Archive of Our Own

The secret keepers have a sense of humor.

Grian awakes to find a leatherbound book on his bedside table. After blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he drags it over and opens it to a random page. The pages are always identical anyway. He reads the following message:

Help one of your allies win secret life.

Grian sets the book aside and collapses back into bed with a heavy sigh. He clutches the thin red quilt for comfort, although its warmth is measly. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Yeah, secret keeper, he’s certainly going to try. It’s not like he wants to win this for himself – it’s a waste to chase a victory he’s already achieved.

Etho and Cleo have got this. They’re two of the most resilient people Grian knows. He doesn’t know if the tension in his lips is a fond smile or a grimace, it could very well be both. Grian pushes himself out of bed, ignoring the rush of blood that shocks his head. Grian tries to soothe himself by pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead but it does nothing to lessen the ache. His ears keep buzzing no matter how many times he hammers them with hard slaps.

He’s actually happy that this is his last day on the server. He wants to go back to hermitcraft. Etho and Cleo must be terrified; they don’t remember what awaits them on the other side.

It’s horrifying to walk this landscape unaware. You’re scared of every hill, afraid it’s hiding a ledge. You’re paranoid about what lurks behind every tree. When you think death is the end, it’s hard to enjoy life.

Secret life may not feel serious to Grian, but it is to Etho and Cleo. He’ll give this his all for them. Plus, he has a couple of scores he wants to settle.

Grian waltzes downstairs expecting to keep his lips shut about his task. Then Etho turns to him and Cleo and pulls his book out of his rucksack. He flips it open to a random page and starts waving it around.

“What’s the point of these?” Etho says. “We all have the same task, right? Win secret life?”

“Yep,” Cleo says.

“... Yeah. It’s useless.” Grian takes out his own book alongside flint and steel. For a moment, he hesitates, staring into a roaring fire of his own creation. If he burns the book, does this ruin his own chance of success? Eh, the secret keeper probably doesn’t need the book itself. Besides, if he’s going to succeed, he’ll never get the chance to hit the button.

It’s a catch-22, Grian cannot win. If he wins, he’s already lost. So Grian tosses his book into the fire and follows his allies out of the safety of their fortress. He’ll still try to help them out. Etho and Cleo both deserve this. Even if it can only be one of them in the end, they deserve to make that decision for themselves. They can face each other and choose the terms of their battle.

Grian has a lot of complicated feelings about his own victory, but ultimately, he’s happy Scar made it that far. He wouldn’t go back and change anything.

Etho and Cleo both stand in front of their farms, staring out at the vast landscape before them. Grian sidles up between his teammates. “Let’s go out there. Win secret life. It can’t be that hard, can it?”

Apparently, it is that hard. Despite his best efforts, Grian fails his task by noon. Etho was picked off by Scar earlier, and Grian is backed into a corner. When he hears that thunder bolt, he doesn’t need to look down at his communicator to know it’s Cleo. He dodges an attack from Scott and launches one at Impulse. He ducks for cover in a long, thin crevice, but his shield is taking quite a beating. It won’t last him very long. He puts up a valiant fight, but Grian is left to bleed out in a crater under the hot afternoon sun.

When he feels his time is up, Grian lets his eyes slide shut. It’s going to be nice to return to Hermitcraft again; he’s come to miss it dearly. Grian dies. It feels like falling asleep.

Grian’s awakening is quite rude. Rather than the cavernous ceiling of his base on Hermitcraft, Grian opens his eyes to a low wooden roof in a small room. He’s back at home, as if he just respawned. But he was on his last life, this shouldn’t be possible. He’s in pain, still feeling the effects of Bdubs’ trap, but he’s not on his deathbed. It doesn’t make sense. Why is he back here? He looks out the window – the sun is rising.

There’s a book on his bedside table. A book that he burned yesterday. Sure enough, Grian flips through the pages. Every single one tells him to help an ally win secret life.

It’s not the craziest thing to ever happen. Grian has opened a portal to another dimension before; this isn’t that shocking. But it’s still too much for his brain to handle. His headache is back in full force.

“What’s the point of these?” Etho says when Grian comes down the stairs, at the exact same time he did last time. “We all have the same task, right? Win secret life?”

“Yep,” Cleo does.”

Hissing out quite a lot of frustration, Grian goes, “Yes. It seems we do.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have burnt the book. This time, Grian straps it securely into its special spot on his utility belt. Just like yesterday, or earlier today, or whatever it’s called, Grian follows Etho and Cleo out to the farms. The three of them pause and overlook the land. Its rolling hills and its towering peaks in the distance. Its flowing river and charming little bay.

It was so beautiful before Grian and his friends came along to ruin it all. Towers have risen and fallen, hearts have been torn apart. Scars of war mar this land and blood has seeped into the soil. It makes Grian sick just thinking about all the lives they’ve already lost and all that have yet to come.

There’s going to be a lot more if this time loop works the way Grian thinks it does. He runs his fingers along the leather strap holding its book. Late one night he started carving a sigil into it out of sheer boredom. Without even thinking, he had turned it into a skull. Now he traces his pointer and middle fingers along the eye sockets.

Death is going to come for him many, many times if he can’t get it together and secure a win for either Etho or Cleo. He doesn’t know how he’s going to do that considering there’s a paradox wrapped into the mix, but he’ll find a way. He always does.

“We really need to play it safe,” Grian says.

“I agree,” goes Etho. “Maybe we should dig? If we say underground, we have some built in protection.”

“That’s a good point. It’ll be a pain to find us, they might turn to other teams just because they’re easier,” Cleo says.

“I don’t want to spend the whole day underground,” Grian says, mind wandering back to the zombie apocalypse. Staying up in that tower was horrifyingly boring. The last thing he wants is to do that again with even less of a view of the world around him.

“What do you think we should do?” Etho asks.

“Keep a low profile. It’s not worth it to go up in Joel’s tower, they’re going to shoot us down. We shouldn’t even try. Maybe we can follow Scar around. Clean up after him – he’s been quite aggressive.”

Cleo raises an eyebrow. “Follow Scar… that seems, well, dangerous.”

“How so?” Grian asks.

“He always gets himself killed,” says Etho.

He seemed to be doing pretty well for himself last time around. Etho and Cleo don’t know that though.

“Let’s just stick together,” Grian says. “That’s the most important thing. We’ll keep our heads low and wait for everybody else to fight it out. We can swoop in and steal kills. We’re going to need hearts if we want to survive.”

Etho nods. “That’s a good point. I reckon we can hide out like that. You two both survived the zombie apocalypse, I trust you.”

Grian lands a hand on Etho’s shoulder. He doesn’t know why, but those words resonate with him. Etho’s trust means a lot considering he’s one of the smartest people Grian knows. If Etho trusts him, then maybe he can trust himself.

So Grian does. It’s a mistake.

It works just long enough for Grian to get his hopes up. He starts to get sloppy, and Cleo does too. Etho remains low to the ground, but Grian and Cleo have always been ones to get a little too far ahead of themselves. Suddenly there’s arrows flying and Grian instinctually runs. That was a mistake.

An arrow strikes him in the shoulder, and he doesn’t have the hearts to tank it since he wasn’t able to kill Martyn this time around. Martyn’s still gone, somebody else killed him. It’s like Grian’s actions didn’t even matter.

In his dying moments, Grian checks the communicator strapped to his wrist. It isn’t even ten yet. Nine in the morning – what an odd time to die.

Maybe Etho or Cleo will make it farther on their own. Cleo has the tenacity and Etho has the subtlety to hide away again. The world fades away and Grian holds onto hope.

He wakes with that same feeling of hope and a certainty that he has returned to hermitcraft. Without opening his eyes, Grian combs out his hair and stretches. He stands and clambers around for the surrounding furniture. His hand hits wood – is that his bedside table, or the chest that rests beside his bed in hermitcraft?

Then his fingers graze a familiar leather book, and Grian sighs. It really is a time loop.

Help one of your allies win secret life.

Grian picks up the book and can’t decide whether he wants to secure it into his belt or throw it at the wall. He ends up half-heartedly dropping it on the floor. His back hurts when he goes to pick it up. He feels even worse than he did when he woke up last time. The pain mixes with frustration to make everything worse.

Okay, so playing it safe didn’t work. He can try again – it was a mistake to stray too far towards the mounders, the location was too central. They’ll loop around the back of the base and head towards Gem and the Scotts this time. By the time they arrive, their enemies will all be distracted by each other and they can properly execute the plan.

His stomach twists and churns as he goes through the motions again. Etho asks “What’s the point of these?” and Grian doesn’t bother with the book this time. He leaves it sitting in a chest, all it’s going on his belt is taking up space.

Grian’s heart leaps into his throat as soon as they leave the house. He tries to choke it down but the lump stays there, subtly constricting his breathing. His head is so light and he can barely wrap his fingers around his sword. They sneak around, staying low, and Grian doesn’t let his guard down this time.

His carelessness is coming back to haunt him. He’s never been this cautious since third life; when he won, death lost all meaning. A fate worse than death was inconceivable. Now he’s stuck reliving this wretched day until he can complete an impossible task.

As they’re sneaking through the treeline behind Gem’s house, Etho suddenly reaches out his arm, stopping Grian from proceeding. Cleo and Grian both stop, confused. Etho leans in so he can speak in a whisper.

“Are you alright?”

Grian blinks. “Yeah, I am.”

Etho drops his arm, but Cleo hesitates. “Are you sure? You aren’t acting yourself.”

“You haven’t unclenched your jaw since we left the house,” Etho says.

Is he really that transparent? He lets out a shaky breath and looks away, avoiding expectant gazes. Get it together. This isn’t going to work if he’s tense enough to jump at the sound of a broken twig. Grian reigns his body into submission, forcing tension out from his muscles. He feels constricted in a new way, but he smiles and assures his allies that he’s okay. He starts to repeat it mentally, over and over again, hoping to regain control of his rogue nervous system.

They keep sneaking, hiding, praying for safety. As time wears on, his halfhearted mental assurances do nothing until he stumbles upon one particular affirmation:

Death means nothing.

So what if this goes awry? He’ll wake up again the next day, and the next, and the next until he stumbles upon the right combination of actions and efforts that will lead Etho and Cleo to the top. With enough knowledge and foresight he can lead them to victory.

That is, assuming there aren’t others who are working towards the same goal.

When Impulse’s watchful eyes finally land upon them, instinct kicks in. Grian’s pent up energy is channelled into a wild battle. He calls attention to himself, knowing simply that it’s the right thing to do. When the time is right, he slams rails into the fresh earth and tosses TNT down onto the metal. With one quick kick the bomb is launched towards the enemies. It doesn’t kill them; of course it doesn’t. But it gives Grian enough of an advantage to run in with swords blazing.

He kicks Gem off a ledge and slams the but of his sword into Scott. He throws one powerful swing to Impulse and feels himself swell with power. The lump in his throat disappears and strength flows through his veins with each beat of his heart. Grian goes where his legs carry him, down, down, down into the strip mine. Frantically he lays down rails, hoping to play the same trick again.

Scott comes for him before he can set up the trap. So Grian flees, letting gravity cary him down into the depths of the mountain. Scott is hot on his trail.

In his panic, Grian does not hear the first crack of thunder. The second is disguised by the clang of metal against rock as Scott tries and fails to launch an attack against him.

Grian is doomed to his own demise when he misses one step and trips over his own feet. He begins to tumble down the steep staircase. Each harsh knock of his head against stone takes precious hearts.

He eventually scrapes to a stop with hands desperately clutching at the stairs above him. Scott descends upon him, blocking out all light that shines in from the mine’s entrance high above. Grian braces himself for a hit that never comes.

Instead, Scott’s hand latches around his arm. Grian goes limp, making himself as heavy as possible, but Scott still wrenches him up from his sorry state.

“Where are you taking me?” Grian asks, spitting out blood in the process.

Scott hesitates. He lets Grian slip out of his grip onto a small plateau. Scott leans against the wall to catch his breath, clutching his chest.

“Why aren’t you killing me?” Grian questions again.

Scott looks off, brows furrowing as he begins to choose his words carefully. “I… I don’t think I should kill you. I don’t think I can take that fight.”

“Look at me,” Grian scoffs.

“I saw that golden apple on your belt. You can heal.” Scott raises his fingers to the pulse point on his own neck and frowns. “I’m not risking this. Not when I’m down an ally and Scar’s probably off colluding with the mounders. Actually Grian, how do you feel about a truce?”

“A truce?” Grian questions.

“Join Gem and I,” Scott says. “You’ll last longer. Who knows, maybe you’ll even win.”

“What about my allies? Are they dead already?”

Scott glances down at his communicator. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not sorry. But Grian takes the hand Scott offers him, because he’s sick of sitting on the cold hard ground. Oh, that was a mistake, Grian lurches over – but Scott steadies him once more and takes Grian’s arm over his shoulder. He starts to haul Grian up the stairs. This time, Grian doesn’t go completely limp, but he doesn’t make the trip easy for Scott.

After some consideration, Grian abandons all subtlety. “Your task isn’t to win secret life, is it? If it was, you would’ve killed me back there.”

Scott stops and struggles with his grip on Grian’s waist. “No, I already told you, you’re a powerful ally. Gem and I are kind of hurting for those right now.”

Grian reaches one hand into his belt to unclasp the golden apple from its holster. He distracts Scott by hunching over and coughing, feigning sickness. He raises the apple up to his neck, hidden from Scott’s view.

“You’re going to sacrifice me to Gem. Your task isn’t to win, it’s to help one of your allies.”

Scott sighs and lets go of Grian completely. With one swift movement Grian takes a bite of the apple and kicks Scott hard in the shins. Scott collapses, giving Grian time to win. From down the tunnel, Grian hears a loud expletive, followed by the soft words “I’m sorry.”

Grian has already lost, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to help anybody else. He might as well have fun in his last few moments.

So he runs, barely avoiding a volley of arrows from Gem. He scrambles down the mountain, trying and failing to avoid unnecessary damage. He eventually stumbles out onto even land and books it, trying to get to the Heart Foundation bridge. If he crosses that, then maybe he can go home and collect himself there, harvest a couple more apples to plate in gold –

Then he spots Scar’s piercing eyes from across the river. He stops in place like an elk in torchlight. Scar notches an arrow and Grian watches it arc elegantly across the lake.

He closes his eyes the split second it hits his chest. He opens them to the familiar ceiling of his room back home. His heart aches, but not nearly as much as it should.

Okay. Fourth time around, and things are a bit harder. There are three other victors striving for the same goal he is. They probably possess the same memories he does, reliving this day over and over again. He might not have to worry about Martyn, who’s already lost the game. He might as well hit fail. Scott and Pearl are both a problem, though. Pearl especially, as it seems that she’s teamed up with Scar.

Grian doesn’t know who won the previous three nights, but he has a suspicion. All three times, Scar has done quite well for himself.

There were things that worked the first time around – Grian has to do them again, every time. It might have been nerve wracking waiting for Gem to walk up those stairs, but Etho and Cleo won’t ever take her out in a fight without that trap. If he can trap their nether portal again, that would be great as well.

Maybe it’s time to return to the tower strategy again. Those hearts from Martyn were valuable, and it’s not like it went any better when they avoided the tower.

“Etho, Etho, Etho.” There’s particles ascending the tower. Grian’s head is pounding and the scent of blood lingers nostalgically at the back of his mind, but he still hands Etho an arrow. “Martyn’s coming. Shoot him down.”

“Are you sure you don’t want this? I’m doing pretty good on hearts.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure.”

A split second before Etho’s arrow flies, Martyn says, “Oh I know what you’re–” He chokes on his words and a flash of lightning strikes the ladder where he stood. Grian stumbles away and tries to massage the ringing out of his ears. It doesn’t work, the thundercrack replays like a record in his mind.

“Woah, which one of you got that kill?” Cleo asks. Etho starts talking to her but Grian can’t parse out what he’s saying. The shrill ringing is deafening. Something twists sharply in Grian’s gut and he whirls around and grips Etho’s arm tightly.

“Watch your step,” Grian says.

Etho’s eyes go wide. “Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“Okay?” Etho notches another arrow and nods before going to return to his position beside Cleo. The very moment he steps up onto the platform next to her, the cobble beneath his feet begins to crumble. Although Grian reaches out, Etho still plummets.

It wasn’t supposed to come to this, but Grian grabs his bucket of water. He knows what happens next; he can stop it. He gives Cleo a quick salute before sprinting off to a good vantage point–

“Where are you going?” Cleo practically screams. She grabs Grian’s arm and hauls him to a safer area. “We’re about to lose Etho, he’s dead meat down there. I can’t lose you too.”

Her eyes shine with glossy tears that have yet to fall. This feels so real for her, she’s terrified. Her hands shake around Grian’s bicep and she looks up to the sky just to keep those tears in – Grian’s never seen her like this before, and it does nothing to alleviate the guilt that has been mounting ever since this time loop began.

He reaches out to her with his free hand and gently pulls her towards him. “I’m doing this for you. Both of you. I promise you, we’ll make it safely to the other side.”

“The other side? Grian, don’t make promises you can’t keep, please.”

“I would never.” Calmly and carefully, Grian pries Cleo’s fingers off of his arm. She continues to reach out for him but he jumps and her grip is too weak. It’s over already, the ground is rushing closer, closer, closer. He braces himself for impact and frantically reaches to upturn his bucket of water.

Then Grian lands safely in the rushing blue liquid. He swiftly scoops it back up and rushes off in the direction Etho ran. Etho’s on one side of the lake, Grian is on the other, and Scar’s on the island. Grian breaks out into the fastest sprint he can muster but Scar is already lobbing arrows.

Grian dives into the water, pulling himself along with powerful strokes, kicking his feet as fast as he can. He hauls himself up onto the island, scratching and pulling at leaves like a madman crawling out of hell. Scar somehow still doesn’t notice him, possessing a single minded focus on his target. Grian leaps with all his might onto Scar’s back, tackling him down to the ground.

“Oh, hi Grian!”

“You can’t do this,” Grian snarls as he reaches for his sword. This quickly turns into a pained cry as Scar stabs the head of an arrow into Grian’s side. Due to the awkward angle, it wasn’t done with much force and it doesn’t even lodge itself in Grian’s abdomen. Still, it forces Grian to fall back into the bloodstained cherry blossoms. Scar stands, dusts himself off, and notches another arrow into his bow.

“No!” Grian lunges for Scar’s leg. He doesn’t knock Scar down, but Scar does lose his balance and the opportunity to shoot. Etho disappears farther into the distance.

Scar clicks his tongue. “Really, we’re doing this? I know you have your little allies but this is how far you’re willing to go to help them win? You’re going to sabotage me?”

“Like I’d do any less.”

Scar rolls his eyes. “You get more and more tenacious with each day.”

With some effort, Grian raises himself up with sword in hand. Water drips off his clothing, weighing him down and giving a drunken, crazed aspect to his stride. He paces towards Scar, who sighs and puts away his bow.

“You want a sword fight? I’ll give you a sword fight.”

Like that, it’s on. Grian jabs. Scar blocks and slashes. Grian darts around, keeping as light on his feet as possible. Scar is just as shifty. As they trade blows and slowly wear each other down, Scar begins to ramble.

“I think I can win this.”

“This battle?” Grian goes as he tries and fails to land a hit.

“This entire thing. It isn’t that hard, is it Grian?”

Grian stops. That crucial moment allows Scar to run forward and jab his sword directly into Grian’s abdomen. He stumbles back and pushes himself off the sword, clutching his wounds. “Fuck,” he mutters, biting his teeth from the pain. Even the adrenaline can’t mask it.

“Answer me, Grian! Can you? Can you?”

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Scar smiles, and lands the killing blow, straight to Grian’s neck. In the haze of pain, Grian does not process what Scar just told him. Scar remembers. How much can he recall? Is it just third life, or is it everything? How is he doing that? Is it because he’s already won?

Grian doesn’t even think to wonder whether Etho got away or not until he wakes up the next day in the same exact bed as before. Grian turns towards the wall and slams his fist against it. “Damn it!” Then he buries his face in the pillow and mutters much quieter, “Damn it.”

The pain gets loose with every loop. That shouldn’t be possible, but Grian’s head hurts so badly and his stomach threatens to rip itself apart. Grian curls into a ball and clutches the covers closer, facing the wall. Old wounds ache again.

The longer the wastes away the more time ticks by. The house isn’t safe; there’s people who will hunt Grian, Etho, and Cleo down to slaughter them. Won’t they do that anyway, though? Does it really make a difference if Grian succumbs to his wounds for just one day?

Grian slips in and out of sleep, tossing and turning. Dreams blend with reality. A storm rages outside, thunder occasionally shaking the house. With each deafening noise Grian curls closer into himself.

Periodically, Etho and Cleo come to check on him. If his hazy memory serves him correctly, they never say anything. There seems to be an unspoken understanding that the world around them is horrible, and it’s alright to experience it how they please. However, the clouds break, allowing the sun to stream in through the window. Etho and Cleo are at Grian’s bedside. Etho presses a cloth against his forehead.

“We’re going all in,” Cleo says softly, as if it’s a confession. “We’re going to take risks and do what we can to survive.”

Grian forces himself up. “Take my TNT. It’s in the chest at the end of my bed, you know where the key is.”

“Do you want to come with us?” Etho asks, hopeful.

Guilt floods through Grian, or maybe that’s just a new wave of pain. Etho and Cleo’s chairs creak as they both exchange glances, communicating something Grian isn’t privy to. They all keep their secrets, and Grian has been fine with that until now. He wants to know: are they in pain, do they miss him, are they scared? Of course they’re scared, but do they need him? Will his presence be a comfort in their dying moments, or is it alright if he rests?

There will be many, many more loops for Grian to swoop in and save the day. It should be alright if he takes just one to rest.

It’s too easy to step into their shoes. Grian closes his eyes and he’s back in the desert, where the harsh sun was a comfort. It reminded him of his purpose. Life’s meaning made it exciting; yes he was terrified, but each bout of relief made him ecstatic. The highs and lows were exhilarating. He never spent more than six hours in bed. He was always plotting and planning, doing something. He was terrified of letting Scar down and he refused to accept failure as an option.

Cleo and Etho handle things differently, but they must feel the bloodlust at the very least. They want to get out there and kill. Grian won’t stop them, but he’s not going to join them.

Grian flashes them a sad smile. “Whatever happens, thank you. You’re the best allies I ever could have asked for.”

Etho is the first to rise. Cleo takes a moment longer, but eventually she resigns herself to her fate.

“Thank you,” Cleo says.

“Goodbye,” goes Etho.

Grian shakes his head. “No need to say goodbye.”

One of them sobs on their way down the stairs. It’s impossible to tell which one of them it was, but Grian still lies awake thinking about it. Neither of them seemed like emotional people until this moment. They seem to get worse with each moment as if their hearts know the loop they’re stumbling through. That cry very well could have come for both of them.

Grian wasn’t nearly as good to them as he should have been. They deserve so much better than Grian, who took this whole thing as a joke. This forces him to rethink everything: he goes further back through time, contemplating his allyship with Joel and Jimmy and even the Southlands. Joel’s despair at Jimmy’s death felt so trivial. Mumbo’s fear when Grian came running after him meant nothing to Grian.

“I’m sorry,” Grian whispers into the empty room. The walls begin to close in on him, so Grian shuts his eyes and hides under the covers.

Somebody comes for him late at night. He can’t even tell who it is until the attacker lets out a manic laugh over Grian’s bleeding body. It was Scar yet again. It always is.

Grian wakes with a fire raging in his gut. Dull aching pain has turned sharp, prompting him to get up and grab his sword. He’s angry now; Scar has killed him more than he’s killed Scar at this point. It’s ironic and Grian may be a hypocrite, but he will not stand for Scar’s violence. He’s going to put an end to this terror and raise one of his allies up to victory if it’s the last thing he does.

It’s easy enough to steal Scar’s kill on Tango. Grian sidles over while Scar is cajoling them to “Come burn down the globe with me!” Grian taps Tango on the shoulder and says that he has something he needs to show him. Just him, it’s a secret.

Ah, Tango. Too trusting. Maybe it’s the smile Grian’s faking or maybe he was just that eager to get away from Scar, but Tango doesn’t seem to even think about the fact that Grian may be luring him into a trap.

Grian doesn’t get fancy with it. He swipes his sword clean across Tango’s chest, taking those precious hearts. The struck look on Tango’s face would get to Grian if he didn’t have a single minded focus on the people he needs to do better by.

Grian flees the scene before Tango’s bloody body has disappeared. If he’s lucky, Skizz won’t realize that it was Grian who killed his teammate. Skizz was one of the few people who didn’t have a deathwish for Grian. It’d be a shame to ruin that.

He continues through the world as if he has a plan. He always does better when he lets instincts carry him. He avoids Scar as much as possible, but it seems the man has it out for him. Grian is walking through the woods near Gem’s base when soft fingertips dance across his upper shoulders. He wheels around to see Scar hopping back, light on his feet.

“That wasn’t cool, G.” A smug smile spreads across Scar’s face. “Those hearts should have been mine. I’m going to take them now.”

Without Martyn’s hearts, Grian can’t take this yet. He suffers one sharp swipe to the arm before he books it, running as fast as his legs will carry him. He loses Scar in the trees and keeps running until his lungs give out on him. Once he’s reached an unpopulated part of the server he takes a minute to regroup.

Joel’s tower looms in the distance. He needs to climb it; Etho can’t follow him this time. He’ll fall off again and that’ll be the beginning of the end. The time is ticking; by this time on the first day, he was already up there. He’d love to check in with Etho and Cleo before going up there, just to tell them his plans. Thing is, there’s no time. After taking a swig of water he runs to the tower and frantically ascends the ladder. Once at the top, he collapses into a heap and heaves.

Grian picks himself back up quite quickly. This is no time to rest. He builds up his defenses and surveys the world around him. Pearl and Joel build their own tower, but Grian keeps a careful eye on them, blocking each incoming arrow with a shield. He keeps checking the ladder over and over – is Martyn even coming? Or has Grian altered this timeline too much already? Somebody else is going to get that kill, aren’t they?

After a drawn out bow fight with Joel, Grian checks the ladder again. He shoots back and almost falls off the edge, teetering on his toes. He lurches forward just in time to collide with Scar, who just hopped off the ladder. Scar immediately pushes him away, going “Woah woah woah.”

Grian hefts his sword. “I’ll kill you. I’ll knock you right off this ledge.”

“Not if I do it first.”

Scar’s heavy hands ram into Grian’s shoulders. Despite whirling hands and feet Grian doesn’t catch the ledge on time. He plummets onto a hard, grassy ground. Something breaks, Grian isn’t going to last much longer at all, but he starts to run. That’s what he can still do: run, like his life depends on it. It does.

An ender pearl hurtles over Grian’s head and lands in the ground in front of him. Scar materializes before him with a gleaming sword held high.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Scar says as he starts swinging. “You’ll never win. I’ll never lose.”

“You have before.” Grian desperately dodges. His body is broken further by the harsh movement.

“Not today, I haven’t! I’ve lost track of the times I’ve hit succeed.”

Grian freezes. “You know this is a loop?”

His moment of weakness costs him. Scar kills him, yet again. It’s happened so many times that it doesn’t even hurt anymore, it seems that Grian’s grown accustomed. It’s the same thing that happens when a room has smelled bad for a long time or when he’s acquiring a new taste. After a while, the pain simply becomes normal.

This time, Grian puts everything he’s learned to use. He kills Tango. He wounds Gem with a TNT minecart. After some deliberation he decides to take Etho and Cleo up into Joel’s tower again. This time, he does a little bit of preparation beforehand. There’s a quiet corner of the land that would make a great place to regroup. So Grian places down a nether portal and marks out a path to take from the tower’s portal over to this one through the nether. Then, and only then, he is ready to get back to the overworld to ascend.

Grian lets Etho plummet, but he does shed a tear. He’s too weak to save Etho. He just wishes he could apologize, or tell him it’s gonna be alright, or just anything to make him feel better. Maybe he can apologize another day, but Etho won’t understand until it’s too late.

Grian feels stupid when he finally realizes that waiting at the ladder is pointless. He’s not the only one aware of the time loop, is he? Scott has the same task as him, and all the other victors presumably do too. It’s already remarkable that Martyn made the same mistake twice, he’s not going to make it again. Each of these loops is going to get more and more difficult as the other three victors chase their own goals.

“Grian?”

Cleo must have heard the choked up noise Grian made when he had the realization. He turns away from her. She shouldn’t see his face, it’s hot with shame. She tries to touch him, the three of them have been so damn touchy these last few days – and Grian lets her, even though it hurts.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

“Are you?”

“No, but…” Her eyes fill with panic as an arrow flies past them.

“Come with me,” Grian urges. They step into the nether portal. On the other side, the distinctive scent of warped fungus floods Grian’s nostrils. It might as well be the scent of a home cooked meal, because it means they’re safe, at least for the minute. He pulls Cleo along towards the path he prepared earlier.

“We’re going– we’re going–” Grian chokes up, struggling to form basic sentences with all the messy emotions clouding his mind right now.

“You don’t need to tell me, I trust you.”

“I don’t know why you do.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Of course, Cleo doesn’t remember that Grian always fucks these up. He killed Scar, he betrayed the Southlands, then he got Scar killed again, and when Joel died he might as well have thrown his sunglasses into a fire. It’s such a terrible decision to trust him yet he will defend Cleo with his life. He has before. Yet even after Grian’s sacrifices, it’s still a mistake on Cleo’s part, because they’re still locked in the loop. The clock’s still ticking and Grian’s not going to see Hermitcraft for a long, long time.

“We’re here,” Grian says as he and Cleo drop down into a valley between two netherrack walls. Before stepping into the portal this time, Grian holds out his arms. He doesn’t know what he wants, he doesn’t think Cleo will hug him until suddenly she does. Her hands are gently gripping the back of his red sweater and he’s gripping her so hard she must find it hard to breathe.

Her hands are shaking too. Grian pretends not to notice.

Cleo pulls away first, which is fine, because Grian’s heart was beating so fast that she could probably feel it in her own chest and that’s entirely too intimate for his comfort. He sidesteps into the nether portal and takes one last calming whiff of the nether’s unique flora and fauna.

Once they step into the overworld, there’s no time to waste. They grab extra gear that Grian stashed here, each taking a copious amount of golden apples. This is their final push. Martyn’s gone, killed by somebody else. Skizz and Bigb are gone. It’s only a matter of time before the mounders and Gem’s team turn on each other.

“Do we just wait here?” Cleo says.

“I think so.”

“I’m so scared,” she admits. “I want to know what’s going on, but I don’t want to be hunted…”

“I know, I know.”

“I miss Etho.”

Grian’s sigh turns into a sob. “I– I do too.”

This isn’t real. This is a fun little game, something to get the blood pumping. There are no hard feelings once they all return home. Grian will see both Etho and Cleo again in Hermitcraft, happy and healthy, one of them blissfully oblivious and the other one high off of victory. That day will come, it just may take a while, but they’ll get through this, Grian and Cleo will get through this.

Grian’s affirmations work until the wind carries over a soft whistle. It’s quite a complex mournful melody. It’s sweet until the fear kicks in, instinctual at this point. A whistle means somebody is approaching. And there’s only one man who would announce himself like this.

Scar crests the top of a hill carrying a blade over his shoulders. The whistle turns into a melody, half spoken half sung. With blood rushing through Grian’s ears, he doesn’t catch it all, but he does hear “I’ll never hide my scars.”

Scar locks eyes with Grian. This is a callback to Grian’s singing task, isn’t it? Scar’s mocking him.

“Go.” Grian pushes Cleo, whose fear locks her in place. “Go, go, go!”

Wordlessly she finally takes off running. It was like trying to move a mountain. Finally, Grian can run, save his own skin, but Scar’s not going to give him too much relief.

As he runs, Grian keeps looking over his shoulder back at Scar. The smug bastard makes a show of shrugging his shoulders, stretching, and taking out his bow. He lazily notches an arrow which Grian barely dodges.

“You already know how this ends, G!”

Grian whirls around. He’s sick of letting Scar kill him. “It’ll be different this time!”

Cleo shouts in pain behind him. Grian keeps backing up and eventually crashes right into her. He turns around and incessantly begins to apologize, but there’s so much blood and he’s going to be sick. Oh fuck. This world is evil for what it does to people like Cleo.

The battle is a blur after that. Grian must’ve done well because he doesn’t remember it all the next day. That means that he was focused on nothing but the blade. He could have taken Scar down quite a bit. Maybe Scar didn’t even win that time around. Cleo obviously didn’t, but Grian could have given somebody else a chance.

It’s time to do what Grian desperately did not want to do: hide out in a tunnel for hours upon hours until it’s safe to come out.

Hiding didn’t work so well last time, but Scar is surprisingly a fallible human being. Even if he tries to hunt them down again, he’ll waste all of his time digging if the three of them hide far enough underground. They spend the morning hunting down the heart foundation – it feels wrong to chase after them like this, but it’s not their fault. They’re the only team without a previous victor on it, they’re at a disadvantage.

Etho kills Tango. Cleo gets Skizz. Grian tries to nudge them towards Bigb but they point out Grian’s sorry state and he practically has to take this kill for himself. He needs to survive as well, after all.

Etho and Cleo are smiling. They laugh at Grian’s jokes and they move with light and levity. It gives Grian whiplash every time they pull him out of a spiral of rumination and into the conversation. Is this how they felt in the previous loops, before Grian realized how deathly serious this was? Maybe the change in tone means something is different about today. This could be the day one of them finally succeeds.

“I hate to kill the mood,” Grian says as they skirt across the landscape, watching battles rage in the distance. The fruits of their labor dot the landscape: half a dozen craters all created by TNT minecarts. “But it’s time for us to get out of here.”

“Tunnel time?” Cleo asks.

“Tunnel time,” Etho affirms.

Even now, they don’t seem too torn up about it. The last thing Grian wants to do is go hide in a cave for the entire day, but he’s never handled boredom well. Boredom makes him want to do drastic things. He’ll search for buttons to press and lighters to spark. Boredom is unbearable, but so is this never ending loop, so to the tunnels they go.

Grian digs his way down. Cleo brings up the rear, patching up the earth behind them so they can’t be easily found. Etho holds the torch.

They stop once they reach deepslate. Together they carve out a cavern to serve as their new home. It’s small and wet, water dripping from stalactites. Grian settles on a rock and leans up against the jagged wall while Etho and Cleo each find their own places to sit.

“This is what it’s come to,” Grian mutters.

“We’ve had a good run. It’s been an honor to be your roommate,” Etho says to the two of them.

“Don’t say that,” Grian says.

“What? It’s true, I couldn’t have asked for better allies.”

Grian cringes. He really could have. “Don’t act like it’s the end of the world.”

“Isn’t it?” Cleo goes.

He doesn’t respond. At this point, it might as well be. The earth could cave on him at any moment and it wouldn’t make a difference because they’re all going to die anyway.

“Anybody have a pack of cards?” Cleo asks. Grian pats down his pockets, but he doesn’t know why anybody would bring a pack of cards with them on their last day alive–

“I have some,” says Etho.

And so they begin to play cards in a damp, dingy cave while their friends rip each other to bits like wild dogs. They bet on pebbles and taunt each other. They ignore the distant crack of thunder and forget the time that’s passing away up above.

These pebbles must have traded hands dozens of times before Grian checks his communicator and sees that there’s only four people left aside from them. Scott, Gem, Pearl, and Scar. Grian’s never gotten this far, this could go anywhere. Are they going to take themselves out? Or are they already on the hunt?

Wordlessly, Etho stands. Grian and Cleo soon follow. They place down obsidian and escape through the nether as digging their way out would take too long at this point. A few minutes later, they sneak up Gem and the Scotts’ stairs, trying not to make a sound. It doesn’t matter anyway; they soon discover the base abandoned, earth torn apart from fruitless battles. Grian climbs one of the towers up to the turret.

“All four of them are down there,” Grian reports. “I don’t know if they’re fighting yet…”

A bolt of lightning strikes the Secret Keeper where Scott stood.

“Never mind.”

“This is our chance,” Cleo says. “We might actually win this.”

“If it comes down to the three of us–”

Grian cuts Etho off. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Come on, we need to go!”

Abandoning all pretense of secrecy, they sprint down the stairs, swords held high. Swords clash in the distance. It’s hard to tell who’s fighting who, but Gem screams that it’s not fair. She calls Scar and Pearl all sorts of nasty things until a cruel thunderbolt steals her voice away.

They reach the plateau where Scar and Pearl stand facing each other, about twenty paces apart, as if about to duel. Scar turns and frowns. “Ah, I forgot that you lot are still around this time.”

There’s three of them. Only two others left. Hope swells like a chorus in Grian’s ears, drowning out the storm, the thunder, and the incessant buzzing that underlies Grian’s world and its vibrations. Like a fresh kill or the flavor of a golden apple, hope fills him with euphoric strength.

This is a fight he can win.

Instinct takes over. The battle is a blur of clashing swords and pained cries. He doesn’t know who he’s fighting, he just knows that he’s doing it well. Mania courses through Grian, fueled by adrenaline and desperation. Each jab is wild and powerful. He knocks Scar down into a ravine. He goes to jump in after him. Somebody yanks him by the collar so hard that his fingers lose traction on the hilt of the sword, and the item slips out of his grasp onto the barren soil.

Just like that, the chorus is silenced. Pearl tipped the scales of the fight with one fell swoop. Grian chokes on the fabric constricting his neck as Pearl swings him around and casts him off to the side, where he collapses in the dirt and rolls until he hits a tree. His sword lies by the rocky edge of the ravine, and Grian reaches for it, hoping against hope to be able to snatch it back–

Then Pearl kicks the diamond sword into the ravine, dashing those dreams.

Pearl’s heavy boots shake the earth as she stalks towards him like a hunter. She raises her gleaming sword high for the killing blow. Grian scrambles for his axe, a dagger, anything– there, an arrow on the ground. He blocks Pearl’s swing with his shield and lunges up, thrusting the arrow towards her neck. He throws all the strength he has left into this last desperate move. Forced to grab onto Grian’s arm in order to push it back, Pearl throws her sword to the side.

Hope rises once again. It’s a wrestling match now.

“It’s a bit selfish you know,” Grian grits through clenched teeth. He wiggles his leg out of the vice grip she has around his body and uses the leverage to turn them both over, gaining the upper hand. “You’ve succeeded, what, six times now? Seven? Give somebody else a shot.”

Pearls’ brows knit and the thick muscles in her arms tense with effort. “I’ve only won once.”

“Your task.”

Pearl thrusts Grian away, but he launches himself back at her now that she’s dropped her sword. He doesn’t give her any time to get up, but the momentum she gathered allows her to flip Grian back pretty easily. They’re equally matched; it’s a battle of endurance. With each mighty movement they risk toppling into the ravine.

It’s hard to talk when Pearl knocks the breath out of him every few seconds. Grian should throw everything he has into this battle, voice be damned, but his curiosity gets the better of him. Between gasping breaths Grian forces out, “You made yourself Scar’s– ah, Scar’s ally– didn’t you? And every loop… he’s won. So you’ve succeeded.”

“Do you have the same task as me?” Pearl twists Grian’s arm back and ah, that hurts – in Grian’s moment of weakness, she heaves him up and slams him into the dirt, knocking the air right out of his chest. He chokes on dirt and dust and then she stands, slamming her boot into Grian’s chest. Something cracks.

“And what did you mean, loop?”

It shouldn’t have been possible for the situation to get worse. A boot was actively shoving itself into Grian’s broken ribs. Then an arc of magnificent, flaming, bright blue light flashes across the sky. A deafening boom shakes the earth. Grian cannot breathe.

One moment later, the sound repeats itself. Scar’s laugh rings out across the land, an echo of the deafening thunderboots.

Grian is fucked.

The details of Grian’s eighth and most crushing defeat are unimportant. Like the rest of his deaths, it’s a painful one, but it’s quick. The last thing Grian sees before lighting carries him away is Scar’s arrow as it arcs across the sky, headed straight for Pearl’s heart.

Grian wakes with a start. The ringing in his ears is louder than ever and the air around him is heavy from smoke. It must still be lingering from the trap Bdubs set for him. He runs to the nearest window and wrenches it open. He gasps in the fresh air but it doesn’t help. Smoke still lingers in his lungs just like the bells that hit his eardrums.

Grian rests his elbows on the windowsill and his head in his hands. Tears bead up against his palms – is he really crying? A gentle wind blows by and rustles his hair and he catches a whiff of the lilacs blooming outside. He didn’t notice the lilacs earlier – this is his ninth time experiencing the very same day and he has not recognized its beauty until now. The injustice makes him cry harder.

Eventually Grian relocates to the corner of the room where he sits against the wall. It’s been so long since he cried, he forgot what it felt like. There’s so much snot, it’s really gross. He’ll have to wash his sweater because he kept wiping his nose on the sleeve.

He freezes, staring at the snotty sweater sleeve. He won’t have to wash this. He’ll never have to wash this because Grian is never going to escape.

He gets up and begins to pace. His feet ache and the floorboards creak but he’s teetering on the edge of sanity right now and he’ll do anything to please his fickle mind.

This can go on forever.

Grian paces quicker. The occasional creak turns into constant squeaking. This loop can go on forever. Grian’s never going to succeed; if it was possible, he would have done it last night. But he’s going to keep trying, because that’s his nature. He needs to press every button, flick every lever, and rile up every smug bastard that tries to make life look easy. He’ll never win this battle against Scar of all people; that man knows how to undo him. He’s still going to try. He’s too crazy to stop.

He’s going to be in so much pain. Can he really handle dying over and over and over again? Can one human being take that much?

The book is lying on his nightstand. It always is. Grian takes it into his shaking hands and resists the urge to tear it to pieces. He carefully straps it onto his utility belt, taking great care in fastening every buckle. Each methodical motion is a distraction from what he’s about to do.

Etho and Cleo aren’t waiting down in the entryway like they were each morning prior. Have they left already? They can’t have. Grian needs to say goodbye. He closes his eyes as he crosses the main room over to the entrance, afraid of finding an empty garden. His relief when he sees his allies sitting on the outer wall is immeasurable.

Grian stumbles down the front steps. He tries to call out their names, but all that comes out is a pitiful, high-pitched wail. They snap towards him and immediately hop off the wall. Etho tramples his own crops. They each gather by one of his sides, close enough for comfort while far enough away that they aren’t crowing him. It’s actually… really kind. Their kindness makes it so, so much worse.

“I’m–” he can’t finish the word. Etho takes his arm and gently guides him backwards towards the step. They settle him down onto one of the wooden stairs and let him fall into a hunched over, pitiful position. Grian hates this – he hates himself for getting to this point. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe it was third life. That would be poetic, wouldn’t it?

“It’s okay to be scared.” Etho sounds unsure of himself. The two of them must be so confused, to them it looks like this came out of nowhere, they haven’t seen his slow and spiraling descent into madness. Is he scaring them? Are they alright right now?

“I’m not scared,” Grian says. He lifts his chin up to the sky where perfectly puffy clouds are lazily gliding across the blue stratosphere. “I’m just sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Cleo tells him. Grian shakes his head. He chokes down the last of his tears and shudders, making Cleo and Etho both lean back a bit. That’s good, it was starting to feel as if they were bearing down on him.

“No, I need to say this. I’m sorry. I am really so, so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Etho asks.

“I don’t think I can explain.”

“We’ll try to understand,” Cleo says.

That makes Grian chuckle. “I know you could – you’re smart people, both of you. Much smarter than I’ve ever been. If there’s anybody who would understand, it would be you two. Thing is, I don’t think I could explain.”

“Oh,” Etho says. “I get it.”

“Let us help you,” goes Cleo. “I know we’re a bit short on time, but I’m sure we can come up with something. You don’t have to explain why, just tell us what we can–”

“You’ve already done so much more than you could ever know. So thank you. Both of you, thank you.”

Etho and Cleo turn to each other for answers, each one as confused as the other. They start to mutter to themselves. They’re doing it right in front of Grian, which means that he’s obviously welcome to listen, but he takes it as an opportunity to take a step back. He gazes off in the distance while birds chirp and the wind whistles through distant spruce trees. He comes back to reality when he feels like it; not any sooner, not any later.

“You have really been amazing allies,” Grian says. “I don’t know if I’ve said that to you before.”

“I don’t think you have,” Etho says.

“Well, I’m saying it now. I don’t think I’d be here without you two.”

Cleo’s eyes widen, her shoulders tense, and her jaw drops speechlessly – she’s realizing, isn’t she? Etho doesn’t know that this is goodbye, but Cleo sure does.

“What are you planning?” Cleo asks. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can help.”

“It’s about my task,” Grian admits.

“Okay, I know we all got the same one, but we can still help each other out. We don’t have to break things up until the end,” Cleo says.

“Wait, are you leaving?” Etho’s all up at arms now. It’s clear by the shake in their voices that both of them are scared. They didn’t see this coming, did they? Grian is notorious for his loyalty (or rather lack thereof), but Etho and Cleo can’t remember Grian’s track record at all. All they know is that Grian would do anything for them because up to this point, he has.

Hopefully, if one of them ends up winning this time around through some twist of fate, they’ll forgive him.

Grian stands and pulls his clothes back into place from where they had ridden up. He wipes the cuffs of his sweater on his trousers. His resolve stands strong against guilt, grief, and all the other nasty emotions that try to tear it down.

“Despite everything, this has been amazing,” Grian says. Anguish and fear rush through him at the mere thought of everything they’ve been through together. He cringes, squeezing his eyes shut tight and suppressing the thoughts. “Thank you, you’ve been too kind to me. I’m sorry that my best wasn’t good enough. I’m afraid that I’ve got to go now.”

He doesn’t stick around to let them talk him out of it. They follow him down the path, but once he breaks free from the path onto the grass, Etho tells Cleo to stop. Grian can’t hear what he says after that. Is it solemn, “We can’t stop him if we tried”? Or is it vengeful, “Let him go, if he wants to throw himself to the wolves, he can”? The former sounds more like Etho, but Grian deserves the latter.

Grian works his way quickly across the land. He tramples flowers in his hurried jaunt, feeling slightly bad for each one left in his wake. The sun is still low in the sky, but he could still be too late to execute his plan.

His anxiety mounts the closer he gets to his target. What if this doesn’t work? Grian’s going to offer up all that he has, but the past eight days have demonstrated that his best clearly isn’t good enough. Never mind that, he’d be rejected outright even if he was worth something. Nobody wants a traitor on their team.

He reaches the torn up entrance to Trader Scar’s and swallows his fears. It’s time to Hail Mary.

“Scar?” he calls. This place is a death trap – a large crater still smokes, and dozens of buttons litter the ground, tempting Grian terribly. Despite the destruction, a couple of sunflowers sit in the shade, facing each other. Lilacs and tulips surround Scar’s porch. The wood is singed in one corner and broken in another corner where a sword or an axe must have struck it. Grian carefully clings to the fence as he clambers up to Scar’s door.

The room isn’t much of a room. The roof was blown to pieces, taking out part of the wall with it. Every single window is smashed open and pieces of glass litter the floor. Grian has never felt so thankful for his thick leather boots.

He’s not finding Scar here, is he? If Scar had any brains, he would have abandoned this place for something more secure. Then again, Scar rarely takes the rational route. There’s a small chute down into the earth. When Grian leans down and listens closely, he hears the telltale screech of creepers in pain.

Reluctantly, Grian descends the ladder. Torchlight illuminates the small chamber that Scar’s in. The ladder creaks when Grian steps off of it, but Scar doesn’t turn around. He methodically slashes his sword straight into the small gap in the wall, slaying a couple of creepers with each swing. Their high-pitched groans must have drowned out the sound of Grian’s descent.

For one moment, Grian stands there, pleasantly warmed by the torch that hangs on the wall. Being in such a small room with Scar feels intimate. The warmth and the scent of gunpowder take him back to a simpler time when it was him and Scar against the world. Despite their impressive number of enemies, Grian was confident back then. He always knew in his heart that he would win. Now he can’t imagine possessing that much self esteem.

This isn’t going to work. Scar’s going to kill him again. It’ll be Grian’s quickest death.

“Scar?”

Scar’s sword goes flying. It bounces off the wall with a loud clang! and lands on the floor in the far corner. “Ah– oh jeez Grian, what are you doing in my basement? You can’t just sneak up on a man like that!”

Just like that, Grian bursts into laughter.

“Hey– what’s so funny? What are you laughing at?”

Grian was so worried. He should be a shish kebab right now. He stumbles forward into Scar and clings onto his shoulders for something to grasp onto, resting his head on Scar’s shoulder. Scar’s hands flap around as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. He probably doesn’t. Grian chuckles.

“Why are you in my basement? Why are you hugging me?”

Grian takes one of his hands and hits it hard against Scar’s chest, multiple times. “You have killed me six. Separate. Times.”

Scar snickers. “I did.”

“Are you going to do it again?” Grian pushes himself away and raises his hands in preemptive surrender. “At least hear me out first, ‘cause if you kill me again, I’m just going to come back tomorrow to annoy you again.”

“Technically it’ll still be today, but no.” Scar grabs his sword and sheaths it. He crosses his arms. “Go on. Seems like you have a proposition.”

“You know my task, right?”

Scar nods. “It’s the same as Pearl’s.”

“And Scott’s, and Martyn’s.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Just to be clear, you remember everything?” Grian asks.

Scar laughs. “Yeah, I remember killing you six separate times. And I remember killing Etho quite a lot – that was fun. Cleo too.”

Scar must have noticed Grian’s flinch, because he changes his tune. “Oh, but it’s getting boring, living each day again and again and again. Do you know why that’s happening?”

“It’s because I’ve never completed my task.”

“Oh, yeah. I thought it was that either you or Pearl needed to succeed, so I started telling Pearl to hit success before we battled it out,” Scar says. “She kept protesting, telling me that she hadn’t won yet, but I won that fight every time anyway. Everybody’s like a broken record. It’s weird being around people that don’t remember; I think it’s only us, Scott, and Martyn.”

“So Pearl doesn’t remember?” Grian asks.

Scar shakes his head. “Why would she? She succeeds every time.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Grian says. “Let me be your ally.”

“What, so that you can get an easy win.”

“Yes. I want out of this. More than anything.”

Scar breaks out of his sturdy stance to start pacing circles around Grian. A shiver wracks his body as he’s examined by his old friend turned enemy. Does he stack up? Will Scar accept him? He hates this, his life shouldn’t be dependent on one man’s decision. Unfortunately, Scar has killed him enough times to demonstrate that he already holds Grian’s life in his hands.

“So you’ve come crawling to me. Ah, this reminds me of the good old days. But I am confused, why haven’t you just hit fail yet? You already know what happens. Is it your pride?”

“Wait, I can just fail?”

Scar stops in front of him. “Yes? You haven’t thought of that already? Scott and Martyn already have. The first thing they do each day is hit fail. Then they get regular red tasks and go about their lives.”

“I… didn’t think of that.”

“Well, I’ll happily take another ally, I guess it’s possible for you and Pearl to both succeed– wait, where are you going? Grian?”

He climbs the ladder up to the top and breaks out into a quick stride towards the Secret Keeper. How has he been so stupid? The fail button has been here the entire time and he never once thought about pressing it.

“Where are you going? Get back here!”

“To hit fail.”

Scar runs up and stops stubbornly in Grian’s path. Grian sidesteps him, but Scar grabs his wrist. Grian tries to worm his way out of the tight grip, but Scar starts speaking.

“Wait, Grian, let’s be allies. We don’t even need Pearl – when it gets down to the three of us, she’ll go first. Then it’ll be the two of us. Just like old times.”

“You think I’m going to help you win if I don’t have to?” Grian stops and looks back. It was a mistake.

If he thought seeing Cleo and Etho upset was hard… he tries to wrench himself away but he just can’t. Its as if Scar’s eyes are magnetic. His eyes are upturnt and both corners of his lips are twisted into an uncharictaristic frown. Sadness looks terrible on him. It’s so wrong.

He’s doing this on purpose, isn’t he? Some of the disappointment must be real considering he wants Grian on his side, but the frown just twists the knife.

Low and quiet, Scar says, “There was a time when you would have done anything for me.”

Grian finally wrenches his hand out of Scar’s grip. “If anything, you should be the one protecting me with your life right now after how many times you took mine.”

He breaks out into a run. Scar’s not going to take his peace of mind away from him. There’s a gathering at the Secret Keeper. Pearl, Bdubs, and Joel all balk when Grian slams his fist down on the failure button. They start badgering him for answers but he ignores them. He’s never felt more relieved to fail.

Joel punches him in the shoulder to get his attention. “Are you not even trying, Grian? I know we all have the same task, but there’s still a chance for each of us.”

Grian smiles sadly. Joel will not understand; not until he finally earns a win for himself. He’s a strong man, it’s bound to happen. But for now, he just shrugs. “I haven’t given you a heart yet, have I?”

“You– no, you haven’t, but that’s beside the point.”

Grian places his hand over Joel’s chest and closes his eyes. “Here you go.”

A tingle travels down his arm and fingertips onto the sliver of bare skin where Joel’s shirt is ripped. Their skin sparks like static electricity. Joel swells, just a little bit stronger.

“I’m just here to have some fun, to be honest,” Grian says as he backs away. “I only have one goal.”

“And what is that?” Pearl asks. She runs her fingers against the book she has in hand. Grian’s own hand navigates to the book kept on his belt. They share a knowing look.

“I don’t want Scar to kill me. Anybody else can. But I have too much pride to die to that man.”

He locks eyes with Scar across the expanse of grassy fields between them. Grian smirks. Scar’s had his fun; it’s time for somebody else to get a chance.

On his way back home, Grian spots Scott and Martyn both on their way to hit fail again. It seems like Grian was the hold out. He should’ve done that so much earlier. For a fleeting moment, Grian wonders if this might not work. Magic works in mysterious ways; if Grian wakes up in that same bed again, he doesn't know what he’ll do with himself.

All he can do is hold onto hope. One more day and he’ll be back home. Hopefully.

For once, hope works out for him. After a mildly painful death to Gem’s hands, he feels a plush bed underneath himself. He clutches the covers closer and rubs his feet across the lower of half of the bed. The firmness of the mattress and the fibers of the sheets are familiar, but are they from Hermitcraft? What does that bed even feel like? After so long, he can’t remember.

The only way to tell is to open his eyes. So Grian bravely cracks one eye open. An open expanse spreads out before him. A stone ceiling hangs high above his head.

Grian is so relieved he could cry. He’s home.

“So all you needed to do was let go of my pride.”

Grian makes an awkward landing behind Scar. He stumbles and flaps his wings. After ten weeks straight without them, it’s taking a bit of adjustment to get used to using these again. Scar doesn’t even turn to face him; he contineus to plant flowers in one of Scarland’s botanical gardens. The garden’s smell is overwhelmingly sweet as lilacs are in full bloom.

“It wasn’t pride,” Grian corrects. “It was stupidity.”

Scar turns. “You really didn’t realize you could fail?”

“No, I didn’t. I was obsessing over how to help Etho or Cleo win.”

“I don’t know how I did that nine times,” Scar says. He turns back to pat down the dirt around the newest flower.

“You sound exhausted.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

Scar has a bunch more pots to plant, but he scoots away from the garden onto the stone path. He lies down right there on the stone, arm over his eyes to block out the sun.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“What do you have to be sorry about?”

Scar waves his hand. “Everything.”

“Listen, what happens back there stays back there. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Have you always remembered everything?” Scar asks, peeking an eye out from under his arm.

“Yes.”

“How do you do that? You just return and have to act like everything’s alright?”

“I never really take it seriously. It’s just another prank war to me.”

“Just another prank war,” Scar echoes.

Scar’s state is understandable considering the amount of information he learned at once. Grian talked to Pearl after her win in Double Life, and she was quite shaken up. She didn’t remember last life at all until the split second Scott died. It took her weeks to return to normal.

Scar has five seasons to mentally catch up on. No wonder he’s lethargic.

“It gets better over time,” Grian says as he settles down next to Scar.

“I hope so.”

“Remember to be proud of yourself.”

“Oh, trust me, I am.”

Grian was chasing victory for so long. He still has the itch to run, to trap, to kill. It’s so hard just to let himself rest. But it’s an achievement in and of itself to overcome the anxiety that comes with the end of a season. So Grian lays down next to Scar and basks in the light like a sunflower.

“I think the ones who lost are the real winners,” Scar says.

“Maybe I did succeed then.”

Scar chuckles. “Maybe you did.”

They lie like that for a nice, long time.