s some weird stuff going on under the hood.

Tango rotates the bird around his hands again. It is small… and if it messed up its regen and failed to pull itself together, it’s probably low-XP. I mean, that’s gotta be a spawnling, right? Maybe Skizz and Vera could foster it. Their apartment’s always full because the door is open to all.

They might need a break after hosting all those new arrivals, though. A week outside the servers, sure. That’s about a year when they’re sharing an AFK. Should I just take charge? He wasn’t looking for more kids, but he’s not… opposed? Definitely gonna run that by Cocoa first. And hey, if you wanna talk about XP, he’s got decent parenting experience. Full moon’s coming around, which means everyone’s gonna start acting more like mobs than usual, and that… wouldn’t be the worst thing. Blaze are super territorial… and arguably parental. Tango swooshes his arms skyward, spreading the parrot’s wings (much to its disgruntled shock). And maybe it’s silly, but he can’t help his smirk.

“Look at you! Who’s a little oddball? That’s you. That’s you!”

It might be fun. He’ll talk to Skizz anyway, just in case he’s got advice to share. Blaze are birds, but neither of his kids is one. He knows Skizz and Vera have raised at least one parrot in their time. Maybe even three.

The parrot soul definitely doesn’t like being airborne. It struggles like a baby creeper shaking out its pelt: too small to explode your face, too cute to be ignored. Ohh-hoh, it’s a good thing it’s muted! The look in those eyes says it’s shrieking in its mind. Regardless of the 10 out of 10 adorability rating, Tango lowers the bird and pins it to the bed again.

“Okay… We gotta get you back to hybrid form. I’d bet my tail that you swaddled yourself up in there and need some help getting out. What’s the safest way to puddle you…?”

Voices slipping into prox chat range jolt him from the question. Tango looks up. Is that Etho? Someone’s in the hallway with him, talking in a voice just too soft to decipher in full. “Glad you… take a look… more help, let me know.”

Etho’s a little louder: “Thanks, but HALO Meteor’s running this operation; I’m actually a tech.”

A beat. Followed by, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here anyway- Have you ever seen a case like this before?”

Tango’s blaze rods twitch from his hair. Are you kidding me? Who’s that? He’s embarrassed to admit that certain accents blur together for him and he can’t identify the speaker, even though they probably work in the hospital. Tango flips the end of his tail. He stares at the bird under his hand until it blurs behind the static in his eyes. Etho redirects the question, followed by a rattle and the soft press of the door handle. The wood eases open just a crack.

“Hello~? Meteor?”

Play it cool. Tango loosens every muscle in his hand. Not enough for the bird to slip away, but enough so he won’t crush it in a death squeeze. He looks up, all smiles. “Hi, friend! Hey, I hardly saw you at the Hermitcraft kick-off; I know, right? How you been?”

“Well, keeping busy…” Once Etho evaluates the bird on the table - and confirms it’s not flying at the door with intent to fight its way through - he squeezes into the room and clicks the door shut behind him. He’s wearing a pin-covered bundle satchel thing that bounces at his hip. There’s a word for that; what’s the word? Anyway, Etho extends his hand, holding a portfolio. What, he mug a cam account or something? “Someone gave me this.”

Of course they did. Etho only needs to walk into a room to trip a crowd over their own feet. He’s not even accredited and people hand him confidential patient information. But Tango doesn’t say that. “Cool, great; open that for me? Kinda busy with my hands here.” The purple bird’s right back to kicking, biting, flapping, and wiggling all at the same time.

“Oof. Yeah, I heard it was looking small.” Etho flips open the portfolio and lays it on the bed for Tango to read. Okay… To be fair, he does a good job directing the screenshots away from himself (and respecting Tango’s authority in the room… Grudgingly, Tango will give him that). “How you holding up in here?”

“Could really use a tech. You’re late.”

“Heh heh… Sorry. I brought you a surgery pack.”

“Great.” Tango skims the open portfolio, but it’s just screenshots of the purple sludge bowl Bdubs brought Scott and the aftermath: Scott working with HALO Star to transfer the player’s energy into a blank soul crystal, James Turner monitoring recovery, and HALO Comet helping bring it from its battered form into bird shape. Looks like they’re just as confused as Tango as to why it came out the way it did. No mention of a plan to puddle it. That’s fine. Tango’s 99% sure that will work, and Etho’s here to stop him if it’s wrong. Best team in New Star, right here. “You scrubbing in?”

“If you need me.”

“Wouldn’t hurt, but give me some advice before you suit up. Ow.” The bird bit to the quick of his nail and twisted. Looks like that snapped the claw. It lets out a silent crow of triumph and almost seems to grin. Oh, this is a mischievous one. Tango shakes out his hand, keeping a grip on the bird as Etho pulls his bag off and shucks out of his coat. He’s wearing short sleeves underneath. A bandage wraps his arm, right at the elbow crook. Huh? New Star gets a double regeneration bonus through the nearby slime and fox spawners. Why would-?

“What’s up?” Etho moves to stand beside him, blocking the bandage with his hand. Is he trying to hide it? Maybe he didn’t mean for Tango to notice. To be fair, he snuck a peek through his F5 vision; Etho wouldn’t have noticed since he didn’t turn around. Tango’s mind buzzes. Once.

“Why your arm not regen? Is that soul damage? Bdubs take a bite of you on the way here?”

Etho stares back, silent behind the mask. Eyes wander off. Here comes the breath, followed by the start of a subject change. Tango whaps his tail at empty air and pushes back.

“If the spawners aren’t healing, I need to know before I mess around with the code. I’m starting to think there’s been a game update. Y’know, like… spawnlings are purple now so we can tell them apart from players with more XP. And if soul-healing got turned off until the next patch, I need to know.”

“It’s soul damage. Spawners are working fine, I think?”

“Okay.” See? Is it so hard to follow basic protocol? Tango shakes his head. Etho really should get his license; take the stupid test. He’d pass without studying, probably. Etho taught himself everything he knows, and he taught Tango too. The way Etho sees it, there’s no point in spending credit on a ceremony and little piece of paper to “prove his love for codework.” He used Skizz and Vera as an example: “I mean, they don’t wear rings, and we still say their marriage is valid!” Good grief.

“Yeah, but when someone’s life is in your hands, we kinda wanna confirm you know what you’re doing. Code changes! Is your knowledge even up to date?”

“Okay… I’ll take the HALO course.” He never takes the HALO course. Yet for some reason, half the people in this city don’t seem to mind. Sometimes it feels like Tango’s the only one out here throwing fits.

Whatever. If Etho’s got a certification as a tech, that’s good enough for Tango to let him in the room. New Star’s locals know who to talk to if they want a surgery done right. And for the record, tech certification requires a test too; it makes no sense to Tango why Etho can’t bring himself to take the capstone one.

“Soul’s dense,” Tango reports, letting Etho take a look at the squirmy bird. “I think it’s crumpled inside the vessel. I want to puddle it; find out if I’m right on that.” Oh, he’d love to take his time and poke around a little more… but that’s the sucky thing about living in a world of players and play. How much time do you have before the fella Outside wants to jump online again? The game will ensure there’s a character to fill the empty role… one way or another. Gonna be a real awkward surgery if the patient vaporizes halfway through. “My worry… is that once I puddle it, it’ll reform as a hybrid without enough juice to button itself up. See the chest?”

Etho leans over the bed, arms tucked behind his back well out of the way. The parrot’s been taking quick rests between its spurts of fighting, but it never gives up completely. As Etho moves close, it starts wrestling with Tango’s fingers once again, trying to puff its wings.

“Only one heart,” he observes. He doesn’t sound the least bit shocked. Huh… Was the theory of ‘Spawned in with just the one, and it takes 10 pumps to keep a soul clean and blue’ actually true? Tango shifts his eyes to Etho’s stone-silent face.

“It’s weird, right? And no chalaza… unless that’s layered inside, making the color look weird- Y’know, like layers of stained glass. I’ve never seen a purple soul before. Have you?”

“Yeah.”

In that moment, a charged creeper lunges and bursts inside his brain. Of freakin’ course Etho’s seen a purple soul… Why would some random self-taught guy who’s skimmed all the medical books and never bothered with exams not know more about anatomy and surgery than the guy who actually took his classes, sacrificed access to the outside world for a cool internship, and did everything he’s ever been told? That would be stupid! Sparks flicker alight in Tango’s hair. Etho looks up and Tango clenches his fingers in the sheets, trying and trying very hard not to strangle the purple bird peeping beneath his hand.

Keep it together. Etho used to travel a lot with his mom, the Fox Dragon, and he’s pretty much been everywhere. He’s been around a long time, too… and he’s built a big supply of wander time. He doesn’t AFK half as often as everybody else. He’s been around; he talks to people. He’s got books all the way from Carmine River Delta. It’s cool, yeah.

“You’ve seen one?” he asks instead. It rolls out of him sounding more hollow than he meant it to. He wets his lips and clears his throat. “Uh, elaborate?”

Etho half-chuckles, overlapping with Tango’s prickle-teasing comment of “No, no, I get it; just mic drop that on me and walk out with explosions splooshing off behind you, I get it!” But they settle in again, and Etho combs claw-tipped fingers through his hair as he leans back his head. See, prime reason for why we don’t put the sterile skin on until it’s actually time to touch.

“It was… a really long time ago. The Wolf Dragon called me out to New Bork specifically to take a look.”

“Oh, wow,” Tango remarks, pretending he’s surprised. Of course she did; all the dragons just looooooove Charlotte’s favorite son… “Her name’s Ginger, right?” He’ll add all this to his report, then ask the villagers in the library if they happen to have a source he can cite. His heart lurches at the thought that he may not get to submit the first journal paper about a purple soul, but if there’s news out there, all the better. It’s for the better if there is.

“Mmhm. She said a purple spawnling fell out of the sky.” Etho studies the bird’s chest as it arcs against the sheets, kicking again. His eyes arrow in a sharpened point. “And yeah, I took a pretty good look. It had golden marks like this all over its back… That’s gotta be the key here. There’s definitely some kind of glitch with Totems that reacts badly to low-XP players.” Etho thinks about that for two seconds, then snaps his fingers. “Spawnlings can’t die; they can only get logged out. It’s gotta be someone giving Totems to spawnlings; the game doesn’t know what to do with that.”

“Oh!” Tango jerks up his head. Can he say it? Etho looks like he’s gonna let him say it. “That could be it, yeah… You’re totally right. Logging out a spawnling with a Totem in hand- it’s supposed to respawn at home, but it must’ve plopped into our system and got swept into the Hermitcraft server. Ohhh, I bet that’s it!” Of course, that brings up many additional questions… Namely, “Who’s out there eating babies!?”

“Oof.” Etho rubs one hand behind his neck. This particular skin has longer hair than some, and it rustles like strider bristles as he squishes it through his fingers. “Uh… I mean, my mom’s flock captain eats kids all the time; that’s kinda what she’s known for. Did she pop down to visit us for the weekend?”

Tango shrugs. “If she did, nobody told me. Bdubs would know. And if it’s not her, I bet Scott can track down whoever snuck an unreported spawnling in the hub. Hey, good thing you’re here or I’d be flying blind. But the one you looked at came back a hybrid?”

“Yep. I mean, I didn’t stick around a couple weeks for it to get a skin, but it looked like any other spawnling… besides the purple, single heart, and Totem marks. I think you’re right to puddle this one. I’ll get changed?”

Ha. If it were any other day, there’d be a certain thrill in interpreting that polite question like Etho’s actually taken off his crown and stooped to ask permission to leave the room. For now, Tango can’t help but sulk. Stupid. Rare opportunity. Of course he’s not the first to write it down. It’s fine, it’s fine…

The bird pecks between his fingers. He pulls himself together in a snap. “My best guess is that it lost a lot of code in the logout that took it down. Like, the game took one look at that mess and knew it wouldn’t pull through the Totem save as a hybrid. Maybe the player still got fed?” Tango makes a stretchy motion with his free hand as though pulling apart some sticky bread dough. “And my concern… Is that it might need a graft. Whatchu think?”

Even behind the face mask, Etho’s mouth pulls into a grimace. He moves one step left, then rocks right again. A little flicker ripples through his tail. “Woo… Sorry I showed late, but it sounds like I was right to make a stop. If it’s juice you need, I can help with that.” He flips the lid of his ita bag and withdraws a glass bottle. But it doesn’t look like there’s a potion in that thing… No. It’s filled to the brim with soul energy.

Purple soul energy. Tango stares, too blank to move, and the parrot makes another valiant attempt to thrash away from him. It squirms onto its stomach and parts its beak in silent displeasure, wriggling its rump. Honestly, that’s… In his head, Tango’s doing the same thing to squish himself back against the wall.

“What? What am I looking at?” That stuff’s gotta be some kind of substitute… No way that’s real. Or did someone scrape more energy from the Hermitcraft server? What? Did someone track down who this player even is?

Etho holds the bottle as far from his body as he can. Eyes quiet. “Will this be enough?”

“Where did you get this?” Tango protests, tucking the grumpy bird beneath his arm. He takes the bottle from Etho with a shaking hand. It’s cool in his hand. “This… It’s from the soul you met when you were still traveling with your mom?” Gotta be. Where else could it have come from? Etho took a sample from a spawnling? That sends weird prickles up and down his throat. But if it’s real, this will work; I can graft this on. If the parrot’s missing any pieces, this will fill them in. The bird’s soul is warm. The energy donation’s cool, undeniable in his boiling hot hand. Souls come in four different temperatures and when it comes to the medical field, that matters. Native-slash-non-native is crucial for long-term grafts; this is exactly what he needs.

“I’m a fox. I hoard things. Is it enough? I can get you more.”

Tango blinks. “What?” The bird attempts to burrow in his armpit. The bottle weighs heavy in his hand. “More? I’ve seen your freeze box- Where were you keeping this?”

Etho shrugs. “I’ve had it for years and I can’t think of a better time to use it. It should be clean, but check with care.”

“Okay… Uh, yeah.” He swivels, plopping the bottle down on the corner of the coding desk. “Scott slapped a blank file on this goober; boot ‘er up, I guess.”

Obediently, Etho moves to the controls. “With Ginger’s purple-ling, we couldn’t pull any player records. ‘Course, this was way back in the day. I had to force a blank inside it.”

“Ihh…” Tango’d had the same thought himself ever since clocking it as a newbie, but still… “Sounds traumatic for the little guy. And we can’t give it to the Slime Dragon.”

“Nope.” Etho taps a few keys, dragging the coding desk to life. Yeah, that’s… The Slime Dragon will try to eat a spawnling not her own to force a respawn at its mother’s nest. Tango holds the bird in both hands, spreading out the wings again. They’ll need milk to feed it. Nursing milk with colostrum if it’s new enough. They can trade that from Debbie, but she really won’t like it; she’s got a clutch of her own to look after. Her guppies need milk and love too.

“I feel like it’s better to raise it here, though, especially if you’ve got experience with purple souls, over sending it back to its mom.”

“Would feel like a waste of a Totem to kill it now, right?”

“I guess.” Tango thrums across the shiny wings again, which makes the bird wiggle. In almost every case, taking out a spawnling is the right answer. Killing is a mercy. Respawn assures safety; nest has Mom. Even now, his blaze instincts are screaming to find a solution here- What are they going to do with it? Where will it live? They can teach it the basics of how to fly and what it can safely eat, but who’s going to teach it the subtle intricacies of parrot culture? And what if it would prefer the sun and jungle life to living underground?

Would keeping it here be a mistake? New Star was built by refugees who wanted a safe place to live and grow, but the people who find this place on foot are high-XP travelers who can handle the wild world. Sometimes they get students arriving for school, but before you arrive for Education, you’re supposed to spend time learning things from your dragon… and other players like you. Like, Tango knows how to take care of blaze wings and the charred bits that crust on their skin, but maybe parrots are different. Less ashy, more oily. Stuff like that.

New Star Station’s… not exactly child-friendly. I mean, it’s fine? And there’s plenty of energy in the system to allow everybody server access. At least that way, people still get to see the sun. A blue sky, not a pink one, but it’s close enough.

Martyn was adopted. From the sound of it, he didn’t grow up with phantoms, but Bdubs is making an active effort (however annoying) to learn how to teach a guy who doesn’t know his own species’ behavior cues. There are other parrots in this city. Growing up in New Star wouldn’t be the worst. And if the parrot hates it, it can always choose to force a respawn.

Etho motions Tango over. Looks like it’s game time. He’s booted up the coding desk. The new player file’s fully expanded in its crystal form; it floats like a breeze above a hunk of crying obsidian. While Tango holds the parrot to his shoulder, Etho taps the digital panel to load the information. The screen blinks to the next display and Tango leans in for a better look.

“Okay.” No username known… No surprise; spawnlings don’t get named until their first couple levels. Once the crystal pops from their chest, they can wear a skin. Tango skims past the opening text. “It is a parrot; good to know. I was questioning big beak. And it’s scarlet! I haven’t seen a scarlet for a while.” Lots of blues in New Star, plus a couple greens and grays. “Looks like the spawnling hatched on a waxing crescent night. Probably this last one?”

“Looks like it. Dude… How’d it get out here? And where’d it get a Totem?” Etho points at the number 87% on the right side of the screen. “Oh, hey- You were right guessing it’s low on juice.”

“Uh-huh. And definitely a spawnling; straight-up Level 0.”

Etho nods. “We really lucked out that Debbie’s nursing. I can talk to Ryguy. He’s been eyeing my balcony a while; he’ll get me an ‘in’ at the nest if I let him use my space for flying practice.”

“I can’t even remember the last time I saw a non-slime spawnling around here. I hope Scott can get me bottles.” They’re nowhere near the beach and not that close to the desert, so sand is rare and precious here. Mumbo should reach the fox hub with a resource drop-off any day now, though, before he heads out on his wandering trail again. Scott can pick that up. Tango runs his finger lower… then stops. “Wait. Huh?”

The crystal warns of a chocolate allergy. Flight status? Still a fledgling; won’t make it off the ground. There’s just a teeny-tiny detail that makes him stare.

Loyalty Status: Tamed

Tango glances at Etho, whose brow ruffles in confusion. He starts to stand, then changes his mind and plops in his seat again. “Whaaat? How can it be tamed? It’s not even alive yet!”

“Could that be a parent?” Certain species, like illagers and wandering traders, use magic to form bonds with other hybrids. Maybe a parent or mentor, worried their kid (or student) might wander off, wrapped a bond around this spawnling so they could track it down? Temporarily, I hope.

“Hmm…” Etho temples his hands and falls silent. Tango watches, holding the bird. It’s getting tired with fighting. Maybe it realized he doesn’t want to hurt it, but it’s definitely nipping at his shirt now. Sorry, dude… No milk in there. Hybrids don’t do that; try a dragon. Etho doesn’t have to voice his next thought, because Tango’s known it since he moved in. New Star Station is a refugee hub, and it’s a very secret place. Bonds shouldn’t link people in hiding with the outside world. You’re either down here, or you don’t know about New Star at all. Even Mumbo and the other wandering traders have been told they’re delivering to Lone Spruce. The “Invisible Hub” has not survived this long without a fight.

Tango shifts his weight, offering his finger for the bird to bite. “Is that something we can reset? Or… should?”

“Not unless you’re suddenly a Tradebond.” Etho thinks for a few more seconds, then shakes his head. “Leave it on, but we’ll report it to HALO. They can decide what to do about it.” Etho makes it about one line farther down the code before jerking to a halt again. “Uhh… I can’t read this thought. Can you?” He tilts the coding panel towards Tango, who laughs aloud.

0̵̨̼̩͔̹͖͉̙̊̆̌̃̅͊͒͋̂͊͛̏̎̀ͅ5̵̨̡̛̫̹̹̮̲̖͔̹̀̊̍̓̇͂̓̋͜\̶̢͕̯̣̖̯̘̰̯͙͕̮͇̂ͅ4̴̢̖̣͖̖̭̲̠͈͓̝̘̪̗̠̠̀̋̌/̴̛̭̖̣̹̈́͒̂͊͌͊͜ ̸̧̛͚̭̬͓͇̦̠̮̰̜̥̥̾̾̓̀̈̊͑̐͜͝͝ͅ9̴̨̦͕̜̗̙͎͓̫̩͕͚̞̱̟̘̣̒̚0̵̲͖̖̤͉̭̾͋͐̑͑̐̄̕̚0̵̨̼̩͔̹͖͉̙̊̆̌̃̅͊͒͋̂͊͛̏̎̀ͅd̴̩̰̺͍̙̰̯̺̙͈̱͆̚͝-̶̨̙̭͇̲̙̝͈̝̺̲̙͈̹͈̟͎͂͛̓̽̆̒̓̃̌̋̍͒̂̓͐͋͊/̵͓̟̖̰̖̹̗̤͌̈̚͜͝ͅ!̶̨̣̤̪̱̆͛̑͆̅̈́́̓̚͝͠1̶̢̨̡̬̥̞̞͓̬̙̪̬͓̬̖͎̳̀̈́̔̐̈́̉̃͑͝-̵̧̫͕̈́̏̎̒́͛̿̆̈͂̅͝

“Nope.”

Tango guessed temperature right by feel alone. The code confirms this soul is warm, so as long as the bottle Etho brought is indeed cool energy, the graft should work like a charm. He pours a bead of purple on the back of his hand and runs that under the scanner. There’s a beep. He checks the coding panel. Sharp breath.

“… Wait. It’s enderman data? Not wolf?” Tango looks at Etho, one brow arched in frozen question. Etho looks at Tango, rock-solid and unmoving. Gloved fingers clench the strap of the ita bag a little tighter. The bandage on his elbow digs against his skin. Oh. Questions dig deeper knives in the grooves of Tango’s brain. As one silent second trickles into two, then three, Etho flicks his eyes to the door like he’s about to run. Just straight-up… run.

“Do you need more?” Etho asks. Tango can feel his pulse beating all the way down in his fingertips. It can’t be enderman code, howcanitbeendermancode, haha, funny, yeah, cool prank guys, but it doesn’t make any sense; Etho is a fox, Etho’s mom is the Fox Dragon, Etho has always been a fox-

“How… is this possible? Your free-cam’s a blue fox, so aren’t you…? Are you a chimera?” They’re crazy rare, but sometimes players spawn in with data from multiple species, mixing in one body. Tango darts his eyes between the bottle and Etho’s face. Well, his first theory was ‘fewer hearts, cloudy energy, color wrong.’ That could still be true? “I mean, I was born with wing placement on my ankles; people say that’s the rarest kind you can get. We’re all a little different under the skin, right? Hey, maybe there are more purple souls out there and we’ve no idea. Cats come in different colors; I dunno why souls wouldn’t too.”

Etho’s eyes close in a final curtain sort of way. And the lights go up; the world flips upside-down. Doesn’t someone say that? His kids used to sing that song. A bright white fox tail lashes at the ground. See? He’s foxy right there! “It should be clean and safe. And if you need more, I’ll get you more. I…” Etho looks down at his arm, then back at Tango. “I’ll figure it out.”

Tango’s boots are glued to the floor. They’re netherite in lava or leather under snow. Etho never changes his skin in public. When they’re at the shower house, most people strip in the locker room, but Etho won’t undress unless he’s in a stall. And I guess this is why? His hackles bristle like he’s facing down a giant squid. Tango glances at the blot of purple on his fingertip and takes a deep, quiet breath. “No, no. This should be- Yeah. This is more than enough. Uh… Do you wanna take over? I mean, I’m clearly out of my element here.”

“You look like you’re doing fine to me.”

That’s about all there is to it. Tango bites his lip on prying more from Etho. Etho’s not one of his patients and this isn’t Etho’s exam. The spawnling is top priority. Health and safety checks look as good as they’re gonna get. Not even Etho can find any physical hearts inside the purple soul, but when they check the data, it says the spawnling has all 10. Well, it’ll be what it’s gonna be. If the player is locked into a life on one, they can decide what to do about it down the road.

Etho changes skins in another room, like he always does. Tango stares after his departing figure for a few extra heartbeats. And he knows Etho undresses alone. He never skinny dips. He doesn’t even join them for onsen outings. Tango’s body itches up and down. He wants a peek. If Etho’s got two soul colors in one body, someone should write a paper on that, right? Chimeras are so rare… And up until today, purple was unheard of in Tango’s sphere.

But now is not the time.

He pulls a shulker from the corner, dragging it up beside the bed. You don’t get a lot of these in New Star, but if you want something without any cracks or holes, they’re priority #1 for any hospital. Same for potion bottles. Tango started one for Weakness and one for Regen as soon as he confirmed the player wasn’t undead. With the bird under one arm, he lifts a potion from the brewing stand and rotates it beneath the lantern light. In his scrubs and goggles, he feels like a mad scientist. Maybe he should try lab coats.

Weakness first. See, these are the fun things you can give a patient early on when resources are less limited or you have a tech to be your extra hands. Tango uncaps the bottle and tilts it into the parrot’s beak. The spawnling’s reaction is instant. Once goo starts flowing down its throat, it strains for more. This is harder with some hybrids who try to suckle, but the bird seems totally fine with being “allofed” the boring way. Cool. Tango prods a wing and watches it sag instead of perk up. As sluggishness starts to overtake it, Tango lays it on the bed. Then he compresses the soul crystal on the coding desk back into a flattened state- The kind that really says “Player file” when you look at it. That, he sets carefully at the bottom of the shulker. The spawnling will know what to do with it.

Etho’s back a moment later, dressed in a near-identical skin that’s got a few minor tweaks, like fewer designs and pins on his sleeve. No gloves, of course, but he surfaces soul energy to his hands without even being asked and looks to Tango for instruction.

“Table your hands?”

Etho positions them above the shulker, palms upturned. “Yep.”

It’s just easier to do it over the box. Tango transfers the parrot to Etho’s hands, settling it on its back. The wings twitch, but the mind’s a lot cloudier now than it was before. Blank white eyes stare at nothing. It doesn’t bite. It doesn’t claw. Tango finds a set of shears with nice, sharp wolf teeth. Perfect. Long and sharp is what he’s looking for.

It just takes a flick of energy to get those going. Tango slits the shears across the parrot’s belly and the vessel membrane splits apart. Purple gushes from the parrot shape, draining past Etho’s fingers and into the shulker box. Tango watches, but since the bird isn’t struggling, it’s easy for Etho to tilt his hands and squeeze energy from the vessel. He has to pry out the golden scar. It hits the shulker with a weird metal clang. Uh… Yeah, that’s probably fine. Should he take it out? Or does the code know exactly where the scar is meant to go?

Guess we’ll wait and see. Tango uses a glowing thumb to wipe a bit of purple off the shears and into the box, then pours the Regen in with it. Etho walks his fingers up the glossy vessel shape until he’s squeezed out all the juice they’re gonna get. That gets set aside… theoretically for the composter, but honestly (probably) for Etho’s stomach next time he wants a snack. Together, they watch the purple puddle splurt and drag its splattered parts. A wing shape flashes before dissolving again. The golden zigzag disappears beneath the mess.

“Okay. Uhh… Time for the graft, yeah. Right. Here goes.” No use in dragging their feet about it. Tango pries the stopper from the glass. It pulls free with a pop that makes him jump. He looks at Etho. Etho looks at him, totally unreadable. He inclines his head. So with that blessing, Tango flips his hand, pouring spluttery purple liquid into the shulker box with the rest of the spawnling goo. The color’s so exact, it’s kinda spooky. The edges bubble and blur. Streaks meld together, fusing into one.

Resistance. Withdrawal. Confused? A pause.

Come on… Take the graft. Take the graft…

Bits of soul ooze together. A ripple flits across the bigger puddle, sputtering as it runs over the new addition. There’s a glint. A sheen of white as the I’m a spawnling; help me form signals the newbie is putting out connect with the game. The first trace of chalaza starts to show. That’s a good sign. More and more dots of white plip into view like marshmallows bobbing up to surface. Oh? Ohhhh-

In a sputter of sparks, the soul heaves upward, fighting to take a form, and crashes down again. Well, it’s not there yet… but it took (Thank the devs). Tango sags against the shulker, releasing a flickery sigh. Etho’s hand pats his shoulder.

“Hey, see? You didn’t even need me!”

“Oh, you say that… But just watch. One day I won’t have a tech at all, and that’s when my careful plans will fall apart like spider string.”

Tango watches the soul while Etho jots down notes. White splotches turn to larger patches until they connect in a stream down the parrot’s back. Chalaza paints swirls up and down its wings. Recovery’s a slow and steady process, but the more the soul pulls itself together, the more it looks like a hybrid. Tango will wait for that as long as it wants him to. And when opaque chalaza fades into a more transparent - and glittery - vessel layer, Tango breaks into a grin.

“Ohhh, I knew it! You’re a spawnling, all right.” It’s got a head without a beak, which is much more appropriate for someone who spawned on a waxing crescent night. It’s got a torso, arms, hands, and legs. No tail; a waxing crescent only grants you one mob trait, and the wings have that locked up. It might get some feather coverage on its chest, though… we’ll have to wait and see. He reaches down, and when his hands come in contact with it, the player turns on instinct and grips his arm. Tango freezes. No lens caps. Can it see him? Freaky. Either way, it gives his sleeve a tug. Tango sweeps it up and rests it at his hip. “Hey, little friend! You waking up?”

No answer from the new player. Ehh… No surprise. Deaf, mute, and possibly blind, it nuzzles its cheek against his chest and sucks its tiny thumb. Tango stifles a laugh. The Slime Dragon is veeery protective of her guppies. It’s been a long time since he held a newbie in his arms. Heck, even his kids weren’t newborns when he met them! Tango mushes the spawnling’s cheek in his palm. It tightens its fingers in his shirt, searching for whatever warmth it can find. Its beakless mouth pops open. It tilts back its head, waiting for a feed.. Yeah… Not looking likely right now. I’m not the Parrot Dragon. But it’s very, very cute.

“Maybe I’ve been working too hard,” Tango murmurs to no one but himself. Etho’s still writing, so maybe he was so soft, he didn’t even notice. Tango adjusts his grip until the spawnling’s cradled better at his chest. It rolls to its stomach, letting stubby wings drape to either side. It looks like it’s wearing a backpack that’s been partly torn to bits. “Aw. I’m getting all up in my stupid head… Jealous Mr. Grumpypants; that’s me. Maybe I could use a break from med work for a while.” Cocoa will like that part in particular. “What’ayou think… Time for this Arizona dad to come out of retirement? One last encore before I call it quits for good?”

Etho hums in amusement. The spawnling, of course, says nothing. Well, that’s all right. Give it six to twelve weeks. Tango preens back a lump of gooey hair. The spawnling stutters. It squirms. Itty-bitty fingers close around his hand.

💙  🧡  💚

Martyn is falling. Every lurching step through bitterly cold wind drops him like an anchor before warm arms seize him tight again. The walk isn’t a long one, but Martyn’s upside-down for most of it, his head buried in hanging bits of cloth that feel like silken robes. He can’t see a thing, but he can feel the hug and trudging footsteps, and that’s enough to get a clue. It’s winter, wherever this nightmare’s dropped him… and someone who cares a lot wants to keep him safe and warm.

“Mumbo,” Martyn whispers in a voice that’s not his own. It’s too high, too young, but it’s his inside his throat. “I’m good, not bad.”

“I know, bud…”

Martyn fists the robes he can’t see. They’re as real in the dark as the brush of scrawny wings flopping at his back. “I’m not red. I’m not bad.”

“You’re a very good kid, and your parents love you very, very much.” The mystery voice shakes like snowflakes, and Martyn scrunches even tighter to the man’s unseen chest. “But you get to have a sleepover at my place tonight! Look at you! You’re really growing up. Oops; you dropped your fish. Lemme get that for you, dude.”

“… Thank you.”

“I know,” the voice whispers, so soft and gentle that Martyn shivers to his core. “My bunker’s not exactly what I’d call child-safe, but we’ll figure this out together. It’s just until the roads clear in spring.”

Spring.

Spring.

Winter’s over. Spring has sprung.

Martyn jolts awake with his stomach in his throat. He snaps into a sitting position, just to bang his head on a one-block-high ceiling. “Ow!”

He’s horizontal? But how- Where-?

He’s down in the mines, somewhere in New Evo. Some new server; he doesn’t even know who the admin is. The man who tugs his leash wanted him out here, so Martyn came. No BigB sleeping with his hands tucked beneath his head. No Pearl bundled safe in her own arms.

That doesn’t matter right now. Only one block of empty space does, and Martyn whips his pickaxe as fast as he can. When stone cracks beneath the iron, he doesn’t even pick up the fallen block. Martyn empties his stomach in wretched coughs and heaves. But in place of the expected glitches, purple slush pours liquid-like through his mouth. It sputters to a drizzle. Martyn coughs again. He swats with his hand. Ribbons of magenta stick to his teeth, even when he’s emptied all he can from the depths of his belly. They cling around his fingers like cobwebs, and the spider’s writhing in his mouth. Did he swallow one? Some kind of purple variety the Watchers sent like an assassin on his heels?

Not today! Martyn clenches his eyelids and curls his fingers as tight as they can get. Tiny fangs scrape across his knuckles. Getting his hand that near the middle of his mouth is dangerous; even now, he can feel the code that munches and dissolves kicking in. Martyn keeps his hand as close to the front as he can so it won’t vaporize. Is something in my pouch? Gotta be, right? Something’s stuck down there. Martyn slips his fingers under his tongue, into the empty space, and pushes the inside of his neck. At least this area won’t dissolve his hand. Saliva crackles with energy. It’s dry. Much too hot. Martyn tips his head a little further back, fighting not to overthink it - Aw, nah, this is nasty - and shoves his hand farther down the pouch. Ulp!

His fingers graze across a sticky sort of something. There we are. He clenches down on a full knot of goo and drags it to the surface straight away. Out it pops, slick and gross, and he starts coughing all over again. Icky purple clumps spill from his hand to the stone between his legs. This stuff buzzes with glitchy lightning. Glitches are sickness, and sickness will pass. At the sight of something familiar, Martyn can feel his hearts start to settle down. Riiiight… Whatever’s wrong with him, hopefully it’s at the surface. If he can force it out, he’ll feel so much better.

What is this stuff? Lots of slime. Broken crystal shards. All of it purple. Martyn can only stare as it all slips away, dripping to the floor.

“Oh, someone call my lawyer… I need to citizen arrest the devs.” He’s coughed a few glitches up in his time, sure, but nothing like this. Never something gooey. Never something purple. Never anything more remotely solid than a few glittery pixels. Nothing that’s ever looked so broken and lifeless in his hands. Martyn’s almost afraid to blink lest it vaporize before his eyes. He stares, mute and cat-like, as if it’s a pile of string he can bat with a soft paw.

This came out of me? That can’t possibly be good. Is that his soul crystal? I feel like that’s a problem if it’s suddenly appeared on a server. It’s not supposed to be. Martyn rotates his hand one way, then the other. Hmm…

Spawnlings are born with these embedded in their chests, and when they pop out, a crystal becomes a player file that can be plugged in a server hub. There’s definitely a little blue and white mixed in here. But what’s with all the purple? Martyn feels the outside of his throat, but while he aches a bit from hacking, nothing burns with pain. It doesn’t feel like a chunk’s been ripped from his body or anything like that. Is this the ripple of energy he and Grian fell in at the bottom of the Void? Did he swallow some of it? Or maybe not swallow, but catch it in his pouch?

But how can it be here? This is his on-server body, not his Between one. It’s the Between body that fell in the Void. And technically, his phantom traits aren’t enabled here. Check the back and butt, mate; no tail, no wings. Smooth as an allay’s bum. He shouldn’t even have his pouch… although that might explain the glitches in his sore mouth. Martyn runs a hand down his neck again. It holds tight. Flat. Smooth…

Empty.

What was THAT? He… he shouldn’t have been able to get his hand that deep. Martyn smacks his tongue against the bottom of his mouth. He’s answered by solid gums. Aw, this is gettin’ real weird. Did my pouch just glitch in, even though it’s switched off? How does that happen? Is this normal for servers? Hybrid traits never glitched into the EVO servers, but all of theirs were for research, so a much tighter grip was kept on the code.

Did some mob just try to spawn inside of him? Technically, the inside of his mouth is at low light level. Is he poisoned? Martyn fishes his communicator from his pocket. He’s still connected to the server, but he’s not taking damage ticks. He hasn’t been poisoned… And he’s not carrying any other status effects for that matter. None the game would tell me, anyway; I know ‘trauma’ isn’t on that list. And judging by the time, it’s the middle of the night. He slides to his belly and thunks his forehead against his arm. Fingers curl tight against stone.

“Ugh… I’m a sleepy, narcoleptic little boy. Just leave me here to rot away… until I croak like a lost and lonely frog. Ribbit… ribbit… and death.”

The comm buzzes in his hand. Martyn cracks open one eye. Even on dark mode, the screen sears as bright as stars in a spyglass.

PearlescentMoon: Saw your name pop off gray. You alright?

Yeah… He’s all right. Martyn glances up and down the tunnel he apparently barricaded himself in when he started drifting off to sleep. It probably wouldn’t be the smartest move to trap himself inside a small hole with whatever he just upchucked.

InTheLittleWood: Yeah, just more nightmares. Can I come sleep with you?

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Baby Brain

💙  🧡  💚

Climbing the clock tower stairs will be a little bit tricky. Martyn’s struggling to walk, but trying not to let on he needs extra breaths and time, which means Bdubs struggles not to imply he’s waiting on him. So he talks. About anything, really, the whole walk to the tower’s base. He asks Martyn how he’s feeling - “Hungry” - where he’s been - “AFK, New Evo; take your pick” - if there’s anything that can improve his stay - “Can I schedule a date with the sun?” - and when they duck under the curtain to the lowest tower room, he plays the next card. He left something for Martyn at the bottom of the stairs. Bdubs gestures to the chest, playing more casual and without too much flourish. He needs to take it serious.

“I put something in there for you. Come see.” The chest doesn’t have fancy bows or wrapping, but it’s a present. Martyn will like it more if he does the unwrapping. This is true; people research this. Or Bdubs just guessed on this one; he forgets.

Martyn looks at him, wings tense and spread. He’s braced himself for take-off? Even inside the tower walls? Bdubs smiles, not frowning at all even though he’d like to. Does Martyn think this is some kind of trick? Maybe. It takes two extra seconds of studying the lock before Martyn’s satisfied enough to creak open the lid. Bdubs sees him blink. He reaches in there with a frown and pulls the cow plush out with a fist. Bdubs picked it out: it’s blueberry theme. Big berry spots. Leafy ears, leafy tail. “This is for me?”

“I like giving my phantoms toys.” This is untrue, but Martyn doesn’t need to know that. “I want you to have it. Wild phantoms roost upside-down, and new chicks hold to their nurse. You haven’t even started hanging upside-down, and you’re in a brand new place. A new flock is a lot even for experienced phantoms… I don’t know what this might do to your code. You were mob brain in Etho’s room. Could happen again.”

“It won’t,” Martyn mutters back, but holds the cow in his arm nonetheless. It’s a big toy for Bdubs. Martyn’s taller, but… this will work. He just needs something to grab or bite if he gets a little spooked.

“Okay… Phantoms do a lot of tussling- It’s how we determine flock rank; new players like you are at the bottom, but you’ll get up there if you play with us.” Bdubs sizes up Martyn’s wings, tongue dabbing at his cheek. Martyn’s got wide wings… Not as big as Icky’s, iCam’s, or False’s, but bigger than WellsGlazes’ for sure. Maybe around where Pungence is. Oh, this’ll be a fun time. “There’s growling ‘n biting involved. You okay watching that? We don’t have to go up today if you don’t want to; I can take you home.”

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be. I’m here now, right?”

Oh, yes. Bdubs wants to pat him on the shoulder. He refrains for now, giving Martyn room to breathe, but the urge tickles behind his neck regardless. Martyn’s still got his wings out more than he should. The tip of his tail might tie itself in knots. “Oh, perfect,” he says, and they head up the stairs. Slowly, like walking through the streets. Bdubs glances over once to see Martyn squeezing the cow to his chest, and squeezing the handrail just as hard. He smirks, but only when Martyn’s not looking. See? Plush cow best idea. Martyn will be grateful. Who’s New Star’s favorite captain now?

Halfway up the stairwell, Bdubs pauses to glance at Martyn. Martyn looks back, then loosens his hug on the cow like he’s embarrassed to be seen with it. Right. Bdubs makes a mental note to dig out one of his own plushes - a snow fox Etho gave him a long time ago - and carry it around the roost now and then. If Martyn sees even the captain has a toy, that might curb embarrassment and nerves. You shouldn’t be embarrassed about anything, actually; when you’re in Between, you can do whatever you want. This is who you are. Hey, it’s more embarrassing to be on a server with Outside player energy flowing through you, playing thoughts across your head and out your mouth that’re like nothing you’ve ever said or felt before.

Maybe Martyn’s lucky. Being in sync with some guy from another world you’ve never met (and never will) feels like catching fire. It’s knives through skin and empty holes in hearts that regen beacons never heal. Sync is happy- sync is joy. Everybody loves when Outside players take control. Until you realize it’s a curse. That it’s knuckles bunched up, swinging at your face, and you’re pummeled to the dust before you dare to breathe.

I’m not embarrassed my player’s lonely’n sad all the time now! I just don’t think it’s anybody’s business lookin’ at me. Good thing he won’t play Hermitcraft 6. Never did figure out why emotion ocean crashes down on him when he connects to servers that touch the Outside world, but Brittney’s been whacked by those feelings too. It’s a drain out the chest ‘til it’s got you on your knees, begging for the moon to wipe free will away. And the universe said “I love you” because she wants you to love her game. The moon taught hybrids how to walk and showed them where to find Between, that they may eat and make merry and rule this world they were born to roam.

That’s why they do it. It’s why they’re flock. It’s why they hunt. It’s why they eat. Bdubs wants to say all this to Martyn, but when he opens his mouth, the stairwell starts to spin. Phantoms, they matter in this world. And captain is the biggest, most important role you’ll ever get to play. Even if your flock is small.

Etho spends his time pining for a ring that might never come, and might not stay even if it does. It’s stupid. He gonna wake up one day and realize everything he wanted is something he could’ve had if he went and got it for himself. But whatever. It’s whatever, right? And it doesn’t matter if Bdubs is or isn’t playing on Hermitcraft with his friends. Heck, it’s better if he’s not! Why would he want to go somewhere that’s gonna make him sad? Don’t look to the Outside to tell you if you’re happy here. Freakin’ please… Love the people that you love. Love the friends you picked yourself. Love a job that makes you happy. Flock becomes your entire world.

Bdubs tightens fists against his legs. The spinning world slows until he’s grounded on the floor. “Icky will be here,” he says. “Do you know what a flock beta is?”

And Martyn’s there. Martyn’s beautiful and present and young and alive, and he can do anything he wants to do. Nobody up above is ever gonna bring him down. Martyn holds a stare, crushing the cow against his chest. “Extra details wouldn’t hurt.”

Baby. Sweet goodness, he’s just a baby. Martyn’s got on-server XP (from what he’s heard), but every bit he’s gained in the Between dimension went straight into the wings. And they’re big, but they’re not that big. That’s all he’s got? No more for his fangs? His nubby little tail?

Martyn’s just a baby. Not really. He’ll tell you that he’s not while Bdubs tells you that he is. He’s tellin’ you now! Martyn needs a captain. Someone to take care of him; keep him fed; teach him ways of all the world. It’s actually the captain’s job (in a wild flock) to sire all the chicks while the rest of the flock builds their nests. Some mobs don’t do good watching their babies. Creepers sometimes blow up a kid that sneaks up to pounce on them and big mobs sometimes trample them; it’s very tragic, very sad.

But with phantoms, both the nurse and sire captains are the best mamas and dads. They have to be, because phantoms in a flock are powerful and strong, but each one alone is as fragile as a snowflake. They break when you hit ‘em hard. Legs shatter if you slam ‘em with a door. Bdubs’ lip trembles ‘til it’s pierced between his fangs. Martyn’s baby. Martyn’s here. He gets to find out right alongside Martyn who he’ll grow up to be. One hand stretches out, fingers grasping, and he lurches one step forward. Cyan pixels sputter into life on the back of his hand.

Mine!

Teeth snap shut against his wrist. Bdubs jerks back with a yelp, slapping his hand against the bitten spot. A white glow shines under broken skin, but even as he gapes at it, it’s sealing up with regen. “HEY! What’re you doing, huh? You can’t bite me! I’m your captain!”

“You tried to grab me?” Martyn looks just as shocked as Bdubs. He’s backed against the wall, wings spread wide. Blueberry cow looks like a mace dangling from his hand. “Whoa, whoa- I’m not cool with that. Can we set some ground rules here?”

… Huh?

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I… Yeah.” Bdubs rubs energy back into the stung part of his skin. Pixels crackle around the lens mounts of his eyes. Did I get grabby? I didn’t mean to! Full moon’s just around the corner, pulling mob behavior to the surface of the brain, but not yet. They’ve still got time before the shift. What happened?

Was that just… me? No moon pull at all? Bdubs opens and closes his fingers, every breath a scratchy one. Why did I do that? He knows he wants kids someday. He and Brittney, since they’re betrothed, are guessing at least one will be a player, and if not, they’ll adopt. Plus there’s camera twins involved; counting that, he expects to raise at least two kids, and he’ll retire as flock captain if he has to. He’ll be best daddy; he’ll make it work.

But Brittney isn’t here right now. And Martyn’s already adopted; he’s got parents at home. He’s been to school; he doesn’t need another mentor. I mean, freakin’ obviously… That’s a full guy!

… What just happened? Why’d I try to hold his hand? In Between? Where Outside reach isn’t s’posed to touch? Bdubs blinks a couple times, still pressing his thumb tight against his palm. He digs the claw beneath wrinkled skin.

I’m thinkin’ things… Things he really shouldn’t be thinking about the new guy. He should smack himself across the face. Hard.

Right. He’s teaching stuff to Martyn. Right, right, right. AHEH-HEM! Bdubs makes one sharp brush down his moss cloak, knocking all those weird and touchy thoughts away. “First thing, New Star only has one phantom flock. Ichthyo is flock beta. He/they; we call ‘em Icky for short. Beta is one step below the captain, so everyone takes orders from me and Icky. That means you. In a flock, you have to listen to people higher than you in rank; that’s how we keep the peace. But if you think someone’s bullying you, you can talk to me and I’ll set ‘em straight; that’s my job.”

“Okay…” Martyn tilts his head. “And why do I want to be in the flock?”

“Who wouldn’t want to be in a flock? Flock is community. We hunt; we share all we have.” It’s important; it’s better. Their culture’s not stupid ableist like some mobs out there who believe if you don’t hunt, you shouldn’t get to eat. Some people think phantoms are scary, and they are! Or they think they’re super gross because they eat stagnant code and sometimes lick it off the floor. But phantoms… they care. Even wild ones. They care about flock. They care about their babies. They feed flockmates who can’t feed themselves. And that’s something to be proud of. That’s what it means to be flock.

Phantoms are strong. They’re smart enough to be a team. They care about families and friends. They have no sleepy curfew time. They’re basically an apex predator, and they can fly. They even last pretty long in the Void, which makes traveling the Voidpath under the landscape pretty easy. They’re one of the fastest mobs there’s ever been, so everyone likes giving them mail or inviting them on escort missions. People pay them for that. Who wouldn’t want to be a phantom? Phantoms are the best.

Bdubs isn’t gonna let Martyn make the same “Eh, who needs ‘em?” mistake that he did growing up.

He makes an up and down motion over Martyn’s whole body. “You’ve prob’ly noticed you break easy. A single phantom can be taken down quick, but together, we’re the mini dragons of the sky. Beasts of teamwork and terror! That’s phantoms.”

“I think ‘harder to defeat in large numbers’ goes for most mobs, actually.”

Sweet goodness. Martyn’s not being super rude, but he’s taking little nips around the edges to see how far he can push. It’s just innocent enough to be excused, but Bdubs can see the rug-pull coming a megachunk away. He stares back, heavy-lidded, and sifts through weird feelings by the dozen. Looking at Martyn’s like looking through a time portal, drinking up a frumpy blue-shirted boy who thought his clenched teeth and knuckled fists were all he’d ever need.

He’s just like me. For real. For real. Martyn’s a lot like that hotshot fireball kid who threw a hundred punches and got knocked off his feet a hundred times more. That snotty kid wiped streaks of drippy pixels off his face. He washed his aching feet with salt-sprinkled mushroom goop that Cleo said would draw the toxins out. He wrapped his hands in leather and tried again.

Not against people. Cleo used to pad their rejected armor stands. He must’ve spent hours in his room - in his gym - next door to their studio, punching fabric things until he cut his knuckles and chalaza glistened on his skin. Had to. Didn’t want to bow to no one, especially not some flock captain who seemed to expect it but never took the time to teach him why it mattered, so Bdubs did the next best thing.

He leveled up his sun resistance until he wouldn’t burn even at the hottest times of day. He punched the training dummies. He kicked ‘em. He thwacked ‘em with his tail and tore them with his teeth. He built perfect Bdubs redstone to time his training sessions and designed an obstacle course with doors that slammed shut if it took too long to reach them. He got stronger. Strong enough to fight two soul zombies at once all on his own- No sword!

And then he packed a bag, shook Cleo’s hand good-bye, and struck out for the open road. Between doesn’t get as hot as the Overworld… The sun rises later and sets sooner, and the sky’s the prettiest pink you ever did see. It was nice! Took orders from nobody. Took sideways glares from nobody, just eating the snacks that Cleo packed him, drinking straight from waterfalls, and chasing traders foolish enough to not hire escorts until he ached.

He never did decide where he’d go. A little bit of everywhere, honestly. See the Long Water Tunnel! Take the Nightwander path! Maybe eat a couple locals in Little Sun Valley, First Moon City and Carmine River Delta. Cleo made a special sketchbook for him before he set out, and he wanted to draw every famous landmark he could find. He figured he’d get a job with the mail- Mail delivery’s basically a rite of passage for phantoms. Or he’d be a bodyguard. He had the muscle for it, no matter what people’s first glances might’ve made ‘em think.

He picked up a package of outgoing soul crystals in First Moon one day and brought it all the way down to Duskfell Caves, where he grew up. Stupid long trip. Took a freakin’ age, but this was back before a lot of SMPs, when a lot of people played singleplayer. Including him. Didn’t matter which hub he plugged into as long as he had his crystal, so he made it work. And finally, for the first time since Mom dropped him off in Underdark Crossing, he came home to the phantom hub. There aren’t a lot of non-phantoms in Duskfell, but boy, did he recognize Brighty. Grew up gorgeous. And that’s when he fell in love. Kept doing deliveries a while, but pulled his freakin’ head out of the clouds. Or the sewers. Whichever way you think it was.

… It could be that the reason for this hole clawed inside his chest is because he used to glow like sunshine once he started things with Brighty. How long’s it been dragging at his wingtips and the corners of his eyes? Since the dry season. It’s wet around here now, the rivers running high. That’s a long, long time to paint on a happy face. Now it’s Pride Month. It’s beyond Pride Month, though the rainbow lanterns still glint and shine. He’s not better. Not even a little. He stays strong because he’s captain, though, and he came too far to lose the last piece of stained glass worth clinging to, even when the rest of the megabuild falls apart inside his brain.

Maybe the fun surprise reveal behind the weight of awful is divorce. Maybe the betrothal is gonna break off, vaporizing rings right off their hands. Like it meant nothing. It’s nothing to the Outside world if they still share their love. Well, that sucks for people who care about rings, then!

I don’t care. He and Brittney aren’t gonna split if they wake up one day and aren’t betrothed no more. They’ve talked about it. Talked a lot. They’re the right person for each other in Between, and if it’s true in Between, it’s real for life. Nobody’s taking that away from them.

“What if we get re-betrothed to separate people?” Brittney asked this one time when they were curled in bed. She wears her thick scarlet and forest green fur like a coat, and Bdubs could tangle his fingers in it for a thousand more years and never get enough. It kinda reminds him of Mom’s neck ruff. It’s just all soft. Soft all over her whole body, her four arms wrapped around his back. Bdubs had his tail tight around her leg that night. He looked up, question in his eyes, as he drew his forehead from her neck.

“Can that happen?” He’d never thought about it. Can you get ripped away from the one you were betrothed with, then tossed into the world to go find a new partner all over again? Makes a lot of sense… Thousands and thousands of years is a long time to stay committed for life. If that’s how long they live, imagine how long the Outside players do. But he realized then it didn’t matter if it can or can’t happen, or if it will or if it won’t. “I’ll stay. This changes nothing; I already say you can go out with anyone you want, even if you want to change your AFK to spend nights with someone else; I allow this all the time. But I can find you. You’re still someone I can find anytime I want.”

He knows he’s bad at being home. He’s flock captain… They’ve talked about it. Brighty has curfew; she has to AFK at nights while he’s still fresh and full of energy at the roost ‘cuz of all the souls he ate. He works late. Up all night. Sometimes gone for weeks. He does make the effort - He’s working on it every day - but it’d be cruel to tell her she can’t build a life with someone else; someone who’s around a lot more. She needs that. His big rule is that she only AFKs on servers he’s whitelisted on. Even if she sees other people, he gets rights to cuddle her. That’s fair; that’s agreed. And Brighty, ‘cuz she’s sweet and perfect, always says he can go off with anyone he wants when she’s away. The only thing she asks is that he tell her who.

“You’ve known Cleo twice as long as me,” Brittney muttered against his wing, right in the shoulder muscle. “Would you still want me if our betrothal broke off and you woke up with a ring with Cleo’s name instead?”

“Brighty, luv…” He is very bad at coming home at night, but he’s not bad at showing he cares. At least, he feels this way. Can’t speak for the wife, but he calls himself romantic; he says it, so it’s true. He caught her cheek, guiding her face until their foreheads brushed. “Cleo isn’t you. And leaving you isn’t me. I care. I care more about sweet Brightshine13 than I do about my flock.” And he care for flock a lot. ‘Cuz he grew up, and he’s a phantom, and phantoms care for everyone. That’s because they’re the best.

“Sometimes… I wake up too afraid to look at my hand. I stare at the ceiling and ask myself if this is the day you’re betrothed to Etho.”

… It’s harder, talking to Brittney about Etho, than it is talking about Cleo. Not because Etho’s special priority, even if he is Bdubs’ best friend. Just because Etho pines his life away waiting for a ring. And… denying Etho that one thing he’s always wanted - denying access to his body, mind, and soul when they’ve got matching rings - would be very, very hard. If he and Etho ever got assigned to love each other, Bdubs wouldn’t like that much. He wants to love Etho because it’s his choice, the same way he likes learning details about Brighty that feel specific to Between, not to the world beyond. He never love anyone he doesn’t choose for himself. But if they were paired, he’d never say all that to Etho, because he plays nice for the happiness and unity of team.

It’s hard, being Bdubs. People don’t know this ‘cuz he doesn’t like to say it. But it’s hard when Etho’s lonely and it’s hard when Brighty’s sad and he worries about Cleo and he worries about Scott, and he’s got a whole flock to feed. If he could jump through that time portal and shake his younger self, he’d do it straight away. “Please, just learn how to work in a team so you won’t have to fight for all your info when you’re in a scary new place! Your captain knows you can’t hunt. He wants to feed you. But he can’t feed you if you keep BITING and tryna squirm away!”

… Now, the way that Martyn stands with all his muscles tense, his wings a little spread, paints a real clear picture that he wants to bolt. “We’re gonna meet the flock,” says Bdubs, motioning up the stairwell. “Not all the team will be there, but I’ll introduce you to Icky and show you a place to build a nest. You don’t have to make a nest, but since you can’t roost, I recommend. We cleaned a special nesting spot all for you.”

“Why can’t I roost?” Martyn asks, defensive and probing. He mashes his cow’s little hoof against his leg.

“‘Cuz your tail’s too short.” Not gonna win a lot of lovers that way, that’s for sure… Phantoms roost with little babies; if you’re easy to break and you want kids, you want a partner who can hold them safe and warm well off the ground. Or you find someone who doesn’t care; those are the options that you get. Brighty doesn’t say a lot about his looks, but Bdubs knows what she likes looking at… He flaunts the wings and a little neck and tail; yeah, you know! You know what they’re on about. Makin’ that sweet, sweet-

Martyn looks down and wiggles his tail nub like he’d totally forgotten that detail. He’s still got extra skin tied in a bow where his soul cuts off, too short to fill the sleeve. “Right… And what does roosting give me?”

“Oh, not much. For wild phantoms, it matters, but hybrids have beds and we do what we do. But if you wanna go courting, people won’t take you serious if they can’t hear the rattle in your tail. Phantoms rattle; that’s what we do.”

“I… think I’m good.” Martyn lifts two fingers and makes a rapid back and forth gesture like a tiny running guy upside-down. “BigB and Pearl are all I’m looking for.”

“Okay. Icky will be up at roost. You ever seen a phantom who last respawned under full moon?”

“Not a hybrid, but my sister’s a mob. A full moon spawn is basically the same thing, right? Just bigger?”

Eh. Different behaviors, mobs and hybrids, but as long as Martyn knows what phantoms look like up close, he shouldn’t get jumpscared. Icky seems to enjoy lookin’ scary, bothering people… The beak’s sharp as an iron sword. Bdubs has a long tail, but have you seen Icky’s? It’s modded. They’ve got two. Or at least, a tail that splits at the end. Hits like a flail if he whacks you. Gonna be the takedown of me, I guarantee it. “Icky’s real sweet once you get to know them, but there’s one rule I gotta tell you. Take all the snacks you want from the storage room - If you’re hungry - but all the fish are for Icky.”

“What?” Martyn jerks up his head. “You mean… all the time?” He laughs like a raven, the caw rolling out like a bell. “Captain, do you know who you’re talking to? Denying me fish is cruel and unusual!”

“Icky only eats fish. And Icky’s the one who gave up a good nesting place for you, so you really don’t want to tick them off. If you want fish, go hunt mobs in the canals; if you hunt it, you can eat it. Just don’t take them from the storage room. Those are Icky’s special treat for being the best flock beta.” Bdubs keeps supply stocked up. It makes eating easy for Icky… and if it stops being easy, then Icky won’t have a lot of reasons to take orders instead of taking over.

Martyn sets his jaw, never breaking eye contact. “Got it.”

Okay. Bdubs leads him up the winding stairs. Someone gave Martyn leather boots, which scuff on every step. At the top, Bdubs takes one last look to check how he’s holding up, then pushes in the door. The stuffy stairwell really sets the roost up to be a huge relief. There aren’t walls around the platform here. Just fences, so the flow of air feels amazing on the face. Phantoms swoop in or leap off the edge, and overhead, the clock hands tick like chicken beaks tapping at some seeds. False isn’t here, and neither is iCam- Probably doing Hermitcraft things. But SpottyKV and WellsGlazes look up from their notebooks and give Martyn a wave. They’re sitting at the bar, brushes and dye strewn beside way too many cups… Does he need to cut them off from drinks?

Bdubs watches Martyn scan the roost with his eyes, then turn his head. First one way, then the other. Back again. He’s lookin’. Not quite ready to trust. That’s fine! Hey, he’s just been led into a strange roost and he’s trying to soak it all up. Pungence is over by the beanbags. Not too big a crowd, but no surprise he’s acting tense. Martyn shifts, then looks up for the first time. Icky hangs by his tail, wrapped tight in his own wings. Green eyes stare from muffled dark, and Martyn jumps.

“Whoa!”

Well, there ya go. “Hi, Icky,” Bdubs calls. “Just giving Martyn the tour.” And to Martyn, “Well, this is it. That’s Icky, Pungence, Spotty, Glaze… This one walled-off bit is the storage room. And that’s pretty much it! Do you drink? There’s numbers at the bar.”

Martyn blinks. He makes the triangle motion with his eyes again, tracking for danger before allowing the slightest muscle to relax. “Okay… And I can eat from the storage room?”

“All souls. No skin. Should be okay for your teeth, but I’d stick to mob souls for a couple weeks; you need the fat. Start mixing in chunks of blue over time.” Easy.

“Cool. Mind if I eat now?” Martyn swings open the storage room door without waiting for an answer. Bdubs moves to the bar counter, scanning Spotty and Glaze for any sign they’ve had too much to drink.

“Yellow grass?” he asks, watching Glaze fingerpaint the lower portion of her picture.

“Well, I haven’t had green dye for years.”

“Hmm… I’ll make a note for Scott.” None of the beanbags are green either. Cactus is awfully rare when you live underground. Who doesn’t like green?

The storage room door clicks open. Out swaggers Martyn, and Bdubs’ eyes fly wide. Oh no.

Icky lunges before he can blink. One tick Martyn’s stuffing a fish in his mouth. The next, Icky flattens him with a screech. Martyn hits stone with a thump that flashes his body red. Icky’s on him so fast, so fast, that by the time Bdubs sprints over, they’ve already leapt off with a bright blue fish soul clamped in their beak. Panting, sides heaving, eyes as wild as a full moon calling enchanted armor down on every mob. Icky stares at Martyn and thwacks the split end of his tail against the ground.

“This is mine.”

Martyn curls like a cinnamon roll, one hand squeezed to his cheek. Two hands. Clenched eyes spark with static while white chalaza splurts between his fingers. Oh, shoot. As long as he’s not leaking blue, it’s not that deep, but that looks like it hurt.

“Martyn.” Bdubs’ voice is deadly firm. Martyn cuts off mid-whimper. “Did you take a fish from Icky after I explicitly told you not to?”

Martyn’s eyes dart up to his. Something flickers in the huffy silence before he grits his teeth. “Yep. And I’ll do it again.”

Bdubs’ eyes narrow down to slits. Like he’s caught in a time loop, he slaps his younger self upside the head again. Y’know, being captain would be a whole lot easier if Little Bdubs had lived it, watching how Underdark’s captain solved their problems. Spotty and Glaze are frozen in the background. Pungence over by the beanbags with a paper crane beneath his hands. Icky shakes his head a bit as he gobbles the fish down for later, dissolving it to energy inside his pouch. Everybody lookin’. Everybody wants to watch.

Especially Martyn. Martyn’s watching real close as Bdubs curls the end of his tail. “These are Icky’s fish. Don’t take them from Icky. Let’s you and me go down to the bridge and practice fishing. I’ll teach you how to watch for alligators; that’s where they getcha.”

Martyn laughs. It’s bitter as rotting berries and stings like they’re smudged against an open wound. What a weird guy, so cocky even hunched over with hands pinned to dripping teeth. “Nah, boss- I want Icky’s fish. And if I had a bladder in this dimension, I’d piss all over them. I don’t even care!”

Thank the devs he doesn’t have one… Bdubs wouldn’t put it past him to have messed with the fish first. Icky makes another move forward. Bdubs lifts a hand, warning them back. “I’ve made mistake, bringing you up here when you’re not ready. This is my fault; me. You’re scared. I get it. Let’s take a walk.” He pulls Martyn by the upper arm, hauling him to his feet again. Martyn hisses when he stumbles. He leaves his stuffed cow on the floor, so Bdubs bends to pick it up. This, he forces back in Martyn’s arms. Martyn won’t let go of his cheek, so he has to cram it down. “If you get upset, try biting the cow. It helps.”

Martyn takes one look at the cow. He grabs it by the leg, reels back his arm, and hurls it hard and fast past the guardrail fences. Bdubs’ brows shoot into his hair. The cow sails downward to the street below, and Martyn pants like that throw left him fully drained. Maybe did. A ripple of tension sweeps the roost as everyone snaps their heads around, watching what the captain does.

This isn’t Martyn… Martyn went on tour with him, met Scott, went to dinner, and was such an angel with his friends. He sat on the floor when his legs got tired. He picked his own skin.

Something’s gotten in his head. Is he scared? Tryna make himself look big and strong because Icky’s a big, scary beta? That makes sense. Bdubs is captain, but he’s not as tall as Icky is. Icky is a force to be reckoned with and thought about. “Hey,” he says, but he keeps it controlled. Keeps in control. “Why did you do that?”

“You’re treating me like a child. I know my Between XP is low, but I’ll bet 10 diamond blocks that I’ve been around way longer than you. Can you treat me like a grown-up? I ate blue souls at my old hub all the time, and I don’t need to ‘talk my feelings out’ with a berry cow for babies.” Martyn’s wings shake, sagging down his back like someone ripped one elytra strap away.

Hmm. “Okay. If you don’t want the cow, that’s fine; we can give it to the slime guppies. You’ve never met Debbie; I’ll introduce you!” See? Now cooling off with a walk is fun, not punishment! Martyn shouldn’t be punished if he’s scared. It is scary at the roost if you’re meeting lots of phantoms for the very first time, knowing they’re tight-knit and you’re the guy outside who doesn’t know unspoken rules and jokes. Bdubs turns to look at that wild horse fighting off a saddle. Martyn wants out. He wants to run, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know where. So he’s bucking hard. Bdubs tugs him towards the stairs. Martyn resists for half a heartbeat, then stumbles after him. Back into the stairwell they go and down a couple stairs. When the door is firmly shut, Bdubs takes a breath and gives Martyn’s back a firm pat.

“Hey. Do you want to stop for fish on the way to Debbie’s tree? We’ll cross a bridge on the way; there’s salmon there.”

“Can you believe he did this to me?” Martyn snaps back, ignoring the question. He pulls from Bdubs’ hand and jabs a finger at his tattered cheek. It pulses with the glow of regen, but that’ll probably leave scratch marks for a couple days. “He has tons of fish! Why’d he freak out? He’s more mob than hybrid, I’ll say.”

Bdubs sighs. “You know how you brought your friends from your old hub, and you had to eat ‘em all to do that?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, half the fish hybrids in storage are Icky’s friends, kids, and partners. They only want Icky doing their cycles. It matters to them.”

“That doesn’t mean he had to rip my cheek off! And if they’re in storage, they’re already logged out, right? A kicked player can’t tell who cycles them; that’s what I’ve always heard.”

“Martyn…” Bdubs waits until he looks. He makes him look. “All the snacks in storage are yours to take, within reason, if there’s enough left for everybody else. I even said you’re allowed to eat fish if you catch them yourself. Why’d you take the one thing I said you couldn’t have?”

“Because I like fish too! Hello? ‘Grew up with otters ring a bell?’ That’s my favorite food too. Hnnngghh.” Martyn drags his fingers down his hair and face, then hops on the railing and slides down the stairs. Bdubs follows, gliding down on wings instead. Blueberry Cow’s waiting on the ground outside: a little dirty, but with all its legs and stuff attached. Its cute little leafy ears. Nobody came and picked it up. Bdubs moves to get it, but Martyn’s in front and scoops it up without being asked. And to Bdubs’ surprise, he crushes it to his chest in something like a hug. He hunches forward. Big wings sag to either side. Wings too big for the stumpy tail they’re paired with.

… Oh.

“I’m a selfish prick,” Martyn mutters when a moment’s passed, “and I’m not giving this to the poor baby slimes. I just… I dunno. I need to be mad.”

Is that all? A relief, sure, but that’s barely even a tantrum. “Well, in New Star, you’re allowed to be mad. I wasn’t, when I was a little Bdubs. I lived in Underdark Crossing. They did not like when I had strong feelings about how things worked, believe me… And you’re not a child.” Bdubs recites that firmly, which makes Martyn’s wings twitch. “It’s fine; the slimes get spoiled with toys. You can keep it if you want; you can do whatever. Just don't throw garbage on the floor. Try to recycle; we don’t have much down here. Hey, you wanna meet the Slime Dragon?”

Martyn shakes his head, pushing a fist across his face. He’s more careful with the injured spots, picking lightly with his thumb. “Are there any otter hybrids I could meet instead? They’ll sing the song of my people.” And more quietly, “I’m not a phantom, Bdubs. I just look like one.”

“We don’t have otter hybrids in New Star. Heck, most people prob’ly don’t know they exist.”

“Cool.” There’s no emotion in it when Martyn starts to walk, squeezing Blueberry Cow tighter every step on the way. “Then lucky me, I get to be the first. Can I see the park? I want to roll around in actual dirt. It’s been far too long.”

Oh… great. But you’re not an otter. You’re gonna come live at the roost with me. Right? Martyn’s gonna be flock?

Bdubs doesn’t say that, though. Pocketing his hands, he tags behind without a word.

💙  🧡  💚

Skizz is one of the only guys in New Star to have a bathtub in his apartment. Copper pipes are expensive to craft and an art form to maximize. Most buildings get by with thin pipes that provide water for washing hands and filling buckets, but pumping water in bulk - let alone heated water - is a task best optimized by the shower house. Even Skizz’s place doesn’t have pipes to spurt that much water directly, but he got the greenlight for a tub so he could wash his many dogs (and probably some foster kids too).

When you’re underground in a dimension that’s several decades lived in, you make do with what you have. Who’s got spare iron these days? There’s only one bucket in this apartment, so Vera heats water in the furnace and pours it into several wooden bowls for Tango’s use. Cocoa kneels in the tub with the purple player in her lap. She took her coat off for this. And her usual pink shirt and flower crown. Tango doesn’t mind that at all. Since he’s a blaze, guessing water temperature isn’t his strong suit, so Cocoa helps test to ensure it won’t scare the spawnling. Spawnlings can’t feel much when they don’t have skins, but they definitely respond to temperature… and being wet.

The newbie here is no exception. Purple glow or not, it rubs its face when water pours down its cheeks and splashes its hands when Cocoa offers it an extra bowl. The spawnling tries to grasp the edges, but when Cocoa loosens her grip, it flips the bowl forward and spills water all down its lap. The mouth pops like an ‘O.’ A groping hand claws the empty air. Meeting only empty space, the spawnling turns and clings to Cocoa’s chest instead. Its ear bops against her neck. When she shifts to hug it, Tango can’t help a smile.

“Aww… Aren’t you a little cutie-butt? We’ll get those wings of yours next.”

The newbie seizes fingers in Cocoa’s hair and drags it towards its mouth.

There isn’t much washing to do. Spawnlings are made of milk and love, and milk is all they eat. They absorb all the nutrients and don’t produce waste, unless you count the drool. Still, you’re gonna wanna wash them once or twice a day… or brush them at the very least. Washing off chalaza kickstarts the body into making more. It’s a good habit to get into. You go through a lot of towels in this job.

“Are you missing Hermitcraft for this?” Skizz asks, watching from the bathroom door. Tango lathers soap between his hands and rubs it into the spawnling’s cheeks, even when it kicks and squirms.

“Eh, I’m out for the night… This little guy or gal needs me more.”

Skizz settles on the edge of the composter, tucking his wings tight against his waist. Something about his movement makes the spawnling suddenly swing its head around. Huh? It’s deaf and blind, so how did it-? “Are you taking it to the blaze den?” Skizz asks, scattering Tango’s thoughts like shredded cheese. “I know they love their babies down there.”

Mm. Welsknight won’t mind, though he might have to break up a crowd if people get too close. “Prrrobably not? Once word gets out about the purple soul, that’s a lot of questions I’ve gotta field.” The spawnling squirms, reaching one hand towards Skizz. Cocoa’s struggling to keep it from thwacking her with its wings. “I feel like there’s some merit to opening the floor to others coming forward with purple soul experience, but I also want to get a report scribbled out using unbiased observations in a controlled setting. Also, patient confidentiality is kind of a thing. Uhh… Skizz, are you pinging chat? The spawnling wants you.”

“What?” Skizz stares at the spawnling with the same confused expression the spawnling’s giving him. It opens and closes its hands like tiny stars. On automatic, Skizz reaches out to take it beneath the arms. “How does it know I’m here? Oh- Is this because it has no lens caps? Can it recognize hybrids this early?”

“Are you purring or something? Like a dragon? They can sense vibrations and heat.”

Cocoa shrugs. “Maybe it just wants ‘away from water’ and is feeling for a towel.”

“Yeah, that could be it,” Tango agrees, watching the spawnling nuzzle into Skizz’s vest. It’s not the softest fabric, but maybe the sleekness feels a lot like parrot feathers. “If it’s wet and cold, it’s looking for its mom.”

“What’s up?” Skizz coos to the little player, holding it very near his face. He tosses it towards the ceiling. Tango flinches on instinct, but it lands safely in Skizz’s hands again. Louder, aggressive, “What’s up!? We better dry you off, Goldie-Scar. You’re dripping all over me!”

Tango arches one brow. “It’s bad luck to nickname a spawnling.”

“Aww!” Skizz swings the newbie above his head and blows a raspberry. It wriggles in his grip. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I do, actually. Call me superstitious, but it’s gotten me this far in life.” Don’t kick Murphy in the forehead if you don’t want the consequences when he cracks down the law. Tango grabs a soft towel off the rack and tosses it to Skizz. Cocoa’s gotta dress again anyway, so her hands are full. While Skizz rubs dry the spawnling’s gooey hair, Tango fluffs the wings. There’s not a lot of substance to them yet - no feathers to preen - but he runs his fingers down the shape of its wings anyway. One day it’ll need to be familiar with the feeling. Might as well start ‘em young. “There we go. Fresh as a flower!”

The spawnling keeps batting at Skizz’s hands, but after a moment of Tango pulling at it, it twists around and reaches an arm towards him instead. Then the second.

Well, I AM the warm one… Sizzling hot, as a matter of fact. Tango lifts the newbie from Skizz’s hip and holds it to his shoulder. Soft, skinless fingers grip his back. “I’ll probably be busy on Hermitcraft a while, and Cocoa might be in and out. How you feeling? Think you and Vera can take on one more?” Unfortunately, Cocoa’s spotty connection to the world beyond their AFK is something they can’t risk long-term. If neither she nor Tango can be there for the new player, it’s liable to crawl off and hurt itself. Or get logged out by a prowling hunter who considers unguarded newbies easy prey. Never trust a hybrid not to take the easy path to a free meal… and if a wandering trader finds it, they’ll probably straight-up steal it and sell it to the highest bidder. Let’s just say that not all species are as parental as the blaze. Especially on full moon nights.

“I have just the outfit for it,” Skizz says in total seriousness, so with a smirk of amusement, Tango follows him to the kitchen. Skizz searches the spare bedroom, then reappears with a piece of white cloth spattered in orange and black patches. Tango can’t help his spluttered laugh.

“Where did you get that?”

Skizz only grins, holding the calico cat onesie for him and Cocoa to see (Tango hears her muffle a laugh). “Hey, it’s not our first spawnling! Vera made this one.”

“A chest pouch to catch the crystal if it pops loose without squeezing it in too tight, right, nice…” That’s kind of the problem with sticking spawnlings into skins. They’ve got crystals in their chest that need to fall out and they’ve got lens caps on their eyes. A new player will unscrew the caps when it’s ready, but sealing them inside a body before those things come loose is just asking for trouble. Well… Maybe not this player, since it clearly lost its caps along the way. Did somebody hurt it? Is that what triggered the Totem that now scars its chest with gold?

Well, if there’s anyone Tango trusts to know a spawnling’s needs, it’s Skizz. He’s great with kids. Skizz spreads the cat onesie on the table and Tango lays the purple player atop it. With a few pinches and buttons, Skizz has it dressed lickity split. He hoists the baby in the air and gives a little bounce that knocks the kitty ears forward on its head. “Nooch! You gonna hang with Uncle Skizz tonight? Yeah, and probably most of this week. Uncle Tango’s keeping pretty busy.”

The spawnling squirms, reaching with grabby hands. Skizz pulls it in and lets it settle on his chest. It grasps around, finds his tie, and guides that towards its goopy mouth. “Hey, do we have milk for this kid?”

“I brought some,” Cocoa says, pointing to the bag she left on a kitchen chair. “And Etho said he’d get some more.”

Tango, never one to miss an opportunity to brag, hugs her with a grin. “Best dragon-dodger in the southeast, my friend! You ever seen a ravager milk a dragon? She got right up to Debbie and skiddly-doodle’d all over her face!”

Cocoa’s chuckle nearly shakes him off. “I just asked. And Ryguy backed me up. Honestly, I didn’t even know the Slime Dragon made milk.”

“Good ol’ Ryguy,” Tango mutters without emotion. Blaze and slimes are lifelong best buds; yeah, totally. He oozes his arms away. “Well… I’m going to try the library for any books on purple souls, and then I have to hit the blaze den. It’s getting cold outside.” Any big drop in temperature is as good as bedtime for a Netherkin species.

“I’ll be here,” Skizz says, tickling a finger beneath the spawnling’s double chin. It chews his tie, staring deep in his face with gaping white eyes. “I think me and little Goldie-Scar might binge some documentaries! I’ve needed an excuse to catch up anyway.”

“Have fun with that… Send me a whisper if you need a break. I’ll try checking in before I’m due on Hermitcraft.”

“Will do! Come on, little buddy- You and Uncle Skizzy are about to learn how trapped chests are made.”

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Table Manners

💙  🧡  💚

“Something wrong?” Bdubs asks, watching Martyn prod a finger at tough dirt. They’re out in the park, just like he wanted to be. There’s exposed coarse dirt over here by a tree. Scar really did a great job with park design; people should thank him more often. He should make tutorials.

“It’s just… very dry.” Martyn sounds both disappointed and resigned. “Crusty, too.” He lets big grains of it trickle through his fingers to the grass. “I guess that makes sense. You don’t get any rain down here.” Martyn digs his fingers near the tree roots, raking hard. His fingers scrape and can’t get down very far. A long crease drags his eyebrows down. He digs harder to no avail.

“There’s a Deny field on the hub,” Bdubs reminds him. This was explained in Martyn’s residency contract, though he can’t blame him for forgetting; the contract is a lot of info to take in. It’s easier when new arrivals to the station go to class. Maybe Martyn should sign up for Education- Do you think he’s missing any classes? “You can’t dig here unless a dragon lifts it for you.”

“It’s not just that,” Martyn mutters. “How do you even grow anything in this? It’s not…” He scratches again. “Word, it’s dusty. There’s no aeration here.”

Bdubs shrugs. “The dirt’s just decorative, in the park. At the tree farm, we use bone meal to bypass the healthy dirt problem. You ever seen a tree farm? Don’t get near the TNT. You won’t like it when it explodes.”

Martyn doesn’t answer him. He picks at the dirt, catching tiny pebbles beneath his nails. “It’s so… I dunno. ‘Padded up.’ Packed tight. It’s dry in layers. No…” He looks up. “No worms.”

“Silk touch enchantments are rare these days,” Bdubs says, kneeling next to him. He scrapes a bit of dirt together too, building up a scratchy mound. “The world’s a lot more dangerous now than it was when we were young, and it’s only getting worse. Anarchy players destroy more and more. Two dragons dead. The Allay Dragon wasn’t dead when I was little.” He shrugs his wings. The noise they make calls up memories of flapping blankets or Cleo replacing the sheets on their bed. “It’s safer down here, in secret, and we don’t go out anymore in case someone follows us back. We don’t have a lot of weapons here; it wouldn’t be hard for a couple players who’ve beefed themselves up to take us down. It’s why we have the contracts; keeps us safe. We gotta make do with what we’ve got, even if that means no worms.”

“Oh,” says Martyn. He digs his fingers in the dirt again. “I should be able to dig at least a little, right? Usually I can, even in a Deny field. This stuff’s just awful.”

“Are moon instincts pulling at ya? Yeah, I’ve been there; full moon is coming.” The turn of the phases makes everybody grumpy. Bdubs jerks his head away from the park, over to a place south of the clock tower. “The tree farm’s out that way. That’s where I dig when I have the instincts for it, but you have to be careful. Mobs can spawn on full blocks like the grass. Trust me, you do not want to take on a soul creeper if you haven’t got a sword.”

“Right…”

“Come on.” Bdubs holds out his hand. Martyn, reluctant, takes it without complaint. Dirty palms scrape across each other and Bdubs hauls him to his feet. “I wanna teach you how to hunt a person, not just mobs. You don’t have your fangs yet, but I’ll help. It’s good practice to try. You interested?” It’s good to tell Martyn the plan, and good to let him turn the offer down if he isn’t feeling ready yet.

“All right, sure… I think I know the basics. I used to watch the wolves. Never got in their way, though.” Martyn rolls his eyes and makes a dramatic gesture with his hand, indicating his whole body before tucking straight into a bow. “If they bit me by mistake, I wouldn’t respawn anywhere near my parents, and we can’t have that.”

“Do you miss them?” Martyn never brought them up when he signed his contract. That’s kind of the thing about New Star Station… To keep the secrecy, there’s a whole lot of cutting off the outside world. Not a lot of ever going back.

“Eh, I don’t mind the time away. Little heavy on the smothering. To be honest, moving out for school is one of the best things I ever did for myself. Really made me think through what I wanted and grow up quick. Not too quick. It’s what I needed.” Martyn dusts off his knees - and Blueberry Cow - then gives Bdubs a shining smile. “I’m ready for a hunt! Who we takin’ down?”

To that, Bdubs can only chuckle. “Oh, I’ve got someone in mind…”

💙  🧡  💚

Breaking into the underground isn’t the easiest thing to do, especially if you can’t fly in from underneath like Martyn did. The right way to do it, you eat chorus fruit while up on the surface. If you stand in exactly the right spot, it’ll ping you down to the tunnels. And once you’re in the tunnels, you have to make your way through a maze of mobs. There are other tricks to slow a person down, especially once you reach the glowing river that dissolves a player into light particles, but when you make it down to bedrock at the bottom, there’s still one obstacle you have to face.

New Star is surrounded by a bailey wall. It’s one long, connected barrier that keeps residents safely in and most of the non-flying, non-teleporting strangers safely out. There’s doors and windows in it, plus balconies looking down, but someone will see you if you try to force your way in. Blazes live out here, plus Cub and Scar, and they’re both vex. Vex are dangerous, and blaze are very territorial.

Bdubs brings Martyn to the west wall’s roof. Martyn can flap just enough to get himself there, though Bdubs watches close for any sign of slipping. Martyn’s out of sync, but maybe keeping steady while he flies takes less struggle than keeping steady while he walks. Up on top, Bdubs slips into a more quadruped stance. Galloping just makes it easier to go straight into a dive. When you’re a phantom, thwacking your tail for take-off is basically required; they’re built for gliding, not launching, so they need all the leverage they can get.

Bdubs scampers along the wall without a word, only glancing back to Martyn on occasion. Martyn’s slower, less familiar with running on all fours than Bdubs is by far. Bdubs chirps a contact call, checking in, and Martyn responds: Baby here.

Baby is not his name, and the stubborn glint (and tight-set jaw) that Martyn stares back with warns Bdubs not to call him that aloud. Yeah, Martyn needs a real call sign. Later. Soon. But hunting’s a good place to start.

If there’s anything phantoms are the best at - And there’s real sources to back this up - it’s tracking down a player whose energy is dropping low. When players get sleepy, the phantoms come out to play. Bdubs caught just the scent of chemicals and wildflowers he’s looking for, and he runs along the roof like a monkey with Martyn as close behind as he can manage. It’s not usual, hunting in a pair. Not the instinct, that’s for sure… but in New Star, they get by like this. No one’s allowed to hit them back.

Up slight raises in the roof blocks and down again. There’s chimneys and turrets to dodge. Bdubs chirps again - River Ripple here - and Martyn chirps his Baby here reply. Anyone who listens will hear ‘em coming. That’s fine. Phantoms are only s’posed to pounce on people who choose not to head towards home. You can exit New Star through a portal that whips you from Between to your AFK server, but you better do it before the phantoms, well… get a little too impatient with your fun and games.

But his target of the evening isn’t pathfinding towards their room. She rarely ever does. Up ahead, the bailey wall takes a sharp right turn and starts running east to west. Cleo’s climbing the north wall. Bdubs pounces off a chimney, lands in a crouch, thwacks his tail, and springs off the wall entirely. Down below, a bedrock road ripples like dark ocean water in a storm. It goes all the way around the city, separating the bailey wall from the perimeter’s edge. Icky has exclusive greenlight to hunt any players too foolish to head to bed, but when Cleo’s out here climbing, well…

… Then she’s not on Icky’s border road. Is she?

Martyn’s take-off is a little less graceful, his wings snapping loud. Bdubs tilts his glide higher. Pulling in his wings, he lands on a ledge high above Cleo. Every move she makes is slow, careful, as she slots undead fingers in the roughness of bedrock and stone. She’s made it two and something chunks off the ground, at least. Hey, that’s not bad when you can’t jump-stack or fly!

Martyn’s landing is as clumsy as his take-off, but one scramble of flailing feet later, he hauls himself on the ledge beside his captain. Even gives a thumbs up. Cleo pauses. She looks up to see them peering down, maybe half-hidden in the dark. Not the eyes, though… Martyn can’t aggro yet, so his are still blue, but Bdubs’ are full danger green. He can feel it in his core. And because they glow.

“Hey!” he calls down. “We’re going to eat you!”

“No you’re not!”

“Oh, yes I am! I’ve got a student predator with me. I’m showing him the ropes!” Bdubs bonks Martyn with his wing, trying to sweep him closer to the edge of the ledge. He’ll get a better view of Cleo that way. But Martyn bears the heels of his hands against rock, full resistance and wild eyes.

“Whoa… Uhh, Bdubs- Are you sure we should be starting here? It’s a little… high.”

Huh? It’s not as high as the roosting platform. Granted, the platform’s not much higher than where they sit, but it’s not Martyn’s first time going up. “Can’t you fly? You can fly.”

Martyn says nothing. Itty-bitty fingernail claws grip the stone. Martyn doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. He stares past the ledge into empty space, shrinking slowly to his belly at Bdubs’ side. Oh, shoot.

“You’re not gonna go far in life if you don’t jump off the roofs,” Bdubs warns. He’s sittin’, watching Cleo, but when Martyn says nothing, Bdubs pushes to all fours again. His wings unfurl with giant thwacks against the air. “It’s fine; I’ll go get her. I’ll just knock her to the ground; it’s easy angle for you.”

“What?” Martyn looks up, but Bdubs is already diving with a thwap of tail on stone. Wings tucked tight- We’re home free, baby! He arrows straight for Cleo, cuffs her on the head with a wing, and swoops right behind. Does a little spin! Martyn chirps from high above, but Cleo hardly has time to act. When they jerk their head, Bdubs grabs their wrist in one hand and braces against the rock wall with the other. He grins.

“Have a nice landing, sweetheart.”

Cleo’s pupils shrink in panic. With that, Bdubs yanks her loose and lets her drop. She plunges. He cracks the knuckles loud. Then we backflip into a dive so we’re graceful as a fairy when we-

“NO!” In a lightning flash, Martyn tears past Bdubs on whirlwind wings. A spurt of cyan overtakes his pixels, then flushes his whole body blue. Martyn zips his pixels straight through Cleo’s falling body. He tryna rip her from her skin? Trying, maybe, but his fangs can’t tear. Instead of catching her and pulling up in a swoop, Cleo and Martyn go thumping to the wall, then tumble together in the grass. Red damage ticks tell Bdubs all he needs to know.

Well, no one’s first hunt is perfect.

He flaps lower, shifting in a way that’ll let him land on two feet. Cleo’s face-first and sprawled in the grass, stuck with thorns and berry stains. Martyn’s on top, trying to sit straight. He rubs two fingers against his eyes like he caught grit in them after hitting the wall. Yeah, probably; bedrock tends to flake. They landed in the dust. The damage tick after that looks like Cleo shoving Martyn off their back hard enough for it to register as a punch. It knocks him in the berry bush, and he yelps as stickers pierce his skin. At the sound of Bdubs’ approaching flaps, they both jerk up their heads. Instantly, Martyn’s in a crouch between Bdubs and Cleo, bearing nubby teeth like fangs. Wings smack out. His tail whips across the grass.

Uh-oh. Full moon’s coming in. Not yet, but very soon, and Martyn’s tipping towards mob behavior anyway. He looks like a wreck on all fours- his hair full of grass, nostrils flaring like a horse. Cleo shifts to a crouch as well. One hand moves to a sword that isn’t resting at their hip… not that they’re allowed to pull it on a phantom anyway. Either way, Martyn doesn’t look like he’s got plans to back down. “Easy,” Bdubs says, making soft motions with his hands. “Hey…” Martyn’s eyes dart left and right, adjusting slight position to block as much of Cleo with his body as he can, forcing them to scootch back against the bushes and wall. “Martyn, I’m captain. It’s okay… It’s just practice. We’re not taking Cleo down for real.” Keep it steady. Keep it firm.

Martyn blinks, each time sounding like a click of zoom shifting against his inner lenses. Martyn shifts his head to look at Cleo, who stares back in silence. They both flick attention to Bdubs again.

“… Sorry.” Martyn lowers his wings against his back and thumps his haunches to the grass. “I don’t know why I just-”

Cleo bolts the instant Martyn’s down. Bdubs saw it coming, lunging with outstretched hands. “Hey, don’t let her get away! That’s not how you hunt good! That’s how you hunt bad.” With fists grabbing hair and clothes, it’s easy enough to yank Cleo sideways and get his glowing fangs in place below the neck. First one bite, then the second. Connection breaks. Aha; perfect. Bdubs drags Cleo’s soul from body, even when she squirms against it. In the prickle bushes, Martyn flinches.

“Right. Sorry… The wolves always brought the quarry down. Or I’d just eat fish.”

Yeah, I bet. Useless ravens. Big egos and pretty faces, but they never do the dirty work; they just take the hand-outs they get- For no reason! Bdubs loosens his teeth from Cleo’s form, letting blue soul flop against grass instead of dragging, twisted weird. He takes the mount quick so Cleo won’t run, but exaggerates the motion so Martyn gets a good look when hands come thumping down on shoulders. Knees fall into place beside her hips. Glowing palms keep her pinned without a fight. “Hey, Cleo… I’m teaching Martyn traditional logouts. You mind bein’ my example? You’re so pretty. You hold still for me.”

She stares up at him, full side-eye. There’s a bleep on his communicator. Bdubs frowns, but adjusts how he sits so he can keep her pinned with one palm and both knees, getting his communicator from his pocket with his other hand. I should switch to the wrist design. Pockets are the worst sometimes, especially when he’s wearing charm bracelets. But he gets it out and takes a quick look.

ZombieCleo: What the hell Bdubs? You could’ve asked first!

“I ask! I ask right now, and did before! Let me teach Martyn how to eat you.” He puffs his chest a little higher. “You’re ungrateful! You’d complain if you were eaten with minty fresh fangs. I’m best friends with you; you should let me eat you.”

Cleo hasn’t gotten back in her skin, of course. It’s lying crumpled in the grass and berry bush twigs. Without a skin, she has no pupils to shift. No lenses to focus in. She turns her whole head to look at Martyn and fixes him with bright white sockets. He’s caught in a searchlight. Bdubs keeps a hold on her, watching for any more reaction. Martyn’s on all fours in a crouch, staring back at Cleo with too-big eyes like he thinks she might pounce. Nuh-uh; she’s on her back. Two communicators buzz again. So does the one inside a pocket in Cleo’s pants, which are still on her skin.

ZombieCleo: Hello Martyn. Big steps outside the fishbowl?

Martyn needs a moment to pull his comm out with an awkward hand. He’s breathing a little extra hard. It’s fine. Bdubs and Cleo wait patiently while he pulls up the chat. After skimming it, he splutters something like a giggle. “Uh… You could say that, yeah.”

Well, she’s not getting any pinned-er. Bdubs drifts one hand low, tracing down her neck, then other parts of shoulder, chest, and the space between. A thin cord hangs like loose spider string, flopped to the side. Bdubs curls a fingertip around the nub. Some of it snapped so hard when he broke connection, it flicked inside the goop of soul. No problem; he can fix that easy. Teach proper anatomy. These little strands are what connect soul to skin; you can see the two puckered marks at the front of Cleo’s chest where they attach. Bdubs shimmers the strand upward, pulling it through Cleo’s glowing form so Martyn can take a look.

“See these?” he asks. Obediently, Martyn pads over with cautious hand-and-foot plodding. “These are ‘connection strands,’ or ‘conn strands.’ They snapped off when I got my fangs in her; this is how I broke her from her skin.”

“Right, I know that part… That’s all gristle, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well… It not taste good, but it won’t hurt you to digest. These just do jobs.” Bdubs gives the strand a tug, pulling Cleo’s attention back to him. “We eat the rest of her. Unless she eats us first.” His grip tightens on her chin, nails biting into gooey blue. “But she can’t! We’re phantoms; it’s not allowed by New Star’s phantom contract. As long as we only hunt people who’ve got green comms, they can’t hunt us back. Just watch your back around people not on green.”

“I see.” Martyn studies Cleo like she’s a rug on auction. Bdubs is pleased, at least, that despite that earlier flash of uncertainty, Martyn’s interested in learning. Some of this he might already know, growing up around otters and wolves. This is good! He’s engaged. I knew it. I knew you wanna be a phantom. Just because he grew up with otters, it doesn’t mean he can’t learn to be a phantom now.

“In other places, though - other places with no contract - she can still bite when she’s outside her skin like this. Not if she’s in free-cam. In free-cam, it’s different; it’s only the surface level of a soul, and she can’t attack. Her free-cam looks a bit different, but this is all soul, so she could if she wanted to. Show him your pretty teeth, Cleo? For me?”

They turn their head, which oozes against his knee. The blank stare against his face is so long, Bdubs cracks a smile. His comm buzzes, probably alerting him she just said something like “You don’t get to talk to me like that” or “There WILL be consequences when we meet up again,” but he doesn’t read it. Regardless, like she’s someone who takes orders all the time, Cleo turns her head back to Martyn. She parts her jaw and shows off all those pearly blues. Every single one is spiked. There’s no denying that, and the two largest - jabbing down - are in the front. Martyn’s wings flex, perturbed again. He licks his mouth, signaling Not about to bite you with his silence, and looks away.

“Beautiful,” Bdubs murmurs. He draws a loop of Cleo’s glowing hair towards him, leaning down to press his nose against its root. It’s like a nest of snakes or squid tentacles when it’s tangled and blue like this. “You’re so pretty, Cleo… Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“Break the conn strands… Got it. What’s next on the To Do?”

“Depends. If you’re hungry, we can just eat her, but you can clean a person’s code using your teeth without logging them out. It’s just that logging out’s more fun, and they’ll wake up better rested that way than if you leave ‘em half-conscious on the floor. Some people might tell you they can get by fine only half-logged, but if you see ‘em yawning later, you’ll know they’re learning lessons. Sharper brains if you eat ‘em so they get a full sleep.” He smiles at the tight-lipped expression on Martyn’s face, lifting Cleo’s hair high again. It’s tangled around his claws. “What d’you think? Should we eat her now, or just catch and release?”

Martyn looks up. A flash of startled energy bolts across his skin, but he catches on fast to the game Bdubs is tryna play. “Oh, gee, I dunno, boss,” he chirps in reply (Cleo rolls their head to mime they’re rolling eyes). “Maybe we oughta rough her up a little first. Teach her a lesson before she tries to scramble to a hideaway. I don’t think the mayor would like her climbing his big ol’ wall!”

“Yes… He wouldn’t like her doing something that might lead to tearing her pretty nails and skin. But, she has been so good for us… She can go hunt. I’ll just use her for teaching you, then we let her run off with her tail between her legs. ”

His comm rattles fiercely at his hip. Bdubs cackles without even lookin’, ‘cuz he knows it’s bad (Oh, no!) He gestures for Martyn. “You can’t pull souls out easy on your own, and tearing’s hard, but I’ll teach you the next step above eating mobs. You need bite XP for your teeth to get big. Most anivores, we get that by play-fighting when we’re little in the nest. Did you do that with raven kids?”

Martyn hesitates. “I… made attempts when I was young. They weren’t well-received.”

“Hey, that’s okay. Impulse was the only baby in his nest, and he turned out fine! Cleo knows.” (She jumps a little when he pulls her back into conversation; he’s been toying with her hair this whole time). Bdubs doesn’t even look at her now, focused in full on Martyn. “We’ll get you XP fast by doing stuff like this. Our job is cleaning code, and I said this, but we don’t even have to log people out for that.”

“Because we lick?”

“Yes. And if you bite right on the neck, you can set up your debuggers. That’s a good start; let’s see.” Keeping a tight grip on Cleo’s hair, he pulls her just enough that the edge of her neck is exposed for Martyn. Bdubs brushes a stray curl of hair aside. “There’s a little lump where you would take her pulse, riiiiight… there! That’s information center for anivore brains.”

Martyn tilts his head. “Huh. And this won’t log her out?”

“No. That’s right down here between the connectors. See the nipples? It’s right between ‘em; that’s where you bite to kick her in one hit. Anywhere else, it won’t force-log.” He adjusts his grip, reaching glowing fingers through Cleo’s chest again. Only this time, he nudges not the strands to surface, but the whole inventory slot. It pulses, sort of square, and when he pries it through her surface, it flips inside out like a pocket. This exposes cyan blue without the chalaza overcoat. Cleo winces when he pops it through, leaving it vulnerable to cold underground air, but it’s easier to give Martyn a good look that way. Bdubs motions with a nod. “You can touch. She won’t mind.”

Martyn looks to Cleo for permission. She stares back, betraying nothing, but she doesn’t kick her legs or fight. After a few seconds, Martyn’s hand joins Bdubs’ on the exposed inventory slot. Soul energy sputters to his fingertip. He traces out the little seams, feeling the corners of the tiny pouch. It doesn’t look too big, but… it’s not supposed to be. It’s just gotta hold a pinch of letters, nothing more.

“Don’t bite it,” Bdubs warns, “‘cuz that will be a logout, but you can lick. See if you can figure out what item she’s got in this slot.”

Again, Martyn glances at the silent Cleo before he makes his move. Then he swipes a lick across teeth and lips. He bends his head, laps the very tip of his tongue against pocketspace, and catches a drippy string on the end- Like he’s had practice! When he pulls back his mouth, it sticks like a slash across his chin. He slurps it like a noodle. “item.minecraft.glass_bottle.”

“Oh, perfect. Is that what you’ve got, Cleo?” Bdubs gives her a little shake. “Yeah, you know! Prob’ly took a potion before climbing that wall. Maybe strength. She’s holding out on us!”

Cleo’s staring at him, waiting out the session with more patience than his teasing’s due. Intensity flares in her eyes, but she can’t do nothin’ against phantoms, and she knows that. So she waits. Hey, this is what non-anarchy life is all about! Living in healthy society means a lot of taking turns.

“When a flock swoops from the sky, we’re always aiming for the chest. That way, we hit hard and force a logout without our target fighting back. Thank you, Cleo; you’re a real angel tonight.”

She growls. He can tell. But she’s being so good for Martyn. She’s a teacher too! Bdubs lets them up and turns his head, drinking in Martyn’s curious fascination at every movement their bare soul makes. As he watches Cleo take their skin and lace the front shut around soul again, Bdubs… just can’t help himself.

There is no wind or sun in the underground, but it blows his hair sideways and warms him from the inside-out. No lights out here by the wall. Martyn’s hair’s the most brilliant gold you’ve ever seen, and the bone-patterned shawl he’s wearing looks like someone color-picked it just for him. There’s wonder shining in those lapis-blue eyes. There’s sharp danger in his baby teeth.

You’re beautiful… Look at him. Martyn’s out hunting with him. He’s taking orders, getting permission from his captain, running through his contact calls, and working hard. It’s only been a couple days in New Star and he’s already falling into step. Already growing up.

I’m teaching him. Martyn grows ‘cuz Bdubs is teaching him how to hunt and dive. He’s listening. He’s learning so much. He belongs here with the flock.

💙  🧡  💚

Wow. Today was… weird. To be completely honest, Martyn can’t decide how he feels about it. Like the flip of a switch, Bdubs went from coddling him to bringing him along on a real, actual hunt. Sure, they didn’t actually eat Cleo, but Bdubs demonstrated the exact step-by-step, and Martyn’s pretty sure he could repeat it if he had to. Maybe not without fangs, but those will come in time. Just gotta get my bite XP up. Didn’t Bdubs say phantoms fight each other to help with that? It’s never ‘Win’ and ‘Lose’ when you both gain XP from a quick and dirty spar.

He could get used to this. In some ways, New Star feels a lot like EVO. He wakes up. He hops on whatever server he’s been told to. When he’s done playing games, he’s relieved of duty and cut loose to wander Between until his energy runs dry. And when you’re a phantom, you can kick the energy rrrright back up with a good soul in your guts. Martyn still wishes he’d gotten a fish, but at least he isn’t starving. Not sure how long I’ll last, though. He didn’t get any bites on Cleo.

Bdubs left him to his own devices; walked him to the market street and wished him well. Just like that? Guess he really meant it when he said he didn’t feel I’m ready for the roosting tower. Good riddance for that. Too many people. The full moon phantom’s the size of a ravager. No thanks.

He’s already got a place to rest his head, and it has a portal to his AFK. Maybe phantoms don’t have a natural sleepy-time curfew, and maybe if they eat enough, they can stay up all night, but did Bdubs ask if he wants to spend his free time at the phantom roost? Maybe he wants to go AFK sometimes. Maybe he’s looking forward to weeks of offline time between Evo sessions, mining and building and snuggling BigB and Pearl. Without Watchers hovering behind their backs.

Back in EVO, the Watchers herded them all to a dorm room when their energy levels dropped low. When everyone logged out of Evolution SMP, the servers shut down and their gang was left to their own devices. Someone would check in on them every now and then. As a group, they mostly studied books and tested their minds with flashcards.

And… now, everything is different. He, BigB, and Pearl really have an AFK server all their own. No more Watchers. No Mum and Dad. Even the cam accounts are far away. Martyn feels like he’s jerked the leash from his mother’s hand and taken off towards the edge of the world. I guess I kind of did!

Bdubs walked him to the market and basically told him “Okay, have fun.” And he left. Off he went, back to the roost to take care of his flock or do whatever captains do. Martyn is a ship floating in a bottle, and that bottle bobs in a giant bathtub with waves that lash him back and forth. He’s safe here… He is safe? This world is contained, but there’s so much to do in New Star, he’s not sure where to start. Being left unsupervised is… wild and terrifying and bold and free all at once.

I’m not a child anymore. Does Bdubs finally realize that?

Now, he sits with dangling legs on the overhanging roof of a restaurant he can’t pronounce, holding Blueberry Cow in his lap as the world whirls by below. It really does smell like blueberries. The streets aren’t overcrowded, but people flock through them with loyal dogs trotting on their heels. Some hold hands. Some choose to fly. Martyn rubs the cow between its horns and glides his finger down dangling ears. In the distance, the clock tower’s bells begin to ring. And this was here all this time? How many years flickered down the calendar with this city thriving unknown and underground?

No sign of BigB and Pearl. Either they stayed on the New Evo SMP a lot longer than him - Doesn’t sound likely - or they already went AFK. He didn’t sniff them around the apartment, though. Maybe they’re hanging out with new friends. Pearl seemed really interested in watching anime with Scott. Think they’re gonna make something of that? And BigB woke up in New Star before Martyn did. Maybe he’s already made some new friends… or is hanging with the Evo crew somewhere else.

I wasn’t invited to a get-together. Martyn checks chat on his comm, but it’s looking pretty quiet. No messages from BigB. No messages from Pearl. Hmm… He can’t help the way his lips twitch down in the corners. Even when things became sort-of official between the three of them, they didn’t send a lot of whispers in the EVO hub. They spent most their time together; if you weren’t playing online, you were probably in the lobby doing a practice test, or maybe studying in the library. Every now and then, Martyn had to help in the kitchens, but they’re used to talking within prox distance, not over comm.

Maybe he’ll bring that up next time they’re all together. Martyn rocks his head back and forth, playing the idea across his brain like a pinball. Mm, whatchu think? Whisper now and see if that prompts them? Yeah. Yeah, why not? It’s not weird. We’re together. They’re not exactly dating… They barely even cuddle. But they’re a trio. They AFK together and share the same big bed. It’s pretty much the same thing.

InTheLittleWood: Hey! We should do activity night sometime. Anyone free tonight?

He lifts his eyes, watching hybrids shop and play in the streets below. It looks like some people run their own gardens around here? Some are selling excess crops. Martyn’s seen a lot of plant-covered balconies, but where did people find the farmland? Are special froglights keeping the buds well-lit? Don’t see how that works if all the dirt down here is as awful as the park. You can splash water on the roots, but without good soil, the plants are lucky if they pull through at all. Brown and shriveled, more probably. Martyn wonders if there’s a bigger farm space down here he just hasn’t stumbled across yet

Or do they get all their crops from wandering traders? Maybe. Martyn turns his had, staring towards the southeast. Bdubs said they have a tree farm here. Do they have lots of different kinds? Maybe wood gets exchanged for crops. People have been talking for years that the tree population is decreasing fast, but it doesn’t feel immediate when Fern Mountain and Black River are full of lush plants up to your armpits.

Probably not hard to keep the bone meal supply stocked with a city this big. That’s a lot of composters; do the math.

He’s answered a moment later, first by Pearl and then by B:

PearlescentMoon: After next evo for sure! With a group tonight tho

bigbst4tz2: Could swing by later! I’m making the rounds to look for other illagers. Come join me if you want; I’m in the northwest corner.

Hmm. Well. It’s not a rejection, but the northwest is pretty far away. Martyn bounces his leg, wondering where we go from here. He ruffles the fluffy tuft on Blueberry Cow’s big round head. “We need to get you a name. Maybe I can sew a little tag on your bum; ‘If found, return to InTheLittleWood, insert address here.’ Ooh. Where do I live again?” He tilts up his head, scanning the tall buildings all around. Lean back far enough and you’ll flop on crumpled wings. And the world moves on.

It seems nice, here in New Star. BigB and Pearl like it. Timmy and Netty looked happy. At this point, Martyn trusts his friends’ judgment more than his own. It’s neither warm nor cold down here, though if he had to guess, that’s because it’s the wet season. Weather report: Expect a lot more chills once the dry one rolls around. Or… is that not true underground? The Fox Dragon’s hub is just above their heads, and according to his kiddie picture books, there’s a lot of snow in those woods. Something about igloos and conserving heat…

Should I whisper Netty and Tim? If they’re closer to the market than BigB, he wouldn’t mind hanging out. Mm…

But they might be doing couples’ things, like trying new restaurants now that they’re down here. Maybe Skizz and Vera are treating them and all the other refugees they took under their wing. All the ones who weren’t me. Martyn studies his comm again, chewing on his bottom lip. Etho’s apartment isn’t that far from here; he’d just have to pass the big custom tree where the Slime Dragon built her nest. Maybe he can hang at Etho’s place? From what he’s gathered, Etho does a lot of codework. The medical field isn’t Martyn’s thing, but maybe he’d like it more if Etho taught him a couple tricks. If nothing else, the doctor’s gotta have tools he can use to shave. Or to pull his chin-hairs longer; he hasn’t decided yet.

A glint of russet-ginger hair passing by drags Martyn’s attention from the screen. He looks up. Ooh? Bracing his hand, he jumps down from the restaurant overhang without a second thought. Parachuting his wings keeps him from hitting the road too hard. An ache fires up his ankles, but nothing sharp enough to flash him red. “Cleo! Hey, it’s me!” Whoa, hello. The world swirls until he gets his bearings back.

Am I interrupting? Cleo’s walking with a friend. Martyn hadn’t realized how close they stood until they both turn back to look at him. Uhh… He falters mid-step, bonking the tip of his shoe against the ground. Whooo’s that? A guy, I think? Her camera twin? Boyfriend? Husband? Is he gonna be mad that he and Bdubs nearly ate Cleo earlier today? His tail twitches down like it’s trying to tuck behind his legs. Does it always do that? He never really thought about it, until Bdubs pointed out he has a stumpy one.

“Uh… Hey. Glad you’re doing okay.” Did my voice just squeak? Gods, why do I sound like a nervous teen at a dance right now? For the record, he went to midterm dance with Jimmy. Not nervous talking to people… Just an actual giant nerd. I still owe Pearl and BigB a dance, come to think of it. They did run out on EVO before the party came around. That’s why the Watchers never saw it coming. Being in a trio’s a little weird, honestly- You never realize how many things are painted just for two until you’re in an odd-numbered group. He, Pearl, and BigB all asked each other out with plans to show up together, and frankly if the Watchers had a problem with it, Martyn would flip them off in his mind while his hands were busy holding tight to his friends. Dancing might make me sick right now. He has to put one hand against a display barrel, then both hands, just to keep himself together. “Me and Bdubs didn’t rough you up too bad, I hope? Thought you took it pretty well.” Classy broad. Insert /jk.

Cleo is a zombie. Martyn’s pretty sure he won’t forget that face, if for no other reason than because the way Bdubs first introduced her on the roof - making the puffy motion with his fingers for her hair - was exactly on point (and it still is now). “Yeah,” she says, “I should do. Bdubs and I grew up in the same hub; he couldn’t get under my skin if he tried.”

Martyn blinks. Is that innuendo? Cleo’s expression reveals nothing, though she gestures towards him while looking at her friend. The conversation moves on and no one comments on what she just said. “Joe, have you met Martyn?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure!” the man replies, and no, the exclamation point is not on accident. “Howdy, stranger! Joe Hills coming to you off-camera from Nashville, Tennessee.”

“I don’t know that hub,” Martyn tells him honestly, and Joe laughs.

“You have to look real hard.”

Their feet point towards him, suggesting he has enough of their attention that they’re willing to stay on. Martyn whirls his inner gears. I gotta be cool. Holding plush cows? Probably not so cool, though he can’t exactly toss it without being seen. Stuffing it up his shirt might be a little weird, so Martyn keeps it hidden as best he can, dangling it off the side of the support barrel and clasping its hoof between two knuckles. “Yeah, I heard; he made it sound like you two are thick as thieves and then some.” Lay it on ‘em. “Well, since Bdubs isn’t here right now, might I trouble you asking where I could have the most fun in this dark and spooky underground without him getting on my case about it? You are cool, aren’t you guys? Lovin’ the studs, I gotta say. Silver suits you.” He directs that last bit to Joe, who shrugs in great exaggeration and pleased acknowledgement. Martyn has to pause. What sort of hybrid is Joe, actually? No visible traits that Martyn can see, though he smells like wet leaves and the underground.

Cleo, though, looks like she won’t be swayed into a second location so easily. “If you want to hang where we do, you’d better be prepared. Do you… break easy?”

“Hey, you might be surprised!” Martyn almost goes to pat her, but realizes fast how invasive that might look if she were to jerk away and he smacked her hard enough to flash red. He avoids that mistake big time. “Show me where the cool kids play. I used to be on an outlast team. Do you all play that here?”

“I mean… Not me, personally.”

“Only recreationally,” Joe chimes in. “As a single individual without a team… or a ref, or a scoresheet.”

“Ooh, I get you.” So basically not at all. Well, always good to figure out who you’re picking last.

“People play at the arena, I imagine.” Cleo scans him up and down. “Do you know where that is? I can take you over.”

The arena. When they were on Etho’s roof, that came up as part of the rapidfire list of things to see. Martyn leans forward, trying to look all cool or something as he hides Blueberry Cow behind his back. “Oh, yeah… Bdubs told me you designed it. Hide any fun Easter eggs in there? I’ll take the full tour.”

“Hmm… Well, there’s a swimming pool full of lava. Some of the Netherkin like relaxing there. There’s a shulker obstacle course. You’re an Enderkin; that might be more your style.”

“Otter,” Martyn corrects with a swing of his tail. “Tweenborn.”

“Oh.” Cleo takes a second look at him like she’s just processing what he said for the first time, even though he said it twice. Martyn holds her gaze with lifted brows. Joe’s appraising look is so similar to Cleo’s, maybe they’re twins. A couple seconds flicker by, and then Cleo says, “So you really are a son of a bitch! That makes so much sense now.”

Joe muffles a laugh in the heel of one hand, biting at skin, and Martyn can’t help but sputter too. “What? Is that what you call an otter on the nursing cycle? I had no idea. I thought that was just wolves?”

“No, I think it’s for any dragon that calls its offspring ‘pups.’ Otters are mostly canine, right? I used to have a side gig rescuing lost mobs before they despawned, if their eggs were separated in storms.” Cleo puts out a hand, ready for a shake. “Just to get it on record, nonbinary. She/her and they/them pronouns. I consider myself a zombie.”

Joe’s hand is out immediately. “I’m not really interested in picking pronouns; you can call me whatever you like. And I’m not sure what hybrid I am yet!”

Cleo nods along, backing that statement up. “I’ve never met an otter hybrid before. Did you grow up by the river or the sea?”

Huh? Martyn looks at their hand, then back at Cleo. She… what?

“I’ve never met an otter hybrid before.”

She just… took it. Face value. Needed a mo to drink it in, but now she’s calling him an otter. Just like that? Is it really that easy? It feels like it shouldn’t be. Feels like he just hacked his way on a server he’s not supposed to be in. Martyn hesitates, then lowers his hand in hers. Paw? Do otters have paws? “Oh, I’m a river otter through and through. The sea otters are usually down in ZnHeITtk HTvkH IkItn, but I-” Martyn falters. He blinks. He stares at Cleo for a couple seconds, then moves one hand to his throat. Whoa. That sounded like perfect pronunciation. Is it? He’ll have to check with BigB. Used to be, his default was to call that place Carmine River Delta, but now… it just feels right to use its Illagealt name? He shakes his head. “I lived at the Black River hub. Also spent a lot of time in Fern Mountain with the ravens, where my dad grew up, but then I moved river-side full time.”

“That so?”

“Sure deal.” He switches hands to shake Joe’s, pumping twice. “Sorry- Did you just say you ‘aren’t sure?’ How does that work?” The eyes are glowing; the player file must be plugged in. Can’t you just check it at a coding desk?

Joe shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Decided? Martyn… doesn’t know what to say to that. Maybe that’s a mods-in-process sort of thing; BigB modded from illusioner into moth, and whatever’s going on with Skizz is definitely a lot of mod layers. I don’t hear anything. None of the buzzing that accompanied the other modded players he’s stood around. He glances behind Joe’s leg, searching for any trace of wings or tail, then snaps his eyes away. Never mind. It doesn’t really matter.

Cleo seems a lot more relaxed in Joe’s presence than she was out on the road, her hands in her pockets and half-lidded eyes accenting the faint smile. A grin breaks out across Joe’s face. Two arms go out in a gesture both welcoming and ecstatic. “But wow, I’ve never met an otter either, and here there’s one right in front of me! I saw a picture of a mob once in a book, but I hear they’re really rare. Especially where I grew up.”

“Yeah, I bet…” Wow. I’m an otter. It doesn’t feel exactly right, but it doesn’t feel untrue. He did spend a few summers in Black River. He did get sent there long-term after the ravens at Fern Mountain decreed he roughhoused a little too close to the sun. If you grow up around otters, all the childhood friends who played with you and didn’t gossip about you were otters, and your mum’s an otter… Doesn’t that make you an otter too? That’s the hub his egg hatched in. It’s the hub he removed his lens caps in when he was just a spawnling. It’s what feels like home. “Loads of swim XP under my belt. You’ve got a pool with actual water at that arena, right? You should see me when there’s collectible knick-knacks on the line; I swim like you wouldn’t believe.” Martyn lifts his other arm, clapping it down atop his palm like clamping jaws. “Gotta dodge the alligators, you know what I mean?”

Cleo laughs. They catch thick hair in their hands, pulling it behind their neck, and Martyn stares for a flickering second, trying to understand. She… they… If he’d rather be called an otter than a phantom and Cleo sometimes wants to be called ‘they,’ is he using that right? Maybe it’s a little like how the Watchers were ambiguous, although that’s mostly because they wore cloaks and hoods that hid any indication of who they were from view. He’ll have to ask another time. A scrunchie slips off their wrist. They tie off their poofy hair, spilling blue flower petals from their curls. What? Were those growing from their zombie skin? Both Joe and Cleo smell like dirt without the dust. Maybe they were at the tree farm? Definitely not the park. As Cleo moves back, Martyn moves forward.

“Well,” she says, “come on, then! Let’s see how fast you can run!”

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Impos'otter Syndrome

💙  🧡  💚

Spawnlings take the lens caps off their eyes when they’re ready. Everybody knows this. Can they be ready as early as two days old? Skizz’s never heard of one with enough coordination to twist caps off that young, and a sickening swirl paints his insides when he sits at the dining table with Vera, Impulse, and Impulse’s wife, Jewel. One hand splays his cards where the spawnling can see, the other teasing a stack of poker chips in a clack and shuffle rhythm. The spawnling reaches for his hand, grasps his wrist, and tries to move his thumb into its tiny mouth. Skizz pulls away, more out of how dirty the poker chips must be than because he has a problem with it gumming at his skin.

Who did this to you? Tango shared his theory that the spawnling was hunted and revived with a Totem of Undying in its hand. Who gave that to a spawnling? Was it on purpose? Some cruel experiment? Did someone force the eyes open way too soon? Skizz twirls options through his head, but none of them make much sense. A new parent desperate to see its uncovered face? An older newbie who really didn’t know better? Glowing white eye sockets absorb everything… and the spawnling tracks every movement at the table with watchful eyes.

Where in worlds did it come from? Spawnlings in New Star are very, very rare. Well, not counting the slimes who are born here. Maybe the occasional fox from the Fox Dragon’s hub overhead, if she decides she has a few too many and dumps a couple on the Slime Dragon, though Skizz’s never seen that happen. Since their underground hideaway is cut off from the outside world (barring a couple supply runs from wandering traders), people don’t just wander down here with spawnlings in tow. Occasional refugees of the anarchy world outside, sure. Scott allows invites if the proper paperwork gets filed, and he drops off Education brochures every year when he runs the mail route. Most of New Star’s population arrives in that way: direct invitation. But spawnlings can’t read… Who smuggled this kid in?

Impulse and Jewel are equally fascinated with the new arrival. Skizz handed it to Impulse at one point while he took a bathroom break, but the spawnling kicked and grasped with its hands until he came back. He tried to help Vera with the cooking, but when he gave it to Jewel, same response. If Tango were to ask, Skizz wouldn’t have a better answer than a shrug. Maybe because it can see, it already got attached. It clings to him like a baby monkey, soaking the chilly feeling of his soul straight from skin. You know, some people say the temperature preference you feel for potential partners once you grow up reflects back to how you were raised in your early levels. How much you wanna gamble that this is gonna awaken something?

For legal reasons, that’s a joke.

“I’ve never seen a parrot bottle-feed,” Vera says, watching Skizz tilt the milk gently in its mouth. The spawnling’s more than happy to accept it. It latches on the nipple, grasping the glass between its hands. It has no pupils, but big, white eyes shift between his face and hers as it drinks in the big new world. Grubby fingers dig like talons in his arm. Taking the hint, Skizz shifts position to hold it closer, blocking it from Vera a little more. The hand relaxes and the spawnling drinks on.

“Yeah, it’s not giving signs it ever ate from the Parrot Dragon… Spawnlings don’t eat for the first couple days anyway, right?” Skizz glances at the bottle in his hand. Gold colostrum loops like ribbon through the creamy whiteness of dragon milk. The yolk in their eggs is supposed to keep them fed a couple days, but he knows the squirm of hunger when he sees it. Maybe it didn’t hatch at its own pace. Could it have been pulled from a half-broken shell by someone trying to “help,” who didn’t understand that hatching takes time?

Maybe it never finished developing and that’s why it isn’t blue… He winces at the thought. I thought souls didn’t inhabit eggs until the last couple hours before they hatch? It’s an empty bowl of nutrients up ‘til then. Once the soul’s inside, the egg changes temperature. Can you… break it once you feel the shift?

I feel like that’s it. Someone forced the spawnling before its time to hatch arrived. Didn’t let it eat the yolk. Maybe the game gave it free newborn invincibility and it triggered some hidden Totem code. Skizz holds it to his chest, watching milk drain down its sucking mouth.

Poor thing… but here in New Star, here in his arms, it has a safe and caring home.

💙  🧡  💚

Hanging at the arena is actually a fun time. From the way she shows the details off, Martyn could’ve guessed Cleo built this place without Bdubs’ earlier confirmation. She isn’t braggy or grandiose about it, but she seems… amused? satisfied? whenever she points out a detail in the hall designs that makes him lean in for a closer look. From what he can gather, New Star’s materials are fairly limited, though being friends with dragons means certain materials can occasionally be retrieved thanks to their wings and speed. Cleo gives him a spiel about dragons generating a few resources too, seeing as they’re the only creatures in Between who can utilize commands, but quite honestly, he can hardly follow all the technicalities. Cleo seems to know a lot and she’s damn proud of it without acting cocky. Joe’s more familiar with the game mechanics than the culture and history behind them (like she is) and provides… his, their(?) own perspective, which Martyn hears out as intently as he can.

Cleo built the locker rooms. She doesn’t draw attention to it, but Martyn takes silent note of the signs that separate them- One labeled as a more friendly, chatty atmosphere (“Prox on”) while the other encourages much quieter talk. No division of species, though… Not that he’s ever seen changing rooms split that way, but he has always wondered. Like all hubs, Black River and Fern Mountain had portals, but… Well, let’s just say otters value play a lot more than ravens do. Stereotype or not, that’s how he grew up. The ravens took battle training very seriously. When Cleo shows Martyn some of the more fun areas, including a softer room set up for those still learning the basics of how to swing a sword without falling down, he can’t help but smile at the childness of it all. Not that that’s a bad thing.

Aww. In New Star, you’re allowed to be a kid. You can go at your own pace. Martyn runs his hand along one wool wall. “Do you have many sheep?” he asks.

“Some,” Cleo says. “All the farms are on the north side. Sheep were the first mobs we gathered down here and we’re very careful to keep them healthy, but believe me…” She rolls her eyes, gesturing widely to the room. “This took ages to slap a completion stamp on.”

“Are you familiar with HALO’s mob policies?” Joe asks, and Martyn shrugs.

“Not much. I know a few basics from Bdubs and my friends, but Fern Mountain’s prrretty anti-HALO and Black River never seemed too picky. Never got many details on the mobs.”

“I’ll bet,” Joe says with absentminded sympathy. No ears, no wings, no tail… Joe’s bouncy when moving, and it’s a little disconcerting to have no idea what type of hybrid they might be. “I’m a HALO myself with special emphasis on mob caretaking, so I can offer an inside scoop.”

“Please do.” Martyn’s pretty certain Joe wouldn’t make another peep without his say-so. He hovers like some sort of bat, all smiles nonetheless. Joe holds the door open as they head down the hall, moving from locker rooms and safe training zones to whatever else the arena has to offer. Martyn still wants to see the pool.

“My job is to keep the herds and flocks healthy,” Joe tells him, all cheery. You’d think he just said his job was tasting cakes. “That means fresh water, daily food, and a bed or stall for each animal we have. I tag their names, track their breeding, keep nurses with their calves, and keep them as comfortable as I can. In New Star, we’re all about health and comfort, both physical and mental. Personally, I take pride in keeping our mobs well-cared for: no unnecessary stress, and only breeding if they demand extra meals on their own. They need to last us as long as they can, after all.”

Martyn nods. Bdubs pretty much said the same thing, so not a lot of new information there. “Sounds important,” he says politely. “If I were a fat and happy cow, I’d want you to breed me too.”

Cleo snorts and Joe gives a chuckle. The tour continues, with Cleo showing off exercise rooms, the pool, and the grass-coated practice field. “A few sport teams use this,” she says when they stroll out. It’s open-air. The bedrock ceiling hangs high, high above their heads. Several people are practicing with swords and shields far in the other corner. Martyn walks backwards circles just to take in the sight of all the seats. “I’m sure we have an outlast team. We do a few footie games. I’ve seen the Americans set up for baseball and there’s a robotics tournament with agent programming too, around March every year. Parkour’s usually in the portal room I showed you; there are a few Between-hosted servers we use around here. If Scott didn’t cover this when he signed you in, you can get approved to use the coords on the portals in your flat so you can jump on from either your home base or the arena here. Pretty useful way to get around. I think our biggest sport is exhibition sparring, the team rush version of that, and competitive camming.”

Camming.

LittleCam. Who knows when their paths will cross again. A pain stabs across his hearts, though Martyn does his best not to show it. “I’ll have to look that one up. It must have taken ages; look at all those seats!”

“I had help,” Cleo replies, but sounds quite satisfied he noticed. The sound of boots padding through the grass makes them all turn around. To Martyn’s surprise… there’s Etho, striding over in blue leather armor, hands folded behind his head. Looks like they’re playing a team game of some kind over in the corner; half the players are wearing red. Martyn’s ears can’t exactly twitch, but they may as well. Whatever’s going on with his ability to hear mods, it hasn’t croaked yet; he can hear the buzz around Etho’s ears from here. None of that on Joe or Cleo, though.

“Heeey, Martyn! Out getting a lay of the land?”

“Yeah! Finally shook Bdubs off my tail feathers; thought I’d shake things up a bit.”

Etho nods, like Martyn just crossed an item off a checklist for him. He greets Joe and Cleo both, then says (to Martyn), “Are you hungry? I caught a fish on my way in; I can share if you need it.”

What? In front of Joe and Cleo? Pixels bunch behind his neck on total instinct. Cleo’s definitely a zombie, so an obligate anivore just like him, and might not mind watching an allofeed, but Joe? Or all the players in the corner? Like, that’s…

… That’s weird to just ask in the middle of the field, right? Before Martyn can ask, Etho continues, unperturbed. “I mean, I know otters like their fish and your beta’s a pain to deal with in that regard, so just let me know. I’ve got nothing really going on today; just polishing up a few skills. I think I’ve finally got the hang of my backhand swing!”

Martyn blinks. Bragging. Flaunting the arm muscles, entire body oozing total confidence. An offer of food. A subtle indication Bdubs can’t get him what he needs. He glances towards Joe and Cleo, both of whom look equally shocked by the aura Etho’s oozing here. Falls to me to ask, then. But what should he say?

“Are… Are you hitting on me?”

Etho stops. His next step lands with an awkward plop. Two hands fly out, shaking back and forth. “No, no- Not like that!”

“Okay, because I was going to say, ‘I’m kinda in a committed trio-’”

“Not like that,” Etho cuts in, very firm. Like a barnacle detecting weakness, Cleo swoops in for the kill.

“It kind of sounds like you are.”

“Never seen this look on you,” Joe adds with amusement like wildflowers in his voice. “Do mine eyes deceive me?”

“Not hitting on you,” Etho repeats. The bravado deflated at the first needle prick, though he’s holding steady as if he’s hardly bothered. A little shaken, maybe, but caught his balance before he fell. Martyn’s just as wary, standing with firm legs and a slow sweep of his tail: alert, but non-aggressive. “If you want any fish or you’re looking for a place to bunk outside the phantom roost, you’re welcome to whisper me. Phantom roosts can be a lot. If you feel overstimulated, you’ve got a place at mine any time you need it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Martyn replies, “but just so you’re not left waiting up for me, Scott already assigned me a shared space with my partners. I’m actually going out with Bdubs sometime soon to practice fishing on my own. ‘ppreciate it, mate, but I think I’ll be all right.”

Etho makes a noncommittal noise somewhere between a growl and a hum. It’s not anger, but not quite approval either. He turns, strolling back across the field to join his team. He glances back twice on the way, slowing his pace. Really dragging out the time it takes to go back to where he stood before he spotted Martyn. Legs and shoulders look a wee bit tense, like he might run back at any moment.

“He’s guarding,” Cleo says in warning, though Martyn’s not sure if she’s addressing him or Joe with that. Both?

“Someone’s got moonlight shining in his eyes,” Joe agrees, shoving hands in pockets with a sleek sort of rustle. Whatever fabric that is, it’s slippery and not one Martyn’s ever heard palms slide across before.

“‘Guarding?’”

Joe and Cleo exchange a glance, like they’re not sure how much they want to pass along. Martyn makes a subtle effort to look as grown-up as he can, standing tall and shifting out his wings. “Full moon’s coming,” Cleo finally says. “Everyone’s a little more ‘mob brain’ than usual right now. Foxes tail the person of their interest for three weeks before they commit to partnership. Etho always drops that schtick when the moon starts to wane. Never seen him start this early, though. Could be… trouble for him.” Cleo makes a swirl motion with her finger. “If he’s not holding back under the waxing moon, he might slip farther than usual when it goes full. Don’t jump on a server with that man right now.”

“What they’re saying is that he’s courting you,” Joe chimes in, which is honestly pretty helpful because Martyn’s far too stunned to speak. “He’s trying to mate-guard. If you nip at him next time he wanders close, he should back off, but don’t hesitate to shoot a whisper if you want one of us to intervene. Joehillssays, you remember.”

“ZombieCleo,” Cleo supplies. “Scott can teleport; I can add him to your favorites if you like.”

I’d rather not draw the mayor’s eye at all, if I’m honest. Dude seems like a creep, and learning he can jump around the city at will does nothing for Martyn’s nerves. What does that make him, then? An enderman hybrid? A rascal, I bet. Hmm. Who knows how nitpicky Scott might get if he shows up to help, but detects some kind of broken rule and writes him up. Martyn looks away, scraping one hand behind his neck until it drags around the front. “Yeah, uhh… At my last hub, we were strictly supervised on full moon nights. I know phantoms ‘get frisky’ around the full moon, but I never really felt it. What’s the roost situation like around here? Is that a place I’m best steering clear of until the urges pass?”

“Eh, probably,” Cleo says with a shrug. “You can hang with me if you like. Zombies aren’t programmed for mate-seeking; you can join my hunting party.”

… Uh, maybe. A party sounds like a crowd, and that’s what he’s trying to avoid until he gets his head on straight and stops jumping at every unexpected footstep. Maybe until he figures out why his ears buzz when he’s around people wearing mods. Maybe forever. “You are awfully eager to plant yourself in front of me on a hunting trip. Was I that good at what we hunters do?”

Cleo’s lips pick in the corner with a slight smirk, which Martyn… isn’t sure how to interpret. She’s either laughing with him (playing along with slightly lewd commentary), or laughing at him because he’s a scrawny little scrap who just crawled out of the Void, and he’s “cute.” Eh… “I can take you.”

What? Rolling pixels surge to attention. “I thought you couldn’t fight phantoms.”

“Doesn’t count if you’re an otter.”

Martyn jumps. “What?” Is that how it works? If he feels more like an otter, can people attack him even if he’ll respawn in Duskfell Caves, where the Phantom Dragon lurks? That’s not- That doesn’t-

“Sorry” - Cleo’s cracking up - “I shouldn’t joke about that; I don’t even know you. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t. What I meant to say was, ‘Don’t need to fight.’”

What does that mean, Cleo. What does that mean. Joe’s fighting down a laugh and Cleo’s still smirking, leaving Martyn’s blank stare the loudest thing in the stadium. Is this some kind of innuendo he’s not picking up on? Why is it funny? Why are they both laughing at him? Martyn darts his eyes sideways, unsure, and Cleo takes enough pity on him to elaborate.

“Look, it’s fine. Come hang with me or don’t, but no, I’m not worried you’ll eat me with baby teeth, or hit on me with baby tail. I’m going out with a couple friends and I can assure you, no one will hit on you if you don’t want them to. We really should hand out the consent cloaks when the residency contract gets signed. That’d be easier.” Cleo makes a motion with their hands as if pulling a hood over their hair. “Big, black cloaks with a red circle-slash on the back and shoulders. It means you don’t want to get hit on on a full moon night. It helps, especially if you go nonverbal.”

Nonverbal? From… the moon pulling mob instinct to the surface of your brain? Martyn glances uneasily at the bedrock ceiling so far away. He can still make out black speckles among the gray. “Riiiight…”

“Do you have one? I can walk you to the storage unit.” Cleo checks with Joe, who nods.

“Full moon’s nearly upon us. Better now than never.”

Martyn moves his eyes between the both of them. Since meeting them on the road, they’ve been nothing but nice to him. Well, maybe a little teasing, but he doesn’t take it personally- He is a newbie. If anything, getting “rejected” by some rando he didn’t even want to ask out is a good reminder that around here, people care about your tail length. Should ask Bdubs about that. Or visit the library. Yeah, library. “Do you dig?” Martyn asks, and Cleo pauses.

“‘Dig?’”

He tilts his head, vaguely indicating their hands. “The park dirt feels all packed and fake; can’t really sink your claws in it. Bdubs suggested I try the tree farm, but warned me I might explode if I get too near the TNT. You’re a zombie; you guys dig to hunt, right? Any recs for where a guy can go?”

“No,” says Cleo. Not too fast. Not too short. Just staring at him, suddenly. Staring through him. Staring far away. A subtle tightening of knuckles draws Martyn’s attention to half-hidden undead hands. “It’s a shame, but there’s really no quality dirt to dig down here. Get a scratching post for your room; it helps. But I can show you where the blaze bunk down, if you like. The whole pack gathers in a room a night. Opening the door is a little less glamorous than digging them from a burrow, but they’re easy prey.”

Prey? That wasn’t really why he wanted-

“Can Martyn go?” Joe asks.

“Yeah, I think so. The flock doesn’t have to stay in the road; I just think they’re not allowed to camp the room. You are in the flock, right? You were out with Bdubs; maybe I shouldn’t assume.” Cleo looks expectantly at Martyn, who’s feeling very Bdubs, pick me up; I’m scared right about now. Talking to these two is like shouting in a whirlwind. They know all the rules. They know all the people, all the places, all the bits and bobs. His instinct is to reach for Mum’s hand or the leash that keeps him close, wrapping his wrist until it bites into skin.

Why are they looking at him like… like he just knows whether or not he’s allowed to go? Martyn fiddles with a loose string hanging from his pocket. He wraps it ‘round his finger.

“You don’t have to hunt with us this week,” says Cleo, treating his silence like an answer instead of a panicked thing. “The offer’s on the table, though. We’ll be at the park the first night the moon is full. If you have any friends who want to come, they’re invited. We could always use more bodies; hunting is a numbers game. And… if you don’t want to hunt at all, we could just hang out. Talk. Joe and I have craft and journal night once a week.”

“Oh… Yeah, that’d be cool. I’ll ask Bdubs if I can go. Do I need to fill any forms?”

A crease wrinkles Cleo’s brow. “‘A form?’”

“I dunno, like… a hall pass? Do you do that here? Does Bdubs need to sign anything? He’d probably be worried sick if I wandered off.” Or honestly, probably not. Angry, maybe. Total grump.

“… Is Bdubs making you stay close to him all the time?”

Martyn looks up, equally puzzled. He and Cleo could be twins, the way they’re staring now. The stray string slips off his finger, snapping back to his leg. “I mean, well… He’s trying to get me up at roost, but he’s my captain-”

“You said you had partners, right?” Cleo looks off through the stadium wall as if scrutinizing a clock tower far away. And to Martyn, without turning to address him, “Look, just because Bdubs doesn’t live with his wife, it doesn’t mean you have to follow that.”

“Oh, he has a wife. You know, I did wonder about him and Etho once I saw the ring.”

“Your captain is your mentor, not your warden.” Oh, Cleo’s not chasing the joke he threw and bringing it back like a stick. When Martyn forces himself to meet their eyes again, she stands with folded arms, leaning all her weight on one leg. “Anivores can reserve ‘hunting shifts’ in New Star; Bdubs should’ve given you one. Or he will, when you get your fangs. You don’t have to hunt at that time, but that’s when you have dibs; you’re supposed to break off a hunt if you know you didn’t sign up and you see someone else chasing quarry. The flock should be like that. If Bdubs is getting after you for wanting to wander, bring it up with a HALO. Blue and white cloaks; they’re usually in the multiplayer building, but they have little ‘stations’ near each wall.”

“What?” Gods, everything Cleo says makes him feel stupid… He doesn’t hate it. It’s just really, really annoying. It’s like watching her lay soft mats outside each shower door, but instead of waiting for one, he opted to step out straightaway and now he’s slipped and bonked his head. Martyn tries to laugh, which feels a little better. “Sorry; you’ll have to spell it out for me. I really don’t know what you’re on about?”

“What I’m saying is that you can come and go,” Cleo emphasizes. “Bdubs is flock captain. When there are things like scheduled hunts, he decides when the flock goes out, but it’s still optional. If he’s overstepping and trying to force you, you can talk to people like HALO, who are literally trained in ethics. They’ll help you sort out what’s allowed and if he’s gone too far. Does that make sense? … If you haven’t yet, maybe get a book on phantom behavior; don’t get all your facts from Bdubs. He exaggerates. Do you know the library? You can download the digital version on your comm, too.”

“If someone’s translated it,” Joe says, looking a little more worried now than he did a moment ago. “What do you read?”

“Uhh…”

They want me to read up on phantom behavior. Well, yeah. That makes sense. He…

… he is a phantom. Martyn stares at his hands until they blur, shaking like they’re snow-laden. These are not the webbed hands of his mother. They’re not even his father’s claws. Stubby nails add points to all his fingers. He’s in a phantom’s body. And if he dies in the Between dimension, he’ll wake up in Duskfell Caves. If he respawns under a full moon, he’ll wake up with blue feathers and a beak. And in a few days’ time, when the moon turns all his mob behavior up to max, he won’t act the way that otters do.

Why did they gush over me out there on the street about how cool it was to meet an otter if they didn’t really mean it? Was it all a pretty lie? Martyn’s guts tank so hard, it’s as if they really exist right now. As if he’s an otter with a stomach and not an obligate anivore who doesn’t need one. Were they just humoring me like a little kid playing pretend? Is that what they think of me? Just a stupid little kid?

“There should be one in Ender,” Cleo says to Joe, not to him. She has her own comm in hand, thumbs at work as she pulls up the file she’s looking for. “It’s phantom behavior; there has to be one in Ender.”

“We should update all the street signs… I might take that on as a personal project. There’s no real reason to make them strictly Tweentext.”

“Not a phantom,” Martyn interrupts. Cleo stops. Joe stops. They both look up. Martyn’s got no idea when his hands turned to fists, but he’s shaking. Shaking. “I just look like one.”

“I’m… sorry. I’ve really overstepped.” Cleo looks at her comm screen for a little too long, then folds the protective cover and poofs it away in a blip of light. “Well, the library’s a great resource if there’s anything you want to learn about mob behavior. If you plan to hang out with phantoms, it might be a good idea. I’m sure they’ve got otter books too…” She glances at Joe, who tilts his head like a shrug.

“Might be. I’m not sure our library would have one, but we could always ask. Maybe you could be a paratype!”

Cleo winces. Martyn blinks. “A what?”

“A holotype is the first representative of a species,” Joe says, holding up two fingers. “The one we use to document it and compare other members of the species against. Paratypes aren’t the first documented, so they’re not the holotype, but they help expand our understanding of the world and creatures in it. You could be like that.”

Oh. Martyn’s eyes trail to his hands again. Nails dig against his skin. He doesn’t have fur, a rudder-like tail, or webbed fingers to swim with. He doesn’t even have a stomach.

Are you making fun of me? Why would Joe even say that? Nothing about him screams ‘otter.’ He can draw pictures. He can describe the behavior. Maybe that’s enough to craft a general outline of what an otter is. But a biography will always be a biography if you are not the one who lived that life. Doesn’t matter how much you study. Doesn’t matter if you walked side by side with them. Autobiographies are not an outsider’s thing to touch.

‘Expand our understanding?’ Sure: Bdubs already made it plenty clear he’s a unique case for having big wings and a little tail. They can throw that in their species book; he wouldn’t even care. Great example for phantom biology. Everyone go home; GGs all around.

He’s not a real otter. Can you even imagine how offensive it would be - and probably unethical - to write an autobiography about growing up an otter when he isn’t one? This was a big mistake. Martyn screws his eyelids up tight, then shoves past Joe and bolts across the field towards the toilets. Joe lets out a sort of peep or grunt. Cleo’s louder, chasing after him. “Martyn!”

Shut up! Shut up! Martyn curls his fists against his head. Be real easy to sink his claws through the ear canals and rip them to shreds. Maybe he should, huh? It’d stop his brain from buzzing then. It’d stop people from telling lies, telling him where he can and can’t go, what he can and can’t eat, who he can and can’t be- Why the hell did he even LEAVE the East Verdant Oasis hub if New Star just wants to paint itself as EVO 2.0? Is every hub in Between like this? Does everyone want to put him on a leash? Does he just look like a pushover? Maybe he really is a kid; maybe he just made up the idea that he’s grown just like he made up the otter fantasy. Is this real? Is any of this real?

Cleo limps when she walks. He can hear the way it wrinkles grass. Martyn lurches around, flapping out the wings. Turns out Joe’s a step behind her, face a sheet of white. “You two really can’t take a hint, can you?”

“Martyn, I most sincerely apologize.” That’s Joe in a jog. “My mouth ran ahead of my brain. I did not realize until I said it that it might come out the wrong way.”

Great. I’m not even allowed to be mad here. Where’s Blueberry Cow? Martyn can’t remember where he left it, but it’s not in his hand. It’d be nice to bite something. He bites his wrist instead, gripping tight until dead skin tears.

“Martyn?” Cleo touches his arm. Martyn slaps her off. He goes for another bite, only for Cleo to grab both his arms, twisting them down and out of his mouth’s reach. What the hell? Who in Guardians’ names does she think she is, manhandling him like that? She really does think he’s a child. Martyn snarls, pulling back his lips. His spittle flickers like a light. Cleo’s eyes flash in warning, but Joe gives their shoulder a sharp squeeze.

“At least he’ll regen.”

She lets go. Great, awesome. Thanks. Fine to yank people around as long as you only do it ‘a little,’ apparently. Martyn backs up, bumping into the stadium wall. He smashes his ears tighter, then slides down the rough blocks until he plops on his butt in the grass. “Can you guys leave me alone?”

“Just… one more thing.” Cleo crouches down beside him. The frizzes in that ginger hair look like lightning and seaweed. “I’m really sorry if we hurt your feelings.”

“No, you guys are right…” Martyn pulls his knees to his chin. “When instinct kicks in, I’m just like all the other phantoms, so that’s what I should learn about. When I die, I’ll respawn at the phantom hub. You can only mod into species that don’t already exist, so I’ll never be a real otter even if I wanted to. If the universe knows I’m a phantom, what’s the point? Everyone, even the code, can see straight through me.”

“So?”

What? Martyn jerks up his head. That’s… not the answer he anticipated. Cleo shrugs.

“You might not look like an otter, but that doesn’t mean you’re not one. I’m sorry I made you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously, but honestly, I’m glad you called me out. If someone tries to tell you how to feel, don’t listen to them.”

“You’re telling me how to feel,” Martyn mutters. He doesn’t really mean it. He’s desperate to be mad.

“Besides me,” Cleo says in teasing, bundling their hair clumps behind their head. It’s like watching someone throw logs on a fire, sending up a bigger flare.

“Look… I appreciate the niceties, but there’s no point. I’ll still wake up in the phantom hub; I’ll always be a phantom.”

“People who species-mod wake in their birth hubs too,” she points out, settling more comfortably in the grass beside him. Is it comfortable? Martyn stares blankly as legs shift aside. “No one picks the species they’re born as… Think of it as a pit stop on the way you want to go. It’s like world spawn on a server when your bed is broken. That doesn’t make spawn your base. I’m not sure what it was like where you grew up, but here in New Star, most the species-modded folks introduce themselves by what they are now, not what they were in the past. We accept that. I know the city will do that for you, too… even without the mods. All you have to do is ask for it.”

… Oh. Martyn rubs his cheek. He’s growing chin-hairs; should maybe get a trim. “The thing is… I’ve never really been a phantom either? I have no idea if I’d like it. I’ve never had the chance to learn that culture or see how the mob behaviors are supposed to work in practice. I grew up with otters; maybe I’d want to be a phantom if I just knew what it was like. I just…” Martyn pulls a lump of grass with his hand. The blades tear free. Was that wrong to do in front of Cleo? This place must’ve taken ages to design, let alone build. Martyn lets them fall from his hand. “I want it to be my choice.”

“I had a hard time figuring my species out too,” Cleo says, softer now as Joe kneels next to them. “I went back and forth between my options for a long time. I still might mod some wings on someday. I mean, if you’re going to mod any parts on, it may as well be the wings, right?”

“Hear, hear.” Martyn pats his tail up and down. “Though honestly, try a tail. They’re a pain when you whack them on a wall, but if you’ve ever wanted to gesture while holding too many things at once, they’re a godsend. I don’t think I could ever go without mine; it’d feel like I’m trying to have a whole conversation with someone blindfolded and I’m not even sure they’re still in the room.”

Cleo smiles thinly back at him. “Yeah, I might get a tail. I like the long, prehensile ones, but… the mod won’t take if it’s too similar to anything already programmed in the game. No phantom tail for me. No monkey tail either.”

“Tough life.” This feels… better. Casual. Almost like the three of them are friends. “My friend Netty’s upgraded her tail… It’s prehensile. I’ll have to introduce you.”

“That could be good, yeah. And Joe’s got a lot of messy feelings about their species too.”

“Accurate,” Joe agrees, shrugging big. “I don’t think I like any of them more than any others? At this point, I’m honestly thinking I might switch from week to week. There are a hundred dragons, so once I’ve tried them all, maybe then I’ll finally have an answer. Alas…” He holds his thumb and forefinger just a stick’s width apart. “My budget for skins or cosplay items is about this big.”

… Martyn hadn’t thought about designing a skin with an otter’s face. There are certain rules to Between about how you’re allowed to display yourself. Not social rules, but like… Take the full moon spawns, for instance. Take the flock beta. Icky looks like a phantom, right? With blue feathers and a beak? No matter what skin he puts on, those traits are coded onto him and they’ll show at the surface. Martyn’s wings are the same way: If he puts on a skin that displays them in a certain color, that gets overwritten by the game’s insistence that there’s a phantom inside, and it’s blue.

Ugh… I don’t think the full furry face is for me, though; no thanks. Netty seems to like it, though. Maybe she’s onto something. She’s thought a lot about what species she feels like and where she wants to be in life. Maybe he should talk to her. Quite honestly, Netty’s mods aren’t too far off the species she was born as, but she’d probably have some advice, at least. She’s got a new tail. New fur. She managed to pull that off; maybe she can teach him how.

Does Joe not have any mob traits? Martyn takes another sweep with prying eyes. No fur. No feathers. No wings. No tail. A new moon spawn? Or are there other tricks at play? Maybe everything fits under the clothes?

“You don’t have to hang out with us if you don’t want to,” Cleo tells him, which feels genuine when she says it (even though he’ll probably cast doubt on the legitimacy of that offer several hours later). “But if you do, you’re always welcome. We can talk about it.”

“I guess I feel… wrong, as an otter too?” Ah, what a miserable cycle… Never satisfied with anything. “Or when I look at the otter lifestyle, it doesn’t feel like me. I want it to be me, but otter life is big on social groups and play, and I guess I worry I wouldn’t fit in. Like I’d be scary with my fangs. Phantoms fight for leadership, right?”

“It’s mostly fake,” Cleo tells him. No hesitation! Martyn sputters in a laugh and - finally - lets his knees down from his chin. He touches the grass softly with his palms. It’s nice, sitting here by the wall. This is nice.

“Wow, spoiler alert… I never would’ve guessed!”

“True, though. It’s a show. Phantoms always follow the flockmate with the biggest wings.”

Huh?

“But is life worth living without a show?” Joe muses, and Martyn can concede to enjoying games and fun.

“I dunno… The ravens kicked me out of Fern Mountain because I’m a phantom.” Or something like that. Not really for his species? It’s just… Martyn shakes his head. “I played too rough, dude. Someone got hurt, and the doc there told my parents I was rebelling like a phantom and needed playmates who could match my energy. She didn’t even tell that to me- I found out from my parents. I used to go to Black River every summer, but after The Incident, I had to live there full-time. Tch… My parents had to uproot their lives for years because I’m dangerous.” It’s kind of why, y’know… it made a lot of sense to apply to school somewhere far away. Somewhere they wouldn’t have to bother with him anymore. Joe and Cleo are trying to speak, but Martyn talks over them. “I’ve never been ‘allowed’ to find out how dangerous I can be. Maybe I do want to be a phantom. I just need to figure things out.”

“Well,” Cleo says, “there’s nothing wrong with questioning. Experimenting’s good. Try the clothing and accessory shops; there’s always artists doing commissions for ears and tails, either attached to clothing or, like… belts and headbands. Try figuring out what being an otter means to you. And if you don’t like it, you can always change your mind and call yourself a phantom. No one’s going to judge you.”

Martyn laughs, bitterly, and gives his head a shake. When he does that, it rattles the code in his stubby tail. Great. “See, that’s the real problem… You’re talking to a guy you think wants to look inside his own head and unravel the stupid oaf who lives inside. Nah. Thanks for the tour, really… I had a good time.”

“So did I,” Joe says, satisfied. “Well, apart from upsetting you earlier; really sorry about that. But I’m glad we talked it out.”

“Yeah…” Sure. It’s fine. He’s fine. “I’ll, uhh, take your advice and check the library, thanks. If you guys have any other reading recs, let me know. Do you get a tip if I use your referral link? I don’t mind; share the love, right?”

Cleo gives him another of the strange, piercing looks she has so many of. “It’s… the library.”

“You should read Poems of Underground Lost, by Joehillssays. It’s flying off the shelves right now.”

Martyn laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He takes a “toilet break” afterwards he doesn’t really need. No stomach, remember? No bladder. Just feels nice sometimes to soap and rinse your hands. When Martyn first walks in, he has to stop and stare. The soap dispensers are labeled. Living. Undead. Martyn looks at his hands, curling and uncurling fingers for a moment. Cleo really did think of everything when she built this place. Even hygiene products that are gentle on peeling, undead skin. No wonder Bdubs likes her so much.

I should ask her about the pronouns thing. He… thinks he gets it, a little bit? He tried to follow Bdubs’ and Joe’s examples in the way they flipped between “she” and “they,” but it’s still very confusing.

Bdubs asked “Are you a ‘he?’” back when they were on the roof and the topic of pronouns first came up. “Uh, I answer to it?” had been Martyn’s reply. That still feels… good. Fine. But Cleo and Joel introduced themselves with pronouns when he met them. Well, Cleo did and then Joe said anything was fine. So… They chose that, AND they’re thinking of changing species? Seems like a lot.

That’s stupid, he scolds himself. Of course the people who end up modding were people who had to think about it once upon a time. He’s just met them while they’re still nailing down their final designs- It’s kind of like when people retire an old long-term skin design and start using a new base for all their outfits going forward- even dressing the new look in new clothes and considering that the current version of who they are. BigB has a cookie metaphor for this, like he always does: You’re born as dough, kneaded by the world, you start to rise and bake as your life journey shapes who you are, and someday, you get to be a frosted cookie with sprinkles on top. And someone might bite your head off, but hey…

Maybe he should ask Bdubs if there’s ever been a phantom in New Star who felt like a different species. Maybe that’s why Impulse left the flock. Bdubs made it sound like phantoms can’t take care of themselves on their own, but if Impulse can do it, why can’t he?

Martyn presses the dispenser’s button to squirt a little soap from the ‘undead’ compartment on his hand. I could do it like otters do. That is to say, live the solitary life (or a partnered one) most of the time, only swinging by the flock on occasion to play and socialize. It works for otters. He should try it.

When he leaves the toilet, both Joe and Cleo are gone. That’s fine; they kind of all said their good-byes. He’s soaked up a lot of their wander time anyway; sooner or later, they’ll both be off to bed. And I guess since I’m an obligate anivore, that’ll be me doing the logout honors someday.

… Huh. As Martyn crosses the stadium grass towards Etho’s friend group, he swings around and starts walking backwards. Not because he thinks Joe and Cleo are there, but like… I dunno? They might be. Invisible cam accounts could be staring to keep an eye on him. Blue free-cam forms peeping from the stands. Just the two of ‘em being weirdos creeping heads around a doorway. Something. He links fingers behind his neck, and in that way, he just… is. And breathes the warm air.

Around Fern Mountain, it’s the wolves that brought down prey. They’d go around the nearby hubs in groups, searching for people who strayed outside. Sometimes they’d chase mobs and eat meat instead of souls, and sometimes they’d do the anivore thing and hunt down stragglers without a pack. Martyn ate what he was given, but he didn’t really know the randos who landed on his plate. In Black River, he ate a lot of fish. Mobs, mostly.

EVO did things a little different. When the time came to knock his friends AFK, the Watchers did all that themselves. Martyn helped prepare things in the kitchen, shaping souls into different meals according to instruction - lots of soups and the occasional sandwich since Grian’s soul has a bread-and-chicken taste to it - but it was never personal. He didn’t do it with his teeth. Even on the night they escaped, Pearl had to do most the work because she’s got the vampire bat fangs. But logging someone out when you’ve spoken to them, when they’re your friends, when you brought them down, when you’re crouched over them and you lock eyes- When you know them…

… Wow. Something stirs deep inside his chest. Hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me, he thinks sarcastically, but can you imagine the tender intimacy in quiet, snapshot moments like that? Picture it. The world is busy. You’re crouched above your quarry. People hustling by have places to be, and noisy conversations echo all around you. But just for a moment, two of you caught in your own little world, staring deep while hair falls past your eyes and they’re unskinned on raw, wild ground…

Bdubs wasn’t wrong in their practice hunt when he petted Cleo’s hair, calling her beautiful when she lay exposed across the grass. Beauty, innit? Maybe he’s right: hunting’s something to be proud of. And someday, that’ll be him taking down Cleo all on his own, or Joe, or Etho, or any of his EVO friends. Martyn catches his shirt by the collar and gives it a tug. Is he flushing? He glances left and right, but at least nobody’s staring.

He really should get the bite XP up. Bdubs said phantoms do that by play-fighting when they’re low-XP, right? Well, I’m low-XP. He’ll try that. But like, at the phantom roost where no one’s gonna think it’s weird.

It looks like Etho and his friends are wrapping up their game. Most of the leather armor’s been returned to the armor stands that display it in the corner- Training dummies, Martyn would guess, that can be dragged onto the field for sparring practice. People are packing things in chests. Martyn never did ask what they were playing out here- Something with weapons, but he’s not sure if it has a better name than “smack each other with swords.”

Etho sits a few extra blocks apart from the others, wiping stray pixels off his blade with cloth. When Martyn’s shadow falls across his lap, he greets him with a relaxed and friendly air. He doesn’t trip over himself apologizing for earlier, which is honestly sort of nice. Things feel all right with Joe and Cleo now, but it wouldn’t surprise Martyn if they get awkward again next time their paths cross. At least Etho seems chill enough. As far as Martyn can tell, the guy’s not a big talker in social settings, but he’s nice to everyone without expectations. Cool dude. Shame about the buzzing ears.

“Uh. Hey…” What exactly should he say? Martyn makes a point of scratching behind his neck, looking as woeful and sheepish as he can without needing to beg. “I don’t feel like hitting the phantom roost, and my partners are out tonight. Is the offer of crashing at your place for a while still on the table?”

“Sure.” Etho turns the sword over, wiping dirt and chalaza off the other side. “I can take you to my roommate’s card shop too if you want; there’s a pretty decent game room. Plus a rooftop bar if you’re into that.”

“Oh, that actually sounds amazing… but I think I’m done with crowds for a while. Could we just… hang out? Maybe put a recording on; support the arts and stuff. You guys have probably seen a lot of stage plays I’ve never even heard of.”

Etho glances up, curious and cautious rolled into one unreadable, half-masked face. Well, maybe not unreadable… Whatever. “Yeah, we can do that. Anything specific you’re looking for tonight?

Mmm… Martyn pushes his foot forward, toes digging in the grass. He eases to his heel, then makes the motion again. It’s easier, not looking Etho in the eyes. “Foxes sleep in underground burrows, right?”

“That’s true…”

“Well, I used to sleep in a holt with my family; that was in the mud by the riverbank. I was just thinking… Would it be cool if we put something on to watch and, like…” Martyn makes a rolling motion with his forefingers, like minecart wheels. “Couch cuddled for a while? Not in a flirty way? I just really miss hanging out with otters, and it’s cool with my partners if I- Sorry, is this weird? You’re giving me a look.”

Etho’s eyes hang as wide as pinned-up moth wings. From the shape of his jaw, Martyn wonders if his mouth’s big and open too. He stands, maybe a little too quickly, and Martyn takes two steps back. “No, no- Not weird. Caught me by surprise is all- I’ll just put this thing away.” Indeed, Etho puts the sword away, sliding it back into its scabbard and then hanging it on the wall. A friend or two glance over and Martyn debates an awkward wave, but they look away like they’re unbothered by the sight of him and Etho hanging out. Cool… Cleo and Joe made a big deal out of this, but Martyn’s glad not everybody’s treating him like a child who never learned stranger-danger. Etho claps his hands. “Are you hungry? We could get, uhh… crepes on the way over? There’s a place about a street from here that’s really good.”

“Sounds delish, but…” Martyn makes an up and down motion with his hand. “Anivore.”

Etho winces. “Right. Sorry. I’ve still got the fish stored. No pressure, but if you want it, say the word.”

And he’s got the slight swell in his throat pouch to prove it. Well… That is what otters eat, and with these nubby teeth, he won’t get far hunting for himself. He can cancel plans with Bdubs. I mean, why waste energy hunting when there’s a guy right here who wants to give it for free? You don’t wanna be wasteful with the food. That’s an insult to everyone, especially the owner of the soul. Martyn links his hands behind his back, keeping pace with Etho. “I guess I wouldn’t mind that. Keep it private, though; I’m trying to start a small business on feeding techniques and I’d rather not give these guys a free show.”

Etho snorts. “Understandable.” He gets his pin-coated bag, looping it around his shoulder. Oh yeah; Martyn never did find Blueberry Cow. Maybe they can backtrack through a couple rooms. They start across the field. Etho’s tail flips back and forth on every step. As they near the door that will take them to the hall, it sweeps behind Martyn’s lower back and lingers longer than it needs to.

And that’s fine. Martyn dips his tongue around his cheek, thinkin’ hard, then moves his tail towards Etho’s leg. Bit stumpier on his end, but the wings help a little too. It’s fine… You can do whatever you want in New Star, right? And cuddling’s totally cool.

His comm vibrates against his leg. Martyn digs it from his pocket and glances at the screen.

ZombieCleo: If interested, check your library app for “Dissecting Phantoms.” Lmk if you want me to take you to the storage building where we keep the consent cloaks. Good to have before the full moon hits

Right… She and Joe warned that Etho might get overly touchy-feely if Martyn entertains his advances. But… They did say foxes hit on you for three weeks before they lay the invite down. Martyn’s only looking for a one-day pass while his actual partners are out tonight. Shouldn’t be a big deal. Don’t jump on a server with him, Cleo warned- Presumably, because time moves a whole lot faster in the Overworld than it does in Between. Those three weeks would be gone in a blink and no one out here would know where he went.

It’ll be fine. He’s feeling a little riled up, and not in a flirty way. He’s not sure where his cow is. He could use someone to hug or push around. Maybe even play-fight. No way is he backing out of a night with Etho to run off and get “consent cloaks” with Cleo. They can do that some other day. She’s kind of a lot, you know, with how brainy and blabby she is. He needs a breather with a guy who doesn’t talk too much. And right now, with Etho beside him and Bdubs someplace out of sight and mind…

… he wants nothing more than a couple blankets and a hug that reconnects him with his touchy-feely otter roots.

Chapter Text

Chalaza

On the Record

💙  🧡  💚

You know what? Despite Joe and Cleo’s warnings, Etho seems like a swell, chill guy. Not that they implied he wasn’t nice, but those two ready-to-bolt ponies made it sound more like… at the first sign of moonlight on the horizon, he’d turn into a creep who couldn’t tell when no means no. And oh no, poor baby Martyn is far too weak and naïve to make his own choices or look after himself! We can’t have that. Better cut him off from everyone and leave him wallowing alone.

But it’s not creepy at all. Aside from the flick of tail behind his leg, as easygoing as a contact call, Etho doesn’t try to touch him, or force him down any particular street, or hold his hand, or really flirt with him at all (unless Martyn’s drastically oblivious to flirting, but hey, let’s not forget who called him out at the arena back there). They walk down the busy, public streets, and hardly anyone looks their way. Martyn gets two people greeting him tentatively, asking if he’s new in town, but beyond that? No one else seems bothered that he and Etho are walking somewhere. And if Etho really was a creep, wouldn’t everyone know that and try to interfere?

I got this. And just to make sure he’s got this, Martyn sends a whisper off to Pearl and BigB:

InTheLittleWood: Might be home late. Hanging at Etho’s; probably do a little health check

Send. He may be off to a second location, but it’s one he’s already visited while in the most vulnerable state he’s ever been, and Etho took care of him then. They know where to find him. We don’t need to tell ‘em about the cuddles unless they ask… They’re not dating. They’re just a trio. Martyn doesn’t need to know if BigB spent an hour cuddling with those illagers he was searching the city for, and he doesn’t need to know if Pearl’s cuddling with any new friends in the group she’s hanging with tonight. Not his business, and he’s fine with that.

BigB sends back a thumbs up and Pearl a salute. Martyn keeps the comm in hand anyway, bouncing it against his leg, just in case he wants to send a follow-up whisper on short notice. But turns out, no need. Talking to Etho feels a lot like chatting with BigB: He’s got the same Been everywhere, seen everything aura hanging off him like a cloak. Martyn never lets his guard down low enough to forget Etho’s still a stranger, but he’s having a nice time. None of those crepes Etho wanted, but that’s also the nice thing about it. Etho doesn’t stop and make him watch him eat. Martyn doesn’t feel like he’s disrupting plans.

Etho softly shuts the door to his flat behind them. “You only saw my roommates once, right?”

“Mm… Not sure. Was I unskinned?”

“You were, yeah. Well, you’ve seen my room down the hall and on the left. To the right, that’s VintageBeef, his wife, and their cameras.” Etho pauses, fingers hovering as he counts off. “I think she’s in the process of switching names, so I’ll let them introduce themselves in their own time. And the room over there, that’s PauseUnpause and his partner… Gonna have to check the pronouns for you; I don’t see them much. And his twin. I don’t think his partner’s lives with them. Pause is modded; turkey hybrid. Have you ever seen turkey mods?”

Martyn blinks. “Can’t say I have.” He’s never even heard of that creature before.

“They’re kind of shaped like phantoms; long necks, sharp beaks. Pretty unique tail feathers, though.” Etho shrugs. “And that’s everyone.”

Is that it? Oh. “Bdubs made it sound like camerawork’s your passion project?” Martyn’s quick to toss that in there. Yeah, he took one ear twitch at Etho never introduced a partner or camera and is prepared to steer that ship sideways before the silence gets weird. And luckily, this attempt seems to land; Etho pricks up and gives his tail a wag.

“Yeah, I do the work myself. Just little lone me in the room back there.”

Is he trying to feel me out with a subtle roommate invitation? Nuh-uh. Kinda weird to hit on a guy with two partners, bro; get a hobby. “Eh, I dunno about that. I saw the plush collection. Some of those things have really peeping eyes, geez…” Martyn shrugs, trying to indicate that this comment doesn’t require an answer unless Etho wants to give one. Despite an awkward trip in conversation, he’s feeling better here (alone and chatting 1-on-1) compared to how out of his element he felt while Cleo and Joe went on about species and pronouns at the stadium. “I’m still figuring out the portals here… Scott sort of left us to design our room, but I remember how you set your portal up on the steps; might steal that idea.”

Etho chuckles. “Somehow, it’s easier not to stub your toe on when it’s on a platform. You wouldn’t think.”

“I never think.”

… So, what comes next? Martyn pauses, chillin’ at the in-between of kitchen and living room with one hand in his pocket. Gods, he misses the hoodie. He’s still got the wing-patterned phantom shawl on. This skin is blond, but it isn’t yet “him.” He did find Blueberry Cow sitting on a quarter-stack of towels at the non-lava pool. Wasn’t a very big pool, but whatcha gonna do? New Star’s only got so much space. As Martyn watches Etho unpack a few things from his bag, like a bottle that needs one last rinse before it’s put away, he scrubs Blueberry Cow between the leafy ears.

Well, here we are, then… Cuddles on the way, right? “Can I help with anything?” Martyn asks, and Etho jumps like he already forgot he was there. He catches the glass bottle before it can shatter on the floor.

“Nah, I got it. Did you want to pick a play to watch?”

Riiight… He should. What sorts of recordings do you think are uploaded in the local system? Gotta be something action-packed on the list. Martyn unbuttons the shawl, folds it haphazardly, and drops it on Etho’s coffee table. This room is sparsely decorated, mostly shelves and books. Martyn’s not into the med field, but to be fair, if his job was to work at Etho’s corner desk with player files that’ll explode with one wrong touch, perhaps he also wouldn’t get invested in the decorations. At least nothing on the wall that might fall and burst the crystal. There’s some sort of tapestry or embroidered artwork hanging on the wall across from the couch, just far enough from the coding desk that in the case of an explosion, it’ll probably flump to the floor instead of going up in flames. Martyn studies that as he unwrinkles his sleeves and fluffs up his hair. Cherry blossoms? Huh.

“Do you sew?”

Etho glances over from the kitchen and turns off the sink. “Bdubs does embroidery. He gave me that piece… the New Year before this one, I think.”

“Cool. So, are you two partners, or…?”

“‘Partners?”’ Etho sets the glass bottle in a cupboard and shuts it with a soft flip of trapdoor swinging shut. “You could say that. We’ve done a lot of recording sessions over the years; I’ve known him since I started playing multiplayer SMPs. He always works hard. A lot of his early architecture is still standing now. Slime hybrids can dissolve back into the Slime Dragon’s goo frills, right? They had the library and a couple more buildings, but they said it was cool if Scott and Bdubs set up here. Worked out pretty well, I think?” Etho pauses, staring into the backsplash behind the sink. “Anyway, I came in after it was more established. Bdubs and I have been friends ever since.”

None of this really answered the question about what Etho and Bdubs actually are, and Martyn debates how hard he wants to push for that. Etho feels like a nice guy, but sometimes people get weird about the kind of “platonic partner” dynamic he has going on with BigB and Pearl… and he’d like to nail down what he’s workin’ with before he shares too much about his own life. If Bdubs and Etho have something like that, it’d be nice to know. “What was it like back then?”

Etho hums. “A lot less crowded. Have you heard of White Moon Swamp?”

“That’s…” I know this. I learned this. “The original slime hub, right?”

“Yeah, not far north of here-”

“-taken over by sculk-”

“-when the Cluckshroom Dragon died, yeah. The slime hub was right next door, so Debbie left those woods behind and moved down here. She carved the perimeter and wanted to give her babies plenty of room to roam. They had a hub flower and portals; I’ve seen the pictures. A few buildings, but this place was pretty empty for a while. Slimes liked it, though. I think they played a lot of sports, so they liked having the open space to run, but we have public servers for that now.” He shrugs. “Staying under the radar was her idea, and New Star’s always respected that. Scott and Bdubs started out by inviting their friends; helping the slimes invite theirs. Scott’s a refugee from First Moon City. Ever hear about the mega-raid?”

Martyn nods, slowly. Didn’t ask for a history lesson, dude. But useful to know, I guess? “I know it was bad… Big raid patrol, Grand Library went up in flames, lotta people died, and nobody really knows what the endgame was or why it started. The managers of my last hub used it as example a few times of how fast things could spiral out of control.” Ihhh… Looking back, was that weird? It didn’t feel weird at the time; it was just a factual outline about what went wrong with First Moon, same way they learned the history of the other major hubs like Little Sun, New Bork, and everything up and down the Cherry Peninsula. Was it supposed to prove some kind of point about the dangers of going outside nowadays?

… New Star’s rules don’t exactly allow outside visitation either… Am I the weird one for wishing that they would? All his life, Martyn’s been told what to think- By his parents, by the raven scholars, by the camp counselors at the otter hub, at EVO, by Bdubs. If they know best, why can’t he just accept that? Why can’t he just… just believe them?

“Tell me about your last hub.” Etho sounds genuinely curious, leaning on the bar counter with folded arms. “I don’t think you ever said where you’re from.”

Mmm… Come on, man. Is this a one-night stand or court-appointed therapy? He’s just making a point; he’s here strictly for the cuddles, not the flirty add-ons. Martyn looks down, restless with the hem of his shirt. He shrugs. Wings crinkle loud. “It’s called East Verdant Oasis. EVO for short. Only major hub out there without a spawner or a dragon.”

“Huh. I’ve heard of that place; they’ve got the highest-ranked Education program after the illager ones.”

“Fern Mountain’s pretty high-rank too.” But I’m on probation from going back until I hit Level 25. This, he doesn’t volunteer.

“Lot of scientists up in EVO. That’s the one with the big walls, right?”

“Yep. Founded mostly by cows and horses. Big wall for safety, no spawner that’d let people sneak in uninvited. Totally protective, very selective. Well-” Martyn shrugs. “Unless you go at them with a dragon, of course. Not much anyone can do against commands.”

Etho nods. “Right… Right, yeah. Once the mobs started disappearing, we had the leather shortage. I heard that’s why they built it. Fact or fiction?”

“That’s the impression I got too. Loads of cows and horses there.” Martyn shrugs, wandering his eyes up the wall to Etho’s ceiling. Why are there snowflakes painted there when the walls are so plain? “I’ll be honest, you should hear it from the others, not just me. They’re none too happy with our time there, but I liked it. Not exactly the place to be if you love flying, but I was just there to learn from the best of the best. Plus, it got my parents off my back; I feel like they would’ve followed me anywhere that wasn’t so exclusive. I don’t consider myself much a builder, but I’ve always wanted to learn this world inside and out; study up so I’d know exactly what the rare resources are, how to weather-proof my valuables, and I don’t stupidly let the the best of the best slip through my fingers. You know the type.”

“So, history buff?”

“History buff, cartographer, collector…” Martyn trails off. And then he laughs. “Come to think of it, I’m the watered-down version of BigB. He’s into all that too, only he’s actually lived out there, walking the roads. I never got to travel growing up, except up and down the river when the season changed. I think I would’ve liked mail delivery. Man, I wish I would’ve grabbed a few souvenirs from EVO when I ran.” I got my friends. Lost three, but he saved the rest. That’s all you really need. If anything, it’s brought their whole crew closer.

“You would really like Mumbo,” Etho says, resting his cheek against his hand. At the name, Martyn jumps, but Etho keeps talking. “He’s one of our wandering traders. Doesn’t live in New Star, but he trades supplies at my mom’s hub and I bring what we need down here.”

“Mumbo…” I’ve heard that before. Martyn’s hackles stand on end, pixels sparking behind his neck. That’s the name of the mystery man who spoke in his weird dream- The one where he felt like a little kid, and there was something in there about sleeping at Mumbo’s place “until the roads cleared in spring.” He had the accent- “Is he British?”

“I think so.”

“May have met him,” Martyn says, not elaborating, and massages his temples. They’re rushing, burning, as energy spins around his head. It’s different than the buzz of mods around Etho’s ears. This is so weird. What’s going on with me? Is he getting some kind of premonition? It’s summer now, but in six months, it won’t be. Is that a glimpse at what his future holds? Am… am I going to regress back to that baby state I was in when I was fixing my chalaza? Only this time, while he can still talk? Is that a thing? How does that work? Aw, that’s terrifying… Maybe that can happen if you don’t get your levels up fast enough. Martyn shifts his eyes down to his stubby tail, his skin still tied around the stump so the extra length doesn’t drag.

If he goes off what Bdubs and Cleo said, despite the big wings, he looks like a baby. No fangs. Scrawny tail. Does the game still think he’s a spawnling in the early levels? Martyn’s mind flashes back to Dad’s old stories about how if you don’t go along with the game when it tries to get you in a portal, you might just get deleted. Replaced by a newly spawned version of yourself that’s way more obedient when it’s time to jump online and play.

Would I be synced to my player then? Was he cut off because… because his creator can tell something’s wrong with him?

Get me out. Get me out. Martyn’s eyelids clench like envelopes smacked with stamps. Hands twist against his temples, which barely muffles the soft, constant buzz of Etho’s ear mods. Martyn sinks towards his knees. He’s not a baby. Not useless. I can do it! I can play just fine!

“Not surprising.” Etho’s oblivious to whatever’s going on with him, but of course he is- Why would he know about a dream that took place entirely in Martyn’s head? Must be looking the other way; Martyn braces his hands against the coffee table and twists back to look at him. His limbs are shaking to the elbows. To the shoulders. Wobbly legs can hardly keep him on his feet. Etho’s brushing crumbs off the counter into his hand. “Mumbo goes everywhere. Very big name if you’re in the know. If you want to do mail, maybe talk to Scott. Mumbo brings us letters sometimes, and then it falls on us to hand them out to residents. We’re always a little slow with it and I’m sure Scott’d appreciate someone who’s passionate about the work.” The crumbs get tossed in the composter. Etho looks him up and down. “Actually, since phantoms are common in every hub, we could probably greenlight you to come aboveground with me when I do pick-up; you wouldn’t stand out as a foreigner. I could introduce you.”

“… I’ll have to think about that, yeah.” He needs a minute.

He needs more minutes. Because in a sudden blur, he isn’t standing in the Etho’s room anymore.

“Shhh… Martyn, I’m serious. I heard something. Someone’s coming.”

“Mm? … I reckon it’s just the guards.”

“Goodness. Do I sound this nervous all the time? I don’t know how you stand it.”

“Let ‘em listen, pumpkin. Come on back to bed.”

“Martyn? Hey; can you hear me?”

When he blinks himself back to normal, Martyn finds himself sprawled on his back, crumpled between the coffee table and Etho’s leather couch. And Etho’s there, standing over him in concern. His wings feel crumpled, like he squashed them when he fell. “Aw, geez,” he mutters, pushing to his knees. He gives his forehead a careful rub with his thumb. “Sorry…”

“Sorry for what?” Etho holds out a hand. Martyn hesitates, then decides - screw it - he’ll take whatever help he’s given at this point. “Not your fault. You did puddle for a second, though.”

Right. Okay. Is this because I’m out of sync? Martyn’s hearts hammer hard, thudding like a toy tied on the back of a speeding minecart. Is he getting these flashes of a strange, foreign world because his creator’s trying to sync up with him again? Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe everyone gets flashes like this! Or at least, people who’ve had their sync broke and now it’s in repair.

Am I betrothed to Mumbo? That’s another possibility. Martyn looks at his left hand. He tilts it one way, then the other. Bdubs has a betrothal ring. Not all players get betrothed, but a lot of them do. From what he’s heard, it’s not uncommon to get flashes and feelings like this before a betrothal links you to ‘your person,’ whether that’s a friend you’ve already been playing on servers with or some rando on the other side of Between. Maybe… that’s this? “I just had this weird… flash. I heard his voice. This isn’t the first time.” Martyn looks up. Etho’s masked face only offers so much emotion, but the lifted brows suggest just as much interest in this conversation as Martyn has. “Not gonna lie - and maybe I’m wrong - but I think I’m betrothed to Mumbo.”

“Are you?” Etho’s tone is level, vaguely curious. “Like, you got a feeling, or-”

“I…” Martyn laughs. It sputters up and over like a fountain spilling down his sides. “I just got some kind of flash of a future where we’re married, I think. And I heard him.” Huh. How weird… and fascinating, exhilarating, incredible all at once. Martyn pulls his hand in his lap, tracing his thumb across the wrinkles and twitching his fingers in and out.

“Huh.” Etho doesn’t sound skeptical, but… No, yeah- He actually sounds pretty skeptical. “I’ve never heard of people hearing their betrothed like that - They usually describe it as a feeling of similarity, like they’re connecting with the same animal they want as a pet, or a meal they want to cook together - but I suppose it’s possible. A phantom and a trader? Interesting… That’s a perfect combo. I guess that makes sense.”

“I mean, I definitely heard his voice. It’s not my first flash and I’ve heard him called that name.” Martyn rubs behind his ears. “I think something happened with my ears when I got hold of myself again? It’s been like this since I got my first skin after the Void, but I can hear people’s mods. Yours too.”

“What?” Etho moves one hand towards his ear. It halts halfway, but Martyn sees the pause. “You can?”

“Yeah. Yours, plus Netty, Tim, BigB, Skizz at dinner… You’re a doctor, right? Wanna take a stab at what’s going on? Won’t hold it against you if it’s a swing and a miss.”

“… I’ve never heard of someone hearing mods before. Maybe some wires got crossed in your head. Does your nose still work?”

“Think so, yeah.” He picked up lots of smells at the restaurant. Lots of dusky streets, a market filled with warm meals, prickly pixels and grass at the arena. Even behind the mask, Martyn can tell when Etho frowns. There’s a worry crease between his brows. Martyn clears his throat. “Hey, uh… While I’m here, and since something might be up with my ears, would you mind giving me a full-body look-over?”

Etho’s eyes swish from scalp to shoes and up again. “I can do a physical to check your joints, yeah, but without your player file, there’s not much I can do with your code. Unless you want me to… ‘remove it.’”

Eat bits of it, Martyn finishes in his head. He gives a shake. “No, uhh… Maybe test my ears. Bdubs showed me how to run on all fours, but I didn’t do a lot of that growing up. Check if I look okay? I’d hate to find out three years from now I pulled something.”

“Sure.” Etho grasps the edge of the coffee table and starts dragging it towards the edge of the room. Carpet squares start flipping up their corners. Martyn catches the other end and helps him carry it out of the way. Ah, maybe this is why it’s sparsely decorated in here… It’s a house call at the doc’s place! Martyn follows along as Etho asks him to try a few things, like jumping jacks, crouching, crawling, and being down on his knees while he swats his tail around. Etho gets down with him at one point to demonstrate fox stalking posture, though Martyn can tell his own steps around the room are a little clumsy and exaggerated. Each time he shifts between his biped and quadruped states, pixels roll and spark. Etho says the code strings look good, though. At one point he hesitates and Martyn looks up.

“What?”

“… Can I take a closer look at your tail? I know that’s sensitive for phantoms, so if you don’t want me to, that’s okay.”

Martyn shrugs. Etho didn’t make him undress, though he does hitch his shirt a little higher in the back so it’ll be easier for Etho to see where the bony bits meld to the rest of his skin. Etho moves closer and kneels down beside him. Martyn’s tail looks like bone the way that skeletons do, but it’s softer than you think. I mean… He’s wearing a skin, right? Etho touches the first joint, then wanders his hand a little lower. His finger pads trace the gaps between each tail segment.

Ah, there it is… Yeah, he can feel a sharp prickle of energy in Etho’s hand where cool soul meets hot. Nerves are a little sensitive there. Martyn rolls his eyes skyward, chewing the inside of his lip. Etho’s not trying to be weird, he’s pretty sure, and he doesn’t make big, coaxing strokes or anything. He holds the tail gently in two fingers near the base, then grips the tip and extends the length without dragging it out. Uhh… Not very long. “Should I brag when it’s long?” Martyn says off-hand. Etho’s either locked in on what he’s doing or the innuendo swooshed right over his head.

“Mm… Professional’s opinion, I’d definitely prioritize the length of this over upgrading your fangs. Leaning forward all the time is gonna hurt your back; you need a longer tail to balance the weight of those wings. And this was your shape when you flew from the EVO hub, right?”

“Yessir.”

“Hm. Can I put a hand on your chest?” Martyn grants permission and Etho reaches forward, patting lightly around his hearts. “Hmm. You being a hot soul makes this harder than it needs to be. My best guess is that you’ve got energy clumping in your front area instead of flowing down to your tail, but it’s hard to tell without knowing how you were before the Void. Do you usually run hot?”

“Hottest guy I know.”

“You did dissolve, so maybe some strings got mixed up along the way. Going AFK should’ve fixed a string problem, though.” Etho moves from behind him, kneeling in front instead. He holds up two hands, ready to grip Martyn’s face. “Can I give your ears a check? Non-invasive.”

“Yeeeah…” A flitty breath shoots down his throat and wraps around his hearts. They pump. When Etho moves forward, Martyn pulls back on instinct. “Uhh…”

Etho blinks in quiet understanding. “I can do it different?”

“Yeah, sorry… I don’t think I’m cool with lookin’ you in the eyes when you’re moving your head towards mine like that.” I mean… whoa. Maybe don’t get close to knocking foreheads with your doctor-slash-cuddle partner of the evening when you’re trying to stay platonic? It’s not- It doesn’t have to be romantic, but maybe we don’t do that immediately after the tail touch, especially if there’s still allofeeding on the way. Just the thought of love hearts sparking in the air between them makes Martyn’s cheeks sizzle. It’s not like they have golden carrots to… you know… (use for breeding), but yeah, let’s just- Let’s not.

Etho seems to understand all of that without Martyn needing to explain. He moves to the side instead, closer to the ear. “How’s this?”

“It’s cool.”

Etho touches his jaw and the back of his head. He asks Martyn to open and close his mouth a few times at different angles. “I’m not seeing any snags… Does it hurt?”

“I feel all right, I think?” Martyn takes an extra moment to consider that. Growing up out of sync, he’s always had a little wobble in his legs. Sometimes there’s pain, but not usually. Only if he whacks into things, but from the sound of it, that’s pretty standard for fragile phantom bodies. He can feel the slightest strain in his muscles when opening and closing his mouth ten times in a row, but he doesn’t feel sore. Anyway, he was sick and coughing up glitches not long ago; that might’ve done it. He relays that bit to Etho, including his concern that his throat pouch may have glitched onto the server. And instead of coughing up a glitch the standard way, he hacked up purple ooze, for some reason. Etho’s hands go still. Martyn can feel his pulse jumping in his fingertips.

“Purple?”

“Yeah, it’s probably the goop I fell into at the bottom of the Void.”

A splash of cyan energy washes over Etho’s hands. He withdraws pretty fast, brushing it off with two quick wipes. “What purple goop?”

“Uhh…” How do I describe this? Martyn makes a fish motion with his hand, like it’s swimming along. “The purple river, down there at the bottom. I guess you can only see it in places the mist clears up, but I hit it when I still had hearts. Maybe because I’m an Enderkin, I lasted longer on the way down or didn’t take as much damage-”

“-because you’re underneath two spawners.” Etho looks towards the ceiling. “The slime and fox combo gives double regen; that might’ve helped.” The man hums in thought, then temples his hands. He’s got two eye colors, by the way; did that ever come up? The one with the scar across it is red and the other black, but even the black one shows the glow that comes from having your player file plugged into a hub. “So… You fell into this ‘purple river?’”

“Might’ve swallowed some of it, yeah. Grian was with me.” Martyn’s hearts lurch frog-like at the memory, and the thoughts are just as slimy when he chokes them down. “Don’t… don’t tell my other friends yet, if you don’t mind. As I was closing in on what I guess was New Star, I heard him calling my name, so I turned back and there he was, flying behind me. He’d told us he wanted to stay behind in EVO, but I guess he changed his mind. And he didn’t make it out.” Martyn double, triple blinks as static simmers across his eyes. “Can we not tell everyone just yet? He fell in the Void. Probably still recovering from respawn at the parrot hub right now, but I’m not ready to tell them… y’know. That he tried to follow and I had to watch him die.”

“Grian’s a parrot.” Etho’s stare gets even fiercer, which is really weird, and prickles run up Martyn’s back. “Okay. Walk me through exactly what happened, the way that you remember it.”

… Martyn hesitates. “Are we off-camera?”

“My eyes are off, yeah.”

Well, if neither of them are recording… If no one’s going to look back at this, scrutinizing him… Martyn looks down at his hands, fingers interlocked against his lap. Maybe we should. Maybe they should record this, document it, for science and emergencies. What if something happens to him one day? What if he respawns at the phantom hub, and because he never told anyone what happened to him and Grian, no one ever knows?

Maybe Grian will find them someday. Maybe he’ll tell them Martyn didn’t save him, or make it sound like he let him fall on purpose. Grian’s not malicious, but he doesn’t know Martyn’s side of the story. What if I keep getting these flashes? Trauma’s shaking up his dreams, and now it’s creeping into daily life. What if he goes nonverbal again, stripped of skin, and people want to help him, but aren’t sure why he’s acting up?

I freaked out when I saw Cleo fall. The shock of it snapped hard- like teeth in his throat. Martyn chews his bottom lip. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “Let’s record it… but can we keep it confidential?”

Etho’s eyes soften at the edges. “Yeah, but I am your medical provider. It’ll be in your file on my office shelf if you ever want it. I won’t share with anyone if you don’t.”

Martyn nods. He shifts his legs around, and Etho retrieves a couple items for a temporary recording set-up so the recording won’t bounce. Right. It’s cool. Breathe.

Etho settles in, getting comfortable, and pulls a box of tissues close enough to rest his chin on. The hum around his ears crackles louder as Etho’s eyes click. They shift into a very specific ‘sparkle’ glow that indicates he’s recording now. Martyn wants to look up. He scratches his chin, which forces it up a little, but lifting his head beyond that makes him feel like he’d have to fight off anvils. Etho states both their usernames, their location, and the date, then turns it back around on Martyn: “I understand that you took the Voidpath from East Verdant Oasis down to New Star Station, and you flew into our hub through the voidfish market entrance. Can you take me through it?”

The lanterns in here aren’t too bright. Martyn still feels like they’re painting lens flares in his eyes. “Um… Hi, my name is Martyn InTheLittleWood.” Is that stupid? This feels like an interrogation, but Martyn can’t help the choked-up laugh. Is this a bad idea? If the Watchers get their hands on the portfolio this gets dropped in, it’ll be a straight confession. “Well, I played a role in getting my friends from the EVO hub. It’s a research hub further north of here, right along the coast. We ran off just before graduation. Sad I missed the party, honestly. I don’t think the Watchers saw it coming. Up ‘til then, I had stumpy baby wings, but we had a plan to get out fast and never look back. ‘Course, if we didn’t want to wake up at EVO next time someone logged us out, we had to unplug our player files.” He taps his chest to indicate the spot soul crystals grow from when you’re a spawnling, then realizes the visual wasn’t necessary. Well, whatever. “With the help of our cameras, we were lucky enough to smuggle our crystals from the arboretum the locals kept them in.” Martyn looks at Etho. “Does that sound like the right word?”

“That, or maybe a conservatory. Depends if it was indoors.”

“Conservatory, then. Yeah, the cam accounts snatched our files out of there. I dumped all my XP in my wings overnight, logged my friends out - I had help from Pearl - dumped their data in my pouch, and took off into the Void. The Watchers, they’re all watchlings - endermen - and I’d seen this ‘pond’ hidden away where they went to filter feed. They keep it covered when it’s not in use, but I had the cameras seal it shut behind me. We made a plan for the cams to dress in our skins, trying to fool the Watchers into thinking we were still around long enough for me to get a head start. It worked out because the cams didn’t want to come. It was… just me, flying alone, while I kept my friends’ souls inside my pouch.”

… A long and lonely trip. And such weird feelings the whole way through. Martyn squirms his wings at the thought.

“I followed the Voidpath south from EVO. I didn’t linger at the rest stops, so I just kept going… Fast as I could manage, honestly. I’d drink water, but didn’t linger longer than I had to. I’d pull souls from my pouch into my mouth and keep going as they dissolved. From the sound of it, two of my friends - that’s Salems_Lady and Mini Muka - didn’t make it. Cycled too soon, I reckon. I must’ve been flying down there for days.”

Etho stays steady, trying not to nod. But although he’s quiet, his presence is a comfort. Martyn scrapes the heels of his hands down his trouser legs just to keep his balance steady. He’s fine. He’s doing just fine, even when his head gets a little fuzzy. “And then… I heard him calling for me. ‘Martyn! Martyn!’ So I turned back…”

He turned back. Wings swiping, body pulling upward as if coming in for a landing on his feet. Startled. Twisted. Phantoms don’t keep well in one place; they’re built for longform glides.

“… and there he was. Grian. He’s the only non-camera of our group who didn’t want to join the escape. I have no idea how he made it that far, especially without aggroing a phantom… unless I was the only phantom in the area? And I can’t aggro yet- still got spawnling teeth. I think he must’ve been holding onto flight XP just like I was, because the last time I saw him, he still had fluffy baby wings. I guess he dumped it short notice and took off after me. He can eat real food, so he probably took bread or something from the kitchen. Kept himself awake somehow. I don’t know… Never got to ask him.”

His eyes. Grian’s dark and panicked eyes as his wings strained the last little bit they could. Martyn can’t see them half as clearly as he can hear the wail trickling up from the spiral down. And they burn.

“He was pushing… He channeled soul energy on top of his wings. Fast and fierce as he could go. Had to catch up to me. Had to get logged out or he was never gonna make it. I don’t know how long he pushed himself past his limit, but he was dropping fast. He had his player file tight in hand, and he was falling towards the Void. Can you even survive if a file goes down like that?”

“And you went after him?” Etho asks quietly.

“I went after him. I tried to grab him, but I didn’t have the fangs to log him out.” Martyn laughs again, weak and shaky, and pulls his lips so Etho can record all his stubby teeth. “I still don’t! My friends had to help me eat ‘em back in EVO - Gods, that must’ve been traumatic - but with Grian, it was all a rush. I was trying so hard, but we were falling. I tried to grab him. I got his arm, but then we hit this… ‘river,’ I guess, of purple energy at the bottom of the Void. I’ve never even heard of a river down there, but it was definitely real and sloshed us both around. We kept going under, trying to swim. Grian hit first. I tried to get him out, but I got caught up in it too. It had these waves. They were like big grabby fingers. It kept pulling us down, down, and I couldn’t get the wings up. Grian went under. I started digging, throwing that purple gunk aside, flying blind at this point, just trying to find him in the goop…”

Those eyes. Black as darkwater, staring, shaky…

“And phantoms can’t take off from straight ground, right?” Martyn makes a bouncing motion with his hand. “Not that I had the tail for it. The goop certainly didn’t help. I was dying down there. And then I saw him- slathered in goop, but I saw his shape for sure. I bit him at the scruff. Straightaway, I vaporized my whole skin for the energy burst. Once I was more soul than physical, I flew up as high as I could, zooming towards a little light I could just see far away…” He trails off, looking back to Etho. “I don’t remember what happened after that.”

Etho’s eyes shine in sympathy, although he stays so still. He sounds like a professional. “You flew into New Star from underneath, through the voidfish market, where our endermen go to filter feed. Down through one diving hole, out another. I wasn’t there, but the way I heard it, you made it out, crashed to ground, and puddled right there on the floor. Tango picked up the player files before the crowd could step on them. We took over from there.”

Martyn nods. No Grian, though. I must’ve dropped him. “Bdubs said he watched me when I was in a fishbowl.”

“Yeah, we had to clean you pretty good; you puddled without a skin on, so you picked up a lot of grit. I spent a good while watching you drip through a strainer. Had to get the pebbles out.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t remember that at all. In fact, thinking back on it now, Martyn’s stomach churns at the thought of what could’ve happened to him if he’d returned to hybrid form early on with chips of gravel and earth stuck inside. Blech.

“Once we had you through the strainer, I got a towel damp and washed you off. Not over the sink, to be clear: I put a lantern over you for a couple hours so you’d warm into stickier goo, then held you in my lap over my medical shulker box so we wouldn’t lose any of you down the drain.” Etho says it like he’s speaking to an audience of medical students rather than to Martyn, which is fine. “Then I moved you from there into the fishbowl so I could sterilize the shulker, just in case another emergency came up and we needed it. I had to go AFK, so I passed you off to Bdubs. It took you a few days to reform. Even when you did, you were pretty deep in phantom mob mindset and couldn’t get your chalaza up. That last burst of soul energy really took a lot out of you. You came out okay, I think?”

“Seems like it… I haven’t found a scratch on me. It’s just my ears that went weird.” Martyn points, twirling his finger when he does. “I can actually hear people’s mod layers now. Here I am at the doc trying to get an answer for it. Uh. Yeah- that about wraps it up.” It’s a little freaky, actually, thinking back to his earliest conscious memories of waking up in New Star. Nothing about his “mob mindset” is sticking. It’s like it never got encoded; just a swoosh directly into deletion.

Martyn remembers waking up in Etho's room… He remembers scratching behind his ear with his foot. As he grew more lucid, he could tell he’d been acting like a mob, because he ached in certain places (like his palms) where he bore too much weight without a break. But he really can’t remember anything before the scratching.

I remember lying on the bed, just… pretty shaken up. He remembers Etho lying next to him, answering questions only if Martyn asked them first. So bright. Lots of new smells. Totally overwhelmed.

“I’ll take another look at those," Etho says, probably referring to Martyn's ears. "I think we’re done recording here.”

“Yeah. I think we’re done.” He’s ready to let it go. Maybe his brain can finally move past it and he won’t have any more horrid dreams.

The extra sparkle in the eye glow clicks off. Etho fills a cup with water and Martyn drinks slowly until it’s gone. Then they resituate, with Etho sitting at Martyn’s side again. He brings a small stick with a froglight on the end near Martyn’s ear. Martyn catches a glow of it dancing on the other side and mutters some comment about having nothing inside his head if the light goes all the way through. Etho hums acknowledgement like he’s heard that joke a hundred times before. He leans the light left, then right.

“Okay… I thought I’d see some build-up in here pressing on your nerves, but it doesn’t look like that’s the case. And you aren’t wearing any mods, right? It’s just weird that your natural body would react to someone else’s mods, unless you enabled a setting somewhere.”

Timmy’s panicked hands gripping the floor, his whole body shaking, the way he looked at him, flashes through Martyn’s mind. His fingers tighten in his ankles, nails scratching wrinkled skin. “Nope. Totally modless. My parents never would’ve allowed that.”

“Is it okay if I reach inside, soul on soul?”

“Hit me.”

The froglight gets set aside. A blur of energy, cool as river water, washes up Etho’s hands as he pulls big ol’ soul paws up past skin. He slips them under Martyn’s skin and feels around as if swirling his hands through a murky swamp. Tickles. Martyn tongues his cheek again and tries to pretend it’s not doing anything for him you-know-where in the forehead tingle zone. He wishes he could walk around a little; shake it off. But no matter what Etho tries, he just can’t seem to find an answer. After ten more minutes of trial and error, Martyn finally calls it quits. This is too much. All of it, just crashing down on him- Allofeeding after that would definitely tip him over the edge. Those cuddles probably would too, and that’s not what he’s here for tonight.

“Can I lie down a while? I need a minute to myself.”

Etho blinks in sympathy. “I’ll get you a blanket. Sorry I can’t figure you out; you can try talking to Tango, though. He knows a lot more about mods than I do.”

Sure. Maybe someday. But for now, Martyn curls up at the edge of the couch, wrapped in wings and the soft cloth Etho drapes across him. There’s no sleep in the Between dimension, but just for a moment, breathing in the safe walls of Etho’s living room… he lets his limbs relax. His mind flickers down to almost nothing. Once he settles in, Etho walks off down the hall. Martyn can hear his voice fade out as he walks out of prox range, opening and shutting the door to his room. Calling someone on his comm? Bdubs, maybe? They are friends. Bdubs might wanna know where he’s at. Kind of a hover-parent like that. Mm…

Martyn pulls Blueberry Cow close, wrapping the legs around his neck. The toy isn’t very big, but there’s enough stuffing in his leafy ear that it feels nice to chew. And it’s okay. He’s not in EVO anymore. New Star is different. New Star is safe. Martyn closes his eyes, nestled in a sort of ball, and lets the whole wide world slowly wash away. The tension in his back loosens up. One wing drapes to the floor.

So, yeah. Okay.

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Off the Grid

💙  🧡  💚

The AFK life is a lot of early-day work, but when they’re a trio, every part of it means spending time hanging out (even if that’s over comm when one of them leaves to gather resources). The starter base has really come together! All the walls stand tall. The block palette’s pretty enough for Martyn, though Pearl says it’s a little too simple and could benefit from further variation. He’ll leave her to it.

The walls mean doors, which means closed-off rooms. The composter they’re using as a toilet is tucked in a private space now. Finally, they’re expanding past the priority necessities to fun add-ons: Martyn’s got a little crafting room and armory in a separate building to the side - pretty open-air - and BigB’s working on a stable. The base might end up a long-term residence at this rate, at least if it doesn’t get overrun with basic storage supplies. The autumn trees are beautiful, and the river isn’t half bad. Could maybe use some tidying of the grass, but… wow.

I have an on-server base now. Something all his own. Martyn can’t stop thinking about that as he sets each block into place, smoothing the adhesion between smooth stone blocks with quick strokes of his hands. He never had his own singleplayer growing up. He lived with his mum and dad. Well, and the modded-in version of on-server Baby, who wore an opal collar to sync her mind with the outside world. Since phantoms aren’t on servers yet, she was basically a blue cat with wings that didn’t work. She frisked around his ankles, all sparked and goofy and a real nuisance when she teased. Love her to death, though, in whichever body she used… even if she did bite his legs every time he wore socks. She loves socks.

And of course, back in the EVO hub, he never went AFK. They didn’t do that; the servers were only active when there was actual research to be done. He’s had servers, but never his own. Never like this, no parents breathing down his neck. Martyn dusts his hands off, stepping back to take a look at the wall. Since this is the outdoor armory and crafting zone, he hung banners that dangle down, offering a bit of sun protection and the feeling of “wall” while leaving the place an open counter area. It’s easy to come and go, checking on on what whoever’s back here has got cookin’ up. Hey, that’s not bad! Is the banner pattern simple with its three alternating colors? Sure, but it represents the three of them: a cookie, his leaf, and a crescent moon.

Home.

They don’t have pipes yet to run water indoors. Those aren’t craftable at the table, so they have to be made by hand. That’s a “someday wish,” and definitely not top priority. Even the anvil he’s washing needs buckets drawn from the river, though when Pearl sees him fetch it, she comments that she might build a nice well up here. Honestly, he wouldn’t mind.

BigB swings by a little later, knocking his fist on one pillar in absence of a real door. “Hey-o. I’m gonna wash at the waterfall before it gets dark. Anyone comin’ with?”

Martyn… pauses, running his palms across the sun-warmed anvil. New Star has “shower houses” that pump water into a single building, but the showers there are curtained off with banners to give a sense of privacy. Not everyone likes exposing soul when they change. Plus, y’know… it’s not a great idea to scrub code strings off your body, only for it to land on someone’s foot and get absorbed into their own data. That’s how cross-contamination occurs; nasty stuff.

Up until now, their showers at the waterfall have been kept separate. Habit, maybe? Back in the EVO hub, the Watchers were always around to ensure they were sticking to their schedules: never lingering too long and never ‘partnering up’ behind the curtains where water could try (and fail) to drown out unwanted sounds. On Evo SMP itself, being spread across the map and building separate bases made showering in private almost automatic. He helped Jimmy with his wings a couple times, but mostly by picking out a few loose feathers that Jimmy could feel on his back, but couldn’t reach. It wasn’t in-depth preening, and they didn’t exactly wash each other.

Growing up, Martyn got a lot of baths. With otters, it’s understandable: living near water made cleaning a breeze. He can still remember being pretty freshly hatched, wearing a skin too big for him, as his mum grasped his hands and rubbed his palms back and forth under a little waterfall. And because there are so many historic artifacts and valuables in Fern Mountain, especially books, the ravens wanted everyone to wash and dry their hands before they started touching things.

He’s never, like… showered with a partner before… let alone two partners. Do you rub the soap on each other, or do you do your own thing just standing nearby? Is it fun? It sounds like it might be fun. But… new and frightening and full of expectations too. Martyn bunches the hem of his sleeve in his fist. Where’s Blueberry Cow when you need him? Sure, it sounds stupid, but he’d feel a little better with the option to squeeze something instead of someone if this gets a little wild for his emotions.

We’re not romantic partners, he thinks, grip tight around the anvil. They’re chill; they just share a base and bed together. Pearl’s not big into cuddling, and BigB seems like he prefers proximity over touch. That might be an illager thing- Even if he got mods that leave him looking like a moth now, BigB still gets shy about his hands. Martyn’s breathing quickens up. What if I mess up? I mean, Pearl’s a cool soul and BigB’s chilly… I don’t FEEL attracted to them, but I’ve never seen them undress.

Pearl’s not interested in dating, so she’s probably not worried, but what about him? Absolutely no question Martyn’s interested in the cold half of the temperature spectrum. He enjoys lying with Pearl and BigB on either side in bed. Feels like their auras keep him from overheating, so he can still enjoy the blankets. But what if seeing them skinless under the waterfall sparks something in his brain? And what if he ruins everything they’ve built; everything they are? Martyn would die if they kicked him from the trio; told him to go live with the flock if he can’t keep it in his head. I LIKE our trio.

He swallows, with care. “I’ll… go.” I mean, BigB’s asking, right? He doesn’t seem worried that seeing each other skinless will ruin them.

“I’ll come too,” Pearl says, equally cautious and interested. Martyn’s grateful they’re growing as a group. He doesn’t think he’d mind watching BigB undress alone, but if Pearl comes, they all get to experience this together. If it’s weird for any of them, they can rip that bandage off all together, all at once.

When they reach the waterfall, Martyn can tell BigB polished the design a bit. It’s wide enough for three. Water pounds loud and fast, spewing particles in the air like flour dust. “Secret cave?” Martyn guesses, leaning around the edge. BigB grins in response, already unbuttoning the collar of his skin.

“You know it, dude.”

BigB’s the first one to strip. Pearl starts unzipping when he’s about halfway there. Martyn lingers longer than he meant to, watching the streak of blue down BigB’s center grow wider and wider as two halves pull apart. BigB tugs off his hood to reveal cyan hair curls and glowing white eyes. His skin rolls down, exposing one arm and then the other. BigB slips each leg free of its sleeve with care, and then Pearl’s undressing too…

I feel fine with this. Yeah. It’s cool. Fingers shaky, Martyn sits on a rock to ease his skin off too. He’s not exactly… lingered with his naked body since his recovery from ‘spawnling brain’ in Etho’s room. He doesn’t have a lot of skins to spare, and unless he’s been out building, he doesn’t really need to wash the inner soul. Chalaza’s sticky, dude; who am I to ruin that?

The hood folds back. Arms… wings… Little by little, Martyn peels his skin away. It takes most of the chalaza coating with it, leaving his whole form bright and blue. Martyn folds it politely and sets it on the rock. Okay. Then he turns and steps from the bank. Chilly water shocks his system so hard, he cries out. No voice without a skin, but three communicators ping as they translate the noise for him. Ugh. He shivers, wading over to join BigB by the crashing spray. BigB’s just as blue as he is and reaches out a steady hand.

No words. No throats to voice them with; no ears to catch the sound. BigB brought all the tools and soaps they need. He examines Martyn’s hands, then scrubs shampoo in his hair flops with all the tenderness he’d show a warm, fresh-baked cookie that might fall apart in his hands. BigB’s tall, and as he goes about his work, Martyn can’t help the tremor in his jaw. This feels… good?

It feels amazing! His hands. The way he rubs all his ruffled edges smooth. Martyn lolls his head back, just taking it all in. Out here on a server, no one can yell at him. No one can judge. Pearl’s working on BigB’s hair and neck, and if they’d planned ahead for this, they probably could’ve set it up so he could show Pearl this sort of care as well.

Next time. There will be another chance. He’s sure of it.

For now, Martyn lets BigB clean him off, the waterfall wild right beside them, and they play a little game of trying to stand beneath it even though the water’s so ferocious, it buckles ‘em to their knees. They splash, naked and re-skinned, and laugh and tussle and shove each other around. Pearl looks soaking wet with her hoodie tied around her waist, but gods, Martyn hopes the grin on his face is at least half as wide as hers.

Shower behind them, fully dried and snug in a brand new skin, Martyn sprawls across his center section of the big shared bed. He stays that way, limp and listless, and hears BigB chuckle as he goes about his bedtime routine. A moment later, the moth man turns back the sheets and settles in beside him. No shirt. Left his socks and trousers on, but at least he kicked off the dirty shoes. With some reluctance, Martyn crawls forward so he can get off the blankets and slide underneath them too. BigB props on his elbow, watching Martyn get comfy once again.

“What do you think of New Star?”

Closed-off. No sun. Awful dirt. Martyn gives his wings a shrug. “Seems all right. Etho’s nice. I think I’m making friends; I got invited to a full moon hunt. Not sure if I’ll go.”

“With the phantom flock?”

“Nah, a zombie… and someone I think is modding, but hasn’t picked a species yet. Did you find any illagers?”

“… I looked around.” BigB’s words are evasive, and Martyn looks at him in probing question.

“Color me the fool, but that doesn’t sound like good news.”

BigB gives his own shrug. “Illagers are rare in this city. All of them are modded. I’m not kidding; there’s not a single one who’s still in default.”

Martyn blinks at the ceiling in the dark. Pearl, who’s changing in the corner, glances over without a mouth to chime in with. “That’s… not too weird, right? I mean, a lot of people here are refugees. When cerivores mod, it makes them less of a target to anivores; they don’t taste as good.” BigB knows this; that’s the whole reason the Watchers suggested they all mod. It’s why Timmy… Never mind.

“Yeah, but have you noticed the phantoms seem to be on top around here?”

“What?” He’s met the mayor. HALO definitely plays a crucial role; that’s been explained to him a good three times. And going off Bdubs’ rants, if anything, it’s blaze and slimes who rule the city streets. Talk to him and it’s like phantoms are practically an afterthought.

BigB cocks his head. “It’s a big flock, right? And they’re always hunting, all the time. There are so many phantoms. It’s like they’ve got no competition.”

Martyn replays the station’s streets in his mind. Admittedly, he paid more attention to the effort it took to walk than he did the people around him. What’s BigB getting at? No competition… Phantoms are sky predators… “No vex.”

“Weird, right? Even EVO had a dozen of those around, but I searched the whole city. I know they only hunt once a month or so, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. Or any evokers.” BigB lifts his brows conspiratorially. “Not one vex nest in this whole place. Not even one vex mark. I’ve never seen the walls so… bare.”

Not even one? That sounds a little weird. Walk into any big city, look to your left, and there’s probably a sword scratch marking territory on the wall. Martyn turns his head, the pillow warm already at his cheek. “This is gonna sound stupid, but is it because allays are going extinct?” Dragon’s dead, dude. With the spawner busted, the hybrids don’t respawn, and new eggs aren’t getting laid. To use a euphemism, allays are going the way of the cluckshrooms these days. “Vex take over the tree cavities the allays bore, right? If the allays are dying, maybe they don’t do that anymore.”

BigB gives his head a shake. “There’s at least one allay in this city. I found an active nest. Just… no vex marks. Not anywhere.”

“Oh, wow.” Martyn pretends this is exciting news, but post-sunset narcolepsy’s dragging at his limbs. “Well, if you wanna see a vex, watch the nest. Poor allay’s gonna get infected pretty soon.” He yawns… “You can’t not have a couple vex in a city this size. I know there’s at least one. Bdubs told me to watch out for Scar, but he said he hunts on ground level and I probably wouldn’t run into him. And where there’s one, there’s three.”

BigB shifts, restless, like he’s trying not to shake Martyn back awake. “It gets weirder. You know the Headquarters building where I met you for paperwork? Northeast corner?”

“Yeah?”

“I found the mayor’s office out there. It’s walled in amethyst. After boats, that’s the only block vex struggle to phase through. It’s not a small room, either. It’s all four walls plus the floor and ceiling; I can hear it twinkle from three chunks away. Why would he bother with all that if there aren’t any vex around?”

“You’re a conspiracy theorist,” Martyn mutters back, scooting closer. He does it partly to make room for Pearl, who’s climbing in bed on the other side, but mostly just to flop against this big ol’ man who’s too clever for his own good. “I dunno. I’ll ask Bdubs next time I see him. He told me there’s a vex. I’ll get you the deets.” Yawning, he pulls the covers high up his shoulder and adds, “Not even vex can be the apex predator everywhere. They’re pretty tough, right? And since they can fly through walls anyway, maybe they don’t seek refuge as much as phantoms do; even a barren city like modern First Moon’s gotta be a good nesting zone for them. I mean, I sure as hell wouldn’t live near a phantom flock this size if I were a vex, so maybe they set up here first. Makes sense to me, if the flock captain built this place. Get some sleep, dude; you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“No evokers…” BigB sounds a little sleepy. “This hub is non-anarchy. No one’s allowed to kill. Why aren’t there evokers here? Since they drop Totems, you’d think this’d be an ideal place to hide.”

Martyn dreams he’s swimming. It starts with falling, like most of his dreams do. He grabs for rope that never comes. He plunges into purple sludge, which twists around to strangle his neck like a giant hand. Martyn throws a punch, but a splurt of energy lurches up to block his fist. It doesn’t let go. He thrashes, fighting back, but it pulls him down… down… He tries to spread his wings, but they aren’t there at all. He thrusts his hands, and giant webbed paws flash across his vision. He’s an otter? He paddles forward, but he’s swallowed all the same. Everything lurches-

And then he wakes up. Back in his room. Back on his AFK, his partners resting on either side of him. Martyn digs his fingers in the blankets. He lies in bed a while, staring at the ceiling, before crawling out of bed to wander on his own. Moving his feet sometimes helps him focus, and it’s good for a body that needs to ‘use or lose’ these muscles for itself.

“Martyn?”

Pearl. He’s at the foot of the bed, hands braced to keep him up. “Just going for a walk,” he whispers. Apparently that’s not a satisfactory answer, because she stirs and sits up.

“Want some company? There’s monsters nearby.”

“Nah, not that nearby… There’s torches out; I’ll be fine. You can rest.”

Pearl gives her head a soft shake. Cinnamon-brown hair lies in streaks across her face. “Well, I won’t play stalker if you want some time alone, but come back soon, all right, dude? It’s hardly restful knowing you’re out there all alone.”

BigB twitches in his sleep like someone jabbed him in the shoulder. Martyn moves closer up the bed until he’s a breath from Pearl’s ear. “I’m used to walking without a player-sync. Save your energy for building and ‘fun walks’- We can all go out tomorrow. I’m just out for a think right now.”

Pearl looks comfy in her sleeping skin, and the way she wraps her arms makes it look like she’s enveloping herself in a cloak. “All right. But if you’re not back by sunrise, I’m going after you.”

“If I’m not back, you’ll catch me walking home. I won’t be long.” They exchange a hug and then he’s out, slipping from the bedroom as softly as he can. Martyn leans against the door, then slides down to his bottom. Thump. And… scene.

He massages the space just in front of his lenses, trying to stir his energy. It could be weeks on this AFK server before they’re called upon to play again. BigB and Pearl will feel it coming. They might even leave this place before he does. They’re allowed to, when the early energy starts coming on. They can eat, shop, and chat with friends before actual New Evo SMP playtime arrives. But Martyn? Well… He’s out of sync, right? He’s sort of stuck out here, AFK, until there’s somewhere else he needs to be.

If I didn’t jump on this server and let my energy wind down, I could just stay in Between, eat souls to keep the energy up, and never go offline. Then I could socialize with people, make new friends, and do all that on my own time. Maybe staying at the roost wouldn’t be so bad.

… But it would mean leaving Pearl and BigB to AFK without him.

Maybe he can compromise? Stay in Between, hang at their flat, and alternate between visiting the clock tower, seeing various friends, and doing his own thing. Time moves differently between dimensions, though. Even 20 minutes in their room is a full day for BigB and Pearl while they’re AFK. Hours become weeks, weeks become years. Pearl and BigB would have each other, but could he still call himself part of the trio when there’s a huge time gap growing wider and wider between them?

I’d probably feel more like an otter if I shower and play at the river with my friends. And more like a phantom if he hangs around the flock. But which way does he wanna go? Which one feels more right? I already know what otter life is like, but I’ve never been a phantom. What if I’d like that MORE? Is he backstabbing Joe and Cleo and the nice things they said to him if it turns out he really does want to live the life of the species he hatched as?

Martyn sits outside the bedroom with his arms around his knees, waiting and waiting for the things that make sense to find his brain again. He waits there until it starts raining outside their little home.

💙  🧡  💚

There might not be a sleep mechanic in Between, but try telling that to spawnlings. They’re born with soul crystals in their chests. They’re like mini server hubs on legs… only, the only server they’re attached to is the one they spawn on. You’ll know it’s playtime when they curl up on the floor, ready for a nap. Tango leaves the purple soul chewing on its mitten for a minute while he steps into the kitchen for an apple. When he’s back, the spawnling’s fast asleep with its wings drooped to either side. It doesn’t have eyelids, but when you hang around them long enough, you can tell. It’s in the way they tuck their legs.

“Aww… That’s one for the newbie book. Lemme snap a screenshot of that for you; you’ll thank me later, yeah.”

Spawnlings do a lot of sleeping… AKA, while their Between body rests, they’re hard at work exploring their servers, feeding off an Outside player’s energy. They learn to walk. They learn to run. Dig. Craft. Build. Climb. When they finally have the coordination, they’ll take their lens caps off themselves. It’s a lot easier once they learn to wield their tools.

But for now… the spawnling’s mind is on a server, not here in Between. It’s the best time to wash them because they won’t wake up. When he’s not on Hermitcraft, Tango bathes it every few hours. He leaves it with Cocoa once, but mostly brings it across town to Skizz. His dogs are always sniffing at the newbie, whining loud, but Skizz assures him he never leaves it in their reach for a second. Scary times, but hey… I’ve never seen him lose a foster kid. He must be doing something right.

“Say good-bye to Uncle Tango,” Skizz coos, gripping the spawnling’s elbow to wave its hand. The spawnling looks upset, reaching back for him, and Tango lets it grasp his finger out of pity.

“I’ll pick you up after I do a little thing, okay? And then we’ll hang out all weekend.” There’s a turf war going on with the slimes right now, but he’s sitting out. Who needs to satisfy that blaze instinct when he’s got this helpless little thing pining for attention? He can be just as territorial in his living room as he can be out there; guarantee it.

“‘Bye-bye, Tango! Say ‘bye-bye!’”

The spawnling opens and closes its little hand at him. It’s probably just coincidence, the fingers weak… but Tango smiles anyway. Hey, who knows? Maybe since its lens caps are gone, it really can see him. Maybe it’s copying what it sees Skizz do. Tango waves all the way down the hall, Skizz leaning from the doorway. When he’s near the stairwell door, the spawnling starts waving at him with a steadier hand, back and forth. Then, kicking against Skizz, it reaches for the floor.

“Oh, you want down?” Skizz leans down to sit it on the carpet, but the spawnling gets its legs beneath it fast. On stumbling steps, it staggers after Tango, and he stops walking.

Wait… It can walk? Crawling and standing are the first skills a spawnling learns, unless you count stacking mini-blocks on accident while they’re banging things around. Tango doesn’t move. Is it learning faster because it can actually see how hybrids stand? Maybe its creator is playing a whole lot on the server and it’s just speeding through its milestones. The spawnling bumps into him, then wraps its arms around his legs. Like… like a hug. It tilts up his head, then waves at him again.

“You’re a smart little cookie, aren’t you?” Tango scoops it up and scrubs its gooey hair. “Oh yes, you’re gonna be such a good builder, or redstoner, or PVP’r… or maybe all three! I've got D&D tonight, though. Can you run back to Uncle Skizz? Show me how fast you run!” He sets it on its legs and nudges it in Skizz’s direction. The spawnling wobbles, but when it sees Skizz crouch and open its arms at the other end of the hall, it breaks into a sprint. A full-on sprint. It throws itself into Skizz’s arms, and he rolls on his back in exaggeration, pumping the spawnling above his head like he’s lifting weights. A little jostled, it splutters white goo from its mouth. Skizz breaks into laughter and tries to squirm away.

Weird kid. Maybe that soul crystal will pop from its chest before they know it. Did the game boost XP-gather rates for spawnlings or something? Or… maybe there’s something going on here, like spawnlings created by people who’ve already made accounts before get born with purple souls so they level up crazy fast? Because there’s a lot less to learn if the creator’s already familiar with game controls?

Huh. Food for thought.

💙  🧡  💚

Martyn visits the clock tower on and off the next day, much to Bdubs’ surprise. He stops in long enough for allofeeding, disappears for 20 minutes, comes around, disappears again. Bdubs watches all this with wary suspicion, but Martyn doesn’t seem to be smuggling fish from the storage room or stealing drinks from the bar. He’s just… noncommittal. That’s probably the best way to describe it. And honestly, that’s fine! If Martyn can only handle the flock in small doses and is slowly working his way up, let him take it at his own pace.

He’s got Blueberry Cow in hand most the time (Never did name that thing, as far as Bdubs can tell). False gets him a wool strap so they can wrap the cow on his back, between his wings, and Martyn seems happy with that. Whoever designed phantoms with zero inventory slots, they’re the worst! Sorry! Strong emotions! He doesn’t really mean it. But why do wandering traders get to be the devs’ favorite special guys? And Scott can stack non-stackables ‘cuz he’s an allay. What’s up with that? Players can’t even do that in vanilla.

“Can I get another hit?” Martyn pesters, getting way too close on one of these pop-in visits for comfort. He practically brackets Bdubs against the wall. Bdubs recoils, almost dropping his bag. Martyn wants food, but he’s not- There’s protocol-

“What? You can’t just ask me that!”

“Aw, I can quit any time~”

Bdubs lets a growl trickle up his throat. He didn’t flash the fangs - not for a new flock member - but Martyn freezes nonetheless. He backs off, shooting two finger clicks instead. “Right… Cool beans, boss. Just call me when it’s dinner time.”

Sweet goodness. Bdubs walks to the couch, shaking his head, and starts getting out his embroidery supplies. There’s needles in this; gotta be careful. He licks his fingers to pick them up. Martyn meanders around behind him, cautiously introducing himself to the other flock members and asking valid questions about their interests. Martyn’s avoiding Icky hardcore, which is fine, because Icky’s avoiding Martyn too. Never hear a peep out of either one (to each other). Bdubs feeds the needle string. He’s just pushing it through cloth when Martyn jumps on the couch’s back, perched like the full moon’s already gotten in his head.

“You said there’s a vex in this city, right?”

“There are like five.”

“Five.” Martyn sounds surprised, which is weird. Uh, he knows that vex hunt in crowded places, right? “Okay, because BigB and I went around this morning and we couldn’t find any territory markers. If I go hunt, how do I avoid them?”

Bdubs shrugs. “It’s not my business if they mark or not, but if they’re not leaving signs, it’s prob’ly ‘cuz phantoms get dibs during phantom hour. Maybe they just take opportunities all over the city. Five vex isn’t a lot, so they might’ve worked it out and don’t see a point. Why mark if a conversation’s all you need?” He positions the embroidery hoop on his leg and looks up. “Just so we’re clear, the rules say no one can kill phantoms. There’s no rules against anivores hunting phantoms. If you get taken by a vex, well, that’s just what they do.”

Martyn’s face shifts, a little more nervous now. “Ohh… But they hunt near the ground, right?”

“Yep. So keep above them and they’ll leave you alone.” He’s working on a morning scene: the crack of dawn with a pretty clouded sky. He’ll hang it in the living room Brighty shares with her friends.

“Where’s the allay? Do we need to protect it? I’m sure there’s endangered species rules I need to hear.”

Bdubs stops, his needle barely jabbed in cloth. “What allay?” Not Scott… Scott’s so careful; Scott will freak if he just got found out. And if Martyn suggests he needs ‘protecting,’ Scott won’t like that one little bit.

“We found a nest,” Martyn says, sliding down to plop on the couch’s front. He hits hard enough to knock thread into the cracks between cushions, and Bdubs sighs as he digs them out again. “It’s cut in a tree with an axe, too high off the ground to be something that can’t fly. There’s mini-blocks, moss, and amethyst crystals in there; definitely an allay.”

Oh. Just that? Bdubs’ hearts settle down again. “That’s fake. We carved that out as part of a nest identification course for students. There’s a scavenger hunt we send them through; you should sign up. You can get a sticker if you find enough of them; you just have to show your screenshots.”

Martyn looks disappointed, but maybe if he thinks there’s fake stuff designed for New Star, it’ll put a stop to him looking around for allay clues. “Aww, I was really hoping I’d get to see an allay hybrid before they’re gone… It’s really fake? Well, that’s a stab in my dreams, dude. Oh well.”

“Well, technically it’s ‘real.’ It was made for example, but Scar used to be an allay and he built it; it’s an allay nest.” Is it okay to say Scar used to be one? He doesn’t really hide it. It’s fine! “He likes designing settings that feel immersive. Technically all the streets are themed because they’re almost all named after plants. Designing is a little slow, but we want to get them all decorated on theme eventually, maybe with more nests if we find more people to build them. The scavenger hunt was his idea.”

“Ohhh…” Now Martyn looks real interested. “Was it an accident? Scar turning vex, I mean. You told me he’s a vex.”

“Scar’s unthreaded, not converted.” Yeah, he’s a vex now, but it was on purpose- HALO yanked his code by force out of the singleplayer he got stuck death-looping in, back before he had multiplayer greenlight and couldn’t log out himself. Not infected; not how it happened. “Cub too- evoker in the old days, but he also unthread. That’s two vex, and they’re best partners.”

Martyn falls silent, mulling over that. Then, cautiously, “And they eat phantoms, even though they weren’t… born vex?”

“Yeah, and they’re good at it. Watch out for them. Just don’t fly too low or walk around the west area much; should be fine. Sometimes they stake out the market streets, but vex only have to hunt on full moon nights and then they’re full all month.” Bdubs rolls his eyes, then makes a square with his fingers. “You know portals? Vex cycle energy through the system slow as honey; can’t have a portal hub that runs only on vex feeds, unless you only want to go online once a month.” If you don’t live near phantom hybrids, don’t even bother starting a hub. You’re never outspeeding a flock when it comes to converting the code they eat into portal juice.

Martyn studies Bdubs’ embroidery for a moment, then looks up. “Can I build an otter holt by the river? Or a raven nest in the trees? I heard there’s no otters in this town.”

Again, Bdubs pauses the needle. “Uhhh…” Martyn’s not an otter, but he did say he grew up with them… His mom’s an otter. Holt is a word unfamiliar to Bdubs, though context clues suggest he’s describing a nest or den. “It’s not out of the question, but there might be hoops to jump through… Since this is an Education project, you’d have to run it by them - Cleo’s lead on it, actually - and then it has to go through HALO for a safety check, and then it hits the mayor’s office. Scott’s really picky. Every time we turn off the Deny field to allow building, he has to supervise. You’d have to build it on the model server. Also, no pressure plates allowed.”

“What? Why?”

“TNT traps.”

“I’m not putting TNT in the otter holt,” Martyn deadpans, rolling halfway off the couch. He flops on the floor, his legs stuck in the air; you seein’ this? What a child. Martyn doesn’t mean to, but everything he does paints sunglow in the windows. It’s good to see young life in the tower again. Bdubs muffles a laugh.

“That’s a good start, but you need documents to prove you’re tellin’ truths. Also, if it gets broken someday and we want to rebuild it; that’s another reason and that’s why.”

“But it’s on the model server.”

“Yeah, you’ll need to write those coords in the documents. All the New Star builds are documented- Interiors, no, unless you felt like it, but the shells are. Plus on the Between side, you gotta get a permit to build at that river spot you want, in case someone has it reserved-”

Martyn flops on his belly next, his stubby tail twitching in the air behind him. He sulks for a couple seconds, then pushes himself up. “But it’s fine if I’m the one to build it?”

“Maybe. I don’t promise that. Scott wants all the nests and dens done by people from that species… but we’ve never had an otter, and you’re the only guy here who’s lived with otters.” Martyn twists around, watching his face, and Bdubs shrugs. “I grew up in Underdark Crossing with zombies, husks, and drowned. I’m not one of them, but I feel like I know what their aesthetic is. Lots of lichen. Scott might let you build if he likes your holt model, but he also might greenlight a model, then say ‘Let’s wait for a real otter to sign off on this.’”

“I am a real otter.”

Are we doing this again? Bdubs frowns. “I’m not… tryna say it’s not important that you grew up with them. I’m just saying Scott might want someone who’s programmed to build holts to do it, or maybe-”

“I,” Martyn repeats, pointing at his chest, “am a real otter. I know holts inside and out; I’ve seen the mobs build them! I know just as much as otter hybrids do.”

All the hackles stand tall behind Bdubs’ neck. Argument sparkles in the air, and it’s attracting eyes. Dragging footsteps sound a lot like Icky. Bdubs clenches his fingers so tight around the needle, it leaves an indent on his thumb. “It’s not just a matter of watching the mobs do it- Remember how you figured out the allay nest in the tree was for a hybrid because of the axe marks? Hybrids build for their own needs, and if we’re building things that say ‘Hey everyone, this is New Star’s representation of allay culture,’ then it’s still right for an allay to say it’s good or make their own changes. That’s what I’m saying. Like, I grew up with zombies; it doesn’t make me a zombie. It just means I’m a phantom who knows the culture and build style. Phantoms growing up in other places is very common, but we aren’t them.”

“So they get to tell me what to do just because they were born ‘better than me?’”

“Phantoms ARE the best-”

“I’M NOT A PHANTOM!” Martyn slams his hands so hard on the couch, it sends embroidery thread flying. Sighing, Bdubs lets his hoop drop into his lap.

“I’m trying to explain, and now you’re yelling and throwing my stuff? Don’t talk to me like that. Inside, respectful voice for discussions. Pick up the thread.”

Martyn hisses, then stalks towards the fence rails.

“Pick it up,” Bdubs warns, a little louder this time. Doesn’t really matter. Martyn leaps the fence. You gotta be kidding me. Leaving his stuff, Bdubs sprints after him, taking the leap faster. He swoops, wide wings cracking. Catching up to Martyn’s easy; he banks too wide, too slow. Bdubs swoops below him, twists around, and pulls up in front. Martyn balks and Bdubs grabs his forearm.

“You’re not going anywhere ‘til you clean up that mess you made. And you better ‘pologize for yelling in our safe space.”

Martyn pulls, trying to squirm free. “I’m not a spawnling! You can’t tell me what to do! Let go of me. Let go- I’m an adult just like you. You’re not my dad!”

… No. Not a dad. Not a real mentor, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Bdubs yanks him closer, dragging soul energy to the surface of his hand. He tightens his grip, pinching through Martyn’s skin to grip the soul beneath. That’ll keep him steadier. “I am your captain, Martyn InThyLittleWood. I’m captain of you, I’m captain of the flock, and I built this city up from bedrock. I can get you thrown out if you can’t be respectful, and how are you gonna see your friends then?”

Martyn jerks so far back, he’s practically upside-down. The soul-on-soul grip doesn’t loosen, but that doesn’t stop him from wedging his heel against Bdubs’ leg. “Then fight me!”

“Fight you?”

“Phantoms do that, right?” Martyn’s eyes are wild, rolling like a stallion sliding down a termite hill. “If you’re so sure I’m a phantom, then fight me. Bite me and kick me and mash me into pulp! You think I deserve it!” His chest heaves, static snowflakes falling from his eyes. “You think I deserve it.”

… Am I scary even to the babies in my flock?

Wingbeats fill the silence. Behind Martyn, Bdubs can see phantoms line the railing - Icky and iCam and Glaze and False and Spotty, Dolly, Chestnut, Pungence and more - all of ‘em wide-eyed and waiting to see what the captain’s about to do.

He’s just a baby.

Martyn thinks he’s a grown-up. Even if he’s not in sync with his player, he was imagined into life as a grown-up. He’s thinking like a grown-up, stressed out by getting scolded in front of everyone, but beneath all that…

He’s still low-XP. And he didn’t grow up with play tussles and rank or nips from the Phantom Dragon or his captain to keep him tight inside the lines. Martyn’s not a foal born into the stables. He’s been pulled into the field with a lead around his neck, and he’s testing all the lines. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen. He doesn’t know he’s not gonna get slapped across the face or bitten ‘til it hurts. Martyn doesn’t know how flock works. All he knows is that getting forced leads to things unknown, and that terrifies him.

Am I the kind of captain who yells at a baby?

Slowly, Bdubs releases Martyn’s hand. Martyn’s wings stutter in the air. He starts to drop. Panic lights in his eyes, so Bdubs swoops again, catching hands more gently, and hauls Martyn into an awkward hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m not gonna kick you out of New Star just because you threw my thread, and I shouldn’t’ve said that. I’m… trying to explain cultural appropriation, but I should’ve stopped when I saw you getting stressed. It’s hard when you don’t have a tail; I can’t read your nonverbals that well. I’ll try to account for that. Gentler with you. I’m sorry.”

Martyn’s muffled sob disappears into his shirt. Claws clench the back of it. His weight’s pulling them both down, pixels slipping into pixels as collision blurs. Bdubs strains his wings with heavy flaps and brings them both back to roost. Martyn’s legs give out as soon as Bdubs puts him down. He puddles on the floor, arms wrapped around his head. He looks like carpet squashed flat. Huh? Bdubs grips his shoulder.

“Hey, hey… Martyn, can you hear me?”

It takes a minute to stir Martyn’s soul goop back into solid form, and even longer before he stops covering his ears. Loose pixels hang in smears against his face. His nose and eyes are sliding down. Martyn sniffs. With one last glare at Bdubs, he’s off like a rabbit to the alcove Icky cleaned out for him in the corner. Martyn squirms under the lip, then stuffs two pillows in the entrance to block it off from prying eyes. Oh. Bdubs shifts his gaze to Icky, who’s standing right behind him.

“Did I mess that up?”

Icky tilts their head. They don’t say a word.

💙  🧡  💚

Not good enough to stay synced with my creator. Not good enough to live with ravens. Not good enough for Watchers. Not good enough to save Grian. Not good enough to be an otter or build a holt or even get put in place by the flock captain. Martyn screws himself into the tightest ball he can, palms pressed to pounding ears. From the twitch in his tail, he can tell it’s trying to wrap around him, and the fact that he’s not good enough for even that just leaves him a shaky wreck.

I’m not good enough. I’m not good enough. Why did Joe and Cleo even say he could call himself an otter if one of the two guys who literally built this city won’t respect him? He won’t even bite me. If I’m a phantom, shouldn’t he bite me when I refuse to listen to him? But he won’t? Is Bdubs taking pity on him because he’s out of sync? The captain thinks he’ll flop over crying like a baby on the very first bite? He doesn’t treat me like a grown-up. Martyn yanks the wool strap on his shoulder around so fast, it flares his skin with heat. He sinks his teeth in Blueberry Cow’s chest and muffles his sobs as best he can.

If you asked him anything about his early days, he wouldn’t be able to describe them. Most of his life’s been so dull and repetitive, it’s hard to point to where it all began. His parents are fantastic builders: a trait that sadly did not pass itself down to Martyn (Shut up; he just can’t grasp it, not as good as they can). They made their fortune selling off tutorials and honestly, his peers probably thought he grew up with a diamond dummy in his mouth.

It just feels like he’s always lived with his parents, exploring all the things their server had. Martyn wasn’t allowed his own singleplayer (Not counting the one you’re required to spawn in, but that’s hella long gone; permissions snipped as soon as the lens caps came off). His parents’ server was creative. They built all kinds of things out there. Martyn explored and played for years, scampering from wool sculptures to castles, over bridges and under mineshafts. When Baby came along, they played together. It never mattered to Martyn she’s not a hybrid. She’s his sister. He loves her… and even if she has a mob’s brain, he likes to think that from the way she snuggled up against his side at night, Baby loved him too. Martyn’s had his own share of cool builds, and his parents weren’t bad teachers. He just…

… He’s never been on his own like this before. In EVO, he always had the Watchers to hold his hand, or friends he trusted to lead him back if he veered too far in a direction deemed inappropriate. If he did dumb things, he did them knowing someone would tell him to knock it off. He was just learning, after all, and they wern’t gonna hate him for the rest of his life.

But Bdubs prob’ly hates him. Martyn stole a fish from the flock beta, threw Blueberry Cow off the tower, and he can’t control his sassy mouth. His friends seem to get his sense of humor, but to Bdubs, he’s still a stranger. He’s coming off wrong. And everybody’s laughing at him- Cleo and Joe and Bdubs too…

Take me back to Etho’s room. He shouldn’t have excused himself before movie night and cuddles. Martyn digs his teeth tighter in Blueberry Cow’s squishy body. What a loser, he thinks, thoughts as dry as desert bone. He can’t even puncture a piece of wool and leather; that’s how baby his fangs are. Etho didn’t seem to care if he was sassy. Etho made him feel… safe?

Etho said I’m welcome in his room whenever I like. He said it can be overstimulating at the roost and his door is open any time. As Martyn chews on Blueberry Cow’s leafy ear, he narrows eyes to a squint. Hmm…

Well, why shouldn’t he just stay with Etho? Not to switch AFKs or anything - Pearl and BigB still have him locked down - but there are three portal rooms at Etho’s place, each with multiple roommates… except for Etho’s, conspicuously empty of extra friends. No partner. No camera twin. And even if Martyn bailed out last time he came around, Etho was clearly open to the cuddle offer. Pssh- That was weeks ago; I’m sure he’s over it. Or a few hours ago, if Etho never jumped on a server after. Surely did.

Etho is available. And really, who wants to be around the phantom roost on a full moon? Dad always said the captain flirts with everyone in the flock; Martyn makes a face. Yeah, moon’s getting fuller. Maybe he should skedaddle while he’s still in the clear. Martyn checks his comm, about to send Etho a request to pop over, but slows when he sees the color of his name. On a server. He won’t receive a message sent while in Between. Well, not until he gets back, anyway… That’s fine. Martyn will check in a couple times, and that way he’s not committing to anything right now in case he changes his mind.

That’s fine. Brilliant, honestly. I’ve got another stop I wanna make. There’s a phantom hybrid in this city who isn’t in the flock. Impulse, Bdubs called him at the fancy dinner? That feels like weeks ago. It WAS weeks ago, in the on-server calendar.

Blueberry Cow goes back between his wings, attached with his strap. His ear’s looking crumpled, but he’ll get over it. Martyn pulls the pillows from the alcove entrance. It’s not much to look at in here - just a cramped, boxy area set up below one of the roosting pillars - but at least it gave him privacy. Smells a lot like Icky’s fishy scent, though. Martyn crawls out the entrance, shaking body and wings, and scans the roost. As far as furniture goes, he’s nearest to the bar counter and its stools. The couch faces the other direction. Bdubs’ hair is visible as he stitches his sewing project. A couple people in the far corner…

Cool. He can get out without any questions if he’s fast. He’s right by the railing, after all. Martyn turns. He crouches, jumps on the nearest fence, and jumps right off again.

He’s falling. Air tears across his wings, even though there isn’t real wind down here. But even someone used to falling can still enjoy whiplash flight with a wide smile on his face.

Chapter Text

Chalaza

How to Speak Phantomese

💙  🧡  💚

Boy, is Etho getting antsy lately. It’s all that stupid moon. Seriously, every month they go through this! Etho spends all his time claimin’ he likes being alone in his room, working on his things and barely going out, but show him a waxing gibbous and he’s practically up on his haunches begging for treats.

Etho isn’t even in his room when Bdubs comes looking tonight… which is totally fine, but a little frustrating (He not give heads up). Luckily, it doesn’t take long to find him; just had to peer over the balcony. Etho’s got his apartment building on the north side of New Star, where decorative snow is the theme. Bdubs spies him down there on all fours, digging in the powder in search of escaped prey. Or maybe just for fun. Is it fun? He’s getting it all over the road. Admittedly, that does look pretty nice beneath the rainbow lanterns that never came down after Pride Month. It’s like confetti. If you ripped up a standard blue soul, the new purple soul, and a bunch of other souls, it’d look like this. Very pretty; gets the drool flowing.

“Hey! Etho!”

Etho ignores him. His soul ears have broken free of the mod that keeps them down. Since his skin doesn’t have ear sleeves, they always snap loose of their stitches and glow above his scalp like that. The ears tilt, pinning flat beside his head.

“I’m here to eat you! Stop ignoring me!”

Etho growls back at him, rolling it into an upwards bark. Geez, okay. Somebody’s sure slipped deep in their programming. Not only is it a full moon, but it’s a wet season full moon, and those yank at your strings hardest of all. “If this is you under gibbous, I’d hate to see you tomorrow,” Bdubs mutters, but he not really mean it. He springs atop the railing and straight off, then glides down to watch Etho dig. You gotta let a guy dig if he wants to dig. It’s enrichment. He’s getting excess energy out that way; it’s gentleman’s code not to take someone who’s busy with instinct like that. Bdubs scuffs around the snow, trying to figure out what Etho’s after. The snow isn’t that deep… It can’t be a hybrid-

A flash of gray feathers tears from the snowbank, peeping like mad. Etho’s on it like a shot. In a lunge, correction, and one more pounce, he brings it down. Teeth bite hard. The tiny bird explodes in silver pixels. Etho stands for a moment, his mouth full of fading feathers, before he twists to seek a little pity. One glowing foreleg lifts from the ground. He whines. Bdubs snorts.

“You can’t eat particle effects; they’re not real mobs. You just scared it for no reason! Remind me not to hang a birdhouse by your place.”

Etho crouches lower, giving his whole body a shake. In a shimmer of cyan, the blue of his fox ears fades away. Glowing paws reveal the hands beneath again. Etho sits on his knees, rubbing his forehead. “Wow. I don’t usually tip this far on the gibbous… I guess I’ve just been working hard. I could really use some ‘mob brain’ time.”

“See, it’s like I keep tellin’ you: You have too much energy. You should get a partner this month. Come drinking with me sometime and I’ll set you up.”

Etho makes a face. His mask is off, hanging around his neck, though when his tongue and skin smart from cold, he starts to pull it up again. “I don’t think that’s a good solution to temporary exhaustion. I’m not craving the fox roleplay that bad.”

“It’s not roleplay,” Bdubs protests, flustered and stung. Why the hey is he still in snow? He gets out of it and shakes it from each limb one at a time, then starts pacing on all fours in front of Etho. “It’s in our programming; we do it; it’s still part of who we are. It’s okay to do mob things if you want! Well, I don’t really get it, but you should. It seems to do you good.”

“Mm…” Etho leans forward, fingers curled. Claw-sharp nails scrape the air. Bdubs back up a pace until he realizes what Etho’s up to. That groping hand lands on the chain that holds his mossy shawl shut. Etho reels him closer, forcing Bdubs to step one hand forward until their foreheads are so very close, they almost touch. Bdubs halts his breathing, and beneath the mask, Etho’s mouth wrinkles with a smile. “Of course, when I get lonely, I have to ask myself, ‘What would I need a partner for when I’ve got plans every night with a code scavenger instead?’ … I’d have to pick between you guys.”

Bdubs braces the wedges of his hands against the filthy deepslate. Even here, away from the snow, it’s as cold as if they still sat in all the blocks. “Yeah, and they’d call you Mr. Heartbreaker. I stay with you, though. I stay even when all your exes call you names.”

Etho’s fingers loosen ever so subtly. He’s moving. Getting off his knees, stretching out into a crouch. Oh, boy, this is gonna be work… His tail flits behind his lifted rump. “What names would you call me if you could?”

“Hmph. Mr. Needy and Greedy, I think. And Mr. Cancels Plans and Runs Away. You jerk! I should eat you without letting you log out.”

“You’ll have to catch me.” It’s a warning.

“I’ll give you five seconds’ head start.” It’s half in mourning. There won’t be easy talk and cuddles tonight, but whatcha gonna do? The full moon pulls a certain side of you to surface even if you’d rather no one see. And those smirky eyes when Etho turns and takes off down the road…

The hunt is on. Etho leaps on a crate, straight from there to a fabric overhang, and is on the roof in two more jumps. Bdubs shakes his head. On the ground, he’s not quite as fast as a fox, but he knows exactly where he can cut him off. Etho always veers for the chicken coop on playful nights like this. It’s why they have ‘Under No Circumstances Let This Man Inside’ signs outside, pinning his guilty, apologetic face and ID number all lonely on the wall.

💙  🧡  💚

Martyn has his eyes out for one curious man: the phantom Bdubs previously cited as “no longer in the flock.” impulseSV, as it turns out, shares a flat with Skizz and Vera, who looked after the Evo SMP crowd until long-term housing arrangements could be made. Netty and Tim walk him down that way. They point out the building, give him the room number, and hurry off to make their lunch reservation. Which is totally fine! It’s not like they have to go up the bubblevator with him or anything.

Martyn, though, is starting to feel gladder than he’ll let on that Blueberry Cow is coming with him. As he stands outside the marked door, he quietly slides the toy around so it settles at his chest. He swallows. Heartbeats thump inside his throat like needles pulling thread, stitching upward, danger lurking, as he lifts a shaky hand.

Okay… Here goes. The people in New Star have been pretty nice. Sure, Scott came off a little strong and Bdubs is A Lot™ to stomach, but Joe and Cleo were friendly to him. They even let him in on their jokes and teasing. Impulse is chill, right? Not that the name offers any reassurance… but he’s gotta be used to low-XP players asking him things if Skizz and Vera foster all the time. Let’s not freak out that Netty and Tim said he’s really, really big… Bigger than Bdubs? Bigger than Icky?

He knocks. Instantly, dogs start barking. Martyn's brows shoot up. Uh-oh. If the residents are offline and the dogs are barking, that’s gonna be a pain. Maybe he’ll spin around on one heel, hands behind his back, and quickly walk away. Yeaaaahhhh…

Footsteps echo on the other side. Words of command to quiet down the dogs. The hum of mods grows louder and louder, and Martyn can tell it’s Skizz before he sees or even smells the guy. The door has a few open squares, shielded on the inside by a blue banner. It rustles aside as a face peeks down at him. That combo of brilliant blue eyes and stubble on a narrow face is definitely Skizz. Martyn paints on a smile, gripping Blueberry Cow’s strap so tight, it bites into his hand.

“Hello, hello! I’m looking for a guy called impulseSV?” Wait. Is he too loud? He raised his voice above the buzzing mods, but if Skizz can’t hear them, that probably wasn’t necessary.

Locks click. The door swings open, revealing Skizz all smiles, free arm extended for a hug. He wears a suit vest without any sleeves and holds a spawnling to his chest. Oh. Its whole form’s bundled in a onesie designed after a berry bush, or possibly a glare. Even the hands are wrapped in mittens, and pressing its face against Skizz has done nothing to stop it from gnawing on its knuckles. Martyn, not sure he’s ready to be swept up by this guy, offers a fist bump he hopes doesn’t come across as awkward. A large brown dog presses against the backs of Skizz’s knees, stretching out its nose. Cautiously, Martyn lowers a hand so it can sniff.

“Hey, buddy!” Skizz greets. He doesn’t seem like he takes issue with the lack of return fist bump at all, thank devs. “Impulse is out with his SMP today, but I’m available if you wanna chat! I don’t have plans besides looking after this little chonk.” He hoists the spawnling just a bit. The spawnling’s busy mouthing at its hand, and/or chewing at Skizz’s chest.

“His… SMP?” Just being this close to the guy makes Martyn feel a little dizzy; way too many mods piled on top of each other. He scratches at his ear. Maybe he’ll pull the hood of his shawl up, yeah. Yeah, let’s do that. “Uh, do you know when he’ll be around?” Feels a little weird talking about the guy behind his back.

Skizz shakes his head. He backs up, giving Martyn room to slip inside, and gestures towards the dining table. Nobody’s sitting there, although the art supplies and bottles suggest Skizz was working on something a moment ago. “He’s on Hermitcraft; they just kicked off Season 6 of their stuff. There’s a lot going on as they sort out resources and claim area, so he’ll be out all week. Can I help with anything?”

Second time he’s offered that. Martyn fidgets with Blueberry Cow’s chewed-on ear, debating whether Skizz legitimately does want to guide him towards answers or whether he’s just trying to shoo him out as soon as possible. The dog seems chill, though. It whines, waving its tail, and follows its master across the room. Skizz takes a seat, plucking up a piece of red wax. Back to his coloring? Okay…

Slowly, Martyn takes the nearest chair and settles in. Whoa. Are these custom-made? They’re up so high, his feet don’t touch the ground. Checks out, though, when Skizz is so tall. Maybe Impulse is too. “Well, uh… I just wanted to talk phantom stuff; hope that’s cool. I’m struggling to integrate with the flock up at the clock tower. From what I’ve heard, I’m not the only phantom who doesn’t quite fit in. Impulse hunts on his own? That’s what I heard.”

… Skizz pauses, tapping his red crayon against the table. The spawnling in his lap continues chewing on its mittened thumb. It’s almost got the mitten off, actually, though Skizz adjusts to tug it to the wrist again. “How much did Bdubs tell you about Impulse leaving the flock?”

“Honestly? Not much. I got a little sassy with him and he told me that if I didn’t wanna behave, I could ‘go hang out with Impulse’ because he’s not part of the flock. I’ve heard he’s big; I assume he just hunts on his own?”

Skizz is silent for so long, even the spawnling starts to fuss, bonking its head against his chin. Do you think it’s a bird? It’s got nubby wings around its shoulders (judging by the lumps), though they’re swallowed up in the mossy design of the glare outfit. Pearl says bats aren’t actually birds, but despite doing research at EVO, Martyn still doesn’t get why. They’re basically phantoms, right? So why wouldn’t they be birds? Skizz strokes its back and asks, “Do you have any practice getting your soul energy up?”

“Uhh…” Martyn looks down at his hand. He flexes twice, but no trace of energy bubbles on his skin. Shoot. He’s done it before, but the instinct tends to kick in when he actually needs to grab something. It’s like some part of his brain is programmed to do it even though his conscious mind still struggles to make it work. He almost caught Cleo when Bdubs knocked them off the perimeter’s wall. One more try. Martyn flexes again. This time, his hand slicks up with cyan blue light before it dissipates under skin. “Not very well yet, but I’m not planning to go into medical, so I just… do it like this. I get by.”

“And you don’t have fangs,” muses Skizz.

“Yessir. I can sort of do it on my teeth, but I eat more white souls than blue ones; they’re a li’l chunkier.” Easier to grip.

“Well, Impulse can’t get his soul energy up to surface anymore. He can’t hunt.”

Martyn blinks. Oh. When Bdubs acted like Martyn could go start a new flock with Impulse if he wanted to, Impulse can’t hunt didn’t exactly come up. “Wait- Did Bdubs kick him from the flock for that? Just like that? But…” I can’t hunt. Bdubs said he’d hunt for me. Even Etho offered to allofeed him, and he never implied Martyn couldn’t stay in the flock if he took him up on that.

Skizz hesitates a second time. He leans back, apparently studying some printscreens framed on the wall, before knocking the forelegs of his chair back down again. “Okay- So here’s the deal. Back in the day, my best friend Impulse and I used to roam the world, doing odd jobs and foraging for items we could trade or sell.”

Martyn’s pixels lift behind his neck. ‘Foraging’ is a euphemism for a lot of things these days, but - Get out; trapped. Danger here - “You were anarchy?”

Skizz doesn’t wince; doesn’t blink. “We sure were. We don’t do that anymore, though; Impulse took a heavy hit that flipped his soul inside out.”

“What? How does that work?”

“Modded weapons,” Skizz says, shrugging hard. “Bad place out there in the old days. Actually-” But he stops. Drawn-out pause. Martyn’s eyes shift left, then right. The kitchen’s empty. It’s just the two of them here, or three if you count the spawnling nestled at his chest. Even under the strum of mod layers, Martyn can hear the click and whirr of camera film churning in Skizz’s head. Then Skizz waves one hand, brushing off everything. “Ah, I shouldn’t get into it; we can talk another time after you’ve had a chance to settle in.”

“Okay?” What’s that about? Martyn tilts his head, but that little gesture doesn’t win him any answers.

“The relevant part is, we retired and stumbled upon New Star shortly after. Turns out Impulse’s injury left him on the cusp of of perma-wipe and reset, but luckily, Etho and Tango live down here and they patched him up with a little med work. Now, Impulse and I share souls: When one of us takes damage or eats food, the other can feel it. Since our stomachs are linked up, I do most the eating for both of us- At least while in Between. But Impulse has a thermos used for storing souls.” Skizz makes a bouncy motion with his hand as if lifting a drinking glass. “The phantoms always make sure it’s topped off, and we’re grateful! You guys really keep this city running. Impulse can’t grip with his teeth, but he can pour a soul into his mouth. Thanks to his thermos, he can still eat even if I’m not around… He wouldn’t be able to live in New Star if we didn’t have anivores willing to share like that. He’d starve, respawn in Duskfell, and live the rest of his life being fed by his mom.” A beat. “Your mom too, I guess!”

Martyn puzzles over this a moment in silence, toying with Blueberry Cow’s ears. Skizz fidgets with his piece of wax, knocking it against the table like he’s making music; like he just can’t sit still. What say you, Blue? Martyn thinks, turning the cow’s face around, but the embroidered eyes share no advice. He says, “I’ve always known Silverclaw restaurants to be convenient… My parents took me out to eat a lot growing up. When the mayor and Bdubs took us out, he even told me phantoms eat free there because the flock drops off extra souls after a hunt instead of caching them away. I guess that’s why the phantoms here hunt daily even though we don’t need to eat that often? I never thought about anivores who… lose the ability to hunt… Impulse really can’t get his soul energy up at all? What happened?”

“Direct hit to the soul slot,” Skizz says, tapping his own chest. The spawnling in his lap looks up and reaches to grasp his hand. “It was with a scythe. But… I talked things out with Scott, and I’m told the guy who did it is really, really sorry.” There’s a brooding look in Skizz’s eyes, like he wouldn’t elaborate if you paid him. Yikes.

A scythe? “The weapon that reaps souls? I’ve seen one of those on display.” Up at Fern Mountain, they have one. They’re not necessarily rare, but you won’t stumble across one randomly either. They’re hunting tools. Sometimes used for fighting, though it takes a highly specific skillset to master them, and they’re not a great choice if your target’s wearing armor. Then again, who can afford better than leather armor these days? “Does Impulse use one?”

Skizz tilts his head to one side. “We keep one here just in case of emergencies - like if the flock beta took over and told the phantoms to stop providing - but we never really use it. I don’t actually think Icky would do that, by the way, but it’s good to be prepared. Believe me, I have a whole recipe book of non-fish dishes I plan to break out once he takes charge… But Impulse and I have our routine now, and maintaining scythe enchantments is a whole thing, you know. It’s great to have, but it’s not the most convenient everyday.”

“Yeah, bit of a blow to the ego too, I imagine.” Back in Black River, a lot of the otters took great pride in hunting, even if they mostly ate fish. Martyn’s looking forward to it himself, if for no other reason than so he’s not forced to rely on Bdubs or restaurants for the rest of his life. At least Etho’s there; could still circle back to him. Martyn hasn’t put much XP in sun protection, but it’s on his list to max out. Jeb, if he could skip a couple hundred years forward… Strong wings, big fangs, and a body that won’t burn in sunlight. That’s the dream; that’s the dream right there.

Skizz doesn’t respond to that. Oh. Too far? “Sorry,” Martyn fumbles. “I- I’ve got my own demons to strangle. Uh…” He drops his gaze to interlocked fingers. “I don’t… really know if I want to stay with the flock. My whole life, I grew up the only phantom in my hub. I signed the contract, obviously, and Bdubs told me all about the rules here that prevent anyone from killing us, but it sure wasn’t like that back home. The ravens would mass organize to keep phantoms from getting any share of the hunt, just to keep them from sticking around. And if the otter hub ever saw a phantom, they’d try to shoot it down unless they saw it going for a landing at the post office. My mum was real careful with me when she took me out. So, like, I never felt like a phantom growing up… I still feel like I grew up an otter. But I never had the chance to be a phantom.” Wait a minute. Maybe there IS something specific Skizz can answer for him. “You’re modded… How did you decide it felt right? Or did you just do that because you were traveling and it’s the best way to make your code taste bad to anivores?”

Skizz’s eyes shift. He moves one hand to the back of his wrist. His fingers pick at bits of skin. Those DIY mod insertion scars up and down his arms tell a story Martyn’s sure he’d never know the ins and outs of, even if he spent a year hearing Skizz talk about his life. “Mine came about because I needed to see myself looking like a clean slate before I could feel like I deserved one.”

“Oh… Did that work?”

“No,” he says, and Martyn feels like he’s trod deep in an ancient dungeon, down on the bottom floor, speaking to a man who should’ve logged out long ago. A skeleton king with a crown made of thorns, hunched over his throne. “But it was something I could focus on like a lifeline that kept me moving forward. I feel a hundred thousand times better than I did when I was stuck in that mental cesspool. Forcing myself forward, keeping busy, doing anything to take good care of my body so it would be ready to take the mods when I finally got my hands on them… Forcing myself to focus on where I wanted to be in a few years’ time is what got me out of bed each day. That’s what I really needed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I think I’m doing all right? Martyn’s hearts pick up. He's struggling with nightmares, but that’s probably nothing anyone can fix. He pushes that line of thought aside. He’ll worry how he’s doing some other time; right now, he’s just here to ask about the species thing. “When did people start… calling you by your new species? Did you have to change your whole look?”

“That helped,” Skizz admits, “but mostly, I just asked. My friends stopped calling me my old species right away; it’s just strangers I had to correct after that. It takes time. Be patient, but firm. Stand up for yourself. And if someone’s giving you problems, talk to the HALO team. They’ll say something if you don’t feel like you can.”

“Bdubs wouldn’t call me an otter when I asked,” Martyn mutters. Skizz’s gaze feels sympathetic, even though Martyn’s not looking, but he turns his head aside. “I dunno. I still feel weird saying I’m an otter. I grew up like one, and I feel like I relate a lot to that culture, but the otter kids never thought I fit in either. I got blacklisted from Fern Mountain for playing too rough with raven kids. But honestly, when I went out hunting with Bdubs… I liked that too. It’s like, I can see a future for myself with the phantom flock. He’s offering me the sort of life I used to daydream about when I was grumpy with my parents and longing for someone I could talk to with a body like mine. I’m not sure I want to walk away from that.”

“Why not combine the two?”

Martyn looks up. Skizz studies him very seriously, bouncing the spawnling on his knee. “What? You can’t mod into a mob that already exists, right? The system will auto-reject.” If there’s one thing EVO taught him, it’s how species mods work. They’re kind of big on that side of science.

“No, not that, buddy. I mean, you can call yourself ‘an otter-y phantom,’ if you want to. Heck, because I share souls with Impulse, there are times I feel a lot more like a phantom and times he probably feels a lot like me. Impulse and I are both modded, so there’s a lot going on in the code. He got fox and warden graphs after his surgery, I’ve got my own tangles and bits…” Skizz shrugs, which flaps out the white wings folded at his torso. They’re long, sweeping, and Martyn wonders how well they fly. “But don’t let me tell you how you feel! Just giving a suggestion.”

“… No, I like that. I’ll think about it.” Martyn braces his hands on the table, pushing up. He moves his feet with care so the drop to the floor won’t make him stumble; Skizz’s dog lifts its head. “Thanks, Skizz. I guess that’s what Joe meant about ‘Not being sure what kind of hybrid’ they are just yet. Did I use ‘they’ right, by the way? I’m trying to learn.”

Skizz smiles. “Perfect. Oh- And Martyn?”

He’s halfway from the kitchen to the entry hall, but turns back. “Yeah?”

Skizz cradles the spawnling close like it’s a chicken with just one heart he needs to carry home. One eyebrow arches high. “Bdubs didn’t drop Impulse from the flock because he couldn’t hunt. There was more stuff going on behind the scenes. I don’t want to get into the messy deets since it’s not my thing to tell, but even if you choose to live as an otter full-time… he wouldn’t kick you from the flock for that.”

“That does help,” Martyn says. He steps back into the hall and pulls the door shut behind him. After checking to ensure Blueberry Cow is holding strong, he heads towards the take-off platform on the balcony at the hallway’s end. Maybe he’ll try this flock thing one more time. Maybe even twice.

💙  🧡  💚

Ever wonder why embroidery takes so long? Maybe it’s ‘cuz low-XP phantoms are tossing your thread around and then best friends want to put up a struggle before you pin ‘em down for bedtime. See, this is why things never get done. Bdubs swoops beneath the clock tower’s pointed roof and lands on the roosting platform in a single swift glide. He shakes his wings out and chirps for Martyn. Martyn - who’d been lying splooted on the floor near his alcove - shoots to his knees. He scrambles forward, ticking for food. Bdubs snaps his wings wide. Hands fly up-

“HEY! What are you doing?”

Martyn skids to a halt so fast, he nicks a few pixels on the wood. “I- Uh… You rang?”

“Go back to your nest!”

Martyn blinks. He checks left, then right. Are you guys seeing this? says his face, but when the rest of the flock turns their heads aside, Martyn retreats to his wool blankets and lies down again. Bdubs sighs. He brushes himself off a bit, then walks over so when they chat, he can keep his voice more low and private than it would be if he shouted from half a chunk away.

“Look, Martyn… What do you think you’re doing, huh? You can’t charge another phantom like that. That’s full-on aggression.”

Martyn presses his chest against the blankets, flicking his nubby tail behind him. Wide blue eyes wobble up to Bdubs. “Aw, but I’m a little baby, boss…”

Cute. Sarcasm intentional. He hasn’t put his butt down. Bdubs waits a few more beats for him to do so, then says, “Well, don’t mess around like that. Next time, I bite. And so will everyone else. Charging scares people.”

Martyn mutters his assent. Bdubs leaves him there and checks on the rest of the flock. His friends who aren’t roosting already ate on their own hunts. Some are reading books. Pungence is gathering loose skins for washing and Glaze is busy with a new diorama of a desert that doesn’t require green. Really should ask Scott if they can get more green.

Everything’s looking good. Bdubs leaps the platform’s fence again, dropping towards the street. He swerves high, wings beating, and with this kind of leverage, it’s easy to spiral up into the fencepost roosts that hang above the platform. As he settles in, he glimpses Martyn peering up from where he sits on his blanket. Wings rustle at his back, but he doesn’t move to join them. That’s fine. Doesn’t have to.

Moving with care, Bdubs crawls along the fences and scaffolding. It’s nice to see Glaze and Pungence around, even if iCam and False are off doing Hermit things. That thought clogs his throat and drags him downward, but he stays as unflinching as he can. He went hunting. It’s that time of moon cycle when his flock needs him touching base, petting hair, and checking if they’re hurt. They need nest material. They need to be fed. Flockmates chirp and shift around. Softly, he slips souls from his mouth to theirs one by one.

Noise breaks out down below- squeaks of panic- Huh? Bdubs scrambles from the roost at once, lunging forward with claws out and wings spread. He hits the couch, leaps the back, and finds Martyn pinning Dolly flat, nipping at her arm. What? Bdubs takes half a tick to process the situation before bowling Martyn over. They don’t roll; Bdubs locks him down fast and flares his wings high. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

“What? I was just-” Martyn twists hard. He squirms free like a mustelid and Bdubs lets him do it. Once he’s up, Martyn scrabbles backwards hand over hand, wings flat against his shirt. Bulging eyes stare up at Bdubs like a couple lakes pre-water color update. “I was just playing!”

Yeah, and he probably means every word he said. The panic flashing in his darting eyes is proof of that. It’s in the scramble of his feet. It’s the way he’s twisted sideways, displaying as much of his body length as he can, and not straightened out like a phantom prepped for takeoff. Martyn’s panic flips around a second later. He bares his teeth and ruffles up the wings.

Defending like an otter. At least… one can assume. Bdubs wishes he knew more about them. His hearts thud like metal on metal, and for a moment, all he can do is stare. Martyn protests that he only plays, Bdubs has yet to answer him, and Martyn goes full defensive over it? Who hurt you? Are they programmed to fight? I thought they were neutral mobs.

The flock is watching, and Dolly needs to know he’s got her back; he won’t let aggressive guys pin her flat. ‘specially right around a full moon. Bdubs snaps his tail, rattling the bones. He can feel Dolly behind him, back on her feet and no longer in that state of shock. “Well, you’re playin’ like an otter… so guess who gets their call sign early! Belly down, Otter Pop.”

Martyn blinks, needing a sec to register what he just said. “What? ‘Otter Splash?’”

“Otter Pop.” It’s the same chirp either way - He can be Otter Splash if he wants to be - but Bdubs doubles down on what he said just to make a point. “That’s your call sign now. I told you, you can’t jump people like that. That looked like you were going for a kill.”

“I was play-fighting,” Martyn protests, feeble and flat on his stomach once again. He tucks his chin beneath his hands as low as it can get. “Is that- Is this not what phantoms do?”

“Yeah, at roost, or when it’s supervised by a captain. I wasn’t watching and you went for a flockmate on the ground!” Bdubs glances back at Dolly to confirm that. She’s busy fiddling with a patch on her jacket; the embroidery looks like it took a nip from Martyn’s teeth. “And you shouldn’t play under full moon either. It’s a big week for love heart fans.”

Martyn’s whole face floods with snapping pixels. They leap and crackle, flipping over to show the blue beneath. “I wasn’t trying to co-spawn with her-”

“Maybe you’re not ready to hang with the flock yet.”

“I’m ready,” he begs, sitting up this time. “I thought you said we play-fight to build our bite XP. That’s what I was doing. The moon…” He gropes, useless, then hangs his head. His wings fall to either side until they brush the ground. Such a big wingspan for a noob on the floor.

“Are you hurt?” Bdubs asks Dolly. She shakes her head, backing out of this conversation, and Bdubs turns to Martyn. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah, just my pride.” He winces. “And maybe my butt, but I don’t like it much anyway. Could use a little swelling up. Does it look any bigger?”

“Nobody’s hurt,” he concludes. “Okay… Now, if you want to play-fight, you only do it where the captain can see. In a wild flock, most chicks do it with their nurse, or with the captain themself. Hybrids do it with Linda - the phantom dragon - or with a mentor. Your parents aren’t here; you can play-fight me.” Martyn’s bigger than Bdubs, but that doesn’t mean he’ll win a tussle. You don’t end up flock captain accidentally.

Martyn bows his neck, but heat simmers off his back in waves. Bdubs doesn’t move. Several heartbeats pass before Martyn lifts his head again, getting back to all fours. “Do you guys ever get to play? Or do you just sit up here and lord your wingspans over everybody else?”

“We play! But if you want to nip and tease like that, you do it up at roost. Never on the ground. Don’t spook people- Sheesh! All our predators get us on the ground.”

Martyn says nothing. He doesn’t sit back down. He doesn’t break his stare. He doesn’t bend his legs. Ohhh, he’s pushin’. Bdubs gives a long, low growl, rustling his wings. “Do you understand?”

Martyn cocks his head to one side. “Look, boss- I appreciate the guidelines, but I wasn’t raised a phantom. It’s not my problem your knee-jerk reaction to my playing is to explode like that. If you want me in the flock, then you’re getting all of me.”

“Yeah? And we’re non-anarchy… You get that, right?” Bdubs gives his head a toss, gesturing to the outside world so high above. “Almost all the non-anarchy hubs are gone-zo up there, and how’d that turn out for you? It’s every man for himself. New Star survives ‘cuz we know how other hybrids act. If you walk this city looking like a phantom but acting like an otter, people are gonna freak. They’ll think you’re going for an attack. You’ll get yourself killed! And you know where you respawn after dying in Between… right?”

Martyn doesn’t respond to that. Bdubs takes firm breaths, keeping ruffled pixels together as best he can. “People expect phantoms to behave like phantoms. It’s my job to teach you how this works. Trust me, you don’t wanna respawn in Duskfell Caves. If you think I’m riding your wings about this, oh, baby, just wait ‘til you see the phantom spawner. You make one wrong move there and Mom will bite you herself!”

“Euh’ll,” Martyn mutters, pulling at his shirt collar. “And when you say ‘Mom,’ you mean the Phantom Dragon. Yeah? Does she really bite?”

“Yeah, you don’t wanna mess with Linda. Compared to her, I’m a sheep with shaved-off horns. Now, I need you to work with me on this. You left the anarchy world and came to New Star. You want the non-anarchy life? Then you gotta follow the safety norms that come with it. Listen to your captain and act like phantoms do. Or you can leave the flock. Go hang around Impulse if that’s what you want. You guys can be your own flock; just file the papers with Scott. I don’t care, but in my flock, we act like phantoms here.”

Martyn’s stare is long, silent, and full of boiling water. Bdubs holds it, standing firm. “If you want me in the flock,” he repeats, “then you’re getting all of me. And I’m a phantom who was raised by otters. Sometimes I do otter-y things. And honestly” - Here he tosses his head, voice getting louder as he addresses the entire roost - “if the whole flock can adjust to taking orders from a little captain like you, I think you guys are already used to breaking your traditions!”

No one moves, chirps, or peeps in response to this. “‘Little?’” Bdubs retorts, the only one still moving. Well, except for Martyn. “You say that, but let’s not forget who just knocked you down. You know what? I don’t think you wanna be in this flock! Either you’re in my flock and you respect me, or you get out of my flock and don’t come back. And you’re not gonna like proving to the mayor that this place justifies two flocks. You’ll have to build your own roost and defend your own hunting grounds. And you’re gonna have to stay in Between most the time - even when you want a break - and barely ever go AFK with your loved ones, and it’s gonna be the worst. If you start a flock, you and me are gonna have a problem. Repeatedly. Is that what you want?”

“Can we negotiate?” Martyn pushes back. “I want permission to hunt like a phantom and play around like an otter.”

“We can talk about it if you can prove you’ll listen to me like a captain.”

“Why do I have to squash down who I am and squeeze into the mold of your ‘cool kids club’ before you’ll show me basic self-respect?”

“You jumped someone! If you wanna do your own thing, then leave the flock!”

Tension’s sparking off both of them in blue and white. Bdubs keeps his hackles high and bristling. The whole flock’s watching, and Martyn’s a whole lot less sure of his footing. In the end, it’s Martyn who blinks and looks away. “Got it, boss… I’ll swallow it down a little longer. So if I’m in the flock and I’ve got a new name now, where do we start?”

Oh, sheesh. Where should they start? Bdubs feels twitchy just looking at the guy. Arguing didn’t help at all. He sighs. “We start with contact calls. We did this on the hunt, but I just gave you your call sign. That’s yours now; take it serious. Did your parents teach you what it’s for?”

“Can’t say they did. Run it by me one more time.”

“Your call sign,” Bdubs recites (as patiently as he can bear) “is given you to make you flock. You hunt with us, we learn your name, and we look out for you. So when I call out ‘Otter Pop,’ what do you do?”

“Aw, can’t you call me ‘Martyn?’”

Bdubs shoves him with a hand, knocking Martyn back a pace. “Phantoms don’t use hybrid names. Your call sign is ‘Otter Pop.’ And yeah, captain’s choice goes. So when I call it out, what do you do?”

“I call ‘Present!’”

Good grief. Is Martyn just like this all the time? Sure, he’s been sassy since they met, but there was still sweetness underneath when they hung out at Etho’s or walked the city streets. “Now, how do you say that in phantom-talk?”

Martyn shrugs, disinterest dancing through his face. Come on! He knows this! Bdubs pulls his attention back around. “Like this,” he says, and makes his chirping call: River Ripple here. That gets a few response calls from nearby phantoms. “Now, you try.”

Martyn chirps it back: Otter Pop here.

“Good. Oh yes, very good. And how do you say you wanna be fed?”

Martyn tk-tk-tks the correct reply.

“Yeah, like that. But you can’t charge me to whine for food, ‘cuz that feels like a threat. You have to wait ‘til I call you. If I call you by name, then you can tell me what’s what; you tell me if you’re hungry or if you’re resting. The captain opens the floor for discussion; you tell me where we’re going with it. You got that?”

“Yes, boss. You know, I’m getting a wee bit peckish. What say you call my name so I can eat?”

“Oh, boy…” You’re gonna be nothing but trouble, Otter Pop. Let’s see who backs down first.

With a few more words, Martyn slinks back, sheepish and silent. He retreats to his blanket without being asked and lies down again. He presses his cheek down in a way that exposes his neck. Submission. Maybe he’s finally calming down. Bdubs waits, ready to move quick if Martyn leaps at him, but Martyn stays still and quiet. Fine. Bdubs turns away. He cracks his tail down when he jumps, lands on the bar counter, and launches from there into the upper roost again. Back to his routine.

Breathe, B… Etho’s soul, he dissolved himself. It’s cycling through his system, tiny white heart shapes peeling off his skin and twinkling in the air. Everything he eats filters through his soul, back into the system his crystal’s plugged into. Maybe he’s not a Hermit anymore, but he’s still wanted here. Etho still enjoys getting eaten. He not allofeed Etho's soul to anybody; that’s just for him. Bdubs only feeds his flock the souls tucked beneath his tongue. Bit by bit, pressing lips, the swell in his pouch gets a little lighter. All his flock is getting fed. Nesting time is setting in. No babies - Not like a wild flock, ‘cuz hybrids can’t do that - but the motions are the same. He’s got a checklist of ‘sire cycle’ behaviors to cross off, and the whole flock looks to him for food while they get comfy in their nests. The captain always provides.

He slips between the coffered mess of fencepost beams, clinging with his tail. Spotty roosts with wings tight around her. Bdubs clicks a soft greeting, checking if there’s anything she wants, then scampers upside-down along the roost to reach Chestnut’s side. He’s more insistent, tking loud. Oh, someone’s got it bad… Bdubs gives the feed, bumps heads soft and light-

A shriek of pain jolts him up before that touch can linger deeper. Martyn?

He’s down again as fast as he can get. A little groggy, sure, but energy pumps through all his code. Oh no, he thinks, because the storeroom door is open and there’s a double tail lashing in the gap. Bdubs charges forward. Sure enough, Icky has Martyn flat on his back, his beak digging at his throat. Martyn thrashes beneath him, trying to fend him off by scratching near his eyes, but Icky’s got him pinned with a knee between the legs.

Uncalled for. Bdubs grabs a fistful of Icky’s neck fluff and wrenches back. That unhooks the beak. As Icky swerves around, Bdubs nips the base of their neck and twists so it stings extra. Regen will fix that. He lets go with his teeth, but not his hands. Icky loosens their grip on Martyn, and when they do, Bdubs growls an order for them to back right off. Martyn scrambles back against the barrels, one hand clutching his chest.

“What was that, Ick?” Bdubs spits. “What are you doing, huh?”

“I do not like Martyn,” Icky retorts. “They take my fish.”

Martyn lifts two fingers. “He/his, actually. I’ve committed.”

Not. Now. What, is everybody losing temper today? Bdubs gives his tail a lash. “Look- Even if Martyn dumps all your fish over the rail, you’re just the beta. I am captain. I decide when Martyn gets bit. Do you understand?”

Icky stares down at his bony hands, and in the silence, Bdubs watches talons clench against the floor. So he presses harder.

“Martyn’s acting tough to try and rattle you, but he’s still low-XP. Only me and his parents can nip at him, and since his parents aren’t with us, it’s only me. Do you understand?”

The silence drags on longer than it should. Beat. Beat. Beat. Icky’s wings rustle and Bdubs gives a warning growl. “I don’t like that hesitation, Ick. Do we need to fight about this?”

“Impulse would have bit Martyn to save my fish.”

All of Bdubs’ hearts pound his chest in triple speed. In the background, Martyn looks at them in some alarm. He can feel it too; the whole roost can prob’ly feel it. “Impulse is not captain here,” Bdubs forces through his teeth. “I decide when Martyn gets bit.”

“Twice he steals my fish. Bite him now!” Icky’s wings surge forward, tails whipping, and Bdubs moves to plant himself more firmly in the way. Down on all fours, it’s easier to be quick and sturdy and keep his wings up like a shield.

“Icky, don’t do this,” Bdubs warns. He tries to offer Martyn silent signal that if he makes a run for it, Bdubs will cover for him, but Martyn won’t go. He’s trembling, spooked and frozen by the growls and saliva dripping down their beaks and fangs. Icky’s eyes pinch to slits, wings rising high and tail dragging at the ground. They really might fight. Right here, right now.

But after a moment, Icky - eyes narrow - pulls back his wings. He casts his head aside, showing just enough bare neck that Bdubs, polygon by polygon, eases up his muscles. We good?

“I would bite him,” the big phantom mutters. On those words, Icky plods off. He leaps onto the couch arm and into the high roost. Every pump of giant wings echoes with a crack. All the roost is silent. Not a single voice breaks. Bdubs moves outside the storeroom, scanning overhead. Icky’s fussy, but not snapping at anyone. They’re giving him a wide berth. Good. It’d be bad news if they were fawning over him. Bdubs watches two more heartbeats. Then, very slight, he turns halfway to Martyn.

“Did you take another fish from Icky?”

Martyn scoffs. He steps one hand forward, chill as can be, and lifts his head: self-crowing and proud of himself. “Uh, yeah. I told you I’d do it again-”

In a whirl, Bdubs spins around and sinks his fangs between neck and shoulder. Martyn’s shriek warbles in the air. Big wings smack against Bdubs, who releases the bite, but doesn’t let up the fury.

“Why are you stealing fish!? Do you wanna get bit all the time? Do you wanna get kicked from the roost? Do you wanna be left on the streets to take care of yourself? No fangs, no flock? All by yourself, picking up the brittle pieces of your body every time you get whacked or miss a pounce? Is that what you want?”

Martyn squeezes his eyes shut, face twisted away. He grips his shoulder, hunching into it, but when Bdubs stops snarling at him, he snaps back, “No!”

“Then why won’t you listen to me?”

“I don’t know!”

“What’ayou mean you don’t-?” Aggghhh! Bdubs clenches a fist, grinding it against his eye, before he lets out a huff of air. The hand drops to ground again. “I don’t wanna bite you, Martyn, because I don’t know if you grew up with bites like us, but if your big brain won’t listen when I use words, we’re gonna have to get it through your mob brain instead. Next time you act out, I’m gonna bite you again. This is how it’s gonna be.”

“Good; if we do it the mob way, then I don’t have to talk to you.” Martyn won’t even look at him. Bdubs growls softly, which doesn’t turn his head. He wants to pinch Martyn’s ear, but that might be over the line. He’s clearly still shocked about the bite, rubbing the spot as if that’ll make it regen faster. Has no one ever bit him before? His parents?

“Let me see,” Bdubs murmurs. Martyn pulls away with a hiss. “Let me see,” Bdubs repeats. Reluctantly, Martyn lifts his hand. The bite left a mark that ruffled all his pixels. Martyn’s got a hot soul and Bdubs a chilly one, so the mark went dark where opposing energy clashed. Even though Martyn tried to scrub the wrinkles out, it’s still off-color. Very dark blue. Bdubs sighs, running his thumb across it. “Well, if it still hurts when you get back, tell me and I’ll go get you ice. Or there’s some in the kitchens you can ask for.”

Martyn shoots him a stare of question. “‘When I get back?’”

“Yes. You’re going on a quest. Here’s what we’re gonna do: No more free allofeeds. Not if you can’t behave.”

“Whoa, whoa-”

“First, you’re gonna go down there and start casting lines ‘til you’ve got a new fish. And then you’re gonna give it to Icky and say ‘Sorry.’ Like you mean it.”

“I only took one fish,” Martyn pushes back. The whine in his voice tastes like sun bouncing off the cherry leaves Bdubs was stitching in his latest project. “He has so many!”

Bdubs sighs. “Don’t do this, Otter Pop… If you want to stay in my flock, then when I ask for something, please just do it. No one’s gonna think you’re weak if you suck it up no argument. It’s easier on both of us if you listen.” With that, he gets up and turns his back. “I’ll feed you when you’ve got a new fish for Icky. A good fish you don’t mess with on purpose.” But right now, he needs a shot of 1s and 0s at the bar.

When he checks back two minutes later, Martyn is gone like a whirlpool dragged him into darkwater. And Blueberry Cow along with him. Exhaling soft through his nose, Bdubs folds his arms and leans against the fencepost rail. At least Martyn took his toy. You think it helps?

“What am I gonna do with you?” he mutters into open air. Martyn is a fighter and there’s no denying it. Hels’ blazes… Raising little phantoms is a lot harder than it looks.

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Roost-Riled

💙  🧡  💚

Martyn’s gone for a while. A long while. Is he even coming back? When half the flock’s out hunting with Icky and the other half is resting here with him, there’s nothing else he needs to do. Bdubs fidgets with his embroidery, but his hands shake a little too much to focus, so he sets it down again. Etho’s still mid-cycle, so it’s no use sending him a whisper. Scott will just tell him this is a flock thing and falls under his domain. No way is he telling HALO he spooked his phantom; if Martyn ran off, they won’t tell him where he went. Cleo’s gone to bed. So he just paces, triangle of fingers at his lips. Back and forth. Round and round. Finally, False slips down from roost. She takes his arm, pulling him around.

“He’ll either come back or he won’t. If he doesn’t, it’s very unlikely he’ll be hurt; he’s an adult, and no one can kill a phantom in this city. Can you settle? You’re ruffling all our feathers here.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll try.” Where is Martyn? It’s been three, maybe four hours by now. Bdubs can see a small section of the east canal and the park from the clock tower, but not enough to tell if Martyn’s there. Is he hurt? He grips his ears in fists, pulling it down alongside clumps of springy hair. Ohhh, I’ve hurt my baby. Worst captain ever! But Martyn wasn’t listening! He’s being a nuisance… He needs to be shown the consequences for doing that, because he’s not listening to words. Do I just have to throw him from the flock for real?

When he hangs around his friends on the ground, not hunting on the wing, Bdubs always tries to give them three warnings as they start running out of energy. There’s no visible body indication when you drop, but Scott designed their communicators to change screen color from blue to orange to green as they drop towards phantom hour. A person on green is fair game for phantoms to hunt, but when they’re friends in the middle of a conversation, it still feels rude not to warn. That’s kind of how Bdubs feels about Martyn too: he needs a few warnings before he gets cut off.

Screw it. If he can’t have Etho or Cleo, he’ll get the next best thing. Bdubs digs through a storage barrel for his snow fox toy. It’s a little scuffed and chewed, but it flops over the same way he remembered. Maybe he should unstitch it and sew little weights inside its paws. What weights, though? The toy’s already made of wool and stuffed with wool, so what’s a good option? I could always use sawdust, I guess… Although that’s not a great option for something you might chew through when the stress gets bad.

What else can I use? He’s got needle and thread right here; it’s worth thinking about. Maybe some kind of craft supplies? Bdubs searches through WellsGlazes’ craft box. Aha! He won’t take her crayons, but she’s got some alphabet beads. Eh, good enough. He pops a stitch on his fox’s back and starts depositing Qs and Xs. She doesn’t need those letters anyway, and she’s his camera twin… What’s she gonna do about it? This is payback for all those years she spent curled up in his head while he wandered the map and she didn’t pay rent.

The fun part about being phantoms is, no curfew time. No energy drop as players wind down for the night. Ticks pass in tens and hundreds. Bdubs sews Icy’s back up again. The paws are heavier now. He puts her on the table, then smooshes his head in her frosty fur. “Mmmnnng…”

Where is he? Is he not coming back? He checks his communicator again, but Martyn’s still listed as present in Between. He didn’t jump AFK. Bdubs bites his lip, then types PearlescentMoon in the search bar. Looks like she’s gone, but BigB’s still awake. Would it be weird to whisper one of Martyn’s partners asking where he is?

Was I too rough with him?

The sound of snapping wings turns his head to the south fence rail. Martyn sweeps back into the roost and lands with a pat of squeaky shoes. He wobbles. Hard. Low on energy. Out there too long, no food. “Oh, perfect,” Bdubs says, getting up. “You’re back.” He has to bite the word late right off his tongue. Wait. He’s wet. Dripping wet. “Did you swim?”

“Yeah- Lousy way to wrap up. You wouldn’t believe the night I just had. Couldn’t rent a fishing pole. Went down to the tree farm to get some sticks. Almost blew up. Had to fight a soul creeper bare-fisted just to get near a cobweb for some string.”

“You DID?” Even Bdubs tries to steer clear of them. Once mobs spawn in, they don’t despawn easily cuz of people around loading chunks. There’s a waitlist you can get on if you wanna be one of the people who slays mobs in your spare time - You can earn credit for it; some people do that and barter their way to iron or the occasional enchantment book for better swords - but soul creepers are huge and really flippin’ dangerous. You shouldn't fight one all alone. Guilt prickles at his hearts.

“Got some gunpowder out of it. Kinda mad it doesn’t glow. Couldn’t hook a damn thing, though. Finally just- Just went for it ‘otter style.’” Martyn has to brace himself on the fence to stay upright. And he won’t look at him, but holds a translucent, glowing fish up by its tail. It’s a cod, hanging lifeless. Not a very big one. Martyn’s hand glows blue like a glove to keep a grip on it, soul on soul. “I got this for Icky.”

Unless he’s forgetting something, Bdubs only saw Martyn surface his soul energy when he tried to pull Cleo from her skin mid-fall, or when he felt the edges of her soul slot, or when he chewed his meal at the Silverclaw restaurant. The unsteady flicker of energy on his hand tells Bdubs what Martyn doesn’t have to say: He’s had a hard time keeping contact with the soul fish long enough to bring it to the roost. Shout-out to Between: soul mechanic best dimension gimmick and everybody likes it. At least the souls are more filling here.

“Where did you go for that?” Bdubs asks, stepping forward. Scott tries to keep the false rivers stocked with salmon so the aquatic species have something to catch in Between when their instincts get riled up on big moon nights like this. They don’t love spawning in the snowy tundra. There’s an underground river not too far away that’s on his to-do list to redirect through New Star (if he can keep patrols and raids from riding it through), and he does try. For Martyn to bring back a cod, especially a small one, he must have been in the park. Bdubs hopes that’s the case and he didn’t steal a pet from someone’s tank. He does the sniff test, maybe a little more grateful than he should be that Martyn doesn’t have a bladder in Between. It doesn’t smell like he messed with it. It doesn’t smell like Martyn at all, like he only held it for a minute before bringing it back.

“Down at the park,” Martyn says, jerking his head that direction. That almost knocks him off balance. “I saw water there when we checked out the dirt. Dirt’s bad, but water’s good. Bleedin’ cold, though… I guess that’s because we’re under snow down here.”

Yeah. Ironically, underneath a frozen lake. They really should dig a bigger pool down here so more fish will spawn on their own. That feels like it should’ve been priority number one. He and Scott actually got most of their food that way from the old days: soul fish spawning in. Just had to move things around when the buildings went up. No more nice lake down here. Bdubs hands back the cod, to Martyn’s apparent revulsion. “Thank you. It looks good; you can give it to Icky. I’m proud of you.”

Martyn looks at him. “What?”

“Proud of you. I can tell you worked hard for it. I appreciate that more than I can say.”

“Whatever,” Martyn mutters, but when he marches off, Bdubs can tell he’s affected by it. It’s in the way Martyn folds his arms, bunching his fingers in the shirt sleeves and dragging at them as tight as he can. He’s a good kid under the sass. He’s a sweetheart. Martyn’s sort of crouch-walking like he’s trying to hide a limp. He’s not very fast. He stands near the couch for a moment, peering up into the roosting zone. Icky, like several other phantoms, hangs by his double tail with wings wrapped around him, but he’s definitely not sleeping. His ear tufts twitch.

Martyn holds the fish as high as he can reach. His tail’s too short to smack down for lift-off. Icky opens their wings and uncurls their tucked-in neck. Icky’s a full moon spawn, remember? Martyn holds still, barely breathing, as Icky’s beak snatches the cod soul straight off his palm. It disappears down his throat. Martyn backs off, lingers for just a second, but doesn’t wait around. He creeps back towards Bdubs. He’s about to pass him when Bdubs catches his wrist. Martyn winces.

“Hey. I said I’d give you allofeeding when you came back; I’ll give it right now! You want some?” He needs some. If Martyn can hardly walk, he’s down to the bottom of his hunger meter. Another splash of guilt floods over Bdubs’ face. He drains fast ‘cuz he’s out of sync. I should’ve been on top of it. Should Martyn be eating daily? Maybe he needs more than other phantoms do. He hasn’t said. Was that on purpose? He didn’t want me to know?

“I’m not a baby,” Martyn mumbles, yanking away. He pulls his sleeve over his hand like it’s been burned. He takes three more steps, then turns back. Bdubs tries to look like he wasn’t following.

“Sit for me?” For once… he’ll take a follow-up joke about his height. Martyn’s knees are shaking. He should sit.

A hum. A grunt. Martyn kneels down and lets out a soft tk-tk-tk for food. Bdubs leans over him. In silence, in pleading, Martyn tilts back his head and licks the edge of Bdubs’ lips. Like a baby.

Like MY baby…

A shaky hand reaches for Martyn’s shoulder. There’s heat in his soul, brimming with energy and life. He’s real. He’s here. He needs me.

… No one has ever needed him like this before. Not his flock, who found him when they were grown or joined the roost after wrapping up their Education. Maybe WellsGlazes, but she’s his camera twin; they hatched from the same spawn egg. Does she even count? Not Cleo. He’s always needed Cleo more than Cleo ever needed him. Not Brittney, who has so many other friends. Maybe last dry season, though, when both of them lay wrecked and exhausted in bed, clinging to each other because… they’d just call, grasping at the Outside world, as answers and play time started dropping less and less. Not Impulse. Skizz and Jewel keep him fed. Impulse already made that clear enough.

Martyn’s nippy teeth dig against his bottom lip, jolting Bdubs to the task at hand. Oh, right! Sorry, sorry… He forgot. Martyn’s hungry and impatient. With a pulse of energy, Bdubs guides a soul from his gular pouch to the surface of his tongue. Like the last time he fed Martyn, he takes care to bite the vessel coating. Liquid dribbles out, flowing down to Martyn’s mouth. Martyn’s nibbles get stronger before he switches back to licking, firm and steady. Little by little, he draws in the whole soul. When the energy fades out, Bdubs - carefully - pulls away. The glow in his mouth dims to nothing.

“There you go… Good night. Thanks for doing that for Icky. I appreciate it.”

Martyn bobs his head, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. “Is it hard?” he asks.

“What?”

“Being captain.” He nods to indicate the roost. His eyes glint like half-buried lapis beneath soft lantern glow. “Seems like kind of a bum deal, right? In Between, we’re on break from ‘putting on our game faces,’ yet here you are spending your time to look after everyone. You’ve been here since New Star began, right? Lotta time to be a ‘round-the-clock phantom. Don’t you have a wife?”

Martyn’s stabbed a shovel in his chest; he’s levering the hearts like he’s jumping up and down. “Yes. But Brittney has best friends and roommates; they’re with her when I can’t be. And I took time off from being captain during dry season; spent more time at home.” Bundled up, shaky, on his sea legs all the time… Bdubs turns his head, scanning the city in his silence. Twinkling lights. Distant people noises. Avians swishing past on their way to the multiplayer building with all the lobbies.

He lingers on HALO headquarters and bites his bottom lip. Scott’s office sticks out from here. Working late, I bet. “I either do it myself and feel happy with how the flock works, or I sit back and watch other people change it. I hate it. I didn’t have a flock growing up; this is mine now, and I don’t want to lose it. Icky or False will take over someday, but right now, this is where I should be. It’s just… easier for everybody if I stay captain.” Who even is he, if Scott doesn’t have easy access to him or he stops eating Etho every night?

Martyn lifts his eyebrows. He opens his mouth like he might say something, then snaps it shut and looks away. His tongue prods his cheek a couple times. “No, I get that. That’s me with my friends. Really gets to ya, huh?”

They really do get each other. Martyn limps off, though he seems to catch his balance with every step he takes. Bdubs is slow, turning back to look at him. His tail almost whacks against Martyn’s knee. But there’s something there, something beautiful, like they’re two fish circling in the dark with hands in their pockets, barely meeting one another’s eyes. Bdubs watches him go without a word.

New Star Station is a city that never sleeps, so phantoms are always on the prowl. But a few times throughout the day, Bdubs dims the lights so his crew can enjoy “quiet hours” off of work. What’s Martyn doing? He not going home? Each time Pearl and BigB have gone to bed, Martyn’s left the roost to join his partners on their shared AFK. But as Bdubs keeps one eye on him, Martyn crouches by his alcove and fluffs his blankets around. It’s hard to source unique material around here - a lot of things are made from wool and wood pulp - but Bdubs added soft things with different textures, like one blanket striped in rib lines and another in a waffle grid. Is he staying here tonight?

Martyn scuffs the blankets with his hands, then pulls them with his teeth and shakes them back and forth. Moon’s up, Bdubs thinks, glancing tiredly towards the roosting fences overhead. It’s a good thing he’s put Etho to bed. Phantoms need to rest… Everyone’s riled up. Everyone wants to roam these next few full moon nights.

Something’s wrong. He’s trying not to watch Martyn (or at least look like he’s watching Martyn, hence the reason he put his F5 eyes up to see behind him), but Martyn’s… unsatisfied. He pulls all the blankets from the alcove, then replaces them one by one. He stays crouched, tail nub twitching, then drags them out again and starts over. So Bdubs, maybe against his better judgment, takes Icy in hand and goes to see him. She hasn’t met Blueberry Cow yet and it couldn’t hurt to show Martyn he’s never too old for a toy up here. We’re ignoring the part where Bdubs left her in a barrel for a long time. False has a chinchilla she still cuddles, though. Do you even know what a chinchilla is? Probably not, but False does.

“Need any help? There’s more nest material in the chest.”

“It’s not good enough,” Martyn says. He sounds… genuinely disappointed rather than sarcastic. Bdubs glances at the rumpled heap.

Good enough for what? No way is Martyn getting ‘build a nest for babies’ signals in his brain with a tail that short. He doesn’t even have his grown-up fangs; he’s practically a spawnling himself. “You look like you’ve got it handled. Anything I can get you? More pillows?”

“Not unless you have mud, but I saw the dirt in the park. I won’t hold out hope. I could use a few branches, but I’ll either have to break my fishing rod in pieces or go back to the tree farm for wood.” Martyn lets out a sigh. “I miss my inventory.”

“It’s the worst part of Between,” Bdubs agrees. “I feel naked walking around all the time without! Are you building a holt?”

“Yeah, something like it… I guess this will have to do.” Martyn crawls back inside the alcove and lays down his head. Blueberry Cow’s in there with him; he pulls it to his face. “My first overnight crash at the phantom roost. Thought I’d try it out once or twice; Pearl and B know. We’ll see how I like it.”

So he’s not storming off. “Snacks in storage if you need anything. Quiet hours until 4k ticks. Then the next hunting shift begins.” Bdubs checks if he’s comfortable, and when Martyn shrugs, it’s good enough. He turns and starts walking towards the fence, but Martyn’s sudden flinch sends a wave of panic through the air. A crowing whine ripples from his mouth. Bdubs stops. He turns on his heel. Martyn just gapes back, searching for words.

“Wait. You’re not staying?”

“No? Now that you’re back safe, I’m going solo hunting. Captains do that this time of month.”

This does not peel any tension from Martyn’s body. He’s spread on all fours now, his back not quite arched, but definitely on full alert. His eyes shrink to needle points. “Who’s coming over?”

“‘Coming over?’”

Martyn sets his jaw. “Who’s watching me?”

Bdubs glances left, then right. As far as he can tell, no half-visible cam accounts lurk in the shadows. Well… Glaze is sleeping inside his head, but she’s a camera; that’s what she does. If she were awake and watching, he’d know (and she would’ve griped when he messed with all her beads). “Do you wanna be watched?” he ventures. That’s probably his phantom instincts screaming at him, especially since he’s still got baby teeth. Those won’t defend him in case of some attack. Positioning him this far from the rest of the flock for a whole night probably isn’t doing good things to his brain, given that real baby phantoms cling to their spawn-parent until they’re grown up. Maybe Blueberry Cow and the comfort of the blankets can’t replace the Phantom Dragon, the feathers of a raven, or the fur of an otter mom. His hearts tank.

“I thought you were sleeping with me.” Martyn’s eyes lock to Bdubs like fishing hooks digging deep in the gap of skin and soul. “Where are you hunting?”

“Not far,” Bdubs says, crouching down to Martyn’s level. “I’ll only be out a thousand ticks. After that, I’ll be here at the roost; promise. I’m just walking around, checking up on everyone. I do this all the time. It’s safe. You’re safe. If you need me though, just send a whisper. I’ll be back in a blink. I zoom!”

Martyn looks at his arm like redstone is clicking on and off inside his head; like he forgot what his comm is. “Oh. What if I need the toilet in the middle of the night?”

… We’re anivores? Obligate ones? He doesn’t have a bladder in Between, or on any server that sets hybrid traits up to max. “Uhh, the storage room has potions and cleaning supplies, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Bdubs lifts one finger, pointing across the landing to the blocks that make the closet. “There’s a door in the back where we keep a puddle and composter for guests. Don’t throw garbage in them, but yeah; they’re in there.” Didn’t he point that out to Martyn on the tour already?

“I see. Is there a codeword for that?”

“‘A codeword?’”

“Yeah.” Martyn’s staring, waiting for an answer. Bdubs replays the conversation through his head in silence, then shrugs.

“Just knock and ask if it’s occupied. Most people won’t mind if you barge in up here, though, since they’re just getting regen potions or something. And for goodness’ sakes, don’t touch the puddle.”

“Okay,” Martyn says, slowly settling back down. His nub tail twitches like it’s trying to curl around his leg. “And after you hunt and feed the others, then you’ll come sleep with me?”

In the floor nest? It’s neither a roost nor a very comfy bed. Bdubs studies the messy blankets with a more skeptical eye than he hopes shows in his expression. Martyn hasn’t gotten out more of the wool and moss. Maybe he likes it like this. “I mean, we can’t sleep here… You want me to come cuddle with you, though?” Makes sense, maybe? Spawnlings sleep with Mom, and in the wild, baby phantoms sleep with the nesting parent. Maybe this new place has Martyn all riled up. He kicks himself again for not talking to Welsknight yet, but then… blaze are always cuddly. They sleep in groups. It’s not real sleep, but they try.

Martyn whisks his tail. His head ducks like he’s embarrassed. Yeah, probably- Bdubs can glimpse the sheen of blue glowing on his cheeks. He looks like he ate a bunch of fireflies. “I mean, if I get a choice, yeah. I’m trying to get used to this phantom thing. Do we not… sleep together?”

“We can.” Bdubs does his best not to show on his face how much this suggestion makes his hearts jitter up and down. Maybe the dark will somehow hide the glow on his cheeks when his energy shifts. Oh no.

Martyn scoots over, making more room in the very small alcove for Bdubs to crawl in next to him. He really has to tuck his wings, but if they squish, there’s enough room for him to turn around and lie on the opposite side of the blankets. He plomps Icy down next to Blueberry Cow. They can be friends.

Martyn rests his eyes, breathing soft in a way that rattles code. A moment passes in silence. Then he says, “Etho might’ve flirted with me at the stadium. He got all shy when I called him out; I told him I’ve already got my cuddle buds. Are you and him a thing? Thought you might wanna know.”

Etho? Flirting? Bdubs blinks unhappily in the dark. “Did he try to show you something he caught?”

“Yep.”

“‘Course he did…” Bdubs traces one finger on his pants leg, thinking through things in his mind. “Mm. Etho gets a little restless this time of month. I’m trying to find the right person for him.”

“What kind of temperature is he into? He’s a cool, so y’know… maybe someday, I wouldn’t be opposed. Wait-” Martyn sits up. “Do you guys do block rotation relationships down here? I’m seeing an illager, so 100-day switches have become second nature to me.”

“Yeah, we do that. New Star’s a good place, Martyn. It has its rules, but you can do a lot of things down here. I like it. I trust the process. I’ll raise my kids here someday.” He goes quiet for a second, then murmurs, “I’m sorry if I scared you, biting you with no warning. I just don’t know how to keep you safe.”

“Hmm,” Martyn says, and then nothing at all. Bdubs gazes at him in the dark. His knuckles dig against his cheek. He wishes Martyn would just say something, even if it’s sour. Silence feels like worse.

In the silence… He can feel the beating of Want inside his chest. Have you ever seen a phantom chick right after it's hatched? They’re scruffy and wet with goo. But Martyn, sweet goodness… He’s still early development, but outgrown the awkward newborn phase. Bdubs bites his thumb to tamp down the urge to stroke his pretty hair.

Long, quiet moments pulse between them. Bdubs waits out all the time it takes Martyn to stop shifting around his blankets. When he’s finally been still for 10 minutes without a hitch to his breathing, Bdubs scrunches free. He’s barely upright, stretching on his tiptoes, when Martyn jolts. He scrambles to his feet, then trots after Bdubs as he starts crossing the roost. Um.

N-no… Martyn can’t-

Martyn already has parents. Bdubs plows these words across his mind at top speed, cutting off any chance of finishing that first sentence. Phantom chicks follow their parents. It’s why the nurses stay at roost while the captain hunts- You can’t leave babies alone, or they’ll follow. And since phantoms roost up high, that doesn’t end well for little hatchlings.

Ha ha… W-why is Martyn following if he already has two people marked as parents? His instincts shouldn’t itch for more than two. Bdubs twists around, maybe too fast, and tries not to look nervous as he wipes his palms on his legs. “Y’know, you can stay there and rest if you want. It’s fine!”

Martyn jerks to a halt. “I can?”

“Yeah, if you want to. Or you can follow me.” Ha ha, what? Like- Like he’s the nurse!? “I don’t care, but I left ‘cuz you looked comfy. I thought you didn’t need me anymore, so I’m getting some work done.”

He's answered by a blank stare. “What? … Not sure I follow why abandonment is smart. How is this place non-anarchy if no one’s watching to see if I behave?” Martyn’s eyes trail around the roost. “What if I drop all my XP in my fang stat overnight? What stops me from sneaking out to hunt someone?”

… Oh. Maybe Martyn doesn’t see their dynamic as a parent-child thing at all. Yeah, that- That was prob’ly stupid assumption. He’s reading into it.

Oh, Martyn. Who hurt him? Was this his parents, or was it that old hub that neither he nor his friends like talking about that much? He’s a player too, just like them, even if he’s the apprentice and his parents are his mentors. He deserves privacy when he’s unmoving for a while to the point his name ticks down to gray, and he deserves his own singleplayer. Bdubs hearts sink like the chain links of an anchor. He’s seen Martyn look like this before. He talked just like this at the Silverclaw restaurant when he stuttered he didn’t have an admin certificate and backed out of running his own private AFK server, even though he gets one by right. New Star is the refuge of people who want to disappear. Privacy is something everyone deserves.

“Hunting solo comes with special rules,” Bdubs says. “Since I’m captain, I pick out the time slots when we can hunt in certain areas- I try to set us up so the queens who lead packs and tribes won’t bring us down- You’ll get logged out by the piglins, wolves, or blaze if you’re not careful. Blaze will rip you apart. My advice? Don’t hunt unless you’re scheduled for a shift, but if you want to go alone, you can. But take no one who’s not in phantom hour.” Bdubs points to Martyn’s pocket, which probably holds his communicator. “Your comm will glow green for them, remember? And you’ll smell it. We all sign a contract that phantoms can only take on green, and that’s why we don’t get killed. It takes fangs and practice, but once you’re here a while, you’ll smell when it’s hunting time. Your instincts will know what to do.”

Martyn glances at the fence, then at Bdubs again. “So, if I had the fangs for it, I could just… go? All by myself?”

“Yeah, or you could invite a tall and handsome captain with you. But I trust you.”

“Nah,” Martyn says, backing up a couple paces. He holds his hands up the same shielding way he did when blocking Scott from offering him a private AFK. “I took Icky’s fish twice. You’d really let me go?”

Well, yeah. Bdubs shrugs, trying not to prickle too much about Martyn being loud. Martyn should decide his volume for himself; if Bdubs stays calm, the flock will let it happen, but course correcting is one of those things Martyn should probably learn on his own. Bdubs has critiqued him hard enough. “I’m feelin’ like you took Icky’s fish ‘cuz you’re upset with me. Flock rules are not the same as contract rules; you can live in New Star without being in the flock. Now, phantom hour… you wouldn’t break that. That’s a city rule. Martyn, if you don’t want to stay with the flock, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna hound you to stay.”

Martyn’s gaze stays warm and wary. He turns his head, studying Bdubs from only one eye. “So I can just go.”

“Maybe you wait ‘til the fangs come in. And if you start a whole flock instead of hunting solo and then tread on my turf, we’re gonna have to fight it out. But yeah. You can break from the band if you want- Go solo on the wing.” He hesitates, shoulder slumping. “Look… I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry?’” Martyn looks left and right, then throws out his hands. “I can’t believe you didn’t bite me sooner. That’s what phantoms do, right? I thought you were treating me like a baby. Nah- I’m the loser who’s making it intolerable to be here.” His throat catches in a way that breaks your hearts. “I’ve been a real brat to you and Icky. I don’t think they’re ever gonna forgive me for it, and I deserve that. It’s probably best for the whole flock if I go.”

“You’re not a loser. You’re just-” Bdubs stops, hands reaching for Martyn and grasping empty air. He’s frozen, because when he made the move to hug him - the way he’d hug Etho - Martyn about jumped from his shirt. Baby, he thinks, but doesn’t say that. Martyn doesn’t think himself a baby; he doesn’t want to be called that. Bdubs lets the hands drop. And, trying to make this not weird, he makes a show of wiping his palms on his pants, like that’s all he was gonna do. “You just don’t know flock stuff. I was rough with you today ‘cuz you stole from Icky and talked back to me in front of everyone, and I reacted big and loud. I wish I hadn’t done that. I hate how scared you looked.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

Yes you are. Martyn won’t say it, but he’s flinching at the hugs. Bdubs saw the way he looked at him when he had him by the hand, dangling in open air. When he brought him to the roost. When Martyn’s furious stare shot to his before he scrambled to his alcove, wiping at his eyes. “I had some time to think while you were gone… I prob’ly should’ve talked to you in private before I acted like that. I don’t know you yet, and I’m all in your face. You’re still new to this place, and now you’ve got a big guy telling you what to do… Yeah. I had a captain I didn’t like once too, and I didn’t want any part of flock. I’m sorry I became that guy for you. If you don’t want to stay, don’t feel like you have to.”

Martyn’s blue eyes glow in the darkness of the roost. He searches the ground, searches Bdubs’ face, then looks away. His throat bobs when he swallows, fists clenching at his sides. Little white freckles peel from his skin, twirling into the air as the last soul he ate dissolves. “Don’t… don’t pretend you care about me. You just want to boost the flock numbers so there’s more people licking at your boots. You wouldn’t care about me at all if I didn’t look like a phantom.”

“That’s not true,” Bdubs whispers, moving closer. Martyn’s hair hangs messy in his eyes. Oh flip, Bdubs wants to brush it sideways, tucking it away behind his ear. Turn his cheek with a hand. “I don’t think you’re a loser. When you came here, I carried you in a fishbowl, and I talked to you all day long even though you couldn’t hear me, and I just wanted you to be okay. I want you here because…”

Connect the dots. Click and whirr. Bdubs stares at Martyn in the dark, and Martyn stares at him.

“You’re like me.” His lips form the words as if they’re coming from another world. “But braver. I wish…” I’d left Underdark sooner. Wish I’d gotten Cleo out. He just left her there, living with a dragon who never spent any time with her unless it was to snap that she make herself useful. People don’t share much in Underdark; every man for himself. It’s where he grew up, but he hates that place; doesn’t miss no one from home except Cleo. He went back for them, but far later than he should’ve. He just walked out on his own. He shakes his head. “You’re my hero, Martyn.”

Martyn’s lips press together tight. “I’m really not a hero. I lost three people I cared about in that poorly planned escape.”

“No, no! Not confused! You care about your friends! You flew through the Void to get them out of that place! I wish I could’ve done something like that when I was your level.”

“I lost three,” Martyn says again. He rubs his arm, then turns away. Back to the alcove. Bdubs, more tentative this time, follows right behind.

“Nothing can replace them. I know.”

“It hurts-”

“I know.”

Martyn turns back, lenses clicking in and out of zoom. “I saw him die… He went under- I tried to get to him- I held him when his breathing stopped-”

“Martyn…” I know. Which doesn’t make sense. Why is he shaking, reaching for Martyn like this? Martyn whimpers, wrapping arms around him so tight, Bdubs swears he hears a crack. And when Bdubs hugs him back, his mind whirls in circles that bug his eyes more, more, more. Sharp nails clench in Martyn’s shoulder.

Why did I just say ‘I know?’ He’s never held someone who’s stopped breathing in his arms before. No, never! Never ever! But- It feels so-?

“I ate them… If I’d waited longer to get them from my pouch- If I’d just sucked it up and kept flying while I was hungry so they didn’t cycle too soon-”

“I’m sorry,” Bdubs whispers. He wipes his own eyes, and all he can do is laugh. What’s this wild pounding in his chest? Have I been here before, and just forgotten that I was? Doesn’t make any sense. He’s always been so independent. Grew up with Cleo, remember, and she used to hunt with him and tussle ‘til the fangs came in, but he never joined the Underdark Crossing flock. Learned to fistfight the training dummies; didn’t stay forever. He went out on his own! Got a mail job all by himself. Met Scott right after the First Moon City raids took that whole place down. Sweet goodness, Scott was so messed up after First Moon… Wouldn’t get out of bed ‘til he figured out Bdubs really meant it when he said he wouldn’t bring his breakfast to him. Scott never cried much, but he was always overwhelmed. He’d lay for hours with his head in Bdubs’ lap. They crossed the whole mainland together. But no one’s ever died in his arms before… Ha. What’s up with him? Martyn’s static pixels affect him this much? Why is it all so…

… familiar…

… like something from a distant life. A life of tears and pleas and prayers, and someone little stops breathing in his arms. Huh? No. Couldn’t be; no, no…

Why am I shaking so bad? Bdubs scrubs his face hard, choking noises. He wraps himself in Martyn’s shirt and yanks the fabric with his hands. He can’t have been there for more than five seconds at most, but when he lifts his head again… he’s no longer on his feet. It’s dark. Stony. The ceiling’s low. He’s in the corner alcove, Martyn nestled up beside him all toasty warm.

What? But wasn’t he just-?

BONG!

Bdubs jumps. So does Martyn, whacking his head on the alcove roof. “Ow,” he mutters, rubbing at the spot. “Who’s the wise guy who slapped our most sensitive spots on our foreheads anyway?”

“… Yeah. No, yeah.” Bdubs sits up, listening to the bells ring out. He swallows. He really blanked out there, huh? Fingers pick at the blankets Martyn laid out in the nest. He wishes he’d used more of the moss and lichen. Moss was always his favorite, but the alcove is Martyn’s safe space, and he doesn’t want to mess with it.

I guess… I just rest a little while? Martyn did invite him. Huh. He sniffs, rubbing his eyes again, and lets out a shaky whooshing breath.

That murky feeling’s fading now. He’ll get through it, like he gets through all the wobbly flashes that leak down his sync-cord like that. Is that what it was? It just came on so fast. Maybe it’s better if he lies with Martyn for a while. His roosting phantoms won’t have to see him like this.

It’s been a little while since Bdubs settled in for pretend sleep. Long time since I’ve used a bed at all. Gotta hop on a server for that, and look where he is… His guy pulling away from him, cold and distant all the time. He kneads the blankets around, wraps his tail on one side, then curls his hands beneath his chin. Wings droop from his back and nestle around the elbows. Silent, in the dark, Martyn mimics those movements. The way he curls, he looks like Icy, who’s perma-stitched in a sleeping pose. Oh, isn’t he a sweetheart…

He’s copying me like I’m his nurse or something. Like he’s the one who hatched the egg. Bdubs’ hearts split open on every heartbeat, but there’s nothing he can do about it. And it’s fast. It’s terrifying, a swoop- but it’s so, so right. This is like when you see a fox and a kit out in the wild, or a horse with a foal. Maybe the borrowed skin he wears doesn’t fit him right, but the extra wrinkles behind Martyn’s neck offer plenty of scruff for a dragon to sink her teeth in. Not grown up yet.

How weird is it that Martyn came from Linda too? Probably used to be an egg kept safe and warm in her throat pouch, just like the rest of them. But… smuggled out of Duskell, delivered to the mom and dad who paid a hefty price. That could’ve been me, in some other life. Everything about him would be different if he didn’t grow up in Underdark. If he never had Cleo looking after him.

He’s so little, though. Breathless, Bdubs can’t help but stare at the ripples in Martyn’s yellow hair. They’re too far away from the twinkle of the rainbow lanterns that still brush the city streets, but he can see the light dancing on Martyn’s eyelids. See him frisking around on all fours with a new toy in his mouth, playin’ keep-away. Roughhousing with the bigger phantoms around the roost. Ripping wrapping paper off in sheets when the holidays come around. Hunting on his own. Licking energy straight off a player who didn’t get one-shot. Leveling his bite XP. His first solo take-down when he’s got adult fangs. He could ground himself in all of this, latching on the way he used to when clinging to Linda’s giant neck ruff. She used to scoop him in her mouth. Dump him in her pouch. Bdubs would give anything to be there right now, because to be given the grossest protection (when your feelings are just as icky) is to be loved in ways you never could’ve thought.

I get to be part of all that? Not counting himself, he’s never seen fangs come in before. Martyn’s so much like him, he’s gonna love having fangs. I get to watch my kid grow up.

He shouldn’t be thinking things like this. Yeah, he really oughta go. But Bdubs, who is poised to leave, does not (Never) because he can only watch. The way his sides heave feels like no breath of his own. Martyn can’t roost. He has no nurse or captain to cling to, but he’s bellied up against his cow, just like Bdubs knew he’d be. Martyn rests against it like a pillow. His nub tail twitches, especially when Bdubs shifts a little closer.

I gave him that toy. I gave him stuff for his nest. Martyn belongs here now… and he’s going to stay. He’ll be part of the flock, with his captain watching over him.

Bdubs tilts his head. Blond bangs flop past Martyn’s eyes, close to his mouth. Gently, he reaches to brush the hairs away. He’s never had his own baby before. He’s never taken care of one. So why does it feel so-?

“What are you doing?”

Bdubs freezes. Martyn tenses like a ravager and crocodile melded into one. Soft hair waterfalls across his eyes. They glow blue behind it, big and wide. Bdubs jerks back his hand- and Martyn scrambles backwards, blocking himself with an arm. “I- I was- Oh, shoot.”

“Please don’t touch my hair?”

“I’m sorry!” Loud, everyone can hear- “It was all in your face?”

Martyn stares weirdly back, pushing fingers through wisps of gold that twirl like ivy down a wall. So Bdubs makes a snap decision. He whips around, tail smacking stone, and runs. Shoots like a bolt. Doesn’t go too far. Just to the wood fence that rings the roost. Just so he can grab something in his hands. Bdubs thunks against the fence, gripping tight until he can’t feel any pain in his claws. He leans forward until the posts dig against his chest. The city spins with lanterns below, some still Pride Month rainbow while others are back to wet season green and yellow, all a blur-

I can’t be Martyn’s mentor! Martyn already HAS a mom and dad! He already got adopted and he’s already been to school. They got here first. This is butting in; this is wrong. He blocks his face with his hands, peeling them down his cheeks. The noise he makes is something long and warbley that he’ll never, ever understand. How come taking care of Martyn feels so right, huh?

Behind him, Martyn chirps - Otter Pop here - but Bdubs can’t respond. His hands are off his ears. Now he’s got ‘em on his mouth, just trying not to spew a glitch into the street down below.

Martyn already has parents. Why does he have to keep painting those words across his head? It’s like he’s gotta jab them in his arms. He shouldn’t be thinking these things! Not my kid! Brittney doesn’t even know he keeps having these weird Martyn thoughts! Isn’t that terrible? She doesn’t even know! They agreed they’d raise their own kids when they finally come around, none sooner, and here he is, one step away from basically kidnapping-

Martyn didn’t take the hair touch well. He freaked out; he doesn’t see him like a dad or-

Oh, shoot. This is bad. This is wrong. He needs an intervention. Bdubs’ shaky knees give out beneath him. He flumps down like a guard at a gate instead. His tail falls with a clatter. The air is cool, the floor’s hard without the blankets, but this is fine- It’s better here- It’s extra space away from Martyn. Martyn chirps for him again.

What’s wrong with me, huh? The neediness is getting worse. He was lookin’ at Martyn in there and, y’know… just thinkin’ how nice it might be to lick his hair or groom behind his ears. Ugh. He could try to ask around, but he already knows the answer: If you feel that way about him, just tell him! Even if he doesn’t feel the same, maybe he’ll roleplay it with you sometimes. Oh, sure… ‘cuz he’s totally gonna walk up to a guy who already has parents and ask if maybe he wants a third and fourth to get involved. That’s not weird.

Shifting hand-over-hand steps behind him signal Martyn slipping from the alcove too. He chirps again, and this time, Bdubs snaps to attention. That one was louder, pushing harder since the first pair went unresponded to. Distress. Someone from the high roost chirps back, followed by another. Oh, shoot… now the flock is stirring. Bdubs slurps his energy together - no more puddle inside of skin! - and huddles up in physical form. It’s fine. He’s fine! He’s got all his parts. He’s got a mouth. He returns the contact call: River Ripple here.

“I…” Martyn looks like he’s been scratched across the eyes with enderman claws. He shakes like a puppy in the snow. “Sorry- My wings brushed your arm, right? If I’d known cuddling was gonna bother you, I wouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry- You don’t have to pretend you like it for me; I can just go back to Pearl and BigB and we can say this never happened- and- and I don’t have to-”

“Shhh… No, nothing you did, sweetheart.” Only all the swirling bits inside. “I’m not mad. I just need to get my head on straight.”

But Martyn’s not content with that. In fact, he stands there distraught, fingers curling into wood. “Do phantoms not do this?” he croaks back. “Did I come off like a pervert? Oh my word. Captain, I wasn’t trying to, like- I didn’t mean-”

“No, no!” Bdubs wants to grab him. Grab and shake, except instead of shake, he wants to pull him close and bury him with a hug. “Martyn, it’s not you. This is my problem. I’m having weird feelings about this- It’s not you at all!”

“Oh. I, uh… I should go.” Martyn drops to the take-off crouch and leaps atop the fence. No! Bdubs moves before he can think. He’s on the nearest post in a flash, banging his knee on the way. The city shines like every gemstone on a night like this. He chirps. Martyn slows, his wings full spread, and looks over at him. Listening.

Listening to me. And- he shouldn’t-

“Stay?” Bdubs whispers. It’s selfish. It’s stupid. It’s a desperate wish fulfillment plea. And he knows that, and he hates himself for all the trigger points of power abuse and guilt-tripping or whatever the hey is going on here. A soft sword pushes through his chest. As his heartbeats drag on and Martyn doesn’t jump, the blade starts sawing back and forth. “Just one night.”

“One night? A rotten apple core like me? Aw, you don’t want this brute hanging around your flock. I’m gonna mess ‘em up; that’s what I do.”

No. Never. Bdubs reaches out. He catches Martyn’s shoulder and gives a soft squeeze. “I don’t think you’re some bad seed. I’m just learning how to teach you. Sometimes I do it wrong, treat you like a baby, and you get mad. I’ll try not to.”

“Well, you’re right in feeling like I can’t take care of myself. I’m a blummin’ mess.”

“Yeah. Same here. Here’s a thought: One night in the alcove. I’ll stay close. Just tonight, let’s be flock.” One night would be enough to have his baby breathing in his arms.

Martyn’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “And what do you get out of this?”

“Peace of mind,” he teases back, dropping from the fence to the floor again. “You’re not competing with me, charming my flock away. And this way, I know you’re not wandering around during wolf hour. Come on. Back to nest, Otter Pop; it’s resting time.” No more of this! It’s too much words and blinding static in the eyes. Nobody wants to live through this.

“There’s a wolf hour?”

“Well, midnight’s always claimed by wolves, and a couple hours later it’s the piglins; the blaze are out cold this time of night. Keralis and Sausage won’t let me have this hunting slot unless I fight ‘em for it. I ain’t trading them prime American bedtime over this!”

“Uhh-?”

“The biggest percent of people whose energy is dropping low right now, that defines the hunting shifts. And right now, it’s mostly people whose players base between British Land and Canada. Not many!” Bdubs shakes his head. “Let the wolves and piglins have it. We eat better after 3k in the morning, when it’s bedtime for east America… It’s better we rest up right now. But listen long enough and you’ll hear the hunting howl. Or the squeal. Sausage gets real loud when he’s excited.”

Martyn lingers for a moment near the fence as if the howl might ring out on cue. The roost goes dark during wolf hour - and maybe Bdubs is talking too loud, bothering people resting - but this city stays awake all hours of the night. Martyn adjusts his pixels back to biped state. He leans over the fence slats, leaving Bdubs watching, unsure. Is he gonna jump? Is he gonna try and hunt right now? He did grow up with ravens. Is he gonna try to grab bites from the wolves?

“When I’m up here,” Martyn says, “I don’t feel like I’m gonna fall. Don’t get me wrong- I’m out of sync and that’s never gonna change. The world still spins. But I like the fence. I’m glad I get to see the city like this. I’d like to bring Pearl and BigB up to get a look. I mean, I’m sure they’ve seen it on the wing, but from up here? Wow. You can even see the Slime Dragon’s tree. Do you get non-phantoms up here very often?”

“Not a lot,” Bdubs admits. “There’s usually some of us up here. Not much space for big groups or game nights. I’ll take you to Beef’s card shop sometime; I can bother Etho and you can make new friends.”

“… Yeah. I’d like that.” He slithers from the fence, dragging his arms from wood. They slap against his sides. “Hey, uhh… I really appreciate the hunting lesson. And all the tours you’ve given me. You sure know a lot about this city.”

“Well, I did build it. The slimes helped, I guess.”

Martyn swallows. “Yeah. Um, tomorrow… are you busy?”

Bdubs’ gaze flicks to the phantoms roosting closer to the couch. Some of them look restless. Someone loud prob’ly woke them up. “A little busy. Busier the third and fourth nights of full moon; not much tomorrow. I just gotta feed the flock.”

“I wanna know more,” he blurts. He holds his comm up for Bdubs to see. “Cleo suggested a book about phantoms to me. I started reading it while I was out fishing, but I don’t see pictures well in my head. I’m having trouble getting my mind around the nonverbal cues. If you’re not busy, can you teach me how to be a real phantom? I’m ready; I’ll do whatever you say.”

Oh, you… Sweetie pie heart. That’s what we call a man like that. Bdubs smiles. “You’re already a real phantom, Otter Pop. You can be a phantom however you wanna be. I’m sorry. You grew up with otters; I shouldn’t yell at you for trying to play like otters do.”

Martyn’s wings start to shake. His legs sag forward, knees buckling- Whoa! “I really don’t know why I stole the fish. I just… I just wanted to see you mad? Had to know what I was dealing with- I won’t do it again. You humbled me real quick with the fishing thing; waiting around there is a whole new level of pain.”

“Ha. Yeah, I’ll do better pointing out the river next time; there’s a good deep spot by the bridge.” He starts walking to the alcove and Martyn tails behind. He says, “Hey, after I teach you flock stuff, maybe you can teach me otter tricks. I saw you twist away from me when I had you pinned. You prob’ly know a lot of ways to play safe without bashing your knees.”

Martyn laughs. “Mud helps. Water, obviously- There’s nothing better to break a fall. Yeah, I can teach you. We’ll do a little tussle after you teach me phantom things. Ride me hard, captain; beaten and bruised, I can whoop your tail in a fight any day.”

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Sleeper Agent

💙  🧡  💚

Maybe instead of acting like the soul gimmick’s such a big deal, they should call Between the dimension of rest. Tango doesn’t usually sprawl in the plushie pile like this, but if you’re not in the blaze den, it’s a good alternative. He snorts, mumbling, and turns his head.

“Mmmnhhghhhh… No, I don’t mind a giant pancake hat, sweetheart. I love pancakes. Where’s my sweet butter biscuit syrup… strawberry… waffle furnace mod…”

Tango’s jerked out of sleepy torpor time by two tiny fists twisting at his pecs. “GAH!” He reacts so fast, he almost punts the purple spawnling across the room. Thankfully for everyone, his brain’s faster than his legs. He freezes like a beetle on its back, one foot in the air, and the spawnling tilts its head. It squeezes again, just as fierce, and Tango grunts and sits straighter in the blaze pile. Squishy toys roll down the heap in all directions; the spawnling follows one by turning its head. It pats a hand on Tango’s knee.

“… Huh?” Tango looks at the fallen toy. He reaches down for it, grasps it in the very tips of his fingers, and passes it to the spawnling. “Do you want this?”

The spawnling doesn’t have enough coordination with its fingers to grip the plush on its own. It scrapes its hand across the blaze’s face, then looks back at Tango. It holds the blaze plush towards him. Tango blinks. This time, he fully adjusts position until he’s kneeling in front of it, fixing the spawnling with all his attention.

“Can… can you recognize me as a blaze?” Tango holds the toy for the spawnling, flapping out its flamey wings with his fingers. He twists it back and forth so the dangling stripey tail dances like a banner. The spawnling’s fascinated, reaching for it with grabby hands. “Well, you’ve been busy in your dreams! Have you already made it to the Nether on your spawn-server? Is that what you’ve been doing out there?” He glides the blaze forward on flapping wings, pecking its little beak at the spawnling’s nose. “Is that what you’ve been doing~?”

The spawnling bats its hands around again, shaping something like a squawky smile on its purple face. This time, Tango scoops it in his arms and tucks the plush on its chest. “Hmm…” He glances around the storage room, which he and Cocoa turned into a hasty nursery a couple nights ago. He’s been resting in here, using special tools and tricks to disguise his sleepy code from phantoms (so they won’t come a-knockin’), but it’s not decorated all that nice. He still has a few shulkers of stuff in here from the old days before he moved underground; Tango doesn’t love the fact that apparently, the spawnling’s been crawling around without him. He looks back with a frown. “How did you get out of your sit-spot? You can’t jump over fences. You’re just a little guy.”

The spawnling’s bouncing the blaze plush in its lap and doesn’t seem to follow the conversation. Tango walks it back to the corner and sets it on its butt behind the fences. Is it… too small a space? You’d think a meter either direction would be plenty for a little guy, but maybe since it can see, it got bored of its surroundings. Maybe it just glitched? Sometimes when your framerate’s low, you jolt a little too far for one side. Tango stands back, figuring he’s gonna have to wait a while, but the spawnling wastes no time. It shifts to its knees and crawls under the fence gap, dragging the blaze toy after it.

“Whaaaaat?” Tango doesn’t think he could be more shocked if he watched the spawnling set his tail on fire. “How… do you know how to do that? What is happening right here? You should only know vanilla game mechanics. How do you know how to cheat the rules already?” Was it born on a non-vanilla server? That’s rare, but not unheard of. Then again, apparently so are purple souls. Maybe there’s a connection there? Tango scoops it off the floor. It drops the blaze, but he picks that up too. “Well, I guess everything’s easy when your eyes are open… You’re a little cheaty-cheater. How’d you get so advanced?” He pokes its chest, where its soul crystal floats in its middle slot, right next to its solid gold scar. “Are you speedrunning out there? Are you the fastest learner there’s ever been? I say it’s hacks.”

The spawnling, who’s still skinless in his arms, doesn’t have a throat to respond with. It sucks on the blaze toy’s head and stares up at him with gaping white eyes. Yeah, sure; it’s totally cute, but looking at it, he can’t help but sigh.

“Well, I can’t leave you on the floor anymore. We’re gonna have to fetch the crib from Skizz.” Tango checks his comm. Skizz’s name still reads as gray. “Too bad he’s not online yet; then I could make you his problem. Buuuut… I did promise I’d hang out with you all weekend. Shall we go on an adventure, friend?”

This could be a little tricky. There’s a turf war going on right now between the blaze and the slimes - it’s that time of the moon cycle, you know - and Skizz’s apartment falls in highly disputed territory. Hmm… Now, the smart thing to do would be asking Welsknight for a crib (There’s gotta be one in the building somewhere). But if Welsknight’s doing turf stuff with the pack, maybe he can just find it on his own?

“I can’t leave you on the floor, though… Or unsupervised at all in here. Waaay too much junk in this place for your squishy hands.”

Okay. New plan. Skizz left him with some outfits to tuck the little guy in. Tango only uses them when he’s bringing the spawnling back and forth from Skizz’s place; it hides the purple color from prying eyes, sure, but when they’re at home, they’re just in the way. Nobody here but him and Cocoa, their roomies, and the kids rarely poke their heads off AFK. Wash first, then dress. That feels like the correct order of operations. He brings the spawnling out to the kitchen sink, then snaps on his waterproof gloves. Goggles too, of course. After a few minutes of scrubbing, all the chalaza’s peeled off and the spawnling’s shiny bright once again. Tango dries it with a fluffy towel.

“Ho-ohhh, I am too good. Look at that!” He lifts its hand in his own and grins. The spawnling gazes back, blank-faced. Its fingers creep into its mouth. Tango points to a white patch on its elbow. “You’re just zooming to grow this back, aren’t ya? You’ll be grown up in no time. It’s like you don’t even need me!”

The spawnling, being a spawnling, has no response to that. It swings its head to one side, still sucking on its fingers. Tango scrubs it on the head. It’s really coming into its endgame shape; more and more curls are showing all the time. Looks a lot more like a person when it’s not ooze in a shulker box, y’know? Cutie-patoot.

By the time Tango’s got it dressed in a cute blaze outfit - complete with wing slots, although the tail sleeve droops empty - the spawnling’s coated in a layer of slick white chalaza once again. He holds off long enough for the vessel to seal all the way around in a spurt of glitter. Then the whiteness goes translucent. The purple glow returns, super sparkly now. And we’re good to go! Tango hoists the spawnling to his shoulder. It’s floppy, but steadies itself by gripping onto him. He moves towards the apartment door, only to get thwacked several times by the spawnling freaking out.

“What? What is it?” He swings back around. A crumpled blaze plush lies on the floor, its mournful eye staring up at him. Huh… “I gotta get used to you seeing stuff.” He retrieves it, handing it to the spawnling, and holds one hand in a stop gesture. “Now, don’t drop this… Can you hold on tight? It’s one instruction.”

Unsurprisingly, the spawnling doesn’t agree; not even with a nod. Still deaf, I guess. They need their skins to turn their hearing on. It gropes its mouth towards the blaze plush’s head, watching Tango’s face the whole time. Disturbing murder implications? That is not an impossibility.

Almost all of New Star’s blaze hybrids live in the west bailey wall. In fact, it might be all of them; he never really counted. The pack likes to stay together, comfortable in each other’s body heat, and it’s a lot easier to coordinate snacks and movie nights when everybody’s under the same roof. Someone’s gotta have a crib. Tango strolls down the hall, humming so the spawnling can feel his throat vibrations, to hunt for baby junk in random storage closets. Every time the little guy drops its toy, it squirms and slaps him until he turns back to fetch it.

Huh. Smart kid.

💙  🧡  💚

Resting next to Martyn was a huge mistake. He’s furnace-hot and there’s no way to shut him off. Which is fine! The flock accepts all temperatures. It’s just, Bdubs didn’t really plan on Martyn being so… so…

He hasn’t seen this side of Martyn before. The side of him that rests, flopped over with one palm braced flat against the floor. It took him a while to settle down. He kept huffing, digging around his blankets like something small and tasty had wriggled under there, until he finally ran low on energy. His neck’s exposed like this, but not because he’s scared. He’s not trying to signal that he’s not a threat. It’s like all the tension’s evaporated from his body. He worked real hard to catch that fish and bring it up to roost. Now come the quiet hours, so he rests. He drinks in the peace like he’s soaking up starlight on a cloudless night.

Martyn looks like a wolf pup sleeping on a hillside. He looks like he exhausted himself to the bone after howling at the moon. Every slow, even breath lifts Martyn’s body, shifting his wings. Fallen hair shines like buried gold. Bdubs can’t tear his eyes away.

Far in the distance, Sausage gives a bellow that sends squeals through the rest of his tribe. Bdubs turns his head, pricking up his ears. For once, he’s not free to swoop past their hunt. Can’t go bother ‘em or tease. What d’you think they’re chasing? Strider flock? Big sheep? Sometimes on full moon nights, Joe sits with a crossbow at the livestock pens, reloading and blasting anyone who tries messing with the source animals. Beef’s sometimes with them, arms crossed and his gruffest stare showing all night long. Xisuma will be at the turf war. Tango too, better believe it, but on opposite sides. Cleo’s hunting. xB will be down south. Keralis with his pack. And Etho’s gotta be shooed from the chicken coop most times, but not tonight. Bdubs whisked him off to bed.

I’ve been here so long, I know all my friends’ nighttime patterns. That’s how phantoms hunt; it’s how they stay alive. He has no clue what the piglins are chasing, though. And you know what? He doesn’t have to know! It’s not his business. He not care! He’s just up here, curled around the sleepy chick snuggled in his nest… And all the dangers in the world are so far away. His flock, they’re up so high. They can see so far. His twitching ears will pick up any footsteps on the stairs or wings approaching in a swoosh.

Bdubs turns his head back to Martyn, whose fingers grip the blankets tight and loosen up like he’s still digging in his dreams. Hair spilled sideways, all over his face. It’d be the perfect moment to lick it from his eyes. Hey, phantoms shed dead code strings just like everybody else; they’re lucky they’re a species that can eat ‘em. Bdubs drags his tongue around his mouth. He could lick the dead strings off Martyn easy, no problem. He’d do it SO good.

He won’t. Martyn freaked out about touch. He’d just do a nice job cleaning him up; that’s all. Bdubs, breathing slow, shifts one forearm a little closer to Martyn. Okay, well… He shifts most his body closer. It’s just easier to protect him that way- from predators and stuff. 

You can rest here now. I’m not gonna let no one hurt you. Nobody’s gonna barge into the clock tower. Their roost can be out in the open, right here in the middle of a busy city full of people they’re allowed to eat. They don’t have to travel far. They don’t have to hide. They don’t have to wear armor that clanks on every wingbeat and gives their positions away. Bdubs wishes he could nuzzle his nose to Martyn’s neck, whispering all of this between gentle licks to smooth the rumpled pixels in his skin. Especially on that bite mark that’s still a dark smudge below his ear. They’re all bunched up, frazzled where chilly energy disrupted red-hot links in his chalaza. Need a rag or a thumb to smooth them out again. Or…

Bdubs’ tongue presses out from between his lips; his fangs. He- he’s not really gonna do it, so don’t go freaking out about this! You don’t have to tell. He won’t lick; Martyn wouldn’t like that. But just for pretend, he lets his tongue stretch a little further, curling at the tip. Martyn’s hair’s so wispy, like candy or a cloud. Like dragon’s breath.

Captains take breaks from hunting during spawn season, right? There’s rotation; there’s taking turns. Each nurse gets a chance to join the hunting party while the captain stays behind, looking after one or two chicks at a time. See, phantoms are smart; everybody does their share of work. Being flock is about looking after each other - and how shleepy they are - as much as it’s about looking after the smallest chick.

He could tell Martyn how many phantom hybrids have explored this world, and how he gets to be part of that long history now. They go everywhere. See everything. Bring everyone the mail. It’s a dangerous world out there… More and more vex every day; so many people go that route with glitches chasing up and down their skin. Not too many here, though. If you’re a phantom, New Star Station’s pretty much the best hub in the world. Maybe after Duskfell, but Mom’s there. You gotta be an independent guy to really feel you’re living life.

They are safe up here.

Martyn’s so close, lying on his side like that with Blueberry Cow against his mouth, that Bdubs doesn’t dare breathe. Only when it’s necessary, which is just often enough that he won’t cough all over Martyn’s little face. He tucks his chin between his hands. But that’s a bad mistake too, because then he’s just lookin’. Lookin’ at Martyn. And, y’know- He’s not allowed to nuzzle or lick or groom him the way his insides are screaming that he do. Because… it’s all wrong, how he feels about this.

Martyn already has parents. Two of ‘em! That’s twice what most people have. He doesn’t need a third.

As if he heard that commentary, Martyn stirs. He kicks his legs like he’s on a hunt. Then he snorts, settling down again. One hand flops across his eyes. Fingers crook, digging at the air. Bdubs watches all of this, so very still against the blankets with the end of his tongue poking out.

Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll get to teach Martyn how to hunt some more. Maybe he’ll get to feed him now and then. But yeah, no- There’s not gonna be any allopreening. Martyn’s too big; he’s not just gonna bond with another mentor this late in his leveling. If he bonds with anybody, it’ll prob’ly be Etho. Martyn said Etho’s tryna cuddle him. And Etho, you know- He cares; he’ll take good care of him.

Mmph. Bdubs turns his head aside, his knuckles digging in his cheek. His betrothal ring feels bright and cold. Through his pounding hearts, he tells himself that whatever Martyn chooses - if he stays in the flock or not - he’s gonna put on a brave smile and tell him that it’s fine. He can do whatever he wants. Go be student to anyone he wants!

But… I wanna be there to see him grow up! He has to dig his nails against his temples, squeezing so hard that static leaks, just to keep his muffled noises buried in his throat. Maybe he should just get certified to teach Education. But when he’s flock captain, where can he find the time?

The worst part of all of this is, Martyn’s still awake. Always. His name might go gray later, his mind drifting to its groggiest hum, but there’s no true sleeping in Between. Martyn’s right here and there’s no escape. Bdubs can’t make a sound. If Martyn cracks even one eye open - sees how much his soft and warm proximity makes him flush - please shut his file down and perma-wipe his game.

💙  🧡  💚

Finding and setting up a crib in his room doesn’t take too long, even using only one hand. Tango’s biggest concern is that he might feel the itch to play on Hermitcraft while Skizz and Cocoa are offline and Etho’s busy cycling. If he has to leave the spawnling, who knows what’ll happen to it… especially with the moon as big as it is.

Hunters are out in droves today. He glances at the ceiling as he tucks the spawnling in for naptime. Somewhere between the stairs and the nursery, it dozed off in his arms, its mind slipping back to its singleplayer world. He’s just glad he thought to look behind him for its fallen toy. He sets the little guy in the crib on its back, like you do, and lingers for a moment to watch it sleep. It’s developing so fast… Faster than any spawnling I’ve ever seen. Did the devs patch in a growth speed update?

Tango grew up with the Blaze Dragon and the wildfire princess, and never really asked how quick he picked up new skills. Saw spawnlings come and go. Blaze are one of the more common species out there; reasons could be tied to the fact they’re omnivores who can fly. Thaaat could be it. They can pretty much thrive anywhere in Between… if they’re willing to bring their own lava. Worst part of being one is just the ginormous energy drop that hits when local temperature shifts too cold. The rest? It’s okay. Anatomy’s not bad, although the crust that hardens in patches across their skin is itchy- and ugly, too. Fireballs are nice for self-defense. Tango can even hover without his wings; he just doesn’t much since it’s way more draining. Better than being phantoms, he thinks, regardless of what Bdubs would have you believe. On folded arms, Tango leans a little farther over the edge of the crib and hums just enough, the spawnling can pick up the vibration in its dreams.

My kiddos must’ve looked like this once. He and Cocoa never got to see them this small. They were still living in their dragon nests. Huh. When WAS the last time he saw a spawnling up close? Tango smirks; imagine a slime letting a blaze get close enough to touch the little goopy booger guys.

Nothing in the parenting books gives a heads-up, don’t-freak-out about purple spawnlings. Even his med school books never went into that. Resting one hand on his cheek, Tango wonders if, y’know… the spawnling might wanna stick around a while. In this early state, there’s no telling if it’s got adult brain or younger brain. He and Cocoa talked about it, though; they’ve got room for one more, if it’s young and wants to stay. Might have to think twice if it pops out all grown up.

“Where did you come from?” he murmurs, leaving answers floating in the in-between. That’s the part that still makes no sense to him. New Star Station is a safehouse. It’s locked down from the outside world, almost completely. Scott leaves one tunnel open for refugees, but this hub’s underneath the fox spawner, and the Fox Dragon’s up there with all her kids, the museum, two towns, the lake, and her phantom flock. It’s not an easy place to wander into on purpose, let alone on accident. Some dragons let their kids go to hybrid parents when they’re still young. That’s how he and Cocoa got their kids.

But a parrot? The rainforest is way, way out west. How did it get here? No one’s even come to claim it. Or if they have, Scott hasn’t said.

Someone definitely found and ate it. That’s the only way it could’ve gotten cycled through the system - through the core of someone’s soul - and spat into the Hermitcraft portal. Tango drums his clawtips on the crib. Did someone get approved for a spawnling, then go AFK without a plan to take care of it? Not even use the tricks Tango’s been pulling to keep his code from drawing phantoms near? I dunno, friend; I don’t like the look of this. Something’s up. Something fishy, no question. Maybe someone hurt it. Illegal experiments or something that turned it purple. It’s got a Totem scar. There’s only one way you end up with one of those.

How much longer do you think this little one has before it gets its name? He’s only had it a couple days, and most of that, it spent with Skizz. Tango’s not sure how long it’s been around, but it takes weeks for-

A shimmer passes across the spawnling’s body. Tango’s eyes flare wide. The spawnling shifts in its semi-AFK state, scratching stubby fingers at its chest. Tango scoops it up straightaway. He cradles it in one arm- and just in time. With a squelch, the soul crystal pops from his chest and lands in his palm: a little white glob of a thing that needs to get tucked in a file protector ASAP.

“Whoa… Where are you headed, kiddo? Off to do some busy, busy things? Oof.” Crystal’s warm. Not ‘ow,’ really, but Tango quickly moves it to a shelf. And since the spawnling’s about to start growing crazy fast, he puts it gently on the carpet. Hands on his knees, he blows a smoke-filled sigh. “Of course, it’s always right when you set the crib up… It’s fine, yeah; I get it. Name Day waits for no one. I’ll go whip you up a cake.” That is tradition, after all. “Kinda thought I’d have more time, but…”

Well. Not like he’s doing anything else right now. Honestly, it’s a great time to stretch his arms way out in front and up above his head, wiggling out all the kinks he’s not been able to stretch with a kiddo in hand. Tango props the door open so he can keep an eye on the spawnling while working across the hall, at least when he stands in the kitchen corner. That’ll work! It’s just lying there, rubbing its little eyes as it stirs into its self-aware mind. He didn’t prep the ingredients in advance, but since Cocoa likes baking, there’s usually stuff around. Maybe if he fudges the measurements, the crafting table will spit out half a cake. That’s all the new guy really needs. What do you think? Will it be a kid, or an adult? That’s the fun part: you never know!

Cool- They’ve got eggs and sugar. Milk. Aaand… “Presto! Plenty of wheat.” Thank whoever runs the market stall that prepped this; he does not have the patience to pick all the weird bits out of freshly harvested stuff. Tango spreads everything on the counter, then gets crackin’. Well, really just the egg. Hmm… He rotates the wooden milk cup in his hand. “You know, we really should start dating these. Is this stuff still good?” I mean, to be fair, will a newborn even know the difference?

But in the end, the cake gets baked. Tango divides it into slices and shifts one to a bowl for easy carrying. And boom- Kitchen’s cleaned up too. “And that’s how it’s done! All right, friend. Who’s hungry for a special Name Day-”

His first mistake was glancing up. The cake bowl slips through his fingers and clatters across the tile, smearing hastily-stirred frosting all over the place. Uh-?

Clean-up can wait. He sprints around the counter to the nursery, but what can he even do? In the time it took to prep the cake, the spawnling’s swelled up to its full-grown height - Good, expected, yes - but it’s… It’s glitching out. Giant wings blink in, then melt back down just as fast. Stringy noodle arms elongate, then crash down like liquid and dissolve. The player staggers up, then flumps down to its knees. It covers its ears, but that doesn’t stop the wild glitchy mess. Thrashing tails of all shapes and sizes burst from its behind, cycling through the options like someone flinging pinballs; racking up the points.

Uhhh… Tango pushes up his goggles, blinking through the adjustment back to proper light and color. Is the purple player safe to touch? Tango’s hearts flare with sympathy, but he backs extra steps away. One hand reaches for the tiny sword he used to cut the cake. Something is very, very wrong with the newbie’s file data. What if it’s contagious?

It’s a parrot! Sure, we put an enderman graft on it, but what’s going on? Why the hey doesn’t it know what it’s s’posed to be? Did all its chalaza wash off when he wasn’t looking? Is it shooting distress signals to the game code because it can’t figure out what it’s meant to be? Fireworks all over the place?

Wings explode on its back- glowing feathers; spiky shapes. The room hums with energy. Tango lunges forward, but when clawing hands burst from the player’s back, swiping at the air, he jumps away. The player’s body starts to drip, dissolving to the carpet. Wha- Wha-? Ohhh, his hearts are in his mouth- He ducks behind the door, peering out with buggy eyes.

“What is HAPPENING?” His voice tips into a shriek, but if the player can hear him, it doesn’t say. It’s totally convulsing… melting, reforming on the floor, surging up, whipping into brand new forms- Tango starts to name them in his head. The combo of pointed ears and thick, fluffy tail belongs to a fox. The thinner tail’s an ocelot, the shaggy tail a wolf… All of these, all of them, pass in glitchy flashes. It’s a cycle- a death loop sort of thing. What? The player struggles to its feet, reaching for a wall to brace itself, only to crash back into the purple ooze on the floor. Tango shrinks as low in a crouch as he can.

Feathered wings. Flowing tails. Blaze rods swirling around the head, doused in purple light like all the rest. Then the legs get longer. Whipping wind, bigger wings, like the player’s trying to form itself into a breeze. The illusion shatters. Player gone. A tiny purple lake smears across the carpet, oozing like a sleepy slime.

“What- I don’t-?”

The player reels up with head and arms partly formed. It heaves itself forward, crawling from the puddle dump- It grabs in Tango’s direction, swiping with its arms, and he scrambles back with all the noises you’d expect. He thumps flat against the hallway wall, but the player surges forward, sprouting horns and massive digging claws. Is that a warden? He’s only seen them in his books. Tango darts his eyes left and right, then dodges towards the kitchen. The purple player thumps against the wall so hard, it leaves a dent.

“Ohhhh, man! This wasn’t in my job description!” Tango jumps atop the counter, crouched like a monkey, and watches the player morph again. The horns curve back like giant scythes. Is it a goat now? Maybe, though as it steps, it reaches out a dripping hand. It lurches on two legs like it wasn’t made to stand upright. Stumbles- Two palms hit the ground. A wiry tail swats behind it, and it’s either a very buff cow or an equally terrifying ravager. Tango’s hearts hammer in his throat.

I don’t have a sword. Just his nubby cake-chopper. Why would he waste iron on weapons or armor in a non-anarchy hub? He used to carry one in his traveling days, but that thing wore out long ago. Should he shoot it with fireballs? He’d rather have a shield; he doesn’t want to hurt it. It was a baby five minutes ago! And what happened to the little spawnling he was just cradling in his arm? They went on a little walk while it chewed on its little toy! Ihhh… From the looks of it, little toy blaze didn’t survive. Its head and wings are ripped apart, strewn with wool stuffing across the floor. What happened while he made that cake?

The purple soul shifts again, growing a maw like- like an enderman’s. Ribbon-length arms confirm this as it drags its attention from the floor to the counter where he sits. It still peers through empty eyes.

And it can see me.

Tango dives off the counter faster than he ever has, and just in time before two hands smack down where he just was, .2 seconds ago. With a screech, he tears across the kitchen, slams against the front door, and jiggles open the lock.

“C’mon, c’mon-” Every bird man for himself! As he wrenches the door open, Tango risks one glance back. The purple soul stands at the counter, braced on one forearms, its wings high behind it. It’s, like, sitting on a throne. The feathers gleam with bright white scoop shapes- a hundred pairs of eyes in place of normal person face. The other hand, though? That’s the one that makes him hesitate, rooted to the spot. The purple soul’s rubbing at its head…

… like a spawnling that just woke up, stirring in confusion as it tries to piece together a whole new world.

That looks like a watchling. Well, the wings are parrot, but the eyes sure aren’t. Did Etho’s graft mix poorly with its data? It was enderman data, and watchlings are a type of enderling-

All eyes on the player’s wings blink together and lock themselves on Tango. The player lifts its head. “Aahhhhh, I’m gonna go now,” Tango splutters out, and ducks through the door. He slams it behind him. Phew… It can’t open doors without a skin, right? You kinda need to have some grippy grippers.

Aaaaand I left the portal home to my wife and kids in there. Tango whips back around, throwing the door open. The purple soul’s halfway around the counter now, bracing itself up. When all its eyes latch onto Tango, it takes a wobbly step, reaching forward with arms outstretched zombie-style. The maw gapes open, like some kind of crazy evil grin.

“Ohh, no you don’t.” If this thing wants to tear through New Star, it’s gonna have to get through him. What is happening- What IS it? Was this abomination some kind of modded trick planted for them to find? Is it some anarchy player halfway through a crazy break-in scheme? It can’t be a legal spawn! It’s not even a real soul color! It’s a total monster, is what it is. Was it a glitched-out mob this whole time? It WAS a mob shape when I got to it…

The purple brute staggers towards him. Tango whisks his hands to either side, which whirls the blaze rods from his hair. Big blond tufts poof into snapping flames. Oh, you wanna mess with his family? That’s a one-way ticket to Fang-Snap Town, baby! With a snappy X of his arms and a faster uncross, Tango shoots a fireball trio straight in its face. Poom, poom, poom! Smoke, soot, and embers swirl across the kitchen; he dodges into the living area so he can get a little further in. A hundred pairs of eyes jerk to track his movement. Bravado sizzles through his teeth, draining into terror as the beast, who is definitely not blinded, swings around. Tango swallows like he’s got a mini magma block tucked inside his mouth. Pixels ooze and crackle down one temple, dripping to his shoulder.

What ARE you?

The monster flaps. Feathers swirl through the air. The eyes flicker shut. Another glitch tears down its front and spikes across its wings. In a flash of black splots, it disappears. Just like an enderman teleporting somewhere dry and safe nearby. Down the hall, he hears a solid thump.

“… Well, that’s not a super happy fun start to my day.” Uggghhh. Dangit, Etho! Is this all because of that stupid graft? Tango lets his head flop back, then grabs his keys off the nearby hook and sprints into the hallway. Why couldn’t this have happened on Skizz’s watch?

💙  🧡  💚

The sun blisters on his skin. It burns. He was up so, so high, and then he was running. Running pell-mell, downward, shouting Cleo’s name- Why is Cleo even here? Sprinting through sand that scuffs his feet, and she’s screaming, and he’s sobbing for reasons he can’t figure out. Either way, it grips his leftmost heart in an ice-cold fist and shakes him like a snow globe.

And then it was very, very quiet in his bleary mind. Martyn can feel himself slipping in and out of it as his name flickers between active and gray. The system’s cutting off his energy. He doesn’t need it. That’s fine. He’ll… he’ll move again when his player comes back. When he’s ready to stop feeling sorry for himself and be a useful guy.

“Cleo, we have to move them,” he says, in a voice that’s very much his own. His legs are shaking, but he’s standing. One scuffing step forward, full of sand, and Martyn can feel the stumble like he’s really there.

That’s me?

He grunts, twisting in this blacked-out world. He’s trapped somewhere like he’s floating through a broken sky. Are Survival and Creativity here to walk him home? They watch over everyone who jumps into the End portals. Maybe they watch over people who fall into the Void.

“I’m not going.” It’s Cleo, steely cold. A thousand injuries in it. A thousand angry stares. Martyn’s shaking, especially in his hands, when he reaches for her shoulder. She smacks his wrist away.

“The smell will draw out wild mobs. Wild zombies, wild phantoms… they’ll come.”

Cleo doesn’t respond to this. Martyn might glitch out. He can’t stand much longer. He grabs his hair, laughing weakly, but there is panic, panic, with absolutely no escape. A long tail snaps behind him, clicking loud, so like- This is what his future holds. What else could it be? The spirits that flow between the worlds are trying to communicate. He just doesn’t understand. The wings on his back engulf him like a cloud.

Voices quiet, but there is movement. Rustling of fabric. The distinct tug of a zipper, the echo of metal on his own thumb and forefinger, even though he didn’t move. A touch, taking… taking out… something that feels wrong and foreign, warm but cold, alive but dead, and his heartbeats spike to maximum.

“You wouldn’t.”

Martyn cannot see. Only hear the anguish, the disgust, and somehow even in this jagged space between conscious and asleep, he’s grateful for his blindness. He takes a step back, like he and this other Martyn are in total sync. “I wouldn’t,” Cleo says, like she’s annoyed he’s committed the crime of being alive. “There’s no soul in there anymore… Can’t get it up.”

“Cleo, stop it! Look, I’m actually so sorry- It’s a meme gone wrong; that’s what it is. Don’t make me watch this.”

“You can go. You can always go. No one’s chaining you here.”

His wings smash downward, propelling him forward, and he grabs their shoulder like he’s clawing her and Grian from that purple river in a single scoop. “Cleo, come on… Let’s get them to the basement. They’ll taste better after they’ve-”

Martyn jerks upright with a gasp. He’s trapped- Someone’s on him- Cleo’s on him? Cleo’s yanking him down, going to eat him- going to eat- Something; it made sense- He scrambles in the mud and water, realizes it’s blankets, and bashes his head against a low ceiling block. “Oof,” he grunts. That was solid stone. He recoils in a ball, grabbing his head. Everything hurts, his hearts are racing-

“Hey, hey, hey… I’m here.” Cold, calming hands find his shoulders, slowly smoothing their way down his arms. Bdubs? Martyn feels like he’d know that voice anywhere by now, even underwater. He turns his head. All the lanterns in the roost are doused right now, and New Star lies cut off from shining sun. In the darkness, Bdubs’ eyes glow like obsidian chips that took hours to polish. “I’m here,” Bdubs says again, and although Martyn’s hearts jitter up and down, he believes him.

“Sorry,” Martyn mumbles, laying his head back against the blankets. He finds Blueberry Cow and digs his fingers in tight-spun wool. “I’ve been having these awful nightmares for weeks; I shouldn’t have come here, bothering you-”

“It’s fine.”

No it’s not. They’re getting worse. He keeps jolting Pearl and BigB awake, and they’re so tired, and they’re only pretending they’re not irritated with him when they use their precious sleepy time to calm him down again. He’s not sure why they bother; it never even works. Nothing can fix this chunk of Void wedged inside his chest. He’s just-

He mostly gets by fine? The way it hangs inside him, like he’s been sliced open with a sword, well… this is nothing. He’s been through worse. When he was Level 9 and full of stupid dreams, telling himself that if he just read enough books or mixed enough potions, he’d find some way to bring his creator’s attention back around. And for a while he thought, y’know, maybe if… if he pushed himself - if the man who made him saw he wasn’t doing well, wasn’t happy like all the other avatars that dot this world, that he needed help…

He never came. It’s always just been Martyn, looking after Martyn, because if his parents knew the experiments he wanted to run on his own body - the bad thoughts he’s had - they’d strip away what little freedom he’s got left. It’s mostly nothing, but it’s all there is. It’s him and Baby in their bedroom, and she’s on his shoulder with a coo in her voice, and he’s squeezing worms in his hand because at least he can tell himself they feel like a cord.

Martyn fists his hair, breathing through his teeth. “I’m sorry- I’m wrecking your sleep. I knew it’d be a problem… I’ll go; you don’t have to get up-”

“Martyn,” Bdubs whispers, and those sturdy, muscled arms find his back. Even in the dark, even though Martyn’s bigger, it’s like it isn’t hard for Bdubs to pull him into his lap. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re at the roost right now. Nobody in New Star can hurt you, especially not while your captain’s looking after you. You’re not in that bad place anymore… You can rest now.”

Martyn can’t stop his heaving chest. His hands curl against the floor, nails scraping, and when he looks down, the sight of skin peeling from natural wear-and-tear across his undead body makes him glitch out. Bdubs winces as lightning passes from Martyn into him, and Martyn shoves him off, backing into the alcove’s furthest corner in a crouch. Face in his hands, hands in his hair- “I’m sorry… I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to- I can’t-”

“I’m fine; I’m safe. You’re safe too. We’re in the roost. We’re in your nest.”

I built a nest? Martyn hunkers down as low as he can get, staring at Bdubs with eyes gaping wide, wide as everything- wide as Void- Every breath he takes shakes him head to toe. “I don’t- I don’t want to breed with you?”

“No no no,” Bdubs says, holding up his hands. They’re gray smudges in the dark. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m not gonna-”

Martyn shakes his head, squeezing so tight into the rock, he’s pretty sure he’s oozing like an apple. Maybe he’s peeing? Just letting loose with all the liquid in his body, just like that? “Don’t- Don’t touch me-” Someone’s grabbing him. Hands are grabbing him, yanking him around-

“You’re safe,” Bdubs repeats, which isn’t helping. Martyn’s eyes dart left and right around this tiny space. His throat constricts, he bunches blanket in his hands-

“Get out of my nest!”

Bdubs scrambles back, apologizing, tripping words and feet- Martyn bares his teeth, chasing after him. Just to the entry. Just outside the alcove so he can flare his wings.

“I know what you’re doing, pervert! Don’t touch me!”

“No no no,” Bdubs protests, but Martyn needs out. On all fours, he charges to the fence railing, up and over in two jumps, and swoops out across the city. He swerves beneath the hanging lanterns, banging into one, and grips his face until his eyes bug out and he’s smeared drool all across his hands. Ow, geez- ow- With a few more flaps, he coasts down to the roof of some random building. Not an apartment. Something else. Something lower. Not too low? Vex hunt low. Maybe he’s making a mistake. There’s nobody here, though. He tries to steady, mostly flops, and collapses on the stone.

Why was he in my nest? Is it a full moon? What HAPPENED last night? Uh… Martyn remembers curling up beside him. He remembers that they talked.

“For just one night,” Bdubs said, backlit by the city’s nighttime beauty, “let’s be flock.”

There are no carrots in Between. Carrots went extinct out here like, thousands and thousands of years ago; players can only breed when they’re on servers now. Martyn clings to this as he shakes himself to bits, but it doesn’t make him feel much better.

He can’t breed with me. Not for real. Not for real… But why did he let Bdubs get so damn close? All the way into his nest? “Captains do that; they always do that… oh my word.” Thought he was different- Started letting down the walls- “How could I be so stupid?”

“Let’s be flock,” Bdubs said, and Martyn sniffles at the thought. Yeah, we all know what the captain wants a flock for, especially this time of month. Breed ‘em all; spawn his babies. It’s what they do.

Bdubs can’t, in this dimension. But.

Martyn flattens himself to the roof, curling claws through blond hair too wispy to be his own. This isn’t- It isn’t his real skin, and these wings are so massive, they’re gonna give him back problems. Etho even warned him of that. This isn’t his body, but his old skin is gone, vaporized in Void. Martyn bites his wrist, but what’s the point? He can’t get out.

Grow up. All phantoms have to suck it up and raise the captain’s babies. Once upon a time, that was set in stone as Martyn’s job. The… the sire side of things. There were no other phantoms in the EVO hub. No one to challenge Martyn for the captain role. No captain who could teach him, either. So the Watchers gave him a clipboard and a job. It’s called an ethogram and it’s really easy work: watch the mob, write down its behavior, and turn in a report. They let phantoms loose in a brand new enclosure so he could track everything they did. He’d be captain someday; the big phantom with a floppy ear, it represented him.

And then. And then, because if you raise them without predators, phantoms breed out of control and they’re awful and screechy and everybody hates them, the Watchers, they… they put it in his hands - the axe - so he- And they were watching, so- so he opened the door- It flew right to his open palm, looking for a treat (Gods, it looked like Baby, it sounded like Baby) but flocks get real aggressive real quick and you have to nip them in the bud, so he just-

Martyn squeezes his head so tight, he swears he hears a stitch pop. Captains have instincts for it, he tells himself, because it’s easier to blame the moon than it is to blame Bdubs. If he’s blaming Bdubs, it means all the niceties were a lie, and Martyn can’t think about that right now or he might puddle in his skin. The moon is doing this. It’ll grab Martyn by the throat someday just like this, and when he’s old enough to mash foreheads with, he’ll do what it tells him with moonlight roaring through his strings. This is why Bdubs wants him in the flock, at the tower, and Martyn knows this. It’s what captains do.

Martyn wishes the Watchers would’ve knocked foreheads with him, even if you only get love hearts on a server. Hell, they could’ve brought him to a server and he wouldn’t have complained. It would be easier to hate them if they’d pinned him to a bed, coaxed him into doing it- and at least then he’d know what it feels like. But they didn’t. They just…

Everything they did was in pursuit of education. Martyn stood beside them with his notebook more times than he can count, tilting his head as they showed him all the wonders of the world. Like leviathans. He went down to the beach a couple times. He collected seashells and black sand. This had to be done with the utmost care so they could be handed off to traders, who’d package them with care and bring them to scientists who lived far from the ocean. The Watchers taught him how to make magnets from that sand, you know, and some people considered those more valuable than emeralds. Without wandering traders, EVO would not have survived. So he had to be careful with his hands. Phantoms hurt people. He had to be very, very careful with every little shell.

Martyn filled the ethograms just like he was told. They’re probably still in his portfolio, lying on a desk he’ll never see again. Possibly in LittleCam’s hands; LittleCam had to take the role, pretending to be Martyn any way he could (long enough for Martyn to escape across the Void). He watched the phantoms breed. The Watchers skirted the topic of how it works for hybrids, but Martyn knows the basics. It’s all in the forehead. And the way Floppy-Ear did it, curling its neck around its cheery lovers and rattling its tail, coaxing love hearts up when beaks brushed beaks…

… Bdubs, in a parallel way, wants that too. The rest of his flock are all adults, and Martyn shrinks into himself again. It’s a full moon this week. Gonna last four days. Gonna chirp and flirt and coo while rubbing foreheads with his flockmates. Will Bdubs make him watch?

Maybe I can hunt with Cleo. But then it all comes crashing down, like a wave of salt that splatters over him, leaving him shaky and scared in sticky sand until Netty and Tim run down to help him to his legs. Cleo’s in that horrible dream. She’s being weird and avoidant and trying to goad him on. It’s working. He starts shouting at her, shaking to his core.

It wasn’t supposed to happen in Between. Out here, he can’t fall asleep; it was going to be different, resting like phantoms do. He’s gotten Mumbo flashes, but those came quick. In this one with Cleo, he could move, but he couldn’t do anything to… to…

What would he have done? Martyn swallows, shaky to his core, and rubs his temples several times. What was that dream? Flashes of words, same as all his nightmares, but this one…

… he’s never had a flash like this one. One with zippers. One with undressing a body that hasn’t despawned. One with touching-

He whimpers, curling in on himself as tight as he can get. How does he still have hair when he’s been yanking this hard? “What’s happening to me!?”

In the nightmare, it was his voice. He thought about moving and then he moved, like two people in total sync. What was that? Martyn struggles to remember his first meeting with Scott, where Scott jumped and told him “We must be friends,” presumably because he’d picked up on feelings leaking down his sync-cord from the world beyond. Martyn stares at the rooftop, heaving through dribbles of spit. He claws at the stone. He can’t mine it up. Does his creator know Cleo’s creator? Was that them he just listened in on? He felt that zipper warm in his hand, even though his body didn’t move to grasp it. Is this what it’s like?

He’s syncing up again. Is that it? All these flashes… Am I supposed to use this knowledge to shape who I am? Maybe it’s a message from the outside world. Maybe his creator’s trying to tell him that Cleo is super dangerous. Well, yeah… She wasn’t pulling the skins off. Was she gonna eat the bodies!? Who DOES that? Martyn squirms, scraping his shoulder on the roof, and lets his whole body flop. He wishes Blueberry Cow were here. He wishes he had BigB and Pearl. Or Netty and Tim.

I lost three. And the friend group will never be the same again. He’s sent a couple messages in their chat, but he’s been avoiding everyone who isn’t Pearl or BigB as much as he can. He messed up. If he’d just waited before he moved those souls from his throat pouch into his mouth…

They’re gone. Back to their spawn hubs- unless he screwed that up too. And nothing is ever going to change the fact that it was his fault. Martyn coughs, a glitch rolling off his tongue, and squints past the rainbow lanterns to the bedrock roof so high above. Do you think it’s day or night out there? It must be nearly dawn.

The full moon makes all unmodded hybrids act more like mobs than usual. Maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe if he just sucks it up and plays his role - lets his captain charm him with bad pick-up lines and swagger, flaunting wings and tail - Well, y’know… Maybe his ‘person brain’ will turn off completely and he can just be ‘mob Martyn’ for a while. Then he wouldn’t have to think about any of the awful things he’s done; all the ways he’s failed his friends.

Would that really be so bad?

💙  🧡  💚

Skizz makes it two steps from his portal when he’s knocked flat by a pouncing blaze. He bangs his elbow on the portal blocks and crashes to the floor. Two fists grab his vest, hauling him up again.

“Skizz, you’re awake! That’s great- I need you and your face. The spawnling grew up and I made it a cake, but it didn’t want the cake and it got out to the border road and it poofed behind the perimeter wall and it ate my leg!”

“Whoa whoa, hey… Take deep breaths, dude.” Skizz’s head is spinning round and round. He hefts Tango off his chest, mostly pushing, and gets into a crouch. Tango’s leg twists awkwardly beside him, definitely running on lower energy than usual. “Talk to me; what are the coords and what do you need?”

“Remember Turpentine? He was such a good kii-iid…” Tango’s words leave him in a sob.

“What do you mean it ‘poofed?’ Are you messing with me, buddy? I thought it was a parrot.”

“Well, it is, but it’s got an enderman graft. I guess it can do that? Not very well, but maybe 15%? That’s about how much enderman juice we dropped in it.” Tango makes upside-down goggles with his hand, his tail lashing on the carpet like he's putting out a fire. “And it’s got a thousand million eyes and it’s in the wall… You can poof too. You have silk touch; you can hold it by the scruff or something. Can you get it out?”

Skizz’s stomach flips into a knot. Tango sounds pretty shaken up. What’s happening? And it ate his leg? Newbies can be aggressive when they’re interacting with people for the first time after living a life on singleplayer, but if it was just spawned, it shouldn’t have fangs to tear a soul with. “I… I can try. Where do you need me?”

“It’s in the northwest corner. Or at least it was until I sprinted out here; I was gonna grab Impulse to scare it, but you’ll do great; trust me!” Tango wriggles into Skizz’s arms, and Skizz staggers to his feet. “Poof us out, poof us out! That thing’s a menace to society at large!”

“Okay, no more late-night horror movies for you,” Skizz mutters, but in a blur of purple particles, he blips across the city as far as he can go.

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Street Smarts

💙  🧡  💚

Martyn thinks he’s a pervert. Bdubs spends the rest of the night up in the roost, hanging by his tail with his wings so tight around him, no one can see him rub his palms against his eyes. You’re not supposed to do it - Etho says it gives you crooked vision or something - but no one can see him in his wings, and he just needs to be alone.

No, no, no… He wasn’t trying anything with him! Seriously! Martyn, it’s not like that!

He wishes he could scream, but the flock is resting before the next hunting shift. He doesn’t want to scare them. He uncoils his tail, gliding to the floor, and counts the fish in the storage room just to give himself something to do. Of any task, it’s probably the smartest one. Icky only eats fish, and it looks like there are plenty left to keep him happy. Bdubs takes advantage of the fact that there’s a door. He closes it, sits on a barrel, and drops his head in his hands.

“Ugggghhhh…”

That’s not why he was in Martyn’s nest. That’s not why he suggested they cuddle. “I’m not a pervert,” he mutters, pulling his knees to his chest, then amends that, talking to no one but correcting anyway. “I’m a pervert for Brittney. Nobody else.” Not even Cleo when she’s wearing a long dress that catches all the code strings that naturally fall off a body, wrapping them in fabric like an enrichment dessert to snuffle around for when the logout is done. Not Etho, even though he’s Etho and he’s really smart and cool and everyone should pay attention to him. Not Scott, even though depressive half-sleep energy is delicious. Definitely not Impulse, even when he’s muscled and flaunting the biggest wings you’ve ever seen. Not perverted for those guys at all. Maybe. Don’t look into that. Oh no.

You know, it really hurts that Martyn said that. He’s not gonna yell at Martyn or nothin’, but is that really what he thinks of him? That all the ways he was being nice was because of flirting instead of… of, like…

“Freakin’ hopeless,” he mutters, sliding off the barrel to the floor. But then he still feels awful, so he thumps his back against the door and slides down with as much exaggerated movement as he can, like he's sinking into lava and clawing at the ceiling. But then there’s nothing to do on the floor. He lies down, rolling to his back, and bangs his heels against the wood instead. This helps. He feels better on the floor. He pulls out his comm, about to message Brittney, then stops. The little heart next to her name is gray. She’s AFK. His eyes creep shut. His head drops back against the floor.

What am I doing out here? He always used to tell himself he’d keep on being flock captain until he and Brittney go all-in on domestic life and kids. He’s staying flock captain ‘cuz he likes it and his friends are here and it lets him be in charge alongside Scott just like when they were building up this city, and it’s really kept his mind off the ache in his hearts since the dry season thwacked him upside the head. But he misses his wife. He wants to raise a few kids. There, yeah- He said it.

I want Martyn.

Maybe he’ll just retire. Quit the flock and sleep AFK with Brittney, just like they did during the dry season when they were both in so much crushing pain from whatever happened in the Outside world that leaked into this one, but at least they could be in pain together. They must’ve spent weeks nuzzled in each other’s arms, just… just holding on. And talking about how they were never gonna leave each other, even if they woke up someday and the rings on their hands had disappeared. Even if they got re-betrothed to other people. They weren’t gonna leave.

Bdubs aches for a baby in his arms so bad, he wants to arch his back and howl until he’s hoarse. A baby would’ve helped, he thinks. A baby would’ve been a reason to get up every day. People say babies don’t help your relationships, but he and Brittney weren't fighting- they were just sad. Why couldn’t they stop being sad and start building their family? They should’ve done this months ago. Years, if you’re tracking days with the on-server calendar.

Cruelly, selfishly, Bdubs drags his fingers down his face and wishes Martyn’s parents never adopted him. That instead, the Phantom Dragon did what she does with all her babies and took them on a tour all across Between. If Martyn fell from her ribcage and somehow made it down to New Star, Bdubs could’ve raised him when he was even younger. Wouldn’t get called a pervert then. Martyn would just call him “Dad.”

“Are you awake?” he whispers to a man that cannot hear him. The Between dimension is all about souls. It’s about finding who you really are. The Outside world cannot see them here. Bdubs sits up, straining his ears for any kind of response. He brushes fingers down his chest. “I wish you were just roleplaying with Martyn’s player and he wasn’t grossed out by me for real. I wasn’t trying to be a creep! This is the worst!”

No answer. But then, there was never gonna be. “I want a baby,” he whispers to the empty air. “Please… Can I stop being all of this? I don’t wanna be this tough anymore. I wanna be a dad.”

Everything is cold, everything is quiet, and Bdubs wipes his eyes on the hem of his shirt before he heads back into the roosting space. In Between, they are untouchable. This is who they really are, and sometimes who you are and who your creator thinks you might be aren’t exactly the same. Well, screw him. The Outside Bdubs prob’ly never wanted a baby in his life. Not this much.

He waits hours for Martyn so they can talk things out, but Martyn never comes back to roost. He left Blueberry Cow behind, along with a couple things he’s been caching in the alcove chest. Uh-oh. Bdubs feels a stranglehold clutching at his throat, but tries to roll his muscles through it. Maybe he’s just gone to play online?

He curls up on the couch and tries to rest again. He’s stirred into focus a long time later by giant tolling bells. Bdubs stretches as far as he can go (It’s pretty far!) and yawns, smacking his tongue. He shakes out the wings. Well, up and at ‘em.

… Where’s the hunting party? Spotty and iCam are still here doing sibling-in-law stuff like… whatever that craft project is, but the rest of the roost? Dead empty. He frowns, strolling up to join them. “Hey, did Icky take the flock out?”

Spotty shrugs, twirling a wool brush in a bit of paint. “I mean, I didn’t.”

I guess. Under Icky in the flock rank is False, and under her is Spotty. False isn’t here, but maybe she’s on Hermitcraft. Bdubs checks his comm. From the pulse of particles floating off his skin, he can tell he’s still cycling souls (Hi, Etho) and his hunger bar’s still at max. He forgoes sneaking snacks from storage, wandering instead towards the fence that rings the roosting platform. Bdubs walks to each of the four sides, pausing only briefly to soak up the view below. Somehow, just having the lanterns brighter up at roost makes it feel more like daytime, even if the underground itself never changes much. I miss the sun cycle, he thinks, leaning forward on folded arms. I miss the sunrises and sunsets, the stars and the rain…

… but would lingering on his AFK with Brittney again be worth the risk of getting locked in? He only keeps his energy up if he eats a lot of souls. If his energy drains out, he’s not getting out again without a greenlight from the man upstairs. He’s been flaky as it is. No Hermitcraft. No Season 6 at all. It could be months. Years. I love Brittney, but do I love her enough to cut myself from New Star long-term?

Is that what a good husband would do? Would he give up on his flock just to see a sunset, sleep through the night, or feel the raindrops pippin on his undead skin? They have showers in New Star. He doesn’t need to go AFK for that.

Maybe I should let Icky take over for a while. The thought lurches in his guts, but it really might be the better option. Icky’s been beta for a long time. Why shouldn’t they get a chance to see what captain life is like? Maybe they can do it better. Icky grew up in a flock; they learned leadership from a real captain instead of making things up as he went along, the way that Bdubs always has. Icky’s traditional. Bdubs just comes out swinging.

But that would mean letting go. Dropping the reins, watching his horse prance off into the sunset, and waiting around to see if it ever comes back. Bdubs knows his own strength. He’s proud of it. But ever since the dry season brought him slamming to his knees, despair and stress and desperation pouring on his head from a world beyond, he’s been off his game. So far, he’s been keeping the storage room stocked with fish so Icky always has something he can eat. They get on fine; sure, he got fussy with Martyn last night, but Icky’s not attacked him yet. Why worry? By tradition, a beta only challenges a captain on…

… on a full moon night.

Should I just go? Bdubs rests his chin on his arms, staring down at the winking lanterns far below. This city’s beautiful, but maybe he not really deserve to be a captain here. He’s not been the best mentor for Martyn. Martyn’s scared and angry. Do you think Icky was right when he said Impulse, if he were here to be captain, would’ve bit Martyn as soon as he took the fish? Impulse would’ve kept his lid on. Not explode at Martyn, or bite him by surprise like that. And even when Bdubs didn’t bite him, Martyn thinks he’s some kind of creep. Feels like I can’t do anything right. And I have to ride his wings hard or I look like a loser in front of Icky.

Bdubs never learned how to take care of little phantoms who didn’t have their fangs, but Icky probably did. Maybe? Icky used to live in Carmine River Delta until he got shot by a pillager and respawned in Duskfell Caves. And ol’ Carmine’s an illager megacity; lots of phantoms dream of eating there. Such a big place. Icky doesn’t talk much about it, but from what Bdubs heard, he lived there a long time. Fought people off. Used to shield smaller phantoms with his wings, nipping at their heels to get them in the air if vindicators ran at them with axes to shoo ‘em away from animals or people they were taking down. Bdubs probably wouldn’t survive long there, because hunting in New Star is playing the game on easy mode. Your prey can’t fight you back. In Carmine River Delta, they sure can, and that’s the most flourishing, resource-heavy city in Between. The illagers out there use enchanted bows to pick you from the sky. You think BigB misses his bow? Bdubs saw that guy’s trigger finger. Yeesh.

Bdubs knows that Icky has kids. Most of ‘em adopted. Icky survived the megacity a long time ‘cuz he used to hunt down at the beach, not in the populated streets. He worked hard. Worked his way pretty high in the flock back then, so he landed a high spot here in New Star nice and easy. Icky wouldn’t chase Martyn from the flock, right? No, never… You don’t do that with newbies. You just nip at them ‘til they learn the rules. You take care of them even when they buck like horses to try and shake you off. How else are they gonna learn the flock is where they belong?

… The full moon’s here now, watching over them from high above the bedrock roof. It’s been a long time since he and Icky last sparred for flock rank. And if Icky calls a challenge… I don’t think I’m gonna win.

Maybe it’ll be fate or something. Hey, stepping down might turn out to be the best thing for his health (the physical and the mental), and maybe he’s denying himself that healing by clinging to a position he’s outgrown all this time. At least he said nice things to Martyn. Martyn will get by without him fine! He’s got friends in New Star. Etho will look after him, probably, if Bdubs can’t be around.

Ugh. Etho… Am I really gonna duck out on Etho, Cleo, Impulse, False, and all the Hermits for years or decades until the next time I get another energy pulse for playtime to get me off the AFK?

Another pulse might never come. His player might’ve just… quit, you know. Quit Minecraft. Maybe he found better ways to spend his time. Maybe he’s not a flock captain, but he challenged someone for lead of the flock, got bit, and he’s had to slink away. Maybe he’s divorcing Brittney’s player. Maybe he lost all his server data. Maybe he got mean and snappy and all the other Hermits kicked him out; said he didn’t fit in anymore and nobody like him. Never show his face again.

Etho cares. Etho loves him. Bdubs clings to that here and now, biting his fingers in the fence until splinters pinch his skin. He might not be playing Season 6 with the other Hermits. He might never play on Hermitcraft again. Maybe it’s over, but it’s not his business what happens in the Outside world any more than it’s his creator’s business how he lives his life in Between. They’re locked in parallel or something, but they’re different. He is different. And if his creator said mean stuff to the other Hermits and got kicked out, it doesn’t mean he’d do that to his friends too!

… Did my creator restart with a new avatar because I did something wrong? Maybe he doesn’t listen good. Maybe even the man who made him thinks he’s too annoying to work with anymore. Scrapped the data. Hard reset. It’s always possible. And you might not know it happened ‘til you touch your next portal and go up in flame.

Will Cleo miss him as much as Etho will? Etho used to send cross-server messages back in the day, but only now and then. Brittney’s admin on their AFK, so only she can use the device that lets messages reach other servers. It didn’t seem to bother Etho, but if Bdubs can’t shoot whispers without Brittney typing, and if he’s never around anymore to eat Etho in the evenings for a bedtime logout, maybe he’ll slowly give up on him. Even if they’re best friends. Maybe all the Hermits will forget him soon enough. Even second best friend Cleo.

Icky got riled last night. He might challenge for captain rank while the moon is full. It’s tradition to do it over the Void drop, displaying speed, agility, and strength while you’re taking damage just from being there, but there’s no rule saying Icky has to. He can just jump him if he wants. There’s no paperwork for this. Scott says all the species groups need to figure their own things out themselves and it’s not his business, really; just tell him who’s in charge and he’ll talk to them when it’s relevant to New Star life. At that thought, Bdubs swallows. He and Scott built this city. They’ve been partners since Day 1. Is he gonna be okay when I’m gone?

Nah. Nah, he’s not going AFK without a fight. If he may never see Between again, let it be ‘cuz Icky took him down. He can come! Bdubs will be watching, though. He’ll listen hard for every wingbeat. He’ll keep checking overhead and peek behind with his F5 eyes.

Let him come. I don’t care. Maybe he needs to lose so he can scurry from the flock and lick his wounds AFK, alone except for Brittney. Maybe the way he forces on his smile, acting like he’s fine and doesn’t care he hurts, isn’t something he can sustain.

Etho’s still mid-cycle, locked AFK on his singleplayer world until another energy boost from the man upstairs grants him access to Between. Much rage about this. Can’t go bother him for good advice. Bdubs, with a long, unsteady breath, closes his eyes. I’m so tired, Etho… and it’s a full moon. If Icky’s gonna challenge, it’s gonna be this week. Maybe not. But it could be today.

Maybe he’ll go walking in the park. It’d be a good place to fight a takedown. The lanterns are so pretty this time of year. When he does retire someday, he might miss them most of all.

💙  🧡  💚

Tango’s hair glows bright enough to be its own torch. He hangs behind Skizz, clinging to his arm, as his darting eyes search for magenta pulses in the dark. We shouldn’t be out here, he thinks. Allays are crazy territorial and if Scott finds out they left New Star through the tunnels, he’s going to freak out. Also, all the way outside the bailey wall, across the border road, no one in the city will hear them scream.

“So, let me get this straight," Skizz says, moving softly, but without a care. He rests his hands on a bit of rock, peering deeper in the tunnel, then leaps it and slides down the other side. "The spawnling glitched out, got huge… and cycled through a ton of random mob shapes.”

“Yeah, and then it teleported into the hall. I chased it out here; it didn’t even eat my cake! Do you know how frustrating it is to craft a cake?" Tango walks around the rock instead of leaping it, but he could do that too. He’s not that creaky in the code. Limping, though. He yanks up his pant leg, showing the wobble in it to Skizz even though Skizz doesn’t turn around. “And when I cornered it out here, it morphed into a ravager and bit me.”

“I’ve never heard of a soul changing shapes like that. Was it a nametagged ravager? Maybe it swam across the river and wandered down here?”

“Spawnling’s a jerk,” Tango mutters back, dropping his pants leg. “I’m gonna whoop its tail first time it tries sparring at the arena.”

Skizz rests his hand on his shoulder, but otherwise ignores this completely amazing revenge plan. “Hellooo~? Goldie-Scar? It’s Uncle Skizz and Uncle Tango! We have cake! Well, not on us, but we have it! It’s real!”

It’s gonna jump us from behind. Tango twists, pushing his back up to Skizz’s. He stands with his forearms in an X, ready to launch some fireballs. Flame flickers through his hair. Skizz holds position, breathing softly.

Nothing.

It could be anywhere.

💙  🧡  💚

Icky doesn’t jump him while he’s walking in the park. Bdubs spots him swooping back to roost. He lingers longer, watching in case Icky comes diving after him. He told Spotty and iCam where he was off to, and if Icky hears he went alone, you’d think he’d take his chance to strike. But he doesn’t. Even when Bdubs perches on a lamppost, wings spread so his silhouette’s prob’ly visible from way up there.

Nothing. And honestly, the tension rolling through his code might be worse than if he saw Icky charging towards him. At least then he’d know it’s happening.

He takes a long walk through the city. The slimes and blaze are doing full moon turf war stuff; they growl from the shadows when he walks by. Maybe he’ll get lucky; if his and Brittney’s room falls under blaze turf this month, talking to Welsknight about Martyn will be easy. If I’m around long enough for it to matter.

He’s gonna fight Icky back. Make no mistake about it; Bdubs can’t initiate challenge himself ‘cuz he’s the captain, but if Icky strikes first, he’s striking back. If he’s going down, he’ll go out swingin’.

Icky doesn’t come. But it’s nice, walking ‘round the city and checking out the lights. There’s a lot of things he’ll miss about this place if he’s long-term AFK. The cute restaurants. The handmade signs. He lingers by the skin shop, drawing his palm down one corner. He’ll miss his builds. He’ll miss the market. Miss Etho. Cleo. All my friends. Yeah, maybe he’s a little sappy about it. Maybe he won’t be gone long at all!

Am I being dramatic? Even if he gets kicked from the flock, it doesn’t mean he can’t stay in Between. He can move into Brittney’s room. He keeps a few things around there anyway. Maybe he can be like Etho and start collecting toys.

His ears pick up wingbeats just behind him. Too light for Icky’s beats, but just the right size for… Bdubs turns sharp on his heel. Uh-oh. You forget sometimes, if you’re not paying attention, one of the species that only hunts on full moon nights. Alarm colors start flashing in his head. He moves quick, darting away from the skin shop. The one place you don’t wanna put your back when dealing with vex is a solid wall. They’ll swim through it top speed and strike before you ever hear ‘em coming.

Never gonna outrun ‘em. There they are, both of ‘em swooping fast. Bdubs pumps his wings, jerking out of the way just in time, and settles on a piece of street within view of the clock tower. He shoots a chirp of alarm in its direction, which only makes Cub laugh. He lands in a trot, banking around with a swing of his leg. Hands folded behind his back. Scar hits ground with a harder stumble, wobbling as Cub walks closer and Bdubs moves away.

“At ease, man… We wouldn’t take you and leave the newbie you’ve got all alone.”

“Uh-huh…” Phantoms can’t take off without a running start or smacking their tails down. They’re not built for that. Getting backed up is not a good look for the escape plan. He chirps again, this time louder, just as three shapes leap the fence at the clock tower and angle towards him. “Yeah, I’m sure. You care about phantom newbies; that’s something important to you.”

“We could eat him and the new guy,” Scar says, smiling bright.

“Ooh, now there’s a thought!”

Shoot, shoot, shoot. Only three comin’ in for back-up? There’s two vex down here! We can’t take on two! False is in front, claws extended. Icky’s swooping above, readying a bomb-dive. Martyn’s quick behind. No, no! Martyn, go back! He’s the weakest link- They’re gonna go for him for sure! … I mean, a logout’s not the biggest deal in the world, but still. They’re gonna rip Martyn apart and eat him in the road.

Cub must’ve been using F5, because as False closes in, he whirls around. In a flash of white, his sword’s in his hand. It slams into False, knocking her straight into Bdubs. He yelps as they crash into the road together. False rolls, instantly in a crouch, and catapults at Scar. Scar’s blade poofs into his hand, but he got the angle wrong. She hits, plowing him over, and Icky slams Cub from behind. Bdubs scrambles up. He tries to shout to Martyn, but by the time it’s out, Scar’s vanished beneath the road. Martyn tries to slash at Cub, but Cub sidesteps to avoid it. He takes one swift glance and dives through solid blocks after Scar. Their stupid cackles echo all around.

“Let’s go,” Bdubs says, taking off down the street in a run. He drops to all fours, shifting into leaps. Wings snap open behind him as False and Icky follow suit, but- “OH!” He twists back, dodging away from False and Icky, and charges at Martyn as fast as he can. Martyn’s jogging after them, glancing frantically around, but he’s not gonna make it. He’s got no tail. He’s not gonna make it. At the roost, they have a platform to jump off, but if he can’t get off the ground-

Scar and Cub rocket from underneath at the same time, seizing Martyn's legs in their claws. He trips- Smacks hard on his chin and cries out while flashing red. Cub’s eyes go wide in shock as Bdubs crashes into him. Snarling, Bdubs goes for a bite on his ear. Yeah, he didn’t think the captain was gonna turn back for his flockmate, huh? You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t care? Phantoms always care for flock- That’s why they’re the best.

He bites past skin, nipping the soul-ear underneath. One snap of teeth and it’s gone. Cub kicks him away a second later, diving underground again. Bdubs scrubs his lips on the back of his wrist. Yeah, have fun fixing that, ya jerk! It’s fine; he didn’t tear the skin. He twists back, lunging for Scar. Martyn’s on the ground, trying to yank his leg free of Scar’s claws, and Scar’s trying to sink his teeth in while watching Bdubs at the same time. When Bdubs goes for him, Scar disappears just like Cub did. Bdubs’ claws hit bedrock so hard, he flinches.

“Gah… stupid vex. Hate ‘em. Come on- we gotta go. Ground’s their hunting turf. Just stay away from solid block and they can’t jump out.” Of course, the whole city’s solid block, so- “Wait- Did he get your leg?” Martyn’s clutching his knee, his face twisted up in pain. Oh, shoot… We don’t have time for this!

Swooping wings signal False and Icky banking back to join them. “Get Martyn!” Bdubs calls. Icky doesn’t need to be told twice. He sinks his beak behind Martyn’s neck and jerks him from ground by the scruff. Martyn squeaks. He’s bigger than Bdubs, but sure not as big as Icky. You ever seen a full moon spawn? In two springs, Icky’s airborne. False and Bdubs chase behind him. Just as Bdubs takes off, vex claws scrape against his foot. But then they’re gone. He looks back only once to see Scar and Cub materialize from below the ground, crouched and grumpy as they stare after them.

“Haha, yes! We got away! Yeah, see you never, nerds! Get a flock!”

“Hfff…” Icky’s struggling to keep a steady grip. Oh, shoot. It’s too much. Martyn’s too big and heavy, his weight wearing through the pixels in Icky’s beak. Bdubs swoops close enough to catch Martyn’s arms, calling to False to take the legs. It’s not far to the clock tower. Together, they support him all the way up, and collapse exhausted on the platform. Even Martyn looks winded. He lies sprawled, then sits up and takes a closer look at his leg.

“You okay?” Bdubs asks, sitting up. When he sees it, though, he gives a wince. “Ooh.” Scar must’ve got a bite on him. Well, him or Cub. They were the only two vex down there, so it was one of ‘em; doesn’t matter which. Martyn’s skin lays flat and empty at the ankle. They must’ve torn his soul’s whole foot off down there, leaving only skin behind. “It’s fine! We can fix that. Watch.” With kneading thumbs, Bdubs presses into the energy above the ankle. He pushes downward. “This’ll thin the leg out, so you’ll still limp a bit, but you’ll feel better with the foot shape back. No one wants to wobble on one stump.”

“He bit me.” Martyn sounds like he just realized he got struck by lightning. “He tried to hunt me! I think they got a little of my knee too. Hhhh- Oh, that stings.”

“Yeah, never go near a vex if you don’t wanna get bit. They’re the worst.” Bdubs rubs Martyn’s ankle until his soul energy takes the shape of a foot again. He forces a little in each toe, then pinches each one. “Thanks for comin’ for me, guys… I thought I was done for.”

“Of course,” False replies. “What were you on the ground for?”

Just… lookin’. Bdubs stares at his working hands until his fingers blur. In all the ruckus, he kinda forgot that if Cub and Scar kicked him AFK with a couple well-placed bites… that’d be it. No getting off his server again until the man upstairs lets him out. That could’ve been it. Right down there. “Walkin’,” he says, and False gives her head a shake.

A ploomp of wool on wood behind him makes him jump. Bdubs twists around. Icky stands on all fours, staring right at him, and indicates the pillow he just dropped with his beak. “This will help Martyn.”

“Oh, perfect! Let’s get him on the couch.”

Icky sighs, like a man who just took that pillow off the couch to bring it over. Nonetheless, he helps False and Bdubs move Martyn to the couch. Martyn makes dramatic show of it, throwing a hand against his forehead and waxing on about the dangers of wandering the streets in high heels that can twist an ankle. “Shut up,” Bdubs teases back, as deadpan as he can. “You’re fine. You only lost a foot; it grows back.”

“Did they bite you?” Martyn asks, taking the pillow Icky hands him. He tucks it beneath his leg.

“Oh, they tried… I’m just too quick for ‘em.”

“They sure made a performance of it.”

“Yeah. If I had to guess, Cub was stalling so Scar could take the bite. He’s prob’ly helping him level his XP. You good? You want a drink?”

“Yeah, you got any choccy milk? I’m feeling like a little kid who just fell off a minecart.” Martyn glances around the roost with a frown. “So, uhh… Are you guys sticking around? What do I do if the vex come up here to finish me off? They swim through blocks, right? We’d never see it coming.”

“Nah, we have an agreement: no hunting in the clock tower. This is a safe zone. Well, unless you drop to phantom hour. Then it’s the worst place to be.”

The bells start to chime overhead. Everyone looks up, quiet while they ring. Icky peels off to get something from the storage room. Probably food. False takes a beanbag nearby, and Bdubs retrieves his embroidery bag from the craft cupboards. “I’ll sit with you,” he says to Martyn. “Sit as long as you want. And if you think you wanna try walking again, you can. It’s not gonna hurt your soul if you get up, although you might feel off your balance. Maybe don’t go down to the streets again if you can help it. Vex only need to eat a little, so once they catch someone else, they won’t bother you anymore. That was Cub and Scar, by the way.”

“Yeah, I see why they’re a problem for phantoms now; my word.” Martyn rolls up his pants leg and studies his ankle. Any fang marks have faded under the city’s regen aura. “They nipped me pretty good.”

“Yeah, they’re sharp. Vex have a special power that lets ‘em get soul energy up on their swords too, so try not to let them chop you. They’ll take your whole limb off in one slice and eat it while you watch. Freaks.” Bdubs glances at False. “You okay?”

She nods. “Cub gave me a whack, but he didn’t have the energy up. I’m fine.”

“What a rush, though,” Martyn muses, rubbing around his ankle. He finishes the job Bdubs started by working energy back down his leg and into his toes. “That was a real hunt! I can’t believe we got out of that- I feel amazing!” He laughs, and when he lifts his eyes Bdubs’, his face is shining bright. And not just because his player file’s plugged into the system here. “My parents would flip if they knew I got that near a vex. Oh, did you see their faces? They SO knew they messed up.”

“Yeah! Man oh man, Cub looked shocked I went back to rescue you. I thought he was gonna die of fright instead of fangs!”

Martyn laughs, False joining in from the beanbag. “Yeah, well… I could get used to this. Would love to up my PVP skills next. Maybe after the stupid tail.”

“Yeah, I remembered you couldn’t launch.”

Martyn’s eyes drift downward. “I had Etho give me another check-up, and he advised me to grow the tail before the fangs. I waved it off at the time, but… maybe I’ll do it. You’ll keep me fed, right, captain? That’s what you do?”

“As long as you need. It’s my job.”

“Well, thanks for coming back to me.”

The storage room door squeaks open. Bdubs and Martyn look up as Icky walks back over, his face scrunched up. He drops a small white soul in Martyn’s lap. Martyn starts. So does Bdubs. “You can eat this,” he says.

“I can? A fish? Are you sure?”

Icky grunts, walking off again. Heavy double tails scrape across the floor. “Before I change my mind.”

💙  🧡  💚

The thing about Martyn being on the couch is… he’s watching everything. Which is fine! He watched people from the alcove too, and when he hid under Etho’s couch. Maybe that’s what he does.

At some point, he slinks over to False and bats at her tail. She pushes him with her hand, but doesn’t nip him or get up to walk away, so he keeps at it. He catches her wing between his teeth and pulls. Play, he urges in his silence, and False turns on him with double the force. When Martyn squirms free of her fangs, he scampers behind the couch and waits for her to chase him. False jumps on the cushions and over without a second’s pause, launching thread and needles - Sigh - and Martyn takes off across the platform. Around and around they go- Up the storage barrels, up into the high roost, back and forth, down by the other corner, across the floor, under the barstools, on the couch - “Hey, do you guys mind!?” - until Martyn launches himself at False’s beanbag. He hits chest-first so hard, he takes a damage tick.

“Nope.” False grabs his ankles and starts dragging him across the floor. Martyn grips the beanbag as tight as he can, shouting “Weeeeeee!” as she pulls him around. Bdubs rolls his eyes, getting his thread together again. Maybe he should keep these in his bag, and keep the bag on the floor.

After a moment spent fighting over it, False gets Martyn off the beanbag by folding it on top of him. Turns out, it’s less fun to play with when your legs are crunched. Martyn squirms free, splooting out as False moves the beanbag back where it was. She starts stacking others up around it. Bdubs looks up. Is he gonna be needed in a minute?

Turns out, yeah. Baby, if you’re into that, it’s a captain’s lucky day. False’s pixels flicker white and blue. The mob side’s coming out strong; it’s a full moon, after all. She fluffs the beanbags together, adding blankets and the pillow Martyn’s no longer using (‘cuz he knocked it off the couch). Once the nest is done, False leaps into it, hitting with a squash. She slides forward so fast, she bumps into the fence. Oof. Steadying, she turns a circle and crawls under one of the blankets. Her tail sticks out the other end.

“That looks cozy,” Bdubs remarks. For a few seconds, silence. Then the blanket shifts, wrinkling behind her neck until her face pops out. She looks like a ferret that just stuck its head from a hole. She chirps back, tail flicking behind her. It’s tilted upward just enough, it makes a loud rattle.

Martyn sits up, from 0 to 64 in no time flat. He’s on all fours right away, moving forward. Yeah, I don’t think so. Bdubs ticks a warning call that freezes Martyn in his tracks. For good measure, he adds “Hey. No.”

Martyn glances at him. His muscles bunch, like he might go for False anyway. The moment Martyn moved, she stopped trilling. She scrunches beneath the blankets, switching her eyes between them. Bdubs drops his embroidery hoop in his bag and gives his head the slightest shake.

“Don’t.”

Martyn’s eyes shift back to False. Then Bdubs. In slow motion, he sits. Then, when Bdubs keeps up the boiling stare, Martyn lies down on his belly. He turns his cheek sideways, exposing enough throat that it’d be easy to land a bite. Good boy.

Bdubs doesn’t grace this silent display of submission with anything more than a nod. He doesn’t spook his flock to make ‘em submit; that’s not his way at all. He walks over to False, who sits up and waves her tail for him again. The rattle sound mixes with a rustle when she flaunts her wings. Cyan light pulses up and down her arms, sometimes weak and sometimes strong. Bdubs takes a moment to examine her. It doesn’t look like she’s gonna tip over the edge and go full mob on him.

“You got it controlled, sweetheart?”

False blinks, saying nothing. She swats her tail, trilling her signal again. Wings spread with a swoosh, then tuck in just as fast. Well, it’s pretty hard to misunderstand that cue. He catches her chin. False switches to a tk-tk-tk. It’s easy enough to slip a soul from his pouch to her. She can take the whole thing- No biting at the corner the way he needed to so Martyn could drink the juice. From that position, it’s a smooth transition to brushing foreheads. Bdubs keeps it light as he can, at least until False butts his head, demanding more. He gives, yes, but after a moment, he withdraws. The blue shimmer never left her body, but it doesn’t seem like he went too far. False tucks her chin between her hands. Not greedy anymore. She doesn’t need him now. He backs off slowly, giving her one more chance to call for him. Quiet. Just kneading with her hands. Soft eye blinks. Okay. He makes his way to the couch again.

Martyn watches all of this from the floor. When Bdubs sits down again, pulling the embroidery hoop to his lap, Martyn jumps up on the couch arm and then down on the cushion. He thumps hard enough that if there were thread, it would’ve bounced off. Ha- Not this time! Guess who got smart.

“How come you touched foreheads with False just now, but not me when I built my nest?”

“Don’t need to. You can’t hunt.”

Martyn cocks his head to one side. “But foreheads are, like… That’s for spawning kids, right?” Hastily, “When we’re on a server, I mean. And, y’know- shoving down the golden carrots. What’s that got to do with hunting?”

Bdubs shrugs. “‘Cuz wild phantoms mate when the moon’s full. When the instinct’s pulling at the brain, that’s real distracting for the hunting team. I didn’t ask if you wanted it ‘cuz I was next to you all night and you wouldn’t stop digging at the floor. I don’t think there’s any moon instincts left in you. Want me to touch heads with you too? You can just ask.”

“Um.” Martyn looks taken aback, absolutely cut through the middle and left abandoned in the dirt. Maybe he didn’t think Bdubs would really blatant say it like that (He would. ‘Course he would). “No. I like digging. I mean, I’ve heard it takes longer to satisfy moonfluence that way than… ‘mating satisfaction’ would, since it’s ‘general phantom behavior’ instead of ‘full moon behavior,’ but I like being alone with my thoughts. It’s fine.”

“There you go, then.” Bdubs goes back to his embroidery. Martyn doesn’t leave, though. He hovers there on the end of the couch, saying nothing, until Bdubs lifts his head again. “Yes?”

“You are… consistently not what my parents told me a flock captain would be.”

A prickle of annoyance beads at the back of Bdubs’ neck. What? ‘Cuz I’m just little? Is that what they’re tellin’? He doesn’t say that, but stabs the needle in his project a little harder than really necessary. “Yeah? What they say?”

“You’re…” Martyn pages through his mental book. He kneads the couch between his hands, like he’s still working those nesting instincts out of his system. “Welcoming? Not forceful. My dad always said other phantoms would bite me because I misbehave. I can’t believe you only bit me once.”

“I did do that, yeah.”

Martyn shrugs. “And my mum said captains are really…” Pause. “Really, uhh…”

“‘Horny?’”

“Well, I was gonna start with ‘frisky,’ but yeah- That’s it. In Black River, they follow wild phantoms back to roost and kill them all, even the chicks- My mum always said they reproduce out of control if there’s no vex around to keep the population down.”

“Were they world spawns or dragon spawns?”

Martyn looks at him, uncomprehending. “What’s the difference?”

He doesn’t know? Well… maybe when you’re raised by hybrids instead of a dragon, you just don’t. “Dragon spawns hatch from eggs just like hybrids do; you can’t tell the difference between them until they hatch. That’s probably why you have a mob sister, right? You said your parents paid for egg delivery, but she came out a mob?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“Hatched mobs have solid colors. They don’t despawn in Between, and if you kill ‘em, they’ll just respawn nearby. That’s how the maple mountains got an allay infestation until the illager patrols started relocating them.” He watches Martyn’s face for any sign of recognition. Martyn still looks puzzled, like he never learned about this in school. Really? It’s kind of a big deal. Bdubs tries again, gesturing vaguely to north New Star. “That’s why our cows come back. If you kill a cow and wait a little while, two adults will make a new baby and it’s born with the same name its dragon gave it. You can rename ‘em and they’ll come back different, but we don’t do that in New Star; we follow HALO policy and agree that’s rude. We let ‘em keep their dragon names.”

“Oh.” Martyn has to think about that. “Before I got my call sign, I used ‘Baby.’ Does the Phantom Dragon name all her mobs ‘Baby’ until they get their name?”

“Yeah, exactly. If you give a mob a blank nametag and they ‘activate it,’ they pick their own name. It’s cool. That’s because it’s Between; the mobs are smarter here because they’re playing Hard mode. Or maybe we’d call it Soul mode; I dunno.”

“Huh…”

“And you’ve seen soul mobs, right? Big bluey-white, you can see through their bodies to their stomachs, and they glow? Double damage when they attack?”

Martyn nods.

“Soul mobs only spawn in biomes that make sense for them… like how otters spawn by the river, but not out here in the snow. Those mobs don’t have names and they’ll despawn if you unload the chunks.” He shrugs. “That’s it, really. I was just wondering what they were killing in Black River.”

“Hatched mobs, I guess, since they had colors… so they kept respawning.”

“Yeah, if you’ve got hatched phantoms, you gotta relocate them. They’ll breed without despawning and they’ll keep coming back.”

He gets another slow nod for that. “They seemed okay with me and Baby, I guess, but… y’know. My parents didn’t let us off the leash.” Martyn makes a face. “And Baby wasn’t allowed outside on full moon nights even with supervision. I guess they thought she’d come home with chicks.”

“Yeah, wild phantoms spawn babies like nuts if you don’t stop ‘em.” Bdubs scoots forward. How much does Martyn even know? He flicks one finger False’s way (She looks up). “False was doing her breeding call. Could you tell?”

“Well, yeah, but only because I hear the wild phantoms make that sound. They drive me insane. It’s like, ‘Dude, being single isn’t a reason to yell about it!’ And they’re nocturnal, which is the worst; I had two exams in the morning one time and they were up all night. If I could get close without them biting, I’d mash their faces together until they make babies and shut up; oh my word.”

Bdubs laughs. Why he talk like that, huh? “Yeah, okay. But you still have your spawnling teeth and tail. You don’t feel the instinct, do you? You just know the call?”

Martyn pauses. He seems to turn those words over for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, I know what I like in a partner and it’s a cool or chilly soul. I’ve been playing for ages, but really just on servers; my parents didn’t want me staying in Between without them. High-XP brain, low-XP body; that’s how I feel. Except… I grew up on a creative server, so I’m still wrapping my head around crafting recipes and stuff. I don’t feel like a newbie. I don't think I feel a breeding instinct. But, maybe? I’m not sure.”

“You were gonna bump heads with False though, right?” He’s just teasing. Martyn bites his lip, hardly even embarrassed.

“Nah, I don’t think she would’ve let me get that close. Not when her captain’s right here. My brain went mob for a second, but I wasn’t gonna; I just moved before I could think.”

Bdubs tilts his head at False, who’s still watching quietly from the beanbag pile. He waits a beat in case she wants to chime in, but from the way she still flickers with blue energy, it’s no surprise she doesn’t. Still got moonlight in the brain. “Hybrids can’t breed, but we’re still programmed to bump heads because we’re part mob. Sometimes, feeling those feelings bothers people. It bothers False, so she likes me to get rid of it for her as soon as it comes up. I just touch foreheads until it goes away. Doesn’t spawn nothing; not without carrots. I like it too because I’m a captain, so I really feel the urge this time of month. But you know what? If none of my flock wanted me to touch them like that, I wouldn’t. I do it for False ‘cuz she’s asked me to before; we have agreement. And if you don’t want to, that’s cool too.”

“What if I’m on the hunting team someday and I’m distracted? You’re gonna call me over, right? You know…” Martyn makes a beak with his hand. “‘Head bonks, free samples! Come and get ‘em while they’re hot!’”

What? “Nah. Just don’t hunt until you shake your moon instincts off somehow. Do a different mob thing- You said you like to dig. I’d rather you dig than you go hunt and get taken down by vex because you were thinking about bumping heads instead of paying attention to predators sneaking up.”

Martyn watches Bdubs settle in with his embroidery. He scoots one cushion closer, which means he’s really getting up in the personal hitbox zone (Bdubs leans away). “So… you’re cool with me hanging out in your flock even if I don’t see us knocking heads. Is that right?”

“Yes? … Wait, did you think I was gonna make you?” Oh, blast. You know, living in New Star long-term, maybe he forgot what it’s like out there. He tries to jab his needle in the fabric, but pricks his finger on the way. Ow. Anyway, the embroidery gets stuffed aside, and meanwhile, Martyn’s interest is sharp. His brows are up; his mouth is gawking.

“But isn’t that what phantoms do? Everyone I’ve ever asked said a flock is like, the captain and his harem. I just kinda assumed-”

Oh, sweet goodness. “No, no,” Bdubs splutters, waving his arms to hush him up. He can hear False’s muffled laughter as she buries into her beanbag pile. Is it frosty up here? His face is sparking. “No, no, no, no, no… No.”

“‘No?’” Martyn checks, a smirky smile on his face. His shoulders hang a little less tense, his wings resting at his back. His tail nub twitches as if he’s wagging it.

“Yeah, I- I prob’ly should’ve mentioned this sooner.” He tries to laugh, shaky as a bell as he rubs behind his neck. “That’s why I never joined a flock when I was little. I thought the same thing! The Underdark captain kept trying to talk to me, and I always hid behind Cleo ‘cuz I thought he was a creep. I dunno… I never figured out if he was. Cleo and I just hunted as a pair. But we don’t have to do forehead bumps if you’re in the flock. I only do them for the people who ask.”

Not for you, he wants to say. Should he? His mind buzzes with hesitation, but the words are dry inside his throat.

Martyn’s piercing stare digs a little deeper. If he had ears, they’d be pricking forward. Okay, well… he’s got ears, but if he had the angled tufts that phantoms do. “I always heard that if the captain’s not satisfied, he’ll chase those flockmates out- or outright kill ‘em. That’s not what happened to Impulse, is it?”

“What? NO! Impulse left ‘cuz he wanted to eat meals with his wife instead of the flock! I don’t kill no one! I’ve never killed someone in Between in my life- I only do logouts!” The instant he says it, he realizes that might not be so true. What about the sculk place? he thinks, but then he shakes his head. It’s not on the record. It’s not in his stats. It’s different; that doesn’t count. Never mind that. “Here in New Star, you don’t have to touch heads with anyone you don’t want to, and don’t let anybody say you have to. Even if someone makes the breeding call - even if it’s me - you can walk away. Right, False?”

She gives a thumbs up, not lifting her head from the blankets. Bdubs nods, short and firm.

“Right. Listen to your captain and your beta, but the captain never asks for forehead touches. It’s like how I taught you about call and response with food… The captain announces when they’re nearby, and it’s up to the flock what they want to do about it. Captains provide for the flock. That’s noble. A captain always waits for others to call them over first.”

Martyn considers this like it’s all new information, then slides off the couch. He seems to stand okay, so his foot must be feeling better. “Huh… ‘ppreciate the talk. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Well, thanks for listening. I talk lots, but I do it to explain. I don’t want you thinking I only care about you so I can breed with you.” The word’s a rough one, maybe too far, but it seems to get the point across. Martyn waves a hand like he’s shooing off embarrassment. Maybe he should. He needs to not be embarrassed about things so he can ask questions and get real, honest information. He walks behind the couch, heading towards his alcove. Bdubs turns to follow with his eyes. Martyn’s wobbling a little, not used to the thin amount of soul he’s trying to stand on. He makes it a few steps, then stops and pushes fingers through his hair.

Maybe he needs help. He’ll try to be subtle. Bdubs comes around to join him, sliding one arm behind his shoulders so he can pat Martyn on the back. “Hey, I’m glad you found me instead of a captain who wants to take advantage of you! You’re gonna love New Star so much. Oh, yes…”

“Yeah?” Martyn lets out a laugh that stutters like a limping butterfly. “Quite honestly, I’m surprised… The first time you brought me up here, I didn’t think I’d ever feel like I belonged. I kind of thought you’d all kick me out Day 1.” They walk, Bdubs bracing him up while trying not to be too obvious about it. Martyn makes motions with his hands, grasping words. “At the EVO hub, they tried to make me flock captain, and they had a way they wanted me to be. They made it real clear I better get used to managing a harem. I wasn’t allowed to horse around. I…” He grits his teeth, nostrils huffing. “I understand there are limits to my freedom here, in how I can play… but if I follow the rules, people make space for me. I got to play with False. That was good; I’m grateful for it.”

“Yeah? Glad you think so.” As they draw near Martyn’s alcove, Bdubs pulls his arm away. It’s shaking. He can feel his hearts tumbling like rocks in a river, everything wild and gooshy, and this is it. This is the time to confess to Martyn exactly how he feels. He clears his throat, and maybe he’ll back out-

… but Martyn turns to look at him. And freak, he’s such a pudgy, rosy-cheeked newbie that it steals Bdubs’ breath away. “Yeah?” Martyn asks. Oh, you. Even how he talks, he sounds like he’s low-XP. Casual, like he stays out late with all his friends, but still makes it home by dark.

Please stay. He’ll say that; he needs to. Or did that already come across? He doesn’t want to say it wrong in a way that makes Martyn feel coerced, especially if that’s how Martyn’s been thinking all this time. Martyn doesn’t like being called baby, or child, or anything like that. How can he phrase this right? Should he try to say it at all?

He’s lookin’ at me now. He’s just gonna go for it. “Sheesh. I just wanted to say… Even if I did have a harem, I wouldn’t want you in it. I don’t think that’s where you belong; I see you different… like you’re in my dollhouse and I’m taking care of you. And I think that’s beautiful.”

Martyn blinks. He doesn’t move, but something in his face… changes just a little, like clouds just slid across the sun. Like the tide is drawing out. Bdubs’ pounding hearts start to pop like burst balloons. Oh no. Did he come on too strong? Uhh… Think, think, think-

“Ah, cool,” Martyn says, stepping back. “Thanks. I think I’m gonna go around a while; do some otter things. Nice chatting with you, captain.”

“Yeah. See you… Take care out there. There’s vex about.”

“Nah, I’ll call for Pearl and they’ll back off. She can mess ‘em up.” He hops the fence, swooping off, and glides beneath a lead that dangles lanterns across the whole street. For two quick seconds, rainbow colors paint his wings. Bdubs grips the fence, staring after him.

Stay safe, baby… Please be safe.

Next moment, someone smacks him behind the head. He jerks forward, spinning back as fast as he can. “Ow! Hey! What?” Was that a wing? He looks up to see Icky standing over him, arms to either side in disbelief. The big phantom jabs one claw after Martyn’s departing figure.

“You call him a little doll you play with? That is how you tell him you wish he would be family?”

Bdubs shrinks back against the fence, making pitiful begging paws with his hands. “Uhh… I thought it was sweet? Did it come out wrong?”

“Stupid American boss,” Icky mutters, marching off. He stares after Martyn for a moment, then spreads his wings wide. “He is a foolish child. I’ll watch after him. He will be hunted on a night like this.”

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Hit the Ground

💙  🧡  💚

The best way to learn a city is to travel from above. Martyn runs on all fours, leaping between the rooftops. Now, that feels more like phantom behavior… Unlike on the creative server he grew up in, he can’t jump straight off the ground to get airborne. But when he’s charging top speed, launching forward with arms stretched ahead, his wings snap open almost of their own accord. They catch the air like gliding’s what he’s made for. Then he hits the other roof, pulls ‘em in with a rustle- never once slows down. Prob’ly gonna drain his energy, sprinting like this, but damn if New Star isn’t beautiful.

I could get used to this. He’s still missing the sun. Make no mistake about that, but it’s nice to see a city. EVO was completely indoors. That whole place grew with Education in mind and not much else; whole lot of dormitories, a couple indoor farms, and a few stables for the horses and cows who wanted h‘m. East Verdant Oasis is a safe haven built to protect those who drop valuables when they die. Leather’s quite popular these days. A few evokers lived there. Honestly, Martyn’s surprised there weren’t more phantoms; they do drop their wing membranes after death. You can craft a couple nifty things with those, and for a while, he thought he might stay in EVO long-term. Run his own research project someday? Grian got an offer for a teaching position. Had his whole future lined up. That’s why he didn’t want to leave when everybody else did.

Martyn still wonders what changed his mind. Why’d he risk flying through the Void alone? How’d he even make it that far?

Those eyes. The stretch of his hand, wings straining as he plunged through fog to the unknown below.

No. We fly towards the future and we think of better things. Martyn pauses to pick pebbles from his hand. There’s the giant custom tree that houses the Slime Dragon. It sits between two bridges that separate the city’s east and western halves. He’s glimpsed the goopy throat pouch and fin-shaped ears from a distance, but this is the closest he’s ever been. Debbie, he’s pretty sure her name is? One little spawnling hangs a hand off the bridge, and she’s watching with a careful eye.

… I live in the slime hub now. Out there, out in the bigger world, the Slime Dragon’s not been seen in ages. Honestly, kinda thought she went the way of Cluckshrooms and Allays- a third dragon dead while her babies go extinct. But there she is, picking all her gooey babies up with careful nips of her teeth. Blocky slime mobs and bright blue spawnlings disappear inside her mouth. A little green blob wriggles through her teeth, but Debbie tilts her head and tips it back in. This sharp movement knocks another slime out the other side, but one upturned paw catches it, safe and sound. Aww… Well, ain’t that just a sight for melted hearts?

What is it like, growing up in a dragon’s nest? Far more hybrids are raised like that than get adopted. Martyn sits a moment on the roof, brushing grit off his palm and watching double regen signals pulse across his hand. He flexes his fingers, then squeezes out a fist. What do you think it’s like to have a mum like that?

If I hadn’t hatched in Black River, I wouldn’t feel like an otter. He’d feel like a phantom, right? Because he would’ve hatched in Duskfell Caves?

Mum and Dad kept him away from the Otter Dragon. Her name is Barbara, and while she looked after her pups, it was better she didn’t find out he was around. Not ‘til he got older, Dad said. Dragons will kill a bub that isn’t theirs to force respawn in its mother’s nest, and that’s a li’l counterintuitive if you’re a couple who wants to adopt. So Martyn stayed away. His parents dug a nice holt in the ground with their very own portal and a door that kept out visitors when they wanted it to, but a killer view of the river. Mum used to sit on the couch, doing her sketches. Dad worked on marketing, met investors in the next room, or watched his shows. When Martyn was really little, he laid on her lap playing handheld games while she ruffled his hair; Mum never told him his driving sounds were too annoying or loud. Nrrrrrr… SCREECH! Yeah…

Maybe he did grow up okay, even if he didn’t have a dragon to raise him. Martyn turns his head, gazing back towards the clock tower. Well, Bdubs did call us ‘the mini dragons of the sky.’ Bdubs isn’t a dragon, but since Debbie will prob’ly freak if he gets near her guppies, he’s kind of the same thing. BigB has a huge dragon bite from his chest to back. Not even regen could heal that kind of damage to his lungs; that’s why he modded into moth form. Martyn’s seen enough not to push his luck around a real dragon; thanks, but no.

BigB doesn’t like talking about his modding experience. Martyn knows there’s a surgery in there, plus a lot of being hauled around and passing out along the way to medical care. For BigB, modding was a necessity rather than a choice. His situation’s a little different than the ‘Choose your own adventure’ pitch Joe gave; a bit off from what Martyn’s looking for. At this point, Martyn wonders if he could stand full-species modding even if he wanted it. What if that leaves his ears ringing for the rest of his life? A species adjustment takes years, and it’s a much bigger pain to remove mods like that than it is to put them on. Kinda takes a, y’know… shhhhllllk! Full file wipe. Yeah, not touchin’ that.

Rooftop to rooftop, Martyn makes his way further south. It doesn’t take long to spot the vex again. Cub and Scar, right? Martyn’s pretty sure he knows which one is which: Cub seems to be older in the face, sporting a rough gray beard, though brown-haired Scar has the bigger wings. Martyn’s plan? He doesn’t really have one, but he’s gonna take Bdubs’ “stay off the ground” advice to heart. He lingers only long enough to confirm what they’re doing… If he had to guess, they’re staking out a less-traveled hunting spot so they can pounce on someone who tries to cut a shortcut home. Looks like they’re loitering, maybe not wanting to disappear into the ground until the crowd’s no longer watching. Works for me! Martyn moves on, jumping buildings again. Heading west.

There are a few false rivers in this city. Maybe they’re canals? Bdubs seems to call them both interchangeably, but they’re not very big. When the vine-coated bridge comes into view, Martyn glides down on top of it, then slinks from there to the ground. Bdubs warned him there are about five vex in New Star, but he saw Cub and Scar near the center and he can’t smell any others here. Martyn moves to the edge of the riverbank and crouches to rake his fingers in the dirt.

Hm. Softer and less dusty than the stuff at the park. He rubs it in his fingertips. The dampness seems to keep it from getting stiff, but he can tell straight away there aren’t worms over here either. Bdubs did say there’s not enough Silk Touch enchantments to go around, so the worms probably didn’t come with when the dirt was dug.

Not a lot of it here, either. A thin strip for decoration, but there’s a lot of deepslate and bedrock. Martyn checks coordinates on his communicator. Oh, wow. Even with Between’s extremes, this is a much lower Y-level than he’s ever been. He checks the water again. It’s deep enough to classify as darkwater… Does it need to flow through a certain biome for that? Darkwater’s exclusive to Between, but he’s not sure what the rules are. The water does look dark, but that might just be the deepslate. Do mirages spawn here? He’s never had the misfortune of seeing one, but apparently, they’re the aquatic version of phantoms. If you dive way far down in darkwater, you really mess up your code strings- same way it happens in the Void. Mirages are anivores too, and they go gaga over it. Gotta wear your magmamarine armor upgrades to keep them from gettin’ bites on you… It’s a whole thing. And who’s got magmamarine in modern times?

Well, water is water. Is he an otter or ain’t he? How deep you reckon it is? Not very, if he had to guess, but he can see salmon flashing in the darkness. Martyn grips the reeds and plants sprouting from the thin strip of grass along the bank. He stretches down his foot. Icy water seeps through his shoe. Ah, geez. Can’t be mad - this part of the world is snowy, after all - but he’ll miss the warmth of the northwest where he grew up. He slides down the bank. The cold hits him with a jolt.

Whoa, whoa- Bit of a steeper drop than he realized. Grass tears beneath his hands. He slips down until he’s about armpit-deep in the water. Brrrr…

Otters like to swim. Phantoms swim too, right? Martyn tries to walk upstream, following the fish, then changes his mind. The current’s slurping him the other way. Why fight it? He stops bracing his legs and lets his body drift beneath the bridge, heading downstream. The bridge is all decked out in green and yellow lanterns, welcoming the wet season in full color. Pretty… There are bridges in Black River too, though Martyn never really cared to build them. Never needed them on the creative world where he grew up. Actually, his parents did build bridges, but purely for model purposes: as something to showcase, printscreen, and sell the blueprints for. He twists, bobbing in the water, and paddles around the bank.

Now, where’s a good place to build a holt? It’ll be easier if there’s some kind of hole here he can expand. He’s not planning to live in it, but he wouldn’t mind slapping one of these in the nest scavenger hunt; so many people still don’t believe otters are a real mob. Bdubs said he’d have to run the paperwork past Cleo and Scott. Cleo he’s cool with; Scott might be easier to win over if Martyn can prove he’s already checked the location over and still wants to build there. Just ahead, several firefly bushes pulse in a shaded section of the river. Ooh, maybe that-?

A shriek pierces through the air, followed by the swish of wings. Martyn jerks up his head. Next thing he knows, a beak clamps behind his neck and tears him from the water like lightning zapping upward. Just as his shoes shlurp from the canal, two giant blue jaws clamp shut on the space he left behind. Martyn yelps, scrambling to grab- oh my gods, oh my gods-

Cyan energy swirls away. The alligator hybrid disappears underwater with a flit of its tail. Martyn’s stomach pretty much went with it. Who’s got him? “Bdubs?”

A second later, he thumps against the bank. What? Martyn coughs, shaking all the way down to the nub of his tail. Cold. I’m so cold…

When he looks up, it’s right into an emerald stare. Euhll… The giant phantom stands with wings spread, split tail snapping like a warning. He’s so big, he blocks out the lantern light. So that’s why he’s flock beta? Certainly got the muscle for it. Not that I ever doubted. The hulking silhouette snuffs at Martyn. Martyn coughs again, water dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

“Th-thanks, Icky… You really saved my bacon. I totally forgot to check for alligators. Bdubs even warned me.”

Icky grunts, turning away. He pads off on all fours. The toss of his head seems like a suggestion for Martyn to follow. Bony talons clack over stone and clamp in the grass. With one last glance at the firefly bushes, Martyn hurries after him.

“It almost got me- oh my gods, I don’t know what I was thinking-”

“You should not be out here on your own.”

Martyn stops in Icky’s tracks. “What?”

“Too little. Until your teeth come in, you should stay at roost where you belong. And that’s an order.”

Where I belong? “But Bdubs said-”

“Do not argue with me.”

“I mean, it kinda sounds like you’re arguing with Bdubs, so-”

Icky lurches around, snapping his wings. Wind billows across Martyn’s face and tears at his hair. “He fails us as a captain, and all he lets you get away with is proof of that! You prance and taunt him, and he forgets to put you in your place. Rude, selfish British boy. You make our flock fall apart. Growing up where I did, this would lead to all our deaths. Pillagers will chop our limbs for skewer meals and devour them before our eyes.”

Martyn flinches at each accusation, shrinking into his shawl. “I don’t think BigB taught me that recipe-”

“Twice I have rescued you! I knew you would be stupid- I followed for this reason. You are too small and Bdubs lets you run off. He is no longer fit to be captain here.”

Weightless.

He is weightless, drifting sideways like he’s been hit, like the wind’s knocked straight out of him, as Icky glares and the whole world starts to blur. “I’m not stupid.” The words scratch his throat like broken glass. Martyn shakes his head. It helps a little, even if the bridge and river still spin. “I’m not a little kid! I’ve been through Education; I’m in a three-way relationship! You followed me? Yeah, maybe I don’t have my fangs yet, but I don’t need you watching my back! Next time you see someone hunting me, just let them do it! I’ll take the consequences! I don’t care!”

Icky waits for him to finish. As he catches his breath, the big phantom turns away. The grass on this side of the canal is just as sparse, and the road just as bare. His snapping tail lashes Martyn on the shoulder, making him stumble. Ow. “Come. We’re going back to roost. And this time, you will stay there where you’re safe.”

“… No.”

Icky’s ear tufts snap straight up. “What?”

Oh geez, oh flip- Martyn tries to puff himself up, but it’s a lot harder when he doesn’t have Icky’s neck ruff or feathers. Nonetheless, he sets his legs and jaw. “I said ‘No.’ I told Bdubs I was going out and he said it was fine. You don’t get to take that back. You’re not the captain.”

Icky’s growl rumbles through the throat pouch. It’s deep, loud, and Martyn shakes right along with it, his tail cringing down. Icky turns their neck. “Children should not talk that way if they don’t wish for biting.”

“Not a child.”

“Come to the roost. I will not warn before I bite again.”

Martyn’s eyes flick left. Then right.

“Don’t-”

Martyn bolts. He’s gone a split-second before Icky’s lunging hands can grab him- off like an otter down a waterfall, tearing down a street lined with buildings that connect like a wall on his left. Is that the wall he and Bdubs ran across when they were hunting Cleo? Gods, it’s all a blur. If it is, he knows from experience there’s no alleys, no gaps he can make a quick turn down. Oh boy, oh boy! Seriously- There’s no obvious way down to this underground city, so is the wall for keeping people in or keeping people out?

There’s no getting airborne without a tail to smack down. Nothing to jump from- Maybe if he’s back at the market, with all the barrels and stalls-

Can’t go back there. That’s where I saw Cub and Scar. Unless he can lure Icky down that alley and straight into that trap they were setting up, they’ll just go for him ‘cuz he’s the weaker link. Okay, well…

A heavy shadow speeds above his head. Nah, fam- He doesn’t have to ask who it is. Martyn veers left instead, leaping a short set of steps and jamming his way through the nearest door. It spills him into a nice carpeted hallway, and he gasps in some relief. Yes! If he’s lucky, the ceiling’s too low for Icky to leap his head. Pretty wide hall, though. The street looked pretty quiet; is there anyone in here who’ll help him out? He’s no idea what Icky wants to do with him, but probably nip at his heels the whole way back to roost. Maybe tie him up and leave him there.

Wide hall. Big, straight line all the way down. Looks like maybe there’s a couple places where it opens up? He can’t stop, even for a second, and runs to the nearest one. Thin hall to his left looks like it opens out to flat bedrock. That road goes all the way around the city. Supposed to be a chill way for people to walk from one side of the city to the other without crossing paths with shops or hunters, apart from Icky himself- The border road’s his special hunting ground. Great. Can’t go that way.

He keeps running. There’s another opening on his right hand side. Vending machine. Public toilet. Some kind of blaze wind chime or paper sculpture hanging from the ceiling. For a nanosecond, Martyn debates locking himself in the toilet in the hopes that Icky will grant him privacy, then discards it and jump-sprints onward. Have you seen the muscles on that guy? That wood door’s not gonna hold up to sheer force. The “no camping people” rule for hunters probably doesn’t apply to phantom on phantom flock aggression. Is Icky even allowed to attack someone lower than him in rank?

Well. Technically, saying ‘No’ to his face probably counted as a rank challenge. Can we get a referee on that, chief?

What’s the alarm call, what’s the alarm call- Bdubs chirped for help when Cub and Scar went for him in the street. As Martyn sprints past rows of doors, he mimics the call to the best of his memory. Is that stupid? Who’s gonna put themselves at risk to help a phantom?

Icky’s moving, fast behind him. Possibly jump-gliding? Footsteps sound a little off. Martyn spares him just one glance, sprinting down the hall as fast as he can. Door after door of private rooms flies past him, but why won’t anyone poke out their heads? Martyn chirps again, then thinks Screw it and veers tactics. “HELP! The flock beta’s after me!”

Nothing? No one? Martyn charges forward, straight into the bubblevator at the end. He hits the back so hard, his skin scrapes against rough stone as bubbles launch him upward. He bumps, legs floppy- Whoa, whoa-

Missed the second floor. Martyn tries to shove himself upright, but his angle’s all wrong- There’s bubbles on his chest, bubbles in his face- Kelp to breathe with, but he can’t see, he can’t-

Missed the third floor?

His best chance at losing Icky is to disappear down a random hall. Maybe jump out and crouch right next to the bubblevator, lest Icky spot him sprinting away. Martyn fumbles forward, water churning through his nose, and thwacks his hand against an opening. Pain shoots up his wrist.

Missed Number 4. W- Why’s Icky even chasing him? Can’t he just leave him alone like a snot-nosed kid who ditched class during lunch break? Maybe he gave up. Maybe he only chased him this far to scare him into not showing his face around the roost for a while. Yeah, maybe he thinks a spooking will keep him from banking back around.

Next floor up, Martyn finds his footing. He stumbles from the bubblevator, dripping all over the carpet, and collapses against the nearest wall. Energy’s whirling through his code. I don’t think I’ve ever run like that. Don’t really need to with the wings. He plays outlast, sure, but that’s a sport about sneaking around and stealing banners before you bolt, pushing through the tingles of an approaching login. He gets automatic advantage ‘cuz his broken sync doesn’t let him feel that. Different kind of endurance- Oh my word, his hearts are POUNDING. Is this what it’s like to be an anivore? Feeling “on” and energized when there’s a chase, even if you’re the prey?

I can keep going. I can do it. He’s glimmering at full strength, at least until he burns his hunger out. No idea how much longer he’s got. Okay. Catch his breath- crouch low- Icky’s not gonna find him-

I made the carpet wet. Martyn stares at the dark patch in front of him, rapidly ticking the zoom in his lenses. Well, a lot of people live here. That’s a whole lot of wet bodies leaping from the bubblevator. Icky’s not really going to jump out on this floor just because he dripped, right? And there’s no way he can see through the wall if Martyn’s crouched, so…

A thump echoes inside the bubblevator. That sounds like a body. A big, feathered phantom body swimming through the bubbles. Martyn flicks his attention down the hallway. Should he make a run for another alcove? Is he too late? His eyes dart past the water stream. There’s a door. Sign says ‘Stairs.’ He’s on the side with a potted plant. Is it too late to go for the door, try to beat Icky down? Should I jump back in the water? Does it pop out at roof level? He didn’t see water up there while hunting with Bdubs, but if he can get the height needed to jump and glide, he won’t need a long tail to launch with.

Icky’s definitely in the elevator. His huge body disrupts the bubbles. Martyn scrunches tighter to the wall, his hearts wild in his mouth, and digs his nails against his temples. No, no, no…

He’s drowning. A cackling vex is chasing him and he’s drowning, taking damage ticks even when his mouth’s gasping at clean, dry air. Each one smacks across his face and shudders through his body. Thunder shakes the whole world and he’s spent and bent, trying to cough the water out. Only, gravity’s in reverse and he can feel it gushing deep into his lungs. He staggers forward and splashes down again. It’s freezing, and not in the way he likes the feel of cool and chilly on his body. How can he kneel in the water and still be grabbing at his neck, unable to cough it out?

“Maaahhhhtyn~”

It’s the vex, closing in, his voice louder with every splash of water. Martyn’s taking damage. Damage that’s not his own somehow, like his body’s disconnected-

Next thing he knows, Icky rescues him from drowning by wrenching his arm. “Get up,” he snarls. Martyn breaks into coughing, bleary as he darts his gaze around. What? Is it over? He rubs his neck, but there’s no more water there. What? Martyn stares at his hand, but it isn’t even wet. His breathing’s totally fine, if a little jumpy. What the hell? Why does he keep getting these weird flashes where he can feel and hear, but never see? Are they from his creator far away? Is he in danger? Is that why they can’t sync back up?

Icky’s tail mod buzzes in his ears. Martyn shakes his head. When he looks up, Icky’s glaring down at him. He jerks Martyn towards the stairs. Martyn staggers, gasping for new breath, and tries digging in his heels.

“No! I’m not a spawnling- You can’t just lock me up!” He’s as loud as he can be, trying to lure people from their rooms. What are the odds there’s actually people online and in these apartments, though? In that moment, Martyn swears that if he’s ever sitting around in his PJs and hears someone yelling outside, he’s getting involved straightaway. He’s weightless. His brain still feels foggy from the way he almost drowned. But it was in reverse? He’d been leaning over, but the water kept going down his throat? Wild. The pounding in his ears shakes him to his core. “H-HELP! Crazy flock beta! Someone call my captain!”

“Quiet, quiet,” Icky warns, pulling him to the stairs. Martyn struggles in his grip, straining his wings, but even when their pixels blur and jump between each other’s bodies, Icky’s grip is too tight to slip away from. Icky shoves the stairwell door open. “I’m not here to hurt you, but you do us no favors calling attention. Blaze live here. Two phantoms is not a flock. We’re leaving.”

Martyn shuts up. He darts his eyes up and down the stairwell, breathing through his teeth, and tries to form a better plan. He’s never seen a blaze pack hunt before, but their takedowns are pretty brutal (so he’s heard). Since they feed the younglings first, there’s a whole lot of rip-and-tear before a logout’s even done.

If I get a head start, can he catch me? Not sure. He could try to bite or twist free, but what’s the point if he can’t run? Yelling for help’s done nothing so far, though he could try to stall in the hopes that that might change. If the blaze are gonna be a problem, though… Neither of us is getting out of here if a whole pack shows up. And this is where they live? Explains the wind chime in the hall. Martyn’s about to grab his communicator when Icky scoops him off his feet and holds him over the wooden railing. They must be four or five floors up and empty nothing gapes below.

“Whoa whoa whoa WHOA! What are you doing!?”

“There is water. I know this city. Don’t try to run.”

Water will absorb any fall damage he might take. Martyn knows this, but shoots Icky a panicked look regardless. “I’m not-” Then he’s yelping, flailing his arms. Icky just let go. Martyn’s back is to the ground, his wings in no position to glide. Stairs and railings flash past one by one. Martyn reaches grabby fingers up to Icky, then opts to twist around. There might not be time to get his comm out. If he wants to get away from Icky, he’s just gotta run.

Haha… Bdubs isn’t really gonna make me stay at the tower if Icky drags me back, right? Icky’s not in charge. He’s just, y’know… the advisor? Shoot.

Thank his otter upbringing for the way he lands on all fours. Martyn hits water in a crouch. It takes all the shock that might’ve knocked air from his lungs and he’s off like creepers in a rainstorm, charging at the door just ahead. It’s not locked. Martyn slams through it, wishing he had something in his single inventory slot to block it shut with, and tears down the street as fast as he can. Icky shouts behind him, but Martyn’s gone.

I’m up north. Northwest corner, maybe? This is where he and Bdubs came to hunt Cleo, except they were on the outside of the bailey wall. He seems to be at the corner, sprinting along the northern part now. Yeah, that would make sense- Icky did chase him down that hall before Martyn got away. Should he duck inside? Maybe not; didn’t do him much good last time.

Shoot, shoot- Icky can fly. Martyn jumps, cracking down his wings, but it’s not enough for lift-off. He lands with a stumble. The whole world veers sideways. Whoa, whoa-

Not going through the wall, not gonna run straight forward- Maybe he can lose Icky around the corner? Looks like another apartment block. His hearts are screaming in his throat, and the way he’s puffing tells Martyn straight away he’s running low on energy. Won’t be sprinting that much longer. He hears Icky burst into the street. As he tears around the corner, Martyn switches on his F5 eyes to check if he was seen-

His knee crashes into something hard. Martyn cries out, stumbling sideways, and tries to snap his eyes forward. Ow ow ow ow- That hurts, that hurts- Did he just hit metal? He reaches for his knee, still running forward, and thumps straight into something else. It’s hard and cold- maybe metal too. This time, it’s moving so fast it knocks him backwards. Martyn thumps on the ground with a flash of red. He tries to catch himself, hand landing on a rail. Wheels tear across his fingers before he can jerk away.

“Ow!” Martyn yanks his hand to his chest. Oh my gods- How many hearts am I at? There’s regen here, but that doesn’t mean that hit didn’t hurt like hell. As he sticks his battered fingers in his mouth, his vision swims back into focus. He definitely got run over by a minecart. It looks like he whacked his knee on some kind of corner postbox, or maybe a book display?

I don’t think I can run… Void. He’s low on energy, he hurts all over, and maybe Icky’s right; maybe he should go back to roost and take a break from all of this. Prob’ly never should’ve run, but his eyes sting at the very thought. Bdubs allowed him to go out! Icky was trying to take that privilege away from him. For no real reason! Martyn never asked him to get involved, rescuing him from the alligator. Icky can’t lord that over him. Still sucking on his hand, Martyn lifts his eyes. And stops.

Uh-oh… This is definitely a street full of housing units. Cute little stairs separate them from the streets. And standing on those steps, balconies and rooftops, staring at him in pairs and trios, are blaze hybrids by the dozen. Martyn pushes himself to wobbly feet, trying to back up, but a shape jumps from a ledge behind him and grabs him by the wrists. He catches a long flip of golden hair. Is that another blaze? Feels like a blaze, the breath hot and brimstone-scented against his cheek.

“Well, well!” crows a voice, almost a purr against his ear. “Someone’s captain is gonna pay handsomely for you~”

Ow, ow- Martyn tries to yank his hands free. His leg gives out beneath him, though the blaze hoists him up again. She’s smaller than Martyn is, though she looks like she works out. The blaze pushes him forward with a hum. Martyn stumbles. Pain shoots across his knee. Gah, if I could just reach my comm-

A crack of bone and snapping wings echoes from behind, followed by a shriek Martyn would know anywhere. He looks up, pleading words leaping off his lips, just as Icky plows into the blaze who holds him captive. The blaze hits the ground with a shriek. All the rest leap forward, launching fireballs and calling to each other, and Martyn barely gets his wing up in time to block a hit to the face. Sparks singe the bottom of his membrane. He slaps them out as frantically as he can, but a heartbeat later, Icky’s got his scruff in his beak and is launching airborne again. Martyn’s stomach lurches through a glitch. The road drops away beneath him, but that doesn’t stop the pack. Feathers flash like gold. They swoop into the air, still spitting fire. Martyn watches the blaze who’d grabbed him sit up, rubbing her head, and then the world spins.

“Icky, I can fly,” he pleads, but Icky’s only answer is a grunt. Martyn can feel the panic coursing through him. It’s in the way Icky jerks his head left and right, swinging Martyn like a doll. Martyn grabs hold of Icky’s bony leg, squeezing it for better balance. Is this helping? Icky seems to wobble, though his wings are absolutely massive and he pumps them as fast as he can. Phantoms are the fastest flying mob there is, right? That’s why people trust them with the mail. Martyn wishes he felt more secure in this knowledge when he watches an absolutely massive blaze arrow towards them, beating four wings instead of two. A huge cowl sits upon his head.

“Oh, we’ve got a wildfire, coming in hot!”

Icky swerves left, banking so hard that Martyn swings like a helpless puppet from his beak. Pixels crackle, grip slipping, and suddenly Martyn’s plunging through the air. He paddles his arms and unfurls his wings as quick as he can. Oh my word, he’s running on his dregs- Up ahead, Icky’s veering back, screeching loud, but the wildfire isn’t slowing down. Blaze rods whirl around his head. Is that a dude? Looks like a big buff dude- A volcanic-sized fire blast slams into Icky, burning feathers into soot.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Martyn shouts, zipping forward. “You can’t hit a phantom!” Those words take all his breath in a gasp- Everything hurts, everything’s so-

The wildfire snarls, baring massive fangs. What? Uh, maybe there’s some kind of rule that says attacks are legal on blaze turf? There was some kind of note in the residency contract about respecting the wildfire. Icky did attack that blaze to save me, Martyn thinks, and his hearts pound beyond belief. He turns on his wingtip and flies after Icky. Icky’s cutting towards the city’s middle, vaguely towards the market and the Slime Dragon’s custom tree. Maybe the blaze won’t follow him there? He’s diving downward, clutching the left side of his face with both hands. Smoke fills the air behind him. Embers still glow in his ragged clothes and as Martyn watches, Icky whacks his wing against a rooftop sign. A squawk tears like a ribbon from his chest.

Oh no. Sick to his nonexistent stomach, Martyn swoops after him. Everything hurts… he’s got no food in him, nothing to heal or walk with, and at this point, he’s breathing just because of regen aura. If he lands, he’s gonna lose any chance he has at getting airborne again. He has no food. His hunger bar has dropped so low, he could start taking damage any minute. He feels exhausted. As soon as he lands, his legs wobble underneath him and he drops into a crouch. His wings drape to either side.

“Icky, I’m sorry- I am so sorry…”

Icky does not look at him. He clutches his face with a bony hand, eyes and fingers squeezed tight enough to strangle someone. When he finally tilts his hand away, Martyn can see the massive burn mark all across his face that regen didn’t quite fix. It’s crusted his eye shut. Glowing energy suggests the regen aura’s trying to seal it like a wound, though Icky’s fighting to keep it open. Oh my word… The hearts might be ticking up, but that burn needs extra treatment. Martyn swallows, shrinking back. Then he has a better idea. He moves forward.

“Here, I can lick it- Try to get the soot out-” Gross, maybe, but his mum once-

Icky’s wing whaps across him like an axe through a tree. It’s not a heavy hit, but it’s all it takes to send an unbalanced Martyn thumping to the ground. Next thing he knows, there’s a beak snapping at his neck, tearing loose a strip of skin. Martyn feels his whole form bloat with damage.

“Ow!” Martyn claps a palm to the injured spot, shaking head to toe. Energy swells behind his eyes and leaks through the space around his lens mounts. Martyn blinks, but everything hurts and everything spins. His breathing stutters when he tries to speak. “I-Icky…”

That sharp beak cinches on his scruff again. Just like before, Martyn’s lifted from the ground… only this time, Icky doesn’t bring him along on an adventure. With a sharp jerk of his head, he throws Martyn sideways. He slams against a barrel, flashes with a damage tick, and flops against the road. Martyn coughs. A glitchy bit of blue and white energy oozes off his tongue and drips between his hands.

“Ow, ow… Hey…” Martyn tries to brace himself, but his arms wobble when he does. He grits his teeth, fighting harder, and manages to get back to his knees. “Bdubs… wouldn’t like you doing this.”

“That is not your concern,” Icky growls back. They stand with wings flared, bony hands digging at the deepslate sidewalk. Is this the market? Where are the people who can help me? “You’ll be out of this flock by morning. Good-bye.” With a pounce and a smack of his tail, Icky sweeps into the air. Martyn follows with his eyes. Instead of climbing higher in the air, Icky stays low, veering down the nearest street. Good. Maybe the vex will get him.

The vex. Martyn sits up quick, jerking his head left and right. Oh no… No, no, no. He followed Icky towards New Star’s center. He’s close enough to market to see a stall past the barrels where Icky threw him, though he must be at the cusp of it. That’s prob’ly why there’s no one here. Martyn glances left and right, gathering all the strength he can. They were setting a trap. Where did I see them?

He’s not getting far without food. Praying that the market has something to offer him, Martyn pulls himself up the barrel and grips its rim like handrails. Void, his legs are screaming. His mind’s all topsy-turvy, doing flips, but he grits his teeth and pushes one wobbly leg in front of the other.

I’m gonna be sick. He doesn’t have a stomach in this dimension, but there’s some clenching and heaving going on (absolutely) as he shifts his hands to the wall and takes another couple shaky steps. Okay. Keeping vertical is helping. Everything spun when Icky threw him aside, but when he blinks and mops his brow, he can remember which way’s up. Glad I’m not underwater. Not this time. Ooh, boy. Not to be entitled, but do they give out medals for wobbling around like this? It’s all in the name of moving forward, innit?

Martyn draws his next breath in more slowly than his last. Something aches in the general rib area, like Icky might’ve smashed something with that bang against the barrels. Blinking, Martyn slides his gaze skyward. If it’s an injury, regen should heal him up. Bdubs did warn him it’s slower healing the undead than anybody else, but that’s always been their curse to bear. Consider it a trade-off for lasting longer in the Void. Martyn slides one hand off the stone bricks he’s using for support and cups the injured spot instead. He pulls the hem of his shirt higher; makes a muffled noise. Oof. Regen’s fighting to seal the wound shut, but he’s got a couple loose code strings that snapped off, and they’re hanging outside the body by the brackets. Didn’t quite make it back inside when healing started up. Um. The healing doesn’t actually look finished. Maybe if he…

Come on, now. Don’t touch that until you’ve washed your hands; are you mad? Well, it’s not necessarily washing that he needs. Martyn takes a hitched-up breath and focuses his mind on the palm of his hand. He flexes the wrist. Cyan light sputters up, but disappears back beneath his skin. Ah. Shoot. It’s like fetching Icky’s fish all over again, and loose pixels trickle down his brain. Um.

Food. I need food. He’s a wee bit low on energy. His body’s draining fast, thanks to injury. Lost a lot of saturation in that sprint down city streets. Martyn licks his lips. It takes both hands flat against the wall to even move, but the more steps he takes, the more balanced he starts to feel again. Ears ringing, head in a spiral, but Jebdammit, he’s making it to those food stalls (or he’ll flop over trying).

The closer he gets, the louder the chatter. Geez, my knee is KILLING ME. Is this what it’s like in Between? Martyn never thought himself a careful child, but granted, a lot of his injuries have probably come from playing on servers where his phantom traits are turned off. Sure, he’s bashed against things before in Between, but it’s never hurt this bad. Either he took some killer hits back there, or double regen really messes with a guy’s head. Is there such a thing as oversaturation on the healing buff? Is that why he feels so woozy?

With one hand on the wall, one around his stomach, Martyn limps from the alley and over to the nearest stall. It looks like they’re selling bread. Martyn stares blankly at it for three seconds, then turns to look for food he can actually digest. That’s when Icky makes his reappearance, swooping down from above. He lands, takes Martyn’s hand, and pulls him down the street.

“Food, please?” Martyn asks, too thumped around to care if he sounds very witty or coherent. Thanks to regen, he feels like he has enough strength to stand, but he’s really struggling against the effects of a near-empty hunger bar. “Icky, I’m not gonna make it to roost.” If he doesn’t eat something soon, he might just crash against the ground. He’s fighting just to keep his eyes open now. Everything is bleary and nothing quite makes sense. Should he punch Icky? Is that a good idea? Establish dominance by biting back? Help…

Icky doesn’t answer. Martyn tk-tk-tks, begging for food, and still… nothing. Icky drags him sideways then, down an alley, and all of Martyn’s worries flare into panic. He stops walking. He tries to yank away, tries to run, but Icky jerks him forward. No, no- Martyn snaps his wings. He bites Icky’s wrist, fighting hard as he can, only for Icky to scoop him up and throw him forward hard enough, he thumps, flashes red, and rolls. Pain FLOWERS like a firework up his knees, his legs- oh my WORD-

No, no, no! Martyn pushes to his knees, which shakes a stuttered gasp from his throat. Shoot, shoot- Why didn’t I send Bdubs a whisper that I need help? Thought Icky just left him- thought he could get food on his own, take care of himself or something- All that goes out the window when the two vex materialize from the ground, floating like cam accounts a couple seconds in the air before they land tap-tap on solid deepslate. Pain, hunger, hurt, and Martyn throws a desperate look back at Icky.

“No, no- Help! Someone, help! Phantom getting hunted here!”

“You are training your bites.” Icky addresses the vex without hesitation. His own wings flap wide for hasty getaway. Cub and Scar don’t move, their swords both at the ready. They exchange a glance. Icky points at Martyn, who wishes he also had a sword to whack things with. “This one disobeyed me. Will he satisfy?”

Every breath’s a searing stab through his body. Martyn, still squeezing some cramp or bruise in his side, his knee stinging hot, lifts his head. Scar’s eyes watch him, silent and unreadable. Gods, he’s terrifying… big, broad-shouldered. The fact that he’s shirtless right now only emphasizes the muscles he’s got for conking heads. Red marks flow like liquid lightning across his chest and face. Cub’s eyes never break from Icky’s, nor does he lower the sword. He says, “We don’t take bribes to do your dirty work, man.”

“I do,” Scar decides. He moves forward. A thrum of energy pulses down his sword blade. In one swift motion, it zaps from metal into glowing blue. Oh my gods. Bdubs warned him vex could do that- Get soul energy on their weapons. They’ll slice straight through him. Is it going to hurt? Soul on soul isn’t supposed to - all your damage sensors are on your outside body - but Martyn’s never been logged out before- Not even by the Watchers.

He wishes he could run. Wishes he could close his eyes, but his whole body’s shaking. Can you run on a battered leg? Can you make it far with code strings hanging out an unhealed gash in your side? He can’t tear his eyes away. He can barely even stand, sinking towards a crouch. Cub sighs, but doesn’t try to stop his friend. He looks back to Icky. “So… You want him roughed up a little?”

“Draw it out until the bells ring. That will be enough.”

Oh my gods, oh my gods- Is this how Cleo felt when Bdubs had her pinned? Maybe not, but this is terrifying. Are they gonna chop his head off? The closer Scar gets, the farther back Martyn has to crane his neck. Icky’s in the air quick, slapping down his tail. His wings buffet wind all around them. Cub watches him go; Martyn can see the flex of his hand tightening on his sword even from here. Scar stands above Martyn, and Martyn realizes then and there that this is his last chance. Is he going down to a logout like the baby Bdubs and Icky seem to think he is?

Run.

He fumbles back, but ohhhh, wow- Bad idea. His legs give out beneath him, dropping him hard. Quick bootsteps move closer, and then Cub’s pulling at Scar’s shoulder.

“Let’s scram. We’re not selling out for a guy who’s not paying us.”

I can do this. Martyn braces his hands behind him and pushes himself to sit up. His knee can handle that, though his side sure doesn’t give a flip. He grits his teeth. Back in the Void, straining to escape the purple pit that sucked Grian in, he couldn’t get lift-off. He didn’t have the strength. He didn’t have the tail. But in a fit of desperation, there was still one way out. Come on, come on… Dissolve the skin. Dissolve, dissolve, why isn’t it working-

Scar’s glowing sword presses an edge to Martyn’s throat. He tries to jerk back, but Scar follows him, and now his position hurts a little more. The sword pats his chin, forcing his head higher. Martyn tries to recoil, but Scar’s firm with the motion, levering him like a heavy rock he wants to roll into a riverbank. When their eyes meet, Scar’s smirk is impossible to ignore. Gods, those fangs…

“I think we can let him go. If he’s willing to beg.”

The way he drawls his words stands all of Martyn’s pixels on end. He stares up at Scar, unable to move. That’s the voice. That’s the voice from the flash he just had by the bubblevator- The cackling vex who chased him through the water, calling his name in a rolling coo… What’s happening to me? Why do I know his voice?

“I do enjoy a good begging,” Cub mutters behind him. Martyn’s fingers curl against the deepslate. He hurts- He hurts… but what’s the worst these chumps can do to him? Knock him AFK? Eat me without letting me log out, he thinks drearily… Can they do that? You can disconnect of your own will if an anivore doesn’t kick you first, right? So even if they don’t bite your soul slot, you can still go unconscious by choice? Martyn seethes, and when he glares at Scar, his chest shaking every breath, he throws all the disgust and fury into it he can muster. He doesn’t bend for Bdubs. He doesn’t bend for Icky. Not for the Watchers or for the creator who couldn’t be bothered to stick around- and he sure as hell doesn’t bend for grinning mercenaries who get off on ripping up low-XP players limb by limb.

“Wow, real brave of you guys, picking at a broken corpse.” His voice is soft, a little gravely after the thwacks he took from Icky - not to mention the point of Scar’s sword resting right there - but he keeps it as steady as he can. “Is this what you creeps take pride in? Then I’d rather be a phantom.”

Cub chuckles, and Scar laughs a little louder, pushing his sword through Martyn’s skin. Thanks to soul energy, it passes through without a tear, but as the glow finally pricks his inner soul, Martyn’s hearts race faster than they’ve ever gone. What’s Scar gonna do to him? Rip him chin to skull in one swipe? Stab so hard, the sword flies out the back of his neck? “Yeah, real brave of your team ganging up on us,” Scar says. Martyn edges backwards, and Scar eases the blade a little deeper. He can feel the press of it against his own soul, Scar’s cooler energy snapping at him like water thrown over hot coals. “Maybe we should settle this. Where’s your flock, pup? I’m sure they’ll come if you call.” And, exaggerated, “Aren’t you just the cutest wittle pup wandering out in the cold all alone?”

Martyn stares back, saying nothing. Scar wants him to beg. When he doesn’t make a peep, Scar frowns- like he’s genuinely disappointed Martyn’s not ‘playing the game right.’ What, does he think this is improv night at the theater? He guides the sword higher, around the curve of Martyn’s inner cheek. It slips fluidly from skin back into open air. Then he brings it back to pat his cheek.

“Where’d that smart mouth of yours go?”

Martyn bites. Bites the sword, rips his head sideways, and tears Scar’s soul energy straight off the blade. Scar has exactly .2 seconds to look shocked before he slams to his knees, clutching his wrist. “Oh my gods-”

Cub shoves forward, grabbing Scar’s arm, but by that point, Martyn’s spat the energy he just yoinked into his hand. Maybe his teeth are too soft to pierce its ‘sleeve’ and drink the liquid, but turns out he can yank stuff around just fine. Martyn moves as fast as he can- Grips his hand tight and plunges the glowing sword straight through Scar’s chest, right between exposed pecs. Scar’s entire body flashes blue and flops against Cub, who fumbles to stop him from smacking the ground. One gasp. Martyn’s comm beeps inside his pocket, but he’s grinning too wide to read it. It’s a one-hit logout, baby!

“Wow! Aiming for the soul slot’s so much easier shirtless! I should thank him. Whoa-” Cub’s lunging, Cub’s slashing at a very bad angle with Scar slumped against him- Martyn tries to shove to his clumsy feet. His knees buckle, screeching. He ducks - Well, mostly falling - and Cub’s sword whips straight through his hair. Cub spins with it, grunting with the effort of turning back with Scar in the way between them. His lab coat billows. Martyn catches the tail of it in his fist and yanks as hard as he can. That jerks Cub off-balance to the ground. Holy moly, was he going for my neck? Not even trying to one-hit, huh? Just a straight-up beheading while he’s still logged in? What, so his head would go flying and hit the wall? That’s messed up, dude. Scar’s body lies abandoned, the eyes still glowing in his skin to prove the soul’s inside, and frankly, Cub can eat him if he wants.

Actually-

Cub’s on the ground, atop Scar’s leg. Cub’s on his back, rolling as fast as he can to get back to his knees- One hit. Right between the pecs. Bet that still works if he’s belly to the ground. Martyn grasps the sword in both hands and drives it straight through Cub’s back. Equidistant between the wings. Perfect shot. Cub jerks like he’s been lightning-stabbed, but flumps against the road. Martyn’s comm beeps again. Gotta be another logout, right? Cub’s not still awake inside his skin?

Ow, ow- His legs wobble. Martyn staggers, the sword slipping through his fingers. He swishes one hand back just in time to grab the edge of the barrel behind him. Woooo… Oh, wow. Whoa, whoa…

Everything is spinning. Martyn grips his temples between thumb and forefinger. Dizzy. Okay, maybe we sit down… just a minute. Just a little, yeah…

Clashes of metal like axes or swords. Shouts of “GET BACK!” and “Crimson fall! Crimson fall! The Red King rises!”

It whips away in winter snow.

Oh my word… He’s shaking. Totally, absolutely shaking. What’s happening to him that’s throwing these flashes through his ears? He doesn’t know… and Etho took a look at him and still doesn’t know… On the ground, on his stinging knees, Martyn withdraws his comm and checks his recent messages. There they are, lookin’ proud.

GoodTimeWithScar was kicked by InTheLittleWood

cubfan135 was kicked by InTheLittleWood

He laughs. Really, it’s a wheeze. Stupid vex. It’s Scar’s own fault for channeling his own energy into his sword. Do you think in that flash he got where he was drowning, he logs Scar out there too, even at the end of his rope? That was definitely Scar, his rippling voice unmistakable. Some kind of premonition, maybe?

I should eat ‘em. Wish I could. He looks at the sword, now lying on the blocks beside him. It stopped glowing when he dropped it. Can he get that up again? Bdubs made it sound like only vex have that ability. Is that because the mobs are spawned with swords in hand? If that’s the case, it might work for illagers too- BigB could maybe do it. Martyn can’t tear souls very well with his teeth, but… I could try to get that energy on the sword myself? Puncture the vessel and spill their energy on the ground? Lick it up? He makes a face. Maybe he’ll just get Bdubs out here; he’ll know what to do.

Bdubs.

Icky’s going for Bdubs. Probably. I mean, he did warn Martyn he’d be ‘Out of the flock by morning,’ and that’s only Icky’s call if he’s captain, right? Martyn stumbles around for Bdubs’ username, then taps it with his thumb.

InTheLittleWood: dont listeni f ick says im hurt its a trap

InTheLittleWood: hell kill you dont look or me

“Ow… oh my gods, ow… that was so cool, I hurt so bad, ow ow ow…”

He can’t run. There’s no way he can run, and now that he’s on the ground, he’s not sure he can get up again. Everything about the last 20 minutes has left him utterly drained. Hunger’s low, and he’s wobbly on his own legs as vertigo kicks in. The world spins and blurs. Martyn covers his ears, hissing air between his teeth. Gods, this hurts… Icky really did a number on him…

I need food. Phantoms heal when they eat souls. He’s gotta do it. He’s gotta eat Cub and Scar.

“Hh… hhh…” They’re not that far away, but can he make it? He’s on the ground. Can he even get their souls out with the sword? Martyn stares at it in disbelief. It’s not glowing anymore. Uh, he’s pretty sure if he tries to whack them with it now, it’ll thump against their skin. Physical weapons don’t work on souls, right? … Is that right? Are there exceptions? Why can’t I think? And no way is he gonna try to carve their bodies open…

He struggled so badly getting that fish for Icky from the park to the tower. Can he push that much energy across the sword? I might hurt them. Cub and Scar’s minds are on their servers now, no longer attached to the pain these bodies feel, but he’s not trying to cause them any harm with a metal blade. Are vex swords metal? No idea, dude… but they do spawn with them. Looks like metal. Martyn reaches for Scar’s with a shaky hand. He misses. Oof. He gropes again, straining harder, and tightens his fingers around the hilt. It’s shaped like a cat. The hilt feels like wood. Well-worn. Dragging it towards him sends a terrible screech every which way, but he grits his teeth and forces himself from butt to knees. Standing will be hard, but he can crawl.

Drink their energy. You’re an anivore. It’s gotta be done. On one palm and one sword-clenching hand, Martyn crawls to Cub’s unmoving form. He got kicked with eyes squeezed shut. The tension’s left his lids, but the faint light of his soul still leaks past his lashes. Martyn hesitates. You think he’s playing the long game, or is he really out? Vex are tricky, you know. Martyn pinches Cub’s limp wing between two fingers. It feels soft, like newborn otter fuzz. There’s downy fluff mixed in, but no genuine feathers. Martyn wishes this felt a little less like watching wolves split a lamb from its mum.

Well… His comm did confirm they both got kicked. They’re free game for scavenging now. Martyn left a stab wound in Cub’s back, but what now? How does he get the soul? I’m not reaching in there!

The conn strands. Connections. Between the pecs. Can’t pull a soul from a body until you break the strands, or something like that. Martyn grips Cub’s hair and shoulder, rolling him over ‘til he flops on his back. Cub’s head lolls sideways. The wings crumple underneath him, which makes Martyn wince, but if that was a one-hit logout, Cub’s already AFK, so he’s not in pain. Wouldn’t have got the chat message if he was still conscious in Between.

Okay… Get the soul out. Cut it loose. Um… Martyn brushes the flaps of lab coat aside. He looks at the sword for two beats, then swings his head to Cub’s limp form again. Does he even need the sword for this? Can he just do it with his hands? That might be easier. If he fails to get the energy up on the sword, he might cause real damage to the body. Can someone still die in Between if their soul’s on the ground, but their mind’s been kicked AFK?

He flushes energy through his system, way down in his hands. Blue fireworks spark across his skin. They dip under just as fast. “No, no,” he mutters. C’mon, c’mon… Why isn’t this working? Is he completely drained? Am I using all my energy on healing now?

Using the sword feels dangerous and terrifying. Martyn puts it down, but there are other ways to get inside a skin. They come off pretty easy, if you know what you’re looking for. Calm down, he thinks, reaching for Cub’s throat with trembling hands. It’s just like bathing at the waterfall with BigB and Pearl. Putting skins on is kind of a mental thing. People do it different. Some people tie them, others button, and some people zip. Martyn feels around Cub’s neck, channeling all the focus that he can. He needs a button, a zipper tab, a snap, a tie… Come on, come on…

He can’t find it. Martyn scratches pointlessly at Cub’s chest, but he can’t find the opening. You can only take a skin off the same way it went on, and whatever Cub did, it’s not clear. Maybe he uses one of the designs that opens from the side, or from the back. Martyn prefers skins that open in the front, but if Scar and Cub are friends, maybe the back makes sense; maybe they help each other.

He’s running out of time. I should hide. He’s out in the open. Sooner or later, the smell of two fallen people’s gonna attract another scavenger. The alley’s quiet, but it’s not that far from the market. Martyn looks around. It’s not very wide here in the alley. One wall is gray and massive. The other building has a lot of balconies with numbers near the doors. People definitely live there. Terrible view, though. He stares upward, chest heaving. There’s no getting up there in his condition. There are no doors on ground level down here, except a distant iron one with no button visible, so he’ll probably have to go all the way around the building to get in. Not a great option. He looks at his comm again. BigB and Pearl are still online. Martyn opens their group chat with his thumb… and stops.

Am I really gonna yank them out of their full moon fun to come take care of me? What kind of selfish prick does that to his friends? Martyn stares at the screen until the names start to blur. Do you think they’re having fun right now? You think they’re having fun together?

He rests the comm against his lap, dropping his head. Then he tells himself he’s being stupid and forces himself to look again. He shares an AFK server with these guys. He did a lot for them, getting them out of EVO, right? They can look after him a little while. It’s only fair. He’ll ask.

InTheLittleWood: haha hey you guys busy?

InTheLittleWood: mfw im dying on flor

InTheLittleWood: srsly im in so much pain plz help meee

Send. Martyn’s just about done. He wants to curl up next to Cub’s unmoving body. Flop down next to Scar. Crawl underneath the lab coat and sink away from the world. But he’s gotta go. He’s easy prey; it’d just take a shove to knock him over at this point. Maybe Icky will smell the vex and bank back around. Glory, if that guy finds out he didn’t take his punishment, he’s really gonna be in trouble. Icky didn’t have a problem throwing him at the barrels or biting his neck, so he’ll probably finish him off if given the chance. Do you think he’s fighting Bdubs right now?

I need to hide. How far can he get? Martyn tries to put weight on his foot. He’s got some juice down there, though his ankle wobbles like it’s made of paper. Whoa.

Okay. Get to the wall. Brace himself up over there. If he can mash the energy back into his foot quick as lightning, maybe he can run before someone comes around to check the bodies out. Okay, stagger. Uhh…

Get to the wall. Move. He can do it. “I’m not a baby… I can do this.” He just needs to get to that wall. One move of aching knees at a time. Just… gotta figure it out. Ow. Owwie ow ow.

PearlescentMoon: coords?

PearlescentMoon: martyn!

PearlescentMoon: MARTYN YOUR COORDS????

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Scrambled

🖤  🖤  ❤️

Somehow, somewhere, Martyn is coughing - struggling for breath - in sun-warmed dirt as the scent of carrots fills his nose. It’s Scar’s voice - Scar again? - whooping that the king has fallen. Martyn struggles just to lift his head. He can’t see a damn thing. What’s wrong with his eyes? Did someone hit him with Blindness effect? He’s bleeding from his stomach; an arrow caught him through a chink in his armor and another in his neck. Why didn’t he put a helmet on?

It’s over… It’s all over. He doesn’t know exactly what. Just that the king has fallen, because Scar’s cheery voice shouts that it is so.

He’s lying crumpled in a farm. Eat the carrots. Martyn reaches with a trembling hand, but in the very depths of his quivering soul, he knows they won’t do any good. He can’t digest veggies like this. It’s not gonna help. He’s still alive, clinging on, but for how much longer? His fingers shake against the dirt. Is Scar on his side of this fight? Did Scar shoot him? Either way, he can hear that man laughing. Other voices cheer him on. Scar did this, and he just left Martyn out to die.

“No… No, no…” This isn’t how it was meant to go. He had a plan; he was going to make it out of this alive. Martyn can feel another person’s staggered breathing in the whisper of his own. Is he in sync or something? Is this what it’s like? He feels along his stomach and grasps the arrows in his fist. Maybe he can’t regen because these are still inside him. Should he just yank them out?

Martyn exhales a little loud. And then, in a lurch, the world snaps into color. In the distance, three armored figures cheer one another on, but the fourth figure (bearing wings of scarlet, gold, and blue) snaps his head around, looking right at him. Martyn knows he just messed up; knows these warriors are about to draw weapons and finish him off, but he can’t blame himself for the noise he just made. Wild that he can see right now. Everything hurts. Should’ve worn a helmet. He tries to sit up. His eyes fall to the way he’s clutching his stomach around that arrow wound. Wha… what?

He shifts his hand. The soul goo dripping through his fingers… It’s purple. Not cyan blue. He’s oozing purple.

And then everything tumbles into black.

Martyn’s ricocheted into reality by the sound of ripping soul nearby. The spatters and drips are unmistakable. He has to blink a few times to remember where he is, huddled behind a couple barrels under someone’s balcony. It’s not the most brilliant of hiding spots, but it’s the best that he could do. Maybe hiding this close to two accessible bodies will work in his favor? They’re the easy prey.

That’s absolutely, 100%, the sound of some scavenger tearing into Cub’s and Scar’s unconscious souls. Martyn fights for all the hiding skills he’s got; learned loads of tricks playing on an outlast team. He tilts his head higher, parting his mouth so he can breathe. Keep the throat straight. Stay very still. Don’t let the slightest rattle get your tail.

Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Is the hunter looking his way? The not knowing is horrifying- Worse than the sound of soul chunks disappearing in a mouth. Martyn curls his fingers in the road. He’s wounded. He’s on his very last half-haunch of hunger, he’s sure. Too much movement and he’ll drop. The local regen aura glimmers on his skin… It keeps his mind awake, but unless someone puts food in his mouth, there’s not much he can do. At zero hunger in this dimension, you start losing hearts. Can double regen keep him alive after that? Or will he just respawn in Duskfell Caves?

Don’t turn around. But… but he can peek without moving, can’t he? Quietly, Martyn shifts his vision toggles until he’s looking backwards through his F5 eyes. He can see above the barrels now- and immediately jerks both hands to his mouth so he can bite his skin instead of scream. What IS that thing!?

There’s a monster - some freaky purple monster - tearing soul energy out of Scar’s wing. It glows, pulsing like a soul, but sure as hell doesn’t look like any soul Martyn’s ever seen. See, he’s saying that, though it looks more like a player than it doesn’t. The thing strips a huge chunk out and throws back its head. Cyan energy disappears down its mouth. A massive glitch tears across its form, and- and when it reforms, it’s…

What is it? Chalaza? Some white chalaza stuff coats the purple body in a thousand splots… just like eyes. Wha- But-?

Don’t move. Don’t move. If Martyn was scared of Cub and Scar with their swords, terrified they might behead and eat him while he was still conscious of it all- Oh, nah. Hell, that’s a drop in the bucket to the way he feels seeing this- piglin brute of a shape tear into the fallen vex. Martyn tries to tell himself it’s scavenging - that he did the dirty work and maybe he can beat it in a fight too, one-shotting just like he did the vex - but he left Scar’s sword in the road. Uh. He screws into a ball, squeezing fingers in his cheeks (and the blurry edges of his eyes). Loose pixels rattle down his wrists- static- can’t keep his-

Don’t move. Don’t move. That thing’s ripping at the vex. Does it hurt? Everybody says it doesn’t hurt, but is it all one giant lie? Fight club, bite club, do not talk about bite club, it hurts, it hurts, don’t tell the inexperienced guys on the ground… Martyn shatters the not-moving rule with the bob of his throat, but he feels more secure in a compressed ball of arms and legs. He’s never been logged out before. Not the traditional way of going down to predator teeth- Not like this.

Martyn wants to stop watching the beast rip pieces of Scar’s soul straight through skin, but he can’t tear his F5 stare away. What IS that thing? It’s not the best angle, until it wrenches another piece from Scar’s arm and shakes its head from side to side. A pause. As if it heard him, it lurches a bit towards the barrels, unseeing- Guardians and devs, help a wee boy out. Martyn stays exactly where he is. It’s… it’s…

An enderman? He’s pretty sure- There aren’t many species that can unhinge the whole jaw like that. It shifts, and when it does, another round of white spots ripple up its body. It’s gotta be chalaza, but the pattern looks like eyes. They blink. Maybe they are eyes? Like a-

Watcher! All the Watchers were watchlings; that’s kinda how they got their name. Martyn- Martyn’s shaking, right? But he’s so incredibly stiff, he just- They’ve found us; oh my gods, oh my word, it’s here to get us all. It must have followed him to New Star- It’s going to drag him back- or maybe just beat him to a pulp here on the ground. Martyn might be sick. Glitches tickle on his hands, but he balls them tight and tries to keep breathing slow and… and… some kind of breath, just-

He’s not the only one who’s glitching out. Another ripple shreds the Watcher’s back like lightning. It jolts up. And out of nowhere, these massive feathered wings burst out behind it. Purple, glowing, white eyespots up and down- The figure staggers back towards Martyn, one hand cupped around its forehead like it’s waking from a hangover. Whoa- whoa-

Stumbling feet betray it. It bumps into the barrels Martyn’s hid behind. Thump. Martyn freezes, staring upwards. It’s so close… It’s so close… One hand groping across the top…

… Wait a minute. Those hair fluffs. The way they flop forward, and the scruff around the ears… The low curls in the back…

It’s got bird wings. Some of the Watchers had modded bird wings, but… Yeah. That height… And when it turns its head, empty white sockets gaping… those round cheeks-

“Grian?”

Martyn didn’t mean to blurt his name aloud. Can it- If it’s a soul - It’s glowing like a soul - can it hear him? It doesn’t have a skin, so it shouldn’t have working ears, but its whole form glitches up again. The shape that looks like Grian convulses, clawing at the air, and melts into a puddle on the ground. Martyn scrambles out from behind the barrels, which snaps his vision back to normal. Knee knee knee knee, ow ow ow ow ow-

“Oh my gods, oh my gods- Are you all right? How are you-?” He’s purple, he’s- Is that from falling in that river at the bottom of the Void? The stuff’s splattered all over him; can’t even see the blue of his soul underneath. He puddled. Martyn’s fingers brush the goo Grian dissolved into, but the moment he does, the slimy bits lurch skyward in a spiral. Shape and form whip back into place. Two feathered wings flash wide. In a snap, Grian leaps into the air and fumble-flies off down the alley, wobble-top speed.

“Wait, wait! Come back!” Martyn heaves himself upright (Whoa, whoa-) tries to- but he trips over Scar’s body kinda- SLAM! into ground. A burst of pain lightnings down his back. Ow. Oh, mercy- His wings flump down, totally of their own accord. When he looks up again, Grian’s disappeared. Martyn’s outstretched fingers twitch, but they fold shut on empty air.

Grian…

He lowers his arm. Then he upturns the palm. Martyn tries to focus on his hand, but everything is blurry. And- Huh?

Purple…

He’s seen himself naked. He washed up at the waterfall with Pearl and BigB. He’s not purple. Is Grian coated in sludge? Is he sick? Is that why he’s glitching out? How did he even get to New Star? Nobody’s even seen him!

I coughed up purple back on New Evo. Yeah. He was underground, tossing cookies, and when it was over, he hunkered down with Pearl and tried to forget it ever happened. It felt like his throat pouch glitched in- Like he absolutely, no questions asked, couldn’t keep whatever he had inside it any longer, and it didn’t matter if he was server-side.

I had him in my pouch. I got him out… When he escaped the Void, he collapsed on the edge, dropping all the player files he held, and puddled then and there. If Grian was in his pouch, then Martyn losing solid form must have mixed their data up. Maybe because he was unplugged? Or skinless? Or still shaky from the Void? And the game’s been fighting to render him back in. All this time?

“Heh…” It hurts. Laughing hurts, but Martyn squeezes out whatever he can. “I only lost two… Two out of three’s not so bad. Let’s go…”

Martyn strains his arms, tucking his elbows close enough, he can brace his weight. The wings twitch, but they’re sure as hell not functioning when he’s this weak from burning energy to stubs. Martyn coughs and licks his lips and… It’s fine. From his elbows, he gets up to all fours and manages to climb over Scar. His skin’s a bit squishy where Grian’s teeth definitely ripped his soul out - His body definitely doesn’t support Martyn’s weight - but his scarred face is still pretty, so count those chickens where they’re standing. Martyn coughs twice, then flops face-first into the road. Uhhhll…

That’s it. That’s as far as he can go. His hunger’s drained. He can’t move. Pearl and BigB never came for him. Guess they weren’t a trio after all. Bdubs didn’t come looking for him either. Martyn chuckles weakly, rolling some joke through his head about finally being treated like a grown-up, and now he gets to pay the price.

… I didn’t send my coords. Wait- Did he? He can’t remember going through the motions. There’s a button you have to press. No, no, no… Why didn’t he use his comm when he was hiding behind the barrels? Martyn reaches for his pocket, but everything hurts. Hkkk- snhkk- His shaking hand grasps his comm, sliding it out, but even looking at the lanterns makes him sick. He’s never gonna type a message out. Now he’s going to die here on the road, in this back alley where nobody’s shown up even when he hoarsely screamed.

Come on. Send the coords. Awkward thumbs start mashing buttons. He’s coughing on his every breath. Cub and Scar have it easy, you know; they’re already logged out. They don’t even have to breathe. Not like he does, coasting the edge of respawning in Duskfell Caves, and who knows where that is. Maybe the Phantom Dragon will throw him all the birthday parties she didn’t show up for?

Purple…

You can bleed out purple?

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❤️

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… Drifting in and out of consciousness isn’t so bad once you get used to it. Martyn’s lain so still that his name’s gone gray plenty of times before; it’s nothing really new. It’s the closest thing you get to sleeping in Between. Well, unless you’re a Netherkin. Can they sleep? The Nether doesn’t allow it either, but when the temperature drops, they’re out like sunlight.

I miss the sun. Martyn wishes he could force his eyes open, but they’re stuck… they’re stuck, like the regen aura took ‘em for damage and sealed them completely. He can’t see Cub and Scar. He can’t see the lanterns. He can’t see anything. He’s a caterpillar in a cocoon. Gray. Gray. Gray.

Do you think Duskfell Caves is nice this time of year? Martyn’s never been. Never seen pictures, either. Like a bunch of undead mobs, the Phantom Dragon made a home for herself in the snowy biomes. It’s like, ice mountains or something? Never saw a picture, but he heard at least one story. Newbie phantoms don’t stay with Linda long. Most dragons raise their hybrids until they’ve finished Education, but Linda drops hers off in hubs all over Between. It’s what keeps the flock population up. Unlike the mobs, the hybrids can’t breed out of control. Gotta have… more coming in…

Martyn can’t feel his own breathing anymore, but he’s pretty sure he’s still alive. The road’s cold and scratchy beneath his cheek. Maybe he would’ve liked the Black River hub if Linda took him for a ride. Maybe he would’ve jumped ship then and there, of his own free will- Held on tight until he chose to walk away; didn’t just fall off randomly. Maybe, in this alt universe where his egg hatched in Duskfell, he still found his mum and dad. And he chose them, just like they chose him.

If I grew up in Black River as a newbie, I bet I’d still feel like an otter. Maybe the species and culture that fits you best isn’t where you’re born, but where you grow up.

Then again, Black River didn’t have a flock. Phantoms are really irritating, you have to remember. They’re aggressive, loud, and they root through your trash and eat dead things off the ground. That’s why traditionally, they only date other phantoms… Nobody wants them. That’s why Black River kept killing even the mobs that tried to settle down.

Martyn wonders if Grian came back and ate him too, just like he was tearing into Scar. He wouldn’t really know; he’s never been force-kicked out of Between. He doesn’t hurt? Not anymore. Just tired. Just empty. His mind feels really, really floaty right now. Kinda nice. If this is sub drop, sign me the hell up every day of the week. Is that funny? Maybe he’s dead! Everyone says that when you’re on a server, you wake up quick after death because there’s an Outside player, sweeping you off the death screen in the blink of an eye. The hazy gray glow in his eyelids doesn’t look like the death screen. Could be Between doesn’t have one? It should do.

Should tell me how I died, at least. He’d really like to know. Could take a printscreen. Frame it. Hang it on his wall. It’s his first time, right? Should prob’ly celebrate it. Huge milestone. Write home to Mum and Dad. Could deliver it himself if he gets a job with the mail. Fast flying is the one thing phantoms actually are appreciated for… or maybe it’s all one big scheme to make them go away.

Mini Muka and Salems_Lady must’ve felt like this. He’s glad to know it didn’t hurt. People say soul on soul contact doesn’t hurt, even when teeth are ripping through you. Martyn tries to figure out if he’s breathing, but his zoom won’t zoom. His lenses won’t click. Nah, mate; he’s out gray for the flippin’ count of it. Where’s the bedtime achievement? Sweet Dreams, anyone? Better not set spawn, or I’ll explode. That doesn’t work in a backend alley, right? You have to touch a bed?

Hhhhhh. If Grian’s eating him right now… It’s okay. He’d give his energy up for any of his friends. They gave up theirs for him. Grian deserves it. He’s probably so confused (Poor lad).

Noises. Distant. Muffled. Then, cutting through like a slashing sword- “I see him! Over here!”

What? Martyn’s mind warbles like he’s floating underwater. He tries to move his fingers. He tries to lift his head. Pearl? The slapping shoes sound like Pearl, not like barefooted Bdubs. Not like… someone? Oh, hands. Jostle, wake up, rooster crows- You get an achievement for that, you reckon? Dragging someone out of bed? There are monsters nearby, but who’s who at the end of the day?

“Check for open wounds-”

“Is he breathing on his own?”

“He’s out of sync-”

“Nothing’s coming in- He can’t get up-”

“Food, food-”

“Here, here- Cub and Scar weren’t detached from skin-”

A crowd. A crowd? Nothing blurs with everything and everything fades back out. Martyn strains again to open his eyes, to move his hands, to do something, but he feels like his mind and body slipped apart. He can’t move. He can’t open his own mouth. Fingers have to do it for him, and Martyn lets it happen, blank nothing in his head. Alone. Alone. Alone.

Energy. Forced through his lips - lips on lips - mouth, energy, cold as rain when it ripples past his teeth. Eat, eat, eat-

Martyn surges upward, coughing- hacking- People cheer, and when he looks up on shaky arms, it’s all of them. BigB with his arms around him. Pearl with a hand on his chin like she just did the allofeeding. Uh. Joe… but not Cleo. False and Pungence in the back, standing with a wolf hybrid Martyn doesn’t recognize. A blaze with big red goggles. Netty’s there, and Tim. Oh. Martyn drops his eyes to the ground, wishing he could melt away. He feels… creeped out, you know, that they had to see him like this. He’s out of sync. All his energy, it comes from food, not from the Outside world. And everybody knows, and all these people are talking, and they had to drop whatever they were doing to come and find him… If he could’ve gotten up himself, they wouldn’t have had to cancel plans.

Where is Icky? Wait. Where’s-?

Bdubs. Bdubs, backing away with hands cupped around his mouth like he might be sick then and there. He’s shaking. Staring. Shaking. Legs unsteady, arms wobbly, wings flapping and unable to settle down. Even his head, back and forth. Flecks of white peel from his skin in the places his hood and sleeves don’t cover, swirling like reverse snowflakes in the air. They twinkle, pop away like love hearts, and Martyn wonders what would happen if Bdubs really did feel sick and cough up the souls he digested already. Can you do that? Anivores don’t have-

Bodies, ice-cold- Pearl’s cool hands and BigB’s chilly energy reeking out of him like all the bells and whistles clanging in his mods. BigB’s hands adjust, gripping his sides better, and Pearl’s saying something that nobody hears. Martyn coughs, zigzags coursing through his mind. A whimper sputters past his lips. “Why,” he whispers, as in, Why did you get me up? Now that his mind’s snapped back to his body, he can feel every sting of hunger in his chest and the soreness in his legs from running around the city all day in awful squeaky shoes.

Hungry. Too much health bar for the amount of vitality he’s got left. If he doesn’t eat more - like, right here, right now - he’s gonna stab himself with Scar’s abandoned sword just to feel less pain. He squeaks, tk-tk-tking at Bdubs for food, but the captain shakes his head harder, eyes bulging wide, and stumbles back again. He cringes in the background, wings sagging out, and doesn’t move. Is he hurt? Maybe Icky thwacked him around. Is Icky captain now? Martyn turns his head, scanning for him, and chirps weakly at the air.

“I need more,” Pearl is saying, and False, the blaze, and the wolf jump into action straight away. Martyn doesn’t watch it, but he can hear them tearing strips of soul from Scar and Cub’s abandoned bodies. It’s like he’s back in EVO all over again, the night of the escape while Pearl and BigB tore their friends apart. Martyn could help if he had bigger fangs. Head flops sideways, though. Should it be doing that?

Ow. Ow. Why did they wake him up? He’s definitely hit rock bottom of his hunger meter. He’s taking damage, flashing red. Starving. He’s starving to death in the road and everybody’s here and they can’t feed him quick enough. Unable to find Icky, Martyn chirps for Bdubs again, this time by name. River Ripple, captain?

Pearl’s chewing now as fast as she can, trying to split the chalaza coating so Martyn can drink the liquid inside. It’s taking too long. Every other second, Martyn’s breathing hitches up in twisted pain. Can’t breathe- Can’t breathe- Her fangs are squeaky loud. He lifts his bleary eyes to the captain, who’s got one hand on the barrels Martyn hid behind when Grian was out here scavenging. Bdubs slides down to his knees, gripping that barrel for all he’s got. Every breath consumes him- Glitches tearing through his skin. What? No, no… Martyn’s glitching, Martyn’s dying- Did Icky hurt him? I didn’t want this!

There’s shouting. Pearl pulls him in her lap, guiding Martyn’s mouth to hers, and BigB moves one hand to his throat to keep it upright. Martyn, blank, feels his head flop sideways. Pearl holds it straight again, saying something he doesn’t process. Martyn can’t focus, can’t breathe, and digs his fingers into BigB’s arm. Fingers squish against his mouth. It’s BigB? BigB, behind him, forcing his mouth open so Pearl can feed him. Martyn’s eyes hook on Bdubs, then fall shut. Shouldn’t his captain be feeding him? He tries to lap his tongue. It barely twitches. BigB has to push his head forward so all that liquid won’t guzzle down Martyn’s throat. He doesn’t have a stomach; gotta dissolve it in his mouth the way anivores do. A little slips too far, though, and Martyn convulses as his gag reflex kicks in. He coughs, spewing droplets, and then he’s hacking up all of it.

“No, no,” Pearl begs, trying to get him sitting straight again. “Martyn, please-”

Hacking. Sick, sick, spitting up all of it. Martyn’s gasping in and out. He has nothing inside him, not even the energy required to sit, and BigB has to force him up so he won’t face-plant in the puddle he just hacked up all over Pearl’s legs. He’s taking damage. He’s choking on the liquid that just spilled into his lungs. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe! Martyn strains his head, and there’s Bdubs. Bdubs, hunched over on his knees, fingers twisted across his face, static cling dripping from his eyes- Icky must’ve roughed him up good or something, if he’s sobbing that hard. Martyn wishes he could reach his arm. He shifts a wing. It’s all he can do. A pathetic mewl spills from his mouth. Bdubs doesn’t move. He just… slumps there, staring and shaking like a dragon just dropped dead right in front of him. The way one shoulder’s braced against the barrel, he looks like a corpse propped against a tree with a shot horse flopped across his lap. Legs spewed sideways. Looks like he’s been shot. Like Martyn was shot, in that carrot field.

False pushes in front of Pearl, cyan goo dripping from her mouth. BigB lifts Martyn’s head, forcing his mouth open with his fingers like before, but each time Martyn takes hunger damage, he jolts too much for False to get a straight shot on his mouth. Pearl grips his cheeks with massive palms. False pushes the energy down to Martyn, and he knows he needs to lick it up. BigB’s more careful this time, not letting him take too much before he levels out his head. Tingles all across Martyn’s tongue tell him the enzymes in his mouth are doing their job. He’s got a pinch of soul juice inside him now. Is it helping?

And over by the barrels, Bdubs is spitting, spewing, gripping his chest, twisting his shirt, and shaking apart like he’s made of leaves. People notice now. Notice like Martyn noticed, even though the captain's in the back and covering his face as he fights to steady out his static pixels. Even with False, Pearl, and BigB all over him, Martyn cannot look away from those black, black eyes. BigB is nice to prop him up. He feels like a spawnling again, snuggled in a blanket in his mother’s lap. Even as a spawnling, Mum always said he was big for a phantom. False’s mouth is on his once again, and although Martyn still can’t move on his own, Pearl and BigB help him along just like before. A swoop of white-feathered wings signals Skizz’s arrival from above. Oh, good- That’s one more person who’s about to think he’s really gross and slobbery, and probably totally useless (flopped and twisted in the street).

False disappears, back to the fallen vex, and the blaze sweeps in to press his mouth up to Martyn’s. I didn’t chirp for you, he thinks, but doesn’t say that. His mouth couldn’t shape those words even if he wanted to. BigB’s doing all of it for him, shifting his head forward and back like he’s some kind of nutcracker toy. Or… one of those glass bottle bird things people put on their desks? One of the Watchers had one; they drink water. For some reason. What’s up with that anyway? Well, they did love their glass in East Verdant Oasis. Perks of living by the beach: free desk birds for everyone. Martyn wishes he’d stolen it. That would’ve been a nice Screw you of farewell, he thinks, to run off with that bird that used to dip its head to him when he sat cringing on the desk’s other side.

The pixels on BigB’s fingers blur with Martyn’s face like they can’t remember which one of them they belong to. His wing twitches. He can move. Move? Martyn tries to pull away from the blaze’s mouth. Pearl catches him with one hand before he can flump against the road. Owwie. Ow. Ow. Slobbery and disgusting in front of Pearl and BigB, who will probably never share a bed with him again, Martyn curls against his arms. BigB’s whole body hums like he’s made of bees. Is this why people say phantoms shouldn’t hunt alone? Because… something, something… He fights his eyes open through a stash of wrinkles. He grips False’s hand with weak fingers of his own. Her voice-

“The damage ticks are burning it up faster than he’s using it-”

“They weren’t sleepy; it’s not working-”

“-glitches-”

“-can’t breathe-”

“Bdubs, get over here! Share your feed!”

Martyn’s eyes flicker open. Captain? Bdubs is stuck right now- Stuck because Skizz grabbed his arm, is trying to talk to him, and Bdubs coughs and spits and shakes. He convulses through his glitches. Martyn chokes out a whimper. He reaches with a shaky hand. Bdubs spots him, then warbles some kind of- chirp? Was that a chirp?

River Ripple, help! … Captain?

Bdubs takes one step back. Then another. It’s a stumble. Legs buckle beneath him. He grabs for a barrel, crying out, then hits the ground full-puddled in his skin. People scramble, calling out. Martyn jostles back and forth. Pearl and BigB are struggling to grip, pixels squeaking across his own.

“Bdubs, come on!” False shouts. She grabs his limp arm, dragging his unmoving body across the ground. To the blaze, she says, “Martyn needs sleepy souls-”

“I’m on it.”

Something’s oozing past Martyn’s lips, dripping on the ground. Joe’s face appears and vanishes in the crowd. They’re pushing forward. Pearl’s palm strokes his hair. “Hold on,” she’s saying, and Martyn wishes he were in that dreamy gray state again, where nothing hurt. Not like this. He’s still flashing red on every breath. His whole body shudders and he’s weak and useless and he could help if he could move… but he can’t.

Yes I can. He ran from Icky. He fought the vex. Martyn forces up his head. “Wha… what’s-” Bdubs?

Joe kneels, stripping off their jacket. They hold it in a way that blocks Bdubs from view and doesn't involve pulling Martyn around. Tango and False are loud right behind him. Even when Martyn tries to twist, Joe adjusts so the jacket blocks Martyn’s searching eyes. “Back-sync,” he says, and Martyn can feel through skin to heartbeats that Joe is panicked too. Just fighting it better than Pearl can, bent over him while voices and people are noisy all around. “He just woke his player up. It’s fritzing his connection. Don’t look, bud.”

“… Oh.” Bdubs is upset?

Not just upset… He’s awake. Like- That kind of awake. But- in Between? Is that even possible? Nah, I really HAVE died.

Something connected between two worlds. Somehow, somewhere, with Martyn flopped over and fighting to breathe in Pearl’s safe arms, something snapped inside that man. And Joe tries to hide it, but Bdubs is losing it. Joe adjusts the jacket, but Martyn sees past a swinging sleeve regardless. Sees Bdubs soppy on his hands and knees, coughing goopy swathes of pixels on the ground while the blaze pulls at him, pressing his throat pouch tight to his neck and speaking low and fast. Bdubs is sobbing. Shaking. He’s losing his hands- He’s dissolving in waves! Hunks of him are falling off, melting before they even hit the ground. There’s no focus- There’s no form-

They’re connected. Something spooked him. His player is crying. Nobody has put that into words, but Martyn can feel it…  and every line of code he has bushes up on end.

Bdubs is scared. His player is crying. They’re in total sync. Big Bossman is awake. He’s hurting! How do we fix this? CAN you fix this, if it’s leaking in through the outside world? From the way Bdubs is glitching out, there must be a feedback loop. They’re both crying, setting each other off around and ‘round and ‘round.

The blaze’s fingers slip inside Bdubs’ mouth and, hasty, drag free a bright blue shape. False grabs it alongside him, and she moves it to Martyn as fast as they can. But Bdubs can’t stop hacking up glitches, and most everyone just left him there on his knees, crowding Martyn’s face. He doesn’t even get the chance to protest if he doesn’t want the slimy soul. Pearl forces up his head; BigB pries apart his lips. In a swish of wings, Skizz is leaning over Bdubs, and Martyn’s panicked mind’s at least grateful (as he’s forced to gulp liquid from the punctured soul) that someone’s watching out for him. Martyn’s fine; he knows he’s gonna be fine. Bdubs needs help more.

Energy. Food.

Life. Martyn absorbs all he can, opening and shutting his mouth on his own as Pearl and BigB start easing up their grip, but Bdubs is absolutely freaking out. He shoves to his feet, pushing Skizz away as hard as he can, and tries to squirm past False with a hand outstretched for Martyn. The wolf man has to catch him under the arms, hauling him back. He’s such a little guy, it’s not hard to sweep him from the ground. Bdubs kicks and screams, trying to flap his pinned-down wings.

“No, no- please! ﾉ√ﾘ! ﾉ√ﾘ 尺の丂乇!”

Again, energy draining from the soul straight into his mouth. It’s cool on his tongue like milk from a pail left in the snow. Martyn breaks into licks, pushing back at False as she tips more and more into his mouth.

“Let me hold him!” Bdubs glitches through the wolf man’s arms and thumps flat on the ground. He lies there shaking, lifting his head only when he can, and all his shape is turning to a puddle in his skin. Bdubs tries to stand, lurching forward, only to collapse mid-lunge and melt like goop between the deepslate. Lightning flashes through him like he’s glitching even now, even at his worst.

Martyn starts to shake. He darts his gaze left and right. People pressed around him, Pearl and BigB having eased their grip and saying things to other people- they turned away just for a sec, just- And the world is spinning all around. Martyn can’t feel anything but the whoosh of his pixels puffing up and the buffer in his brain. He can’t move. He can’t breathe, watching someone from the Outside world tear his ever-smiling, ever-steady captain apart, and everybody left him-

Run.

In a burst of pixels and whirl of wings, Martyn sprouts a tail he didn’t know he even had XP for. He’s off like a rabbit, pouncing straight past Pearl’s bent knee. He smacks the tail down with enough force to launch him in the air. His wings crack wide and shoot him higher. Joe, Pearl, False, and BigB start shouting after him, but Martyn’s gone. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone-

What was that? Martyn covers his ears, squeezing up his eyes as city lights blur below. Where is he going? Anywhere that isn’t here. They’re in sync, he’s crying, he’s in pain- Because he’s synced to someone on the other side? What does it mean? Why would anyone do that to their avatar? But… Joe said Bdubs woke his player up? It’s Bdubs doing this? But it’s an endless feedback loop, feeding into each other-

He bangs into a lantern, then yelps when the lead it hangs from trips him forward. He flips over and tangles arm and leg. The world loops around and blurs like smoke and flame. A sickening thump slams his ears and pain cracks across his chest. Martyn gasps at the impact, whimpering all the more. Ow, ow, ow! Why do phantoms have to break so easy?

“Can’t- Can’t-” Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. No no no no no- Did he just shatter his ribcode? Martyn lets out the kind of wail you never should if you’re weakened baby prey. Are phantoms prey? Three species eat them, one actively hunts; Martyn, in his blurry panic, forgets it all. Two vex down, right? Or do you think Grian will come back and finish him off? Would it be so bad to get eaten? Can someone please just log him out? Or does that lock perma-damage in? He forgets, he forgets, he forgets.

His chest aches. His throat swells. He can’t breathe. And Bdubs was convulsing, like he wasn’t in control of his own body- Get up, get up, get up. Have to get away, but he can’t move- It hurts, it hurts so much-

He’s up. Pinned, his back against the wall. Martyn slides down to a crouch, but the world is too damn loud. His clumsy tail bangs against things; it’s way too long. What? When did he get this tail? What’s happening to him? Voices shout his name from a couple streets away. Martyn’s not even sure they’re really there or if he’s slipping into flashes of that other Martyn who haunts his daylight dreams. Which way did he even fly? Away from the market; that’s for sure. Maybe he’s by the park? Martyn pins his hands to his ears, trying to breathe, because the thought of Bdubs and what’s going on up there might send him through a panic attack.

Bdubs is in sync. He woke his player up. You can do that? And… and it wrecks your form like that? They were- He just- He was screaming, glitching, melting on the ground, freaking out-

He called me ﾉ√ﾘ 尺の丂乇. At least, he thinks Bdubs might’ve been addressing him- It really was so hard to tell. Who is that?

“Martyn?” The voice is familiar after the tour they took of the arena that she built. Haunts him still after that nightmare that stands his pixels up on end. Quick footsteps echo after it. Martyn freezes, not sure whether or not she’s hunting. She warned him she’d be hunting first night of the full moon. Oh no. He shouldn’t be here on the ground. But then, “Are you all right? Can I sit with you?”

“C-Cleo?” He’s fighting with his voice, blindly reaching- “Can I hold your hand a sec?” Hold me. Don’t let me drift away. Mum always made him hold her hand, no matter how big he got. Said it’s because she loved him and adult otters never grow out of it, so he’d just have to live with it… and then she’d tap him on the head. Martyn zeroes in on that memory, even when he can feel his pupils growing wider. When Cleo crouches down, she’s holding his hand so fast, he’s not sure when she even reached for it. Maybe it’s a glitch, because the words that tumble from his lips feel like they should’ve come first. “Cleo… Please- it hurts! I want my mum- I want my mum-” Mum held his hands. Martyn remembers a lot of reaching for his dad’s claws, which weren’t offered very often. He’s shaking. Is that even Cleo? He can’t even tell, the static picture’s so bad and blurry in his eyes.

“Okay; squeeze my hand. You’re safe here. Two hands? You want two?” Cleo moves a second up to meet him. Martyn grabs it, latching on, bearing all his strength against it. Yellow hair falls past his headband, smeared across his vision like he’s drowning in a wheat field. He’s drowning, but the water in his throat is deeper than any farm would ever need. Somewhere, in another lifetime, he’s bleeding purple energy amid rows of carrots, and nothing makes sense and he’ll never understand.

“Hh… hhh…”

“Oh my gods,” she says from somewhere far away. “Here, here, here- I have food. Wait, you can’t eat bread. Martyn, can I allofeed?”

He tries to nod, not sure if it comes across. It must’ve, though. Cleo’s breath is on his lips a second later, and Martyn jumps. You’re supposed to lick to ask. There’s none of that this time- Cleo’s just going for it. It’s like being pecked at by a ginormous bird. Martyn mouths weakly back, too baby-fanged to tear the soul from her mouth. Cleo adjusts immediately, even while she’s got her hands wrapped up in his. Martyn hears a clamp of sharp teeth, followed by a slosh forward. Did she bite it open? In a ripple, there’s soul juice spilling down her tongue. Martyn licks it up, fighting to catch her lips. It’s messy. Oh lordy, it’s messy. He’s got juice all over his face, spilling down his collar-

“Martyn,” she says, and she’s no closer than she was before. Her hand grips his shirt so tight, it pinches skin. Wow, don’t feel me up without a warning, he thinks, but doesn’t say it with a mouth full of soul. “This is really bad here on your chest; it’s jabbing at a lung. I need to pry your wound apart- Keep it from sealing over ‘til you heal from food, not the regen aura. This will hurt a lot. Okay?”

Huh? That doesn’t make sense. Martyn nods anyway, reaching blindly for her mouth.

Cleo’s fingers rip his wound open.

“OW!” Martyn cringes at the pain, but Cleo’s got her soul hands out. She holds him firmly, even when he tries to roll and kick. He fights to lock eyes. Cleo’s got hands where nobody should put them. Did she even ask if she could do that? He tries to kick again. She’s not yanking anything out from inside him, but pinning him open like a trap that might snap shut. When he whines again, she makes eye contact. Her hair’s as messy as his, though she doesn’t even have a bandana to pin it back. Got some flowers, though- Maybe he should try that. Ow?

“I’m holding you like this until you heal from the food, not the hub’s healing aura. Okay? This will be over quick.”

Help me. Help me. “To eat me?” he croaks out. She is a zombie, after all. Maybe if she eats him without the glow of aggro in her eyes, she’s not breaking contract.

“I won’t eat you. Trust me.”

Trust you? He’d really rather not. His belly’s gaping. There are arrows inside him. He can’t see them, but he knows they’re there. Purple. What does purple mean? Martyn reaches a shaky hand towards his belly. Cleo, who doesn’t have any free hands, tries to block it with her knee, then nips her teeth and growls. Martyn flinches, even though the bite didn’t hit.

“Dammit. Martyn, grab something. Your arm, me- Just squeeze something. Bear down.”

Wordlessly, Martyn complies. He can’t touch his stomach. He can’t reach his leg. He takes his wrist and pinches. But that hurts, and he whines. He looks to Cleo. They did say he could grab their arm. Well, bottoms up. He clamps down near their elbow, trying to avoid the places the red stitches show through. He gives a squeeze. That does the trick. His entire arm flexes, tensing up. A spurt of white sparks go with it, leaping from his skin everywhere there’s an opening. Aha! That’s food. He took food. Martyn squeezes again.

“That’s good! You’re good.”

Good what? Cycling the soul she fed him, absolutely. He’s forcing it through his system as fast as he can. He tries to croak a question, though it’s slurred inside his mouth.

“Healing,” she responds. Cold fingers dip past skin, forcing lines of code away from his shaky lung. Maybe. Unless she’s about to rip that lung straight out of him. Every staggered breath comes out sparse and fluttery. Hh- Hhh-

A generation later, Cleo’s fingers loosen up. She exhales. Then they start molding him together like he’s made of clay, pinching along a line and then brushing their hands back and forth to knead the pixels. Ow. Martyn, who has no interest in seeing what his insides look like peeled apart, lies breathing there until it’s done. Shuddering. Shaky.

“… I can breathe.”

“Yeah.”

Martyn blinks, his eyes as hazy as morning dew. He presses his palm against his ribcode. It’s like he never hit the ground. He’s sore all over, but… he feels fine? He can still move his legs, even though he’s pretty sure they both snapped when he flipped over the lanterns and hit the ground. They hurt. He rubs one near the knee. Martyn glances at Cleo’s hands. He’d expected guts and soul goop splattered all over, but he’s greeted by nothing but their skin tone when the glow on their hands fizzles back to normal. Cleo’s studying their palms, lip curled and bruised from bites.

“That wasn’t very sterile,” she says. There’s guilt in her voice like he’s never heard from her. Or, um. From Bdubs, really. They’re friends, right? Martyn tries to swallow.

“I can breathe… I can talk. I-it’s okay.”

He can breathe. Ohhhh, wow.

“Give my hand another squeeze,” Cleo says, reaching out. Martyn grips her thumb without asking why she wants this. But he does, and another pulse of white ripples from his bare arms. Is this helping? I think it’s helping. Maybe that’s why Mum always held his hands. White light twirls through the air like it’s desperate for mistake. In the back of his foggy mind, Martyn remembers the energy will leave him faster if he takes his shirt off. Cleo didn’t pull it off him. He doesn’t dare try. Like, what if it’s weird to hold hands with a shirtless guy you just pressed your mouth up to? Maybe he won’t.

“Okay… Okay. I can breathe. I feel a little better now.” Thanks. Wow. Uhh. That back there, jostled in Pearl and BigB’s arms…

Cleo nods, short and self-assured. “People are hunting. We should get you out of the road. Do you think you can walk?”

You were hunting. Cleo isn’t out tonight on a casual stroll. He looks at her for a beat, clicking his lenses. Back in the stadium, she told him she’d be hunting by the park once the moon went full. She was hunting. But then, when he crashed down… she helped him? Instead of logging him out like easy prey?

… I want to be like that. The person who leaves their apartment when someone’s shouting in the hall, even if he’s comfy with his communicator and a snack. The person who hears someone sobbing in an alley and runs to see if they’re okay. The kind of person who breaks off a hunt because the guy you barely know is crying on the ground.

Bdubs did say that queens in a species are quick to pounce if someone hurts one of their own. Cleo didn’t pounce on an attacker, but she sort of did the same thing. She helped me. Like a friend might. Are they even friends?

Do you think… helping an injured guy in the road is what a flock captain would do? Bdubs seems to take pride in hunting for other people. He doesn’t only help the phantoms. He built this city with the mayor. He’s a leader here. And he cares about everybody.

Martyn’s tail twitches on the ground. It’s longer now than it was just an hour ago. Hell, five minutes ago, it was just a stumpy nub. He looks down, grasping it with the edge of his fingers. Huh. Sure made flying easier when he had a butt-lever to launch with. Could come in handy sometime. Maybe someday, he’ll be a buff phantom like Bdubs, False, and Icky. He can look out for the underdogs in this city, the way Cleo just helped him. The way Joe was kind and Skizz welcomed him in with a smile and the way False played with him at roost.

I… I just want somewhere to settle down. Yeah, go on. He’ll shove down the snappy attitude. That’s not who he wants to be. Grow up, dude. Be more like Cleo. Cleo’s staring at him in concern, even though she barely knows him and could’ve just logged him out. Martyn wants whatever she has. That… skill in figuring out what he needed, and doing it anyway even though biting him in the chest probably would’ve been a lot easier. Martyn stares at his fingers, interlocked with Cleo’s. Right now, she’s cupping them from underneath with her other hand, like when he’s ready to get on his feet, she’ll pull him up. Gently, Martyn squeezes.

Thank you. He… He feels like he’s waking up for the first time since he left the Void. It’s been a wild day, full of running from Icky, escaping the blaze pack, fighting two vex all on his own, seeing Grian, and crashing to the ground. He’s even got a long tail now. This city’s a whirlwind, but there are patterns if you look for them.

Watch out for minecarts. Stay off the ground. Check for alligators. Only hunt when comms are green. We’re safe up at roost. Bdubs promised he’d be safe. Said the vex weren’t allowed to get him. Patterns. Rules. They were overwhelming, but he feels like he… he’s starting to get it. He just needs a patient teacher. And I have one. If they get through all this - if everyone helps Bdubs recover the way Cleo just helped him - then he can learn from his captain the way he once learned from the phantoms he wrote ethograms for. Only this time, he’ll learn his skills from a real hybrid who can hunt, track, and fight.

And is kind to me.

Can he walk? “Yeah…” Martyn takes his hand back from Cleo’s. He wipes it on his shirt, then immediately regrets doing that while she watched. He didn’t think her dirty, although gravel on her hand suggested she’d been creeping around the streets in search of easy prey. Maybe there are rules against eating someone in a panic attack. Oh, wait. I’m a phantom. I’m protected anyway. That’s nice. He braces his weight on his hands and fights to stand, only to realize - too late - that he certainly can’t. Out of sync. Wobbly legs betray him, dumping him on his face.

“We can just sit,” Cleo says, watching him clumsily try to act like that didn’t just happen. Martyn can’t think of anything clever to say, so he just sputters something like “Yeah, let’s,” and plops back where he was. This time, he wraps his arms around his knees instead of holding her hand. Cleo doesn’t say anything. They just look across the road together, watching birds flit between the branches of the oak trees in the park. Oak’s a good, sturdy wood color, but Martyn’s more familiar with it on servers than in Between like this. Loads of birch where he grew up. Maple trees up in Fern Mountain, their leaves a vivid red. Not a lot of trees around EVO.

One of the birds up there is blue, like some of the slimes he’s seen in the streets. Slimes have gotta be the most popular mob in New Star, though that’s absolutely no surprise. Martyn didn’t even know they could come in blue and pink until he came here. As he relearns how to breathe without cringing up in pain, he tries distracting himself with thoughts about the slime hub… and what it might’ve been like to grow up down here, tucked away from the sun. There wouldn’t have been summer camp; that’s for sure. Would he have even joined his little outlast team?

It might’ve been nice, to be a slime. He could’ve learned to swim in the canals (preferably without the alligators), gotten scooped up by giant dragon jaws when it was time for bed, and played beneath that giant custom tree.

Martyn lifts the end of his tail, rolling it between his fingers. He squeezes. It’s not nearly as long as False’s or Bdubs’ or Icky’s tails, but it’s longer than it was. He’s pretty sure he won’t trip on it. It reaches a little past his knees. Not a spawnling anymore. Not for a long time. He’s getting bigger. He grew up with hybrid parents, not a dragon, but maybe he’s doing fine. He feels like with a little practice and time spent learning this city, maybe the young slimes can look to him if they need help someday. Like… if they slip off the bridge and realize they can’t swim. He could be there. He can help them down from trees or carry them to rooftops if they want to go exploring.

He’s just a little bigger now than he was a few weeks ago. Back in EVO, where his wings were stumpy and his tail was still a nub barely poking from his back. He examines the tail again, holding the tip nearer to his eyes. It’s got a wee spike there on the end. Maybe he’ll hang a charm from the market on it. Tie a balloon. That would be a lark, he thinks.

Martyn also decides he’s in stubborn competition with Cleo to see who will break the silence first. Now that total fear has drained away, he wants to be alone. He wants her to say something he can be mad about later (when he looks back on this memory and hates how babyish he’s acting), but… she’s just quiet.

And for a moment there… Martyn thinks he understands. Maybe the Watchers did mess him up a little in the head. He swallows, which feels like boiling water. What is he doing here, curling in on himself? Feeling awful; taking blame? Too scared of getting bit and bruised to voice when he needs help?

I don’t WANT any help. I want to do this on my own. All his life, he’s had parents hovering over him, keeping him on a chain. The clock tower feels like a chain. But the alligator was in the water… the blaze pack was in the road… the vex almost caught him.

The roost is safety. The roost is high and protected off the ground.

Rules about where he can and can’t hunt, what he can and can’t eat, who he can and can’t be… it all feels like boiling chains dragging him down to Nether depths. And Martyn needs to know. What’s the worst thing they can do to him here? How annoying is he allowed to be? When you’re a phantom, you’re deemed gross and loud automatically, and to some people, that’s the least forgivable crime of all. Martyn stares at his upturned hand like there’s a little phantom perching there, picking between his fingers for a treat. His other hand tightens around an invisible axe.

People don’t look at phantoms, usually, and call them “cute.” Their undead skin flakes off in strips. They bite. They eat scraps and dead things, especially souls that weren’t disconnected from their skins and so cannot despawn. To the Watchers, the phantoms they set up an enclosure for were barely worth tolerating for educational research and were to be disposed of the very night their screeches outweighed their usefulness. Martyn wondered for a while how long it would take before Bdubs considered him too difficult to deal with and ordered his execution too.

But he didn’t. Even when I disobeyed him. Even when I shouted at him- called him a pervert- Icky’s none too happy with him, but Icky’s not the captain. Martyn wonders how hard he’ll have to work to win the beta’s favor back. Very hard, I’m sure. Ah, if it isn’t the consequences of my big, stupid mouth…

There’s nothing he can say to Cleo about why he fell and hit the road that wouldn’t be weird. First he’d have to share what’s going on with Bdubs, which was both horrifying to watch and doesn’t justify his freak-out. Then he’d have to justify what just happened by admitting the sync between his emotions and his creator’s was snipped away right after he was spawned. Martyn can hear False calling his name, but neither he nor Cleo speak up about it. He sneaks a sideways glance, but they’re not even scrolling through their communicator. They’re just…

… watching birds in the park across the street. And being very calm, very quiet, while he’s all wrapped in his own head.

“You never said thank you.” Why did I just say that?

Cleo jerks their head to look at him. “Excuse me?”

Idiot. Martyn forces out a smirk, trying not to look as tired and wound-up as he feels. “For catching you after Bdubs knocked you off the wall.”

They roll their eyes. “I literally just saved you from having your body seal over that injury. You good?”

“Yeah… I’m good.”

Cleo leans forward then, studying his face. A frown. She licks her thumb, then rubs it against the edge of his mouth. “Bit spilled,” she says, and pops the thumb back in her mouth before Martyn can process what just happened. She makes a second gesture, catching what she can, until it’s all wiped clean. “That’s better… You’ll attract hunters with exposed energy like that.”

Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, true. Grian tearing through Scar’s soul flickers through his mind. “I’m calling my partners,” Martyn says, fumbling to open his contact list. He didn’t mind the allofeeding. Getting cleaned up like this, though, makes his cheeks fizzle. It reminds him too much of Mum. He’s not a child anymore, even if Bdubs keeps teasing him about his baby teeth. “I’ll… Yeah. Thank you, Cleo. If you wouldn’t mind staying for a sec? I don’t think I could run if the blaze pack closed in on me again.”

“Sure, yeah. Wait- ‘Again?’”

She didn’t ask who he was calling. Martyn buzzes the group chat, using both their names aloud to satisfy any curiosity Cleo might have without making it, like… weird. Or is that weird? He has to glance around to find the street name, but thank the devs, Scott’s labeling is impeccable. He can see it from here: Lily Street. What a lovely place to nearly die.

He slides his comm away, clearing his throat. “Hey, um… question. So when we met, you said you’re, uh… she/they? I’ve been trying to learn, but I’m still not sure I understand how that works.”

A flutter. A pause. Appraisal? I passed. “Do you know much about being nonbinary?”

Um. Martyn stares at his feet. He’s still wearing his shoes. He taps the toes together and rubs the heels against the road. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard that word before, except from you.”

“Ah. Well, there are books in the library.”

“Oh.” Okay. Martyn’s not sure if Cleo’s being short with him because they’re in a grumpy mood, or if this is just how they are. Well, if Cleo doesn’t want to share, he’ll… figure it out, sometime. And if it’s a while before he gets it, then Cleo will just have to deal. Maybe Pearl and BigB can join him for a library day. He changes subjects. “I’ve seen you on the wall a few times now. Why do you climb it?”

Cleo shrugs. “Big, tall. Gets me near the surface. It’s a zombie thing.” She doesn’t give a further answer. Martyn doesn’t press it. He looks away, scratching behind his neck just so he doesn’t, uh… look weird with his hands draped across his lap or something.

“Haha, yeah… I miss the sun too.”

It’s six long seconds before Cleo answers. Martyn didn’t even think she would. But they lean their chin down to their knees, pulling their sandals across deepslate until they’re very close. “I climb to hear the rain. And the worms.”

The worms. Martyn can still feel the stiff dirt from the park on the pads of his fingers and beneath the clawed tips of his nails. Packed tight. Dead. “We use bone meal at the tree farm to get around that,” Bdubs said, because apparently it’s difficult for worms to dig through the deepslate and bedrock they have here underground. They can’t get here easily on their own. They don’t really spawn in, unless there are tricks to it Martyn’s never learned. Maybe this is one of the biomes they don’t? There’s snow above their heads.

“… You know, I never spent much time in the sun. It burned too hot. Maybe what I really miss is the rain, too. I-” Martyn looks up, straining his ears. Cleo’s not modded. There’s nothing there interfering with his ears. That helps him focus in. “I grew up with ravens, in a maple mountains biome. Rained all the time, and in the wet season, the whole valley flooded. The llamas moved uphill, and all the wandering traders disappeared inside their temple for months on end. Got pretty quiet, and my dad used to keep busy studying. My sister and I would play in the puddles. All the worms came aboveground on rainy days. I didn’t think I’d miss it? But I miss how wet the dirt got. And every summer, my parents took me north to the otter spawn hub, and they do a lot of fishing. Never noticed I was always around worms until I moved out for my Education, and it was strictly indoors.”

“And they were gone.”

“And they were gone,” Martyn repeats. “Then you notice. I tried digging at the park, but it’s all bad dirt there. No life in it. No worms at all.” He leans against the bricks with a sigh, hands flopping in the hem of his shirt. His ribs ache where they got whacked and reformed. Pity the regen aura takes a freakin’ age to fix the undead. “What brought you out to New Star? Tell me who Cleo is.”

Cleo glances sideways, like they’re sizing him up to decide if he deserves to be privy to that information. “Well, Bdubs invited me. I’ve been here since the starter bases. After the slimes, Scott, and Bdubs, I was the next one here.”

Martyn looks over at her. Cleo looks back. “No worms,” he says. “No rain. Just… All this? City life?”

“It’s fine, really… I mean, they’re just worms.”

Not to you, Martyn thinks, but when he opens his mouth to say that, he hovers before tightening his lips again. There’s a weird, flickery tension in the air between him and Cleo, like he’s breaking down a barrier he’s not close enough to be allowed to touch. Would saying ‘us’ be coming on too strong? He doesn’t mean to be. Just talking, really. Uhh. “I’m sorry,” he says instead, feeling weird about that too. “That’s… Y’know. Me too.”

Cleo glances at him again, like she can’t decide whether or not he’s making fun of her. Great, Martyn thinks, and braces his hands. Now I sound like a weirdo. He adjusts position enough that he’s facing away from her completely. He counts to 20, then whispers, “If you ever find worms, give me a heads up? I wouldn’t mind stuffing some in my pockets to take home.”

“We could start one of those ecosystem containers.”

“Ooh, yeah. I’d like that. That’s probably a better idea, or I’ll flop on my bed after a long day and all the worms will crawl from my shorts to my sheets.”

“Yeah, straight into your brain.”

“Aw, what can I say? I’ve always had a dirty mind.”

Cleo rolls their eyes. Martyn laughs; she shakes her head. But she doesn’t smack him or tell him he’s gone too far.

It’s silent for two minutes before Pearl finds him. She swoops in on her bat wings and BigB’s not that far behind. Martyn holds up his arms, waiting to be yanked, but alas… she checks him over first, asking where he hurts. Martyn can’t think too straight. He slips in a quip about hoping to get a cool scar out of this, but it gets a bit lost when he’s half talked over; Pearl’s looking to Cleo now. Cleo explains what happened better than Martyn could anyway.

BigB shoots a whisper off to someone via comm. Pearl hoists Martyn up so he can lean on her a little, at least until their pixels fuzz together. That won’t be long. She pats his back. “You good?”

“Mmhm.” And, “Thanks, Cleo. I needed that talk. See you around?”

Cleo nods. “Yeah, if you hang with the phantoms, I’m sure you will… If you can find me.”

Find you? The city’s full of detail, but in the grand scheme of things, the perimeter’s only 33 chunks across. Martyn raises one eyebrow. “Better work on my tracking, then. Well… Catch ya later. And, y’know… Thanks for rec’ing me the phantom book. Maybe next time we meet, it’ll be at the library, not the street.”

Cleo looks at him like he just punched her in the gut. Looks very, very hard for a splintering second before saying “Yeah, maybe” in reply. Martyn turns away, pressing his forehead into Pearl’s shoulder. Her hair tickles, all soft and crunchy. Not sure why. Maybe that’s the cinnamon. She holds him firmer, asking if he’s fine. He’s all right.

He’s feeling better than he has since he can’t remember when.

Chapter Text

Chalaza

Take a Bow

💙  🧡  💚

The moment Scott pushes open his office door is the same moment a glitch in reality dumps a bright purple… thing on his desk. Scott breaks off mid-sentence to his comm, leaving Sausage dangling on the other end.

“… I’ll call you back.” He disconnects without waiting for a reply. Stuffing the communicator back in his hoodie pocket, he sprints across the room. The purple shape looks to be a person, belly-down on his desk. It’s got feathered wings- Is this the parrot? Why is it here? HALO Meteor said it was a Level 0 spawnling. How… how is it already this big? It’s only been a couple days. Scott’s never heard of a spawnling taking less than six weeks to lose its soul crystal. Maybe five? Five feels like it’s pushing it.

The soul’s drooped across his desk, but it lifts its hanging head. No skin, so blank white eyes settle over Scott’s. Then the soul jerks up. It scrambles backwards like a crab, kicking papers in all directions. The face doesn’t have a lot of features, but it looks terrified. Its wings snap several times like it wants to leap into the air, but doesn’t know how to fly. Scott snatches all the papers in one hand as they fall, dumping them in the one inventory slot you get in Between. It’s the best part of being an allay hybrid: stacking the non-stackables. The papers don’t match, but he can gather 64 of them all the same. “Hey, hey; no… It’s okay! Friends, I think. Friends?”

The purple soul, being a skinless thing, doesn’t hear him. It grabs at its hip like it keeps a sword in that inventory slot. Fingers clasp on nothing. The figure looks down, then slaps one hand to its pec. And the other. Wings flap. Toes curl, knees bunching in. The purple soul feels up and down its chest like it’s never seen itself unskinned before. Maybe it hasn’t? Did the lens caps only just pop off?

How did it get here? His office is shielded with amethyst blocks on all sides, which - apart from being delicious and pretty-sounding in the ears - tends to keep vex away. They can still force their way in, but they burn if they touch this stuff the same way Scott burns if he touches nametags. No windows. He keeps the door locked; he has a custom key design he slides in the item scanner. Scott looks up. It dropped from above. It hit the desk hard. A lightning bolt of gold marks the left side of its chest. Uhh…

That looks like a Totem of Undying rescue. Did it… fall? He didn’t see the burst of gold and green sparks, but he was still distracted by his comm and the door at the time. Once he brought the purple soul to the hospital, suspecting it could be a player but lacking the background to confirm it, Scott sort of wiped his hands of it. Has it had that scar this whole time?

The soul glitters. Tiny white hearts peel from its form and swirl above its head, where they wink out of existence one by one. It’s definitely been eating souls. Scott studies it carefully, muscles tense in case he needs to dart away. The purple soul looks up again. One finger taps a few times at the golden scar etched across its left breast.

“Hmm.” It can’t speak and it can’t hear. Scott gestures with his hands. Do you sign? he asks, trying River-Sign first. It’s slower than Sea-Sign and some words overlap between them. The purple soul stares back, unmoving, then looks at its hands. Fingers flex. It makes an X across its chest. “No, huh? Hmm…” Okay, maybe this can still work. Scott looks around his office. His walls are lined with shelves and player files, and one strong bump will knock them to the ground. Then they’ll explode. I need to move you to another room. That’s top priority, even before getting it inside a skin. Scott motions for the soul to get off the desk. It recoils. Then it notices its feet. Both hands grip the ankle and trace lines along the bottom. The soul looks behind it. One hand moves to its rear, feeling out the smoothness like a ribbon.

“Yep, that’s your bum.” He can’t help but tease a little, even if it can’t hear him. Again, Scott motions for it to slide off his desk. The purple soul backs up again, patting its side more desperately for a sword. Scott’s nerves spike into his throat. There are player files right there on the wall behind it. He makes a sweeping motion with his hands, trying to indicate Get away from there, and I mean it. This request is answered by a long, empty stare. Souls don’t need to breathe if they’re outside their bodies, but this player’s so on edge, it’s pinned to the wall and panting anyway.

Again, insistent, Scott motions it off. He shows his empty palms. The soul looks up. White eyes rake the shelves. Long toes clench against the desk.

Don’t. Don’t. One sharp movement and a chain reaction of soul crystals will explode. Scott glances at his desk. The player kicked a lot of papers off, but it left a book and quill he keeps for personal meeting plans. Moving slow, moving with care, Scott holds his hands up to show he’s unarmed and reaches out to take the book. The purple soul watches, flexing out its wings.

Okay. Scott skims through the pages to a blank one in the back. He scribbles out the words It’s not safe here- Follow me and holds it up for the player to read. It tilts its head. But to its credit, it complies. It’s tentative, gripping the desk for support, and moves its feet very, very slowly… like it’s afraid the carpet might bite.

Scott is patient. Scott is careful. He extends his hand and the purple player takes it. One step at a time, he leads it out into the hall.

💙  🧡  💚

“You’re late,” Bdubs says when Icky finds him down by the west river. Icky looks up at him from the reeds, a fish soul dangling from his beak. Bdubs stays where he is, his legs shoved through the fenceposts. The stare burns between them. The fish flaps in Icky’s grip. After a few silent seconds, Icky tosses his head and dunks it down his throat pouch. It glimmers as it disappears.

“I am losing patience with the way you’re leading this flock. I do not like Martyn.”

“Take me out, then. I don’t care. Do it. Knock me flat, take the claim, and I’ll go. Straight offline.” Never to return ‘til my boss climbs out of the whirlpool he’s sinking through and comes around again. If he ever does. Maybe never. Once he sets foot on that AFK server… the door to Between will shut behind him. He’s not getting out of there without outside help.

They have to make it through this as a team. Bdubs watches Icky through the bridge supports. Icky stares into the water. A fish darts past the rock they’re perching on, but they don’t move.

“I can take you,” they whisper, softer than the way the water ripples.

“Then do it. But you only eat fish. What will you feed the flock?”

Icky’s eyes thin to slits. The neck ruff poofs when they grind the beak. “I catch other things for this flock, and I share all that is not mine.”

“So go be captain, then. I don’t care.” It won’t hurt to lose that fight. Not anymore.

Icky ignores this, watching the water. In a crack of tail, they dive. Water splashes. A couple seconds later, they haul themself back on the bank with a white soul in their beak, and Icky drops this into their throat pouch just like the first. He looks at Bdubs. Bdubs looks at him.

“I catch fish for Martyn,” Icky says, never breaking eye contact, “because he is our flock. I will do this even if you rest, but next time the full moon comes, I will challenge you… if I’m unhappy that you’re still the captain. Prepare yourself.”

“Gee, a whole month’s notice this time? You’re going soft in your high levels.” Bdubs, even through his shaky lips, attempts to smirk while Icky frowns. “I’ve beaten you before. I’ll be ready. We’ll make a thing of it. Big, public… Maybe in the Rose House courtyard; I bet Impulse will build a stage if I ask him; he’s a sweetheart. We’ll serve breakfast! It’ll be huge!”

“You anticipate losing?”

At this, Bdubs flashes his fangs. “I anticipate showing everyone I’ve still got it. Everyone’s invited. But if you do take me down, you’ll be the first. The whole city should get proof.” He needs this. Needs to show them all. Knowing the whole city’s eyes will be evaluating him will keep him from wallowing in bed.

Icky scoffs, shaking water from their feathers. “To ‘perform’ makes a mockery of tradition.”

“I mock tradition all the time,” he says, shifting around so he can cross his legs. Icky’s glaring, wings flexing, but he’s not gonna jump the bridge. Too many vines in the way. One can hope. “Would you support it, though, if we showcased your challenge to everyone? I like breakfast. Everyone should look forward to something fun when the full moon’s a pain in the butt. Hey, we could make it a tradition.”

Icky tilts their head. “I feel like you are mocking me. Tradition states I am to challenge openly, and I’ve done it. What does it achieve to drag my displeasure into the public light?”

“I’m thinking about Martyn. Watch out for him; he’s got big wings. He’ll be after your butt soon enough.”

“I can handle Martyn. I don’t understand. Why, for Martyn, do you strive to change tradition?”

“‘Cuz I know him. I know all my phantoms, and this is what I think is right to do. Martyn’s got big wings, but he wasn’t raised like us and he not know how phantoms do things. He’s not gonna like it when he’s wrestling his flockmates and they submit quick. He’s out of sync; he’ll take it like we pity him, or don’t want to hurt him. But if we push the roleplay side, make it a show where the goal is entertaining people, he won’t take it personal. He’ll ‘get’ that being flock is about play and cooperation, not raw strength.”

“This insults tradition,” Icky hmphs. “Flock is flock, not for the public to judge. I don’t understand.”

Bdubs smiles. “You will one day, when you’re captain. But I tell you this: I want my flock taken care of when I’m not captain anymore. When I feel like you can do that, then… I’ll submit. Not before. No matter how far you chase me, how many times you tackle, or how hard you bite. I’ll outlast you. Try me.”

Icky’s next sharp stare is one of confusion. He looks into the river again, then at Bdubs. A pause draws out between them like a string. Like an arrow on a bow. “If I accept Martyn as flock… then, you will submit when I challenge you?”

Very slightly, Bdubs inclines his head. “You have to be welcoming to Martyn. You have to help Glaze keep her art projects safe. You have to help Pungence level his XP, Dolly with her leg without making her feel like you’re babying her, iCam with his boyfriend problems, Chestnut when he’s aggressive, and False and all the others when moon urges are acting up. Only the ones who ask for it, of course. You’ve gotta check up on Impulse, make sure he’s fed, keep the storage closet stocked, organize delivery routes, and handle drop-offs to the Silverclaw places. And turn the flock reports in to Scott, of course.”

“I can do everything your rank requires,” Icky says, lowering his head. Fierceness sparks in bright green eyes. “But Martyn is annoying. Forcing him out will be easier than keeping him. I will not accept him when I am captain.”

“Then you really don’t get what it means to be flock. We’re all phantoms, Icky, and we need to work together. Even the annoying ones. Even the picky eaters who only like fish. Apart, we’re easy to break, but as flock, we’re the devs’ perfect killing machines. When we’re a flock, we even take down vex. Do you see?”

“But the flock is upset with Martyn. And he attacked vex who were not in phantom hour. The mayor gave us only one rule, and he endangers our place in New Star by breaking it. Scott will not let us hunt here if we cannot respect him.”

Bdubs shrugs. “He’s little. Be patient with him ‘til he gets his grown-up fangs. If he still bothers you then… We’ll talk about it. Not ignoring your feelings, but he’s flock too. I want solutions that work for both of you.”

Bony claws grip the ragged grass. “Even with my consenting partners, I am not allowed logouts if they break phantom hour. I have not pushed the issue because I respect you, but I am frustrated. I do not like that Martyn is given immunity from rules. You will stand to protect Martyn. I feel you won’t stand to protect me.”

Bdubs holds Icky’s gaze in silence, gripping the bridge bars in his fists. Silence drags on, neither blinking. “Never said he wouldn’t be scolded for it. Just told you he’s still learning.”

The big phantom hunches lower, digging uselessly at the ground. Bdubs watches for a moment, then asks, “What? Whatcha thinkin’? I know you’re still upset with me.”

“… I could be more than this in other hubs. The mayor’s rules constrain me. I could be the finest hunter. I could have the strongest bites. I will not break my contract, but I wish I could learn what I can do.”

“You’re talking big,” Bdubs murmurs, “‘cuz you’ve forgotten what it’s like to live in a hub full of vex. We’re lucky here. Those rules that make us non-anarchy are why we stay well-fed. Best you don’t let Scott hear your yappin’, though. He not like it if he suspects you wanna challenge him.”

“I do not challenge him, but I remember my old flock. There I was captain. I had many meals, many partners, and if I desired affectionate logout, I would have it. It was better.” He steps forward, tail smacking side to side. “Impulse is right to want more for us than the mayor’s dream of squashing our nature. I wish he were captain here.”

“So do I,” Bdubs says, hollowly. “But he chose wife over flock, Ick.” Like it meant nothing to him. Like Bdubs meant nothing to him. “He’s not comin’ back.”

“I would be his wife!” Icky’s wings droop like they’ve been shredded into tatters, static flickering in his eyes. “I would love him just as much as Julienne.” He spits her name like a tangled cobweb.

“I know,” he whispers. He’s Impulse. Who wouldn’t?

Icky scoffs again, then turns away. “I am not happy,” he says, “but I will try to accept Martyn. For you.” With a few leaps, he swoops into the air and glides over the nearest apartment building. Bdubs puffs his cheeks and shakes his head.

… He’s still sitting out there on the bridge, his legs dangling through the slats while water purrs below, when familiar sandal steps make him prick his ears. He turns. The man strolling up to him walks with loosened shoulders, utterly relaxed, and he never comes across like a stuck-up guy for it, y’know? It’s like he pulses his calming aura out to everyone. He shares it like a phantom captain shares his meals. Etho flicks two fingers at his head, saluting in a friendly, teasing way.

“Hey. Cleo said I might find you out here. The vex’ll getcha with your legs compromised like that. So could hungry foxes who like to om-nom-nom.”

Bdubs sniffs, rubbing his fist across his face. When did he stop spurting white particles in the air? Did he burn through all his food when he puddled and reformed over and over again in the alley? “I’m sorry. Did I do a rush job with your cycle? You don’t usually respawn this fast.”

Etho ignores this, sitting down next to him. His legs slide through the bridge bars too. Even though his sandals might plop off and splash to water down below. He says nothing, but he flits his tail behind Bdubs’ waist like a scrunched-up blanket and leans his head down so temples tap. A shredded piece of something in Bdubs’ chest wishes he wouldn’t do that. Makes him feel overly aware of how short he is next to Etho, and he’s not in the mood for jokes about it right now. But he doesn’t say that. He thumps his head to Etho’s shoulder and they sit together like that, there on the bridge. Bdubs sniffles. He moves a finger below his nose, rubbing sticky pixels away, and mumbles that he’s sorry and- and that’s it. Without a word, Etho slides an arm around him too.

They just sit there. Not talking. It’s just what they do, far too often, for never enough time.

💙  🧡  💚

The purple soul definitely won’t fit in any of Scott’s skins. It’s too tall and a little rounder in the stomach than he is, narrow in the shoulders. Scott sends Skizz a whisper, asking if he’s missing the spawnling he and Tango were looking after and requesting he bring a skin on the way. He fudges the measurements - the purple player is very skittish anytime he gets close - but before long, Skizz is at the conference room door with one that should work and relief in his eyes. When he steps in the room, the purple player stiffens up. Skizz grins.

“There you are, buddy! Me and Tango were out there looking for you all- Whoa!” He barely gets the words out before the player’s sprinting forward, arms outstretched for a hug. Scott gets out of the way and it thumps into Skizz with a squishy noise. “Aww… I missed you too. Should we get your ears on?”

The next several minutes are full of fussing over the player, who’s very agitated now and needs help getting in its skin. Scott offers the occasional hand, but Skizz seems to have it under control. Years of fostering all sorts of species will make you an expert in dressing anyone. The player’s wings and legs get pushed into the skin. Then the arms slide inside their sleeves. Thumbs in the thumbholes. Fingers connect and start to flex. Skizz zips the skin from ankle to throat, careful as the player squirms. Lastly, he pulls the hood down over its head and seals it at the neck with a few careful presses. Eyes click into place. Zoom toggles whirr. Lashes flutter. The player looks left and right. Slowly, it touches its ears. Its cheeks, feeling out its face. It looks at its hands.

“So?” Scott prompts. “How ya feeling?” The skin Skizz brought falls somewhere between light and tan. He picked one with fluffy hair. It looks like it fits the player’s shape mostly well. Skizz grins, looping an arm behind their neck.

“One of us! One of us! Up top, buddy!”

“I can hear again…” The player sounds like they might cry. “I can hear you. I thought I lost it.” They look at Skizz, a tremor in their lower lip. “Do you know who I am?”

Skizz pretends to think about it for a moment, stroking his chin. “Hmm… Fluffy hair. Big ol’ curious eyes. Some very grabby hands.” He ruffles the player’s curls, which Scott wishes he wouldn’t do without asking, but the player doesn’t seem terribly put-off by it. “What’s up!?”

Their new arrival looks like they might puddle in their skin then and there. They squeeze Skizz hard, burying their face against his vest. Anxious noises melt into hiccups. Skizz hugs back, not letting go before the player can decide that’s what they want.

“I really missed you,” they mumble. Scarlet wings flump behind their back, trying to settle in again. They’re anxious, ruffled, like they might fly off at any moment.

“Aww…”

Finally, as pixels start to snap and blur together, the player eases away from Skizz’s hug. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Do you have a name?” Scott asks. “Any pronouns?”

The player stares back, blank as ice. “You’re not… Scott Goodman?”

What? Scott looks back, too baffled to speak. The player was deaf until a few seconds ago. How does it know my name? Did they… read it from a communicator after taking the lens caps off? Maybe it watched a recorded play I’m in and saw my name in the credits? Possibly. “Scott Smajor. Mayor Smajor, actually.” Scott isn’t that uncommon of a name. Still, heartbeats kick up inside his chest. Are there rumors floating around with his name attached? His wings, stuffed away in the hidden pockets of his jacket, twitch inside their straps. Carefully, he wipes his palms on his legs and pockets his hands. They are safe here, down in New Star. Safe from anarchy players and the outside world. Nobody’s out there talking about us. He clings to that, threads it through his very soul, and paints a plaster smile on his face.

“Ah,” the player mutters to themself. They count a few things on their fingers with a frown. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Well… Not technically. Not while they’re conscious, anyway. From the shape of the wings on the player’s back, Scott correctly identified them as a parrot hybrid, even when all he had to go off was mashed up as sticky code strings in a bowl. Scott lingered at hospital long enough to see it pull through, taking on a parrot-shaped form, but other than that, their paths haven’t crossed. “Can I get your name?” he prompts again.

“Uhh… Grian Ties’g.” Couple seconds pause, during which their eyes go distant and Scott and Skizz exchange a startled glance. Grian? As in- “You can call me, like… ‘he,’ I guess.”

“And you’re… Grian.” Is that possible? Grian was one of the players who escaped the EVO hub. The phantom hybrid - Martyn - jotted down his name; he was eaten or something, right? Cycled for food during Martyn’s trip? He should’ve reformed at the hub that had his soul crystal- or at the Parrot Dragon’s nest, if eaten while his file was unplugged from local systems. How is he a spawnling? Did something happen? Scott zooms his vision in and out, just trying to think. He ruffles through old memories as fast as he can, but he’s never heard of a player resetting to spawnling form. Unless maybe…

Account deletion? Some kind of reset, anyway- Total restructure of everything your creator thinks of you. Maybe that? Martyn was in the Void for a long time before swooping into New Star. He even collapsed the moment he touched solid ground, puddling in his skin. Maybe Grian was the soul he was cycling at the time, and the combo of Void, illness, and collapse left his code badly damaged. Like, his code- It got damaged so harshly, the parrot spawn hub had to spit a new Grian out from scratch. Scott’s heard that can happen, though he’s never read up on the details. Tries to avoid thinking about it, actually, as much as he can. Creepypasta central, if you believe that stuff.

But if he just respawned, how did he get HERE? … Martyn was cycling players through the system when he flew into New Star. He dropped all his friends’ player files when his knees hit the ground, and Tango brought those to Scott so they could plug everybody in. Once Martyn was connected to New Star’s hub, the players he ate reformed here, one by one. So if Grian’s data got corrupted in that process, the world may have tried to spawn a new version… but it sent Grian to them because Martyn was halfway through cycling his code? Hm.

Bdubs said they pulled weird data from the Hermitcraft portal… and that could explain why no one remembered eating a purple soul to get it in there in the first place. All the energy that powers their portals comes from anivore digestion: it’s absorbed into the soul, then pushed outward through the crystals Scott keeps shelved in the office, which are all hooked to the server hub’s core. Can that kind of trauma and whiplash turn a soul purple? Ah, he should really encourage Martyn to get a medical exam. Maybe several, from multiple doctors; Scott will cover whatever costs there are. It might just be worth it for the peace of mind. Living underground, you wouldn’t believe how fast a virus spreads.

Another beat passes before Scott realizes Skizz and Grian are staring at him. “Your friends will be relieved,” he hurries to say. “When you didn’t reform, Martyn worried the worst had happened; you might want to see him first.”

“Martyn…” Grian looks unsure. “Goodman?”

Goodman again? Scott tilts his head. “He didn’t say.”

Grian double blinks. Eyes shift left, then right. He tries again: “Martyn Littlewood?”

“Yes, I think so.” His username is InTheLittleWood; that’s gotta be the same guy. Hmm… Is this breaking refugee confidentiality? I don’t think it is; Martyn mentioned Grian first. Yes, it feels better to inform Grian that Martyn’s looking for him instead of slipping behind Grian’s back to tell Martyn that he’s here. I mean, imagine if Martyn fudged the details, conveniently leaving out that Grian’s seeking a safe place away from him. “Oh, I should get you a residency contract…” He looks Grian up and down. “Well, that can wait ‘til you see your friends.” When someone will drop to phantom hour isn’t publicly displayed in the comms, but the last time he saw Pearl was a while ago; she and possibly BigB might be going offline. Far be it for him to postpone the reunion for paperwork.

Mm. Paperwork…

“Something’s wrong with my legs,” Grian cuts in. Scott jumps. Pulling himself away from mental honey-dos, he turns to size Grian up. Skizz crouches to do the same.

“Does it hurt?” Scott asks, reaching a few fingers towards Grian’s knee. His trousers are in the way. Grian hesitates, blinking down at them. He’s braced his arms against the conference table; they rattle when he shakes his head.

“I’ve… lost my claws. And my tail.”

“Yes, this looks like a respawn from a waxing crescent night.” It must be very confusing to feel like you’ve died, but then wake up somewhere that’s not your spawn temple bedroom. “I would guess your data split between the parrot hub and New Star; Martyn was cycling your code. He had a hard time.”

“Uh. New Star…?”

“Oh, that’s right.” He didn’t introduce the place yet. Scott glances around for his presentation materials. “Ah.” Thank you, conference room! He grabs a portfolio from the stack and hands it off to Grian. “I really need to finish our new one; if I’d realized we’d have an influx of new arrivals this soon before fall semester, I would’ve made it high priority. Anyway, welcome to New Star! That book should introduce all you need to know.”

“And it has a map,” Skizz says helpfully. He looks to Scott, puzzled, as Grian opens to the first page. “Did you give one of those to Martyn? He didn’t crash at my place.”

Scott takes a second booklet from the table. “I’ll bring it over, but a lot of it’s outdated.”

“It’s fine,” Skizz assures him, gentle as always, but Scott has to fight down a sigh. Welcoming people to this city is his responsibility; he shouldn’t have let the resources fall this far behind.

“Whaaaat is going on here?” Grian asks, staring at some screenshots embedded in the book.

“It’s promotional material for incoming students. As far as the dragons are concerned, we’re a private Education hub, which is how most people find us. I have to credit my camera for his work; he’s incredible with wide shots.”

Grian says nothing, turning glossy pages. Scott watches, soaking up the silent admiration in the man’s face. His eyes trail over words and pictures. It’s nice to be appreciated, even if these books are about a year old.

“Um. Where am I?”

“You’re in New Star Station.” That’s on the booklet’s front, of course, and Grian would know that if he hadn’t opened it straightaway. Scott’s mouth twitches. Fine. I’ll put it in big text on an inside page for this next round of prints. “We’re the slime spawn hub, specializing in refugee intake; we aim to make ourselves a safe space from the anarchy world.”

“Oh. Uhh…” He lifts his eyes, shoulders tense. “Does that include me?”

Scott’s twitch subsides again. “Yes; everyone’s welcome here, no matter what your past or where you came from… as long as you agree to the residency contract terms. We can discuss that details later, though; I should get you to your friends.” There’s no point in getting all his things out if Grian’s going to do the same thing Martyn did and request BigB sit in with him to offer advice on contract wording. It can wait.

“Everyone is welcome,” Skizz affirms in a tone that makes Scott shoot a Let’s not fight about this again glance. He pats Grian on the shoulder twice. “I know. I was worried too, but it’s all on the up and up.”

Carefully, Grian closes the portfolio again. “I’ll be sure to look into this. Um…” He looks at Scott. Looks deep into his face like he’s breaching some kind of waterfall. “I think I’d like to see my friends now, if that’s okay.” He turns back to Skizz. “I’ll see you too, I hope?”

Skizz smiles. “We can do food with Tango sometime. His schedule’s a bit whack with Hermitcraft right now, but I think we can squeeze you in.”

Grian looks… happy, nervous, confused, and all sorts of things all at once. “Yeah, I- I really need to lay down and sleep for a year. Hooooooh… Gonna be a while to adjust to this. The book will help.” He looks over at Scott then. “If my friends can’t take me in tonight, can I crash with you and Pearl, or would that be weird?”

What? “Uh- I’m not-?” Scott doesn’t even have a quick response for that. Why Pearl?

Grian tilts his head farther sideways than anyone Scott’s seen make that gesture before. “Aren’t you Scott?”

… Is someone out there gossiping about how he’s been watching anime with Pearl? Was Grian conscious all this time? He said he couldn’t hear; Scott doesn’t remember a purple player wandering the city and keeping an eye on him. Even Skizz looks confused. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says truthfully.

“Like-” Grian makes a deliberate glance with his eyes, then taps his forefingers. Uhh… Is that symbol for something lewd that Scott’s not familiar with? It’s been a long time since he truly lived up on the surface. Most people, if they’re indicating forehead bumping, they do it with their thumb and forefinger. Even so, that seems to be what Grian’s getting at. Scott folds his tongue against the inside of his cheek, debating the best way to refute this. Doooo we come out as loudly, proudly gay to a stranger we know nothing about? Debatable. Grian looks down, seems to realize his question isn’t coming across, then makes a heart shape with his hands instead. “Are you bonded?”

And at that, all of Scott’s energy prickles behind his neck. “‘Bonded?’” he repeats. Like an allay? Um… Is that a random guess? How could Grian possibly know he’s an allay? People used to know, back in the earliest days of New Star Station, but definitely not anymore. Not since Impulse and Skizz showed up, bringing news that the Allay Dragon’s dead, the option for respawn is totally gone, and his species is on a one-way track of dying out. It’s just… easier, right? If people don’t fawn over him or act like he’s too frail to look after himself. He is careful, he keeps the wings covered, he keeps his instincts under control… Skizz glances sideways and Scott bites his lip. Actually, maybe anime club under the full moon is a bad idea. Five hybrids in one room, instincts riled up, could be too much for some people.

“Yeah,” says Grian, giving him a long, odd look. “I’d like to talk to Pearl, if I can.”

Scott slips his communicator from his pocket, pretending it takes longer to find Pearl’s info for a status check than it really does (Don’t judge). “I just started an anime club,” he says instead, maybe with a bit too much false cheer sprinkled on. Well, that’s fine. Pearl hasn’t left Between; he tucks the comm away. “Pearl’s in it; we can go knock on her door. Martyn and BigB are there too, so that’s triple convenient.”

Grian stops midway through a step. “BigB?” He looks at Scott, a tremor in his lower lip. “What? He’s here? Did he say anything about me?”

Scott blinks. “I haven’t really spoken to him. He gets around a lot; always flitting about, you know. It’s a little creepy, but I’m getting used to it.”

Grian’s eyes bounce left, then right. “I’d like to see them,” he says. After a beat, “Please.”

“I can do that. Do you mind if I teleport us? It’s a full moon; it’s just safer not to take the streets.”

💙  🧡  💚

Bdubs wants some time alone, later on. Says he needs to do some thinking about Martyn, his wife, his captain status, and what he really wants. Etho walks him to the clock tower. He wishes him well with a hug at the bottom of the staircase, but doesn’t overstay his welcome. Bdubs has an insistent need to entertain; to do more when he hangs around than simply cuddle in your arms (like he thinks you might get bored and dump him the way his mama dragon did). Annoying at the best of times, and terribly endearing when it’s not. Either way, Etho’s well aware his presence would be “a distraction” to his friend, so he politely ducks aside.

Should he go hunting? It’s a full moon. He hasn’t been in Between very long. Hmm… Wait around until the instincts hit, or try to cut them off at the pass? Mess around, bring a soul down, cache it for later tonight? Decisions, decisions. Etho swings north, taking the nearest road to his apartment that won’t involve crossing a bridge currently under turf dispute. The slimes will be all over it right now. He can hear whoops and cheers as they sprint around, playing an eternal game of banner keep-away with a pair of flustered blaze who sound desperate to get it back. Etho hums behind his mask. Where do you think his place will fall when the turf borders are set this month? He’s almost always under slime claim, but it’s not unheard of to wake up and find a red and yellow banner flapping on his building’s door.

Not all the blaze are out playing tonight, apparently. As he turns onto his street, his pace slows. His building’s the farthest north you can go before you hit the bailey wall. Up on his balcony, Tango’s watching him, leaning over the wooden rail with folded arms.

“Did you water my plants?” Etho calls to him. Bdubs puts a lot of effort into bringing him plants all the time, and Cleo gave him a custom glass bauble that you can fill with water and stick in the plant pot to keep the dirt fresh. She brought them from Underdark and her whole room’s got plants galore. He doesn’t dare ask what it would take to pry a second one off her, though. He sprints and jumps, leaping high enough to snag the ladder rungs that cling against the wall. He could add another few a little lower, but, well… then getting up the back way wouldn’t be fun, would it? With a kick and a scramble, he scales the ladder, jumps to the fence rail, and swings over that to join Tango. But he doesn’t hop off to stand on the balcony. He keeps both legs firmly draped over the side that will grant an easier escape, just in case he wants out.

He might want out.

“Hey, friend,” Tango greets, but Etho’s known this man very long and very well. Tension warbles in his tone. “Mind if I grab you for a bit?”

“To do what?”

Tango’s mouth pulls into a line. He leans in, lowering his voice. “We need to talk about your soul.”

Energy sparks in the back of Etho’s head. With a pop of loosened code, two blue fox ears spring straight through his scalp. Pale blue light washes down his hands. The fur on his arms quivers in the cold. Softly, firmly, “That’s not really your business, Tango.”

“Well, it became my business when my tech advised me to give my patient a graft that caused a total glitch-out. What was that?”

“… What kind of glitch-out?”

“A really bad one,” Tango grunts, never uncrossing his arms. “The purple spawnling popped its crystal out already. I’ve never seen it happen that fast. I put it on the floor, started making it a Name Day cake, and when I turned around, the spawnling was full-size and started glitching through a whole bunch of different species- Like someone spun a roulette wheel, but it hadn’t finalized the decision yet. It was a ravager for a minute there, plus an enderman. Whole lot of weirdo weirdness going on; it bit my leg, if you were wondering.”

Different species? Etho’s hearts spring for freedom and drop off a cliff that dumps them into Void. “I’m sorry that happened. That sounds pretty bad, yeah.”

Tango sighs. “Look. I’ve been thinking a lot about… it. This is why you do your own codework, right? For as long as I’ve known you?”

Etho says nothing. He straddles the fence like he’s riding a horse, gripping tight with shaky hands. Tango steps forward, leaning like a strider. Long legs. Big steps. He bends like he might bite.

“This can stay between you and me, y’know. We don’t have to tell anybody else. Just, maybe I can help? I know you think you ‘taught me everything I know,’ but I did go to school way before I met you. I’m not gonna make you, but if you ever want a HALO you can talk to… I mean, I’m licensed. I could do a full exam. Outside perspective; give you my thoughts.”

“That really wouldn’t help me.”

“Look, species mods are so common these days. Way more than it was when we were kids; walk down the streets and there are people who blur species lines everywhere you look. Pretty sure no one’s gonna judge you for being a chi-”

“I’m not a chimera,” Etho interrupts. He does not elaborate. Tango watches him from the corner of his eye. Etho grips the fence so tight, it might legit burst into splinters.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I won’t bring it up again, but the offer of an exam is on the table any time you want it. You’ve done so much for me since I came to New Star. I used to be a lonely student who’d go home to his hole in the ground, tired and anxious all the time, but now, I feel like I’ve finally spread my wings. Metaphorically speaking, of course. If you ever want to talk, I’ll be there. Doesn’t have to be for this.”

Etho wishes he’d never brought that graft in at all. Tango could’ve figured something out; he’s good at making do with what he has on hand. They could’ve given the patient a standard blue soul graft. It would’ve been fine, probably. He rubs the spot near his elbow where he squeezed liquid from his arm. Since Bdubs cleaned his code with a logout and a cycle, his energy is back in place. No more bandage. He picks at it anyway, wishing and wishing. But you can’t turn back time.

“It’s not in the med books. I need to deal with it on my own.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Tango tells him, and Etho can tell his hearts are lurching and that he means it. “I’m not gonna steal your idea for a research paper, if that’s what it’s about…” Tango, of course, knows it’s not. The words drape like a hand against a shoulder. They give a squeeze. Etho looks at him, saying nothing. That mask he wears hides more than the skin on his face.

“The graft. It stays between us.”

“I won’t tell, but it’s in the spawnling’s file. I had to record the data source; standard procedure.”

Right… Tango is a HALO, and HALO has to follow certain rules. Rules that make it very, very difficult to get things done under pressure sometimes. Etho sighs. Awkward fingers muss his hair. “Okay. It saved the guy, though. I can live with that.”

“I mean, I dunno if it saved it… I’m pretty sure it glitched it out.” Tango’s watchful. Never backs down, even when Etho wilts inside his skin. “It wasn’t acting like a hybrid. Is there anything we should tell it, so it’s properly informed about its health? It might leave New Star someday. If it dies and respawns at the parrot hub, we won’t be there to take care of it.”

“What makes you think its problems came from me?” Etho says that as softly and teasingly as he can. “I don’t glitch out more than usual; I’m sure it’s not that big a deal. Give it time to settle and it’ll all blow over.”

“The player couldn’t consent to what we gave it. If that graft causes a lasting health issue, I could get in huge trouble for this. Look- We can wait ‘til the full moon’s past us, but we really need to talk about your soul and get that info on record. And preferably, toss some notes in the new guy’s file. This isn’t just about you anymore. Someone else is gonna suffer if you don’t tell. They need to know.”

“I’ll think about it,” he says, tired and very put-upon. “It’s not an easy story to share.”

“I’ve opened my mind to a lot of things this week,” Tango drawls back. “I’ll listen.”

… Etho stares past his hands, past his legs, past the ladder rungs pressed snug against the wall. And in the distance, phantoms cry. Parrots chirp. Little slime children scamper about, with their mother dragon on their heels.

Etho had a mother once. One who needed him just as much as he needed her, though she refused to ever say it. A mother exhausted, flopped sideways in her nest, while hungry kits sat one room away, tearing chunks of bread apart with awkward hands. They’d made a crafting table. Barely. Etho had to steal branches from the nest for it, and break grass over and over just to get the wheat seeds. At least grass used to sprout underground back then, without the sun. Eager faces. Nervous whines. Bodies rustling together, tails swishing, noses rubbing at his arm. And in the nesting chamber next door, blocking the exit to the den, the Fox Dragon spent hour after hour licking a sickly kit that wasn’t going to wake up. Do you think she ever forgave herself for that? When the twin who survived kept trotting on her heels, offering help every single time she disappeared inside the birthing den with a new litter on the way?

Wild foxes mate for life. Two parents make a team. And the Fox Dragon, she… she’s doing her best, all on her own. She doesn’t have anybody else to turn to. No one but a scrappy little guy who can volunteer for the job her partner, if she had one, is meant to do.

Running. Hands like paws, vision blurred, tearing across the snow in leaps and bounds. Up on the spruce stumps. Sprint across the fallen logs. Every day, you’re sneaking back with little chicken mobs. You know how to dig. How to cache them for later when the kits are old enough to take them instead of milk. This litter won’t go hungry. Not like yours did. Not like all the ones before it did.

And then Mom finds out.

Etho moves one claw to the base of the scar across his eye. It’s part of his skin design. It wasn’t left there by the Fox Dragon, but it may as well have been. She didn’t bite. She didn’t hit. He was just…

“The soul. It’s not mine.”

“What?”

Etho turns his head. Tango’s staring, like he knew he would. “I stole it.”

“From… where?”

“It was around the lake, up there” - he motions towards the bedrock roof with his nose - “while I was still living with my mom. She was in one of her slumps, you know, after the kits were born… There was a blizzard. We were still in the birthing den. She was struggling with milk. She hadn’t planned on being down there that long. She found my food cache and ate everything I’d tucked away, and dragons don’t even need that. I was mad, Tango. Looking back, I guess I could’ve eaten the kits’ souls, but I was so mad. I went out to see what I could hunt.”

The wind’s biting hard at the uncovered bits of his face. It tears him full apart. He remembers, even now. He still wore all black back then, no warm coat to be seen. “Lake was having problems. Huge chunks of ice washing every direction in the wind. Mom ate all my chicken mob souls, so I decided I was ready for the big leagues. I was taking down a hybrid. Another fox- Mom wouldn’t take that from me too. No backing out… I went out. I saw this guy paddling around. Kinda- Kinda figured out he’d drown if I didn’t get there first, so I knew he’d be easy prey. The kits were still too young for souls, but…” He looks at Tango. Tango’s brows crease in a carat.

“You were hungry.”

“He was barely clinging to that ice chunk,” Etho mutters, fingers curling on the rail. “And it wasn’t a fox hybrid. It was an enderman. He was burning in the water, crying out for help. I just ran out there. And… he looked like me. White hair. Eyes that didn’t match colors. He had my scar. He even had the mask. Scruffy Kakashi guy struggling to swim. He turned and saw me. Started yelling. I got out there to him, and when I pulled him on the ice, he kept taking damage because, y’know- he was wet. He just kept begging, Tango… yelling he had a wife and two boys at home. Saw I was a fox. Knew he was in my territory. Begged like crazy for me not to eat him.”

“What… what did you do?”

“I ate him.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. Etho plays a fern frond between his fingers and Tango stares into the road. Then, “I didn’t know ‘til I had it in my mouth that his soul was purple. I never got to ask about that. I was so hungry and he tasted like a soul. It was my first hybrid; I didn’t know any better. Next day, I got up, took off my skin, and my soul was all mixed up with his.”

“‘Mixed up,’” Tango repeats. “What does that mean?”

And Etho… Well, he bites his lip for a quarter of a tick, then shrugs. “I have no idea who he was. It’s not like I got his memories. Didn’t get any enderman powers. I don’t think the occasional glitch is unusual? … They’re not frequent for me. I don’t know what to tell you.”

A blink. Some disbelief. “And you respawn with… the purple still inside you?”

“It’s more subtle than you think, but yeah. Most people are blue; maybe a soul you eat always takes years to work its way out and I’ll lose my stripes someday. Could be very standard stuff.”

Tango eyeballs Etho’s hand. The fingerless gloves, which cinch ever so slightly tighter on the rail. “Can I take a look?”

“No,” says Etho, like he always does. Tango looks up.

“But if you-”

“Never.” Etho Slab does not like to lie. None of what he said was lying. Omission, maybe, but every word the truth. He’s already under scrutiny for revealing purple parts. Regarded with confusion, but not with spluttered questions or absolute disgust. So it’s just easier, and better, if Tango believes the data slush inside him cuts off there. Nobody else needs to know the extra lines running in his code. No one needs to see the lumps and aches and pains. Or the toggles for strange parts and concepts he later found himself able to flick on and off at will. Or ask questions about the dropdown menu he stared at for a long, long time the first time he ever touched it, with its 99 options other than ‘Fox’ he’s never seen listed in anybody’s player file but his own. Well, like- He’s seen the grayed-out version, sure. He’s just never seen it unlocked or selectable in any other player’s code.

He’s never seen Soul Origin Data as a functionable dropdown on anybody else either.

Tango draws a step away. “Okay. I need you to fill some paperwork on that. If you don’t want me to read it, I won’t, but the spawnling needs to know. It’s gotta go in its file like, right away. Before it respawns somewhere with a HALO team who’s never seen anything like it before.”

“I’ll get the file from Scott and write it all down before next logout,” Etho promises, because he would never lie. He shifts, sliding off the fence. The bauble in the nearest froglight-warmed plant splashes rainbow on his hand.

💙  🧡  💚

Wow. With all the chaos shut away behind them, the next few hours are… everything. Pearl and BigB bring Martyn back to their room and pile every blanket they have on the bed. Cleo did allofeed him, but he’s still weak, exhausted, and takes this treasure gratefully. BigB coaxes him into his arms, letting Martyn bury his face in his jumper, and Pearl wraps her arms around him from behind. Martyn still shudders when he breathes. Flashes of the wildness, the shouting, the panic trickle past his vision. He can feel himself looping, caught up in it, but Pearl’s hands are steady and BigB’s whispers of “Shh, shh” are everything he’s ever needed. BigB lost a huge chunk of his Illager magic once the moth mods went on, but Martyn feels every twinkle that coasts across the back of his head, his neck, between his shoulder blades.

He shakes. Coughs a few times, but thankfully doesn’t hack up any energy he can’t afford to lose. “I want my cow,” he mumbles though, curling up to BigB. “It’s still at roost.”

Pearl, who’s just brought him water, says “I’ll get it for you.” Martyn flinches and shakes his head.

“No, no… I’m sorry; I don't really need it; it’s stupid and babyish-”

“I don’t mind," she says, leaning in to hug him (and maybe BigB too). “It’s not stupid, and you’re not a baby for wanting it, mate. It’s up at roost?”

“In my nest thing… There’s this tiny stone cave thing in the corner up on the platform? You’ll see it.”

Pearl nods and disappears. The door shuts behind her, behind the walls. Oh. Martyn’s mind drifts, his fingers picking at BigB’s shirt. It smells… real. Less soapy. Less pristine. He mumbles this to BigB, who slips cold arms behind his back and pulls him in for a tighter hug. Geez, his mods are screaming right not. Is there no off switch for my ears? The bed creaks as bodies shift. BigB finds a way to stretch out, head resting on his arm. Martyn tucks as close as he can get. Pixels blur, leaping from the one they’ve deemed the sinking ship. It freckles BigB’s skin in bits of color oh so wrong.

Martyn shudders when he breathes. “You’re fine, dude,” BigB whispers. A rough hand draws circles on his back. And Martyn shudders when he believes.

It’s not long before Pearl returns with Blueberry Cow in hand. She holds it up so he can see as he crosses the room. Martyn reaches for it, fingers straining, and when Pearl puts it in his arms, he curls tight for a moment just to sniffle and chew its crumpled ear. He murmurs a thanks. Then, “Wait, this is- I shouldn’t-” He can’t cuddle his partners when he’s got- Martyn rolls over, covering his ear with one hand. His wings are massive and totally in the way.

“You’re fine,” Pearl tells him as BigB scoots to make more room on the bed. Martyn, Blueberry Cow, and those big wings take up a lot of space. He flaps weakly, mumbling stuff, and drifts for a moment through another flash. Oh, this one’s not fun at all. He hears Pearl’s voice, arguing with him. They both say frustrating things. Sounds like a break-up. Sounds like a fight. He clutches the plush toy until it’s gone, and when he’s ready to unfold, he sits up and goes to place it on the end of the bed instead. He should cuddle his partners now. Is it dumb and selfish that he made Pearl get up and get it for him, then he hugs it only for a moment before he moves it aside? Martyn pauses, running his thumbs over the embroidered eyes.

Did Bdubs make this? Or just commission it from the market? He seems to spend a lot of time in this dimension, and he does like to sew stuff. Martyn stares at the cow and the cow stares at him with its smiley little face. He squeezes the hooves. They’ve got something sewn into them, like seeds inside a pouch. It squishes in his hands.

Blueberry Cow’s got a floppy ear from all of Martyn’s chewing. He wishes it didn’t. Brings up memories of the phantom captain the Watchers had him run the ethograms for. Martyn winds the soft ear around his finger. He huddles at the foot of the bed, holding the plush cow to his neck, and hopes that Pearl and BigB don’t judge him too harsh for it.

The flock I killed had color, he reminds himself. Those weren’t soul mobs. Those were dragon-spawned. Bdubs said dragon spawns come back with the same names, just like we do. Dragons love all their children, the hybrids and the mobs. Somewhere out there, Captain Floppy-Ear is okay. And will always be okay, because mobs don’t die. Even if they’re screechy and nippy and honestly kind of gross, their undead bits flaking off as they eat stuff off the floor.

Thank you. He tries to say that to Pearl, but it gets clogged in his mouth and dies off along the way. Blueberry Cow’s just wool and he’s probably terrible for hugging it in front of two people who want to hug him, but he’s really glad he’ll have it once BigB and Pearl log out. He’ll probably go with them, but if he doesn’t, at least he’ll have something he can hold.

Martyn moves the cow to sit on the chest by Pearl’s side of the bed. Then he takes her wrist, guiding her to lie against him as he shifts to lean his head on BigB. It’s not their first night of cuddling in their Between bed. It’s a bit thinner and firmer than the one they built on their server and it squeaks like a dog with a trodden paw each time BigB shifts, which is often, but it’s home. Somewhere in those long and tangled minutes, BigB takes his shirt off and sets it aside, offering only the affectionate commentary that “Martyn’s too hot to handle,” which makes him pout and Pearl smirk into his back. But… fair.

This is why I’m into cool and chilly souls, he thinks, resting like a frog on a damp rock between them. This is comfort. This is safety. You’ll never overheat if you’ve got one of them on each side of the pile. Through the flutter of his tired lashes, Martyn reads the creases in BigB’s face. His eyes glow a deep, low brown in the dark. He reaches with one palm and, after receiving a hum of consent, runs his fingers along the man’s jaw. BigB’s got a soft beard full of little spiral curls. He’s a very pretty man, you know. You ever seen his spiracles? They’ve got little cookie marks around them and it’s fun to watch him breathe. Martyn smiles.

Such an absolute charmer, too. Could probably have anyone he wants with his witty nerd brain… And yet, he isn’t lying in someone else’s bed tonight. He isn’t tied to some other AFK server. B’s right here… Right here next to me.

Funny how when you’re not sprinting all over the city, it takes so much longer for the hunger meter to drop. The jumpscares are over now. He’s here, in his room, and his breathing feels so soft and sure. He could stay like that forever… his wings twisted around BigB, one of them awkwardly crushed against the pillow, his tail draped across Pearl’s leg. At one point, he turns his head. His voice is still fragile when he mumbles, “Don’t you two have somewhere to be? If you do, don’t stay on my account.”

“Nowhere,” says Pearl, curling her knees against the backs of his legs. Martyn can see her comm pulsing orange from the depths of her pocket. He gives another drowsy smile. It’s not quite true, then, that she’s got “nowhere” to slink off to. Once it goes green, the phantoms will come looking for her.

Someday… the cuddles won’t have to end because they’re interrupted. That could be him, you know, nipping gently at her soul slot until she’s had her fill of snuggling and allows him to send her off to bed. D’you think she’d let him? Or is she too proud to let a scavenger take her down so easily? Technically she’s a vampire bat, so she’s an anivore just like him and could log him out with years of experience, but it’d be sweet to see how she embraces the role of prey in bed like this. Probably dramatic, one hand across her forehead as she bemoans that he’s interrupting, and he’d have to mute himself to keep from waking their neighbors when he laughs.

They don’t speak much. Martyn almost does. He wants to bring up Grian, only to hesitate and fold his thoughts quietly away again. He thinks he saw Grian in the road, but he really can’t be sure. He would hate to get his friends’ hopes up, especially since they still don’t know he fell. Or that he left EVO to follow them at all. It can wait.

But it doesn’t wait for long. Fingernails tap tap tap against the door of their flat. Pearl twitches, BigB grunts, and Martyn stirs. His wings stretch back, forcing out the kinks. Both his partners have ticked down into the green. Phantom hour’s here and now. Probably a phantom at the door, overly eager to get on with it. Martyn pokes a finger in his gums, rubbing his teeth as he scoots off the bed. He’ll get the door. He’s had more practice walking around when energy’s this low, and neither of his partners has their shirt on right now. And if it is a phantom…

Well, it doesn’t hurt to emphasize that this room is technically his turf. Or it will be, one day.

But it’s not a phantom. When Martyn opens the door, his jaw hits the floor. “No way,” he says, backing up a step. Then he surges forward, avalanche-down-a-mountain speed. “No way!”

Grian “Oofs” when Martyn slams him, pinning him to the doorframe. His wings stutter out to either side. They’re brilliant in color, flushed long and scarlet instead of the downy green he wore the last time Martyn saw him. He’s not wearing a jumper right now, just some T-shirt that isn’t his style, but Martyn would know him anywhere (New skin be damned). Scott’s in the background, leaning sideways to be seen, but he offers up a little wave.

“Hi! Hope we’re not interrupting, but I believe this man belongs with you?”

“Oh, yeah-” It’s all he can get out before Pearl and BigB come scrambling across the room, regardless of the fact they’re missing half their clothes. They both shout Grian’s name and join Martyn in the hug. Grian tenses, all squished up, and clears his throat a couple times.

“Hey, hey! Careful with me. I might just lose my lunch.” Then his eyes fall on BigB’s bare chest, which is all up in his face. He “GIIHK”s, jerking his head away. A smatter of purple glitter dances on his nose before it disappears as his pixels readjust.

… Huh. Martyn tilts his head. If Grian’s in a skin, he should’ve rinsed off any purple goop that clung onto him from the Void or while he was bundled up inside of Martyn’s mouth. Why would he be purple in the skin, unless…

… unless… Waaait a minute…

Pearl and BigB are talking, peppering Grian up and down with questions, and he’s looking a little frazzled. Slowly, Martyn looks down at his own hand. In that carrot field flash he had, just before he realized Grian was in the street with him, everything had been dark until… a figure with red wings turned and looked at him. That man had Grian’s sandy blond-brown curls, but Martyn hadn’t recognized him at the time. The last time he saw Grian flying in the Void, his wings were green.

He’d oozed purple from his stomach. Not blue. And when he lifts his head again and listens, really listens to Grian’s answers, his hearts start to pick up beats, swirling faster in his chest. They’re asking how and when and why he decided to leave EVO. Grian’s definitely overstimulated. He keeps backing up, and everything he says is weirdly, incredibly vague. Like-

“How did you get out?”

“Lots and lots of quick thinking… I had to time it perfectly.”

“Are the cameras okay?”

“I mean, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Does Taurtis know you changed your mind? Should we throw a surprise party?”

“Now that’s a prank I could get behind.”

The emotions are flat, though… and the words, while they don’t sound odd in and of themselves, are just creepy enough to prick at Martyn’s skin. Grian was purple in the road, like some modded fantasy beast, and he flushed purple when he saw BigB. It’s gone now, his pixels straightened out, but Martyn saw it.

You can have a purple soul? Martyn’s never heard that; only that all mobs are white and all players are blue. Martyn tries to think back to any time Grian undressed near him, but the Watchers didn’t exactly encourage nudity around fellow students.

Why is Grian purple? Like… Like, he didn’t mean to let that thought float away from him, but in all the chaos (and the allure of gentle cuddles), he hadn’t made the question top priority. Honestly, wasn’t even sure it was Grian when he saw that monster in the road. Am I losing my flipping mind?

The full moon can do weird things to your brain. Maybe he’s hallucinating? Considering that he apparently whacked his brain on his way out of the Void and now he hears modded code when no one else can, it’s not outside the realm of possibility. Souls come in different shades of blue. Could be that Martyn’s processing the color a little too intensely. Or maybe Grian’s always been like that; purple isn’t that far off blue, right?

Martyn looks at his hand again, flexing his fingers in and out. Moon does weird stuff to the body too, I’m sure. Maybe people turn purple when it’s full. Maybe that’s just in special circumstances? Is he sick? It feels weird to spoil a happy reunion by demanding Grian back away because he might infect them all. Yeah, no. His friends are so relieved he’s safe that they can’t stop gushing over him, and he’d be a real prick to ruin that.

… That said, some dull, reluctant part of his brain tenses up at the way Grian’s eyes keep darting to BigB’s pecs, but he’s not sure how to bring that into conversation either. Pearl catches on too, judging by the raised eyebrow she shoots Martyn’s way. And BigB’s either oblivious or enjoying the attention. Which is fine, or whatever. Just, y’know… Maybe don’t.

I should lie down. I think the moon’s getting in my head. But he can’t shake what he saw from his mind. Back there, Grian unhinged his jaw like a watchling, eyes glowing all down his arms and chest and back. They shimmered on his wings. They blinked and shifted as if they could really see. Is that something people hallucinate at random?

I WAS injured… Can double regen mess with your brain?

The longer Grian’s evasive with his answers, the sicker Martyn feels in the back of his mouth. Nah, I don’t like this. He hangs back for most of the conversation, chiming in only here or there. And while he’s trying to keep his feelings subtle, apparently it’s not fooling everyone. Grian’s… eyeing him. He’s laughing with Pearl, tucking back his hair or playing with his shirt hem when he looks over at BigB. He was never this flustered around the guy before, even when they shared a room. Every time attention shifts to Martyn, he can feel Grian yank up a new mental wall. Coated in spikes with a cherry on top.

He can’t hold a real conversation. Martyn’s hearts thump against his palms, all the way down to his fingertips. First he tells himself he’s going nuts - that Grian’s just spooked after an exhausting several days - but when Martyn starts probing at the details, Grian twirls around him in a pirouette, answering swiftly and shifting conversation forward just as fast. Aheh…

Uh… It’s weird that he’s offering such vague answers, right? Martyn tries not to call attention to it, but he’s listening to Grian’s words as just as closely as Grian’s watching him. Martyn finally scoots away, feigning that he’s getting water in the kitchen, just so he can think. He can’t hear his brain at all over the whirring of his hearts. He fills the cup, then splashes his face. It doesn’t help.

His brain’s going all directions, offering explanations and excuses. Martyn doesn’t like a single one of them.

But in the end, Pearl and BigB’s energy levels drop so low, they reluctantly agree they need to disappear inside the portal. They’ve been in phantom hour for a while, and if they push it, they’ll attract hungry hunters. Martyn wishes them well, saying that he’ll join ‘em soon, but he’s gonna catch up with Grian first. Grian’s smile wavers. Not on his mouth, but in his eyes. He shifts his wings.

In that moment, Martyn catches a detail that he overlooked. “Hey,” he says, when they’re alone (Scott left some time ago). He leans against the sofa, looking Grian up and down. “How’s your mum doing?”

Grian flinches, but not in a way that leaves him open for attack. “What?”

“Your mum,” Martyn says, chillaxed as he can be. He’s just leaning on the couch because he lives here. He’s got nothing to hide.

“Not well,” Grian says, not budging. “Nor my dad; thanks for asking. Wow… Are you pulling a prank on me? Are they refugees here? ‘Cuz if they’re not, don’t ever say that to me again.”

“Right, yeah; ‘course. I’m sorry. I’ve just been going down the list of people I’ve run into here. What’re their names again?”

Grian’s whole body crackles with sparks, but mostly behind his neck and down his wings. Never, not for a second, does he break eye contact. “Bridget and Finn. Are they here? … I’m seriously not joking. Don’t toy with me like that if they’re not here.”

Gotcha. Martyn’s eyes narrow to the width of a code string. “You’re not Grian.”

“Who else would I be?” Grian scoffs, looking away. There are tricolor feathers sticking up behind his neck. As they go higher, they ring themselves in a laurel that juts out past his ears. From the way they bristle, Martyn can tell he’s really getting under this guy’s skin, so he pushes all the harder. Grian could’ve answered that question about his mum, because for Grian to switch from downy green feathers to red ones, he would’ve died and respawned in the jungle, where the Parrot Dragon lives. Her name’s Aurora. Mob coloration is coded in. Even if he put on a skin with red wings, his natural green would’ve overlaid it. The real Grian’s probably still at the parrot spawn hub.

… He saw a Watcher feeding on Scar’s soul back there in the road. It looked like an enderman, but then it glitched into its parrot wings and whisked itself away. Now it’s wearing Grian’s face. Martyn’s hearts are going so fast, he might drop to the floor again. All the Watchers are watchlings. Modded ones, sure, but he’s never seen these parrot wings. You can’t mod into a species that already exists. Everybody knows that. They can’t mod themselves to be parrots… unless they found a way? EVO is a research hub full of scientists, and there’s no HALO team out there to oversee the ethics. Did the Watchers steal Grian’s code?

Martyn can’t decide what exactly he’s looking at here. Is this a Watcher wearing Grian’s face and modded wings, or is this a Grian who’s changed the rest of him?

… He did stay behind.

They did offer him a teaching position full-time, to begin next semester as long as his exam scores turned out well. Martyn takes a step back. All this time, he thought… He just assumed Grian chased after him because he’d changed his mind about the Watchers’ morals and where he wanted to spend his life. But did the Watchers welcome him as ‘one of them’ the night they ran away, then send him after them? How is this possible? You can’t just mod yourself into a watchling, because mods don’t work that way. Is it some kind of graft? Grafts can do weird things to your soul.

He teleported. That’s how he crossed the Void that fast. He’s part watchling now. It’s a trap. It’s a trap. Grian’s chummy with the Watchers and he’s here to sell them out, dragging them back home. Is he allowed to do that? Did he sign the residency contract? Would he even care he’s violating it if he did?

Martyn moves so fast, he doesn’t register he’s caught Grian by the throat of his jumper until he’s slammed him to the wall. Grian yelps, thrashing wings and kicking his legs, and Martyn… Martyn…

Those eyes.

Those terrified eyes.

He can’t. Even if every flare coursing through his code is surging to do more than snarl… he can’t.

Martyn closes his mouth before he can bite Grian’s unarmored throat in a way he might regret. He drops Grian to his feet again, just as Grian’s twisting to chomp his wrist. “You’re not Grian,” he says again, more to convince himself this time than because he really believes it. It can’t be. Would he really drag them back? Signal to the Watchers that they’re here? Bring this entire secret city crashing down, or spotlight it on the surface until all of Between knows their name? Why? The Watchers live in a safe, enclosed space too. Are they that petty? They’re a bit out of touch and ethically misguided, but they’re not cruel.

“No,” says Grian quietly. “Not… Not your Grian. Listen, listen-” He’s looking left and right, backing away as Martyn blinks and stares at him. “I am so confused right now. I don’t know where I am? My skin came off. I can’t feel my soulmate; I might need hospital. Scott looked at me like I’d lost it when I asked about Pearl? She’s a bat now? Plus, my comm has better connection than I’ve ever had in my life, and honestly, that’s what really tipped me off. This place is we~ird. And where’s your ring, dude?”

Martyn can’t move; Martyn can’t breathe. No, that’s not true; yes he can (and far too much). “My what? Like” - he points at his left hand, ring finger - “that kind of ring? Uh, explain that back to me. Slowly. This is the first I’ve heard about being betrothed.” Did the sync rip that away from me too? He never really thought about it. There aren’t many people like him wandering about, or at least not many who’ll admit it.

Grian’s eyes flicker up and down. He’s too wary to be forthcoming, and Martyn has a brilliant solution. “Tea?” he asks, turning and heading for the kitchen. Why not? After a second's pause, Grian’s feet scuff behind him.

“Y-yeah, I’ll drink something. Uh, Scott said it’s non-anarchy here. You won’t attack if I don’t first, right?”

“Mmm…” Martyn pretends it takes some time to come to that conclusion, sizing Grian up while he stares back with clenched fists, not a weapon to his name. “Nah, I won’t. As long as you don’t cause a problem.”

Grian presses his lips together, like he’s taking these words very seriously and might go out of his way not to move too fast or breathe too loud. He glances down the empty hall. “I’m a bit confused… What’s going on between you, BigB, and Pearl?”

Martyn feels his entire brain spike like a hedgehog playing guard dog. Whoaaa, B’s not on the market. But he says, forcing his nerves to settle down, “Partners.”

Grian’s eyes dart to Martyn’s hand, then to his face again. “Oh?”

Ugh. Martyn grits his teeth, hating himself for even stooping to entertaining him, but he says, “We’re not dating, but we’re a trio and we’re not opening what we’ve got to other people right now. Whole lot of cuddling, I don’t mind saying.”

“Oh, you’re queerplatonic.” Grian says it like it’s a word that people just drop in conversation all the time, while Martyn’s too shocked that there might be a word for whatever he, Pearl, and BigB built up that he can’t even answer straightaway. “Well, that makes me feel loads better. I thought I’d just walked in on you cheating on your husband halfway through the honeymoon.” He snorts, massaging forehead with thumb and forefinger. “Guess not. But seriously, what’s going on with BigB? Why is he glowing like that?”

Glowing? As Martyn tries to process the honeymoon comment, the husband comment, and that last bit, all while getting out the tea options for Grian to sort through (and wondering what the hell queerplatonic even means; he’ll have to look into that one at the library when he picks up a nonbinary book), he stutters, “Elaborate?”

Grian makes a swish motion with his fingers, not terribly far off the bouncy shape Bdubs used to showcase Cleo’s hair. He stops. Maybe Martyn’s looking at him funny. “Like… his rings. He’s the breeze BigB, right? But his wind is glowing? Can you not see it?” Then he looks guilty. “I- I realize now that I’m saying it aloud, he has different wings. Was I not supposed to mention it? Oh- Well, now I feel like a total spoon. So this is what it’s like.”

Martyn’s eyes get a little wider. “Whoa, hold on a mo there… You can SEE his mods?”

The way Grian stares at him, you’d think Martyn just did a random backflip in the middle of their chin-wag. “What’s a mod?”

“… Riiiight.” Something’s off here; really, really off, and Martyn temples his hands against his lips. Flashes of a carrot field - a carrot field where his own familiar body bled purple energy instead of cyan blue - seep across his mind. He takes the bar stool next to Grian’s and slides him the box of tea. Grian sharpens with interest and starts picking through his options. “Okay. If you wouldn’t mind so terribly, walk me through the bits you remember before you last woke up… I’m listening.”

THE END