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There’s a flash of light and the feeling of a blade piercing through his skin right before Joel wakes up in a gasp, the smell of grass wafting through the air as his chest heaves in a breathless stupor.
When his fuzzy mind came to and the soft, faint sting of being stabbed turned into a dull afterthought, Joel slowly got up and looked around. Where…was this? He licks his dry lips and holds onto his head, dizzy with confusion. The landscape before him was completely different—a spacious world filled with falling cherry blossoms stretching onto the distance and muffled, quiet sounds of waves meeting the distant shore.
There was no border at the corner of the world—or at least from here—no gazes peering on from the heavens. Was this a dream? Was this a new interlude between the games? Or have the Watchers perhaps changed the landscape this time?
His questions came to a stop and he gingerly got up, still shaken from his last moments in Secret Life. As the grass crunched underneath his feet, the familiar sight of messy brown hair and a red sweater caught his eye. Joel didn’t waste any time going over to the latter, who was standing near a pool of lava, wearing an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.
“Grian!” He calls out, and the other snaps out of his stupor, eyes widening in surprise.
“...Joel?” Grian’s eyes searched through Joel’s face, as if to confirm that it really was Joel standing in front of him, that this was real. “How did you…?”
He shakes his head, dismissing a thought, and without any other explanation, grabs onto Joel’s hand before going over to a clearing just beside a forest where there is no one around.
“Hey, what—”
“Listen to me carefully. I’m pretty sure the Watchers have sent us here on purpose.”
Cold shivers went through Joel’s spine, and he froze.
“What?” His voice was barely a whisper as he shakes his head lightly in disbelief. “This is the next game already? But I couldn’t feel their eyes earlier…”
Grian shook his head. “No, this isn’t the next game. And as for the Watchers, I think they’re just not here yet.”
Yet. Who knew such a simple, small word could elicit so much dread?
Still, Joel couldn’t grasp onto what’s happening. He swallows through the dryness in his throat, and when he speaks, his voice is a lot quieter than he intended it to be. “But then where is this?”
Grian glances away for a second, looking over to where the two of them stood earlier. More people were gathering around the lava pool, where a mixture of new and familiar faces were talking amongst themselves.
“Hermitcraft,” was the answer that he got.
The Hermitcraft server. He’d heard a lot about it from Grian in their conversations during the rare, quiet moments within the games. It was apparently one of the places where the Watchers had no control over. But when Grian continued on, and Joel listened to each word being said, the heavy feeling of dread and horror settled far too comfortably within the pit of his gut.
“And I think they’re planning on doing something here.”
The very first time the games started, Joel was completely and utterly confused, to say the least. Memories passed through his head in flashes of light as he was suddenly thrown into this unfamiliar world dyed with blood and filled with far-away gazes that always seemed too close.
Before he knew it, there was a blade in his hands as he hesitated to kill, watching as droplets of blood stained the bright green grass. When he died, Joel hoped that this was nothing more than a cruel nightmare.
And there was a momentary peace, he soon realized, after that horrible death game. He fell under the impression that it was the end of that, that he’d never have to go back to that bordered, closed-off world.
But then it began all over again, with fresh, new memories of falling empires and the destruction of his world to accompany him. He still remembers that gut wrenching feeling of seeing Lizzie among the crowd of faces, and the way his heart dropped like glass when she looked at him warily when he brought up the life they’d lived before.
It was then that he realized he’d become a stranger to the people he loved.
Everyone forgot, it seemed. Everyone but one person apart from him.
Together with Grian, he navigated through the different seasons, hoping after each one ends it would be the last—that, like some sort of miracle, he’d wake up and be back to his old life, one where his hands are not stained with blood, one where there are no watchful eyes tracking his movements.
Throughout the seasons, the more he witnessed and caused death, the more he tried to ignore it. He tried so hard to believe that all those deaths were just another trivial thing, as if he was merely watching a fly die mid-air. Perhaps at some point a part of him accepted that the games would continue, stretching on and seemingly endless like the vast horizons he could never quite reach. That's why he wanted to feign ignorance—to be numb to it all so he wouldn't have to feel the pain over and over again of watching someone he cared about die.
And yet...
Why was it so excruciatingly impossible?
It didn't get any easier. So much blood has been spilled from his own two hands, and so many lives being extinguished played out right in front of his eyes like a familiar scene, and yet...and yet .
Even becoming heartless was hard. How could he, when he'd shared laughters and quiet little conversations with those people he's forced to watch die , to kill , every few months?
That suffocating cycle, the gazes from the skies that never seem to go away, the blood on his hands that would never be washed away as if they were scars...everything was still too fresh in Joel's mind, still too recent. The haunting memories still linger in the air, trailing behind him like the wind. So how could he possibly relax when all he sees is blood every time he closes his eyes?
How could he continue living here in peace when he could still feel those sickening gazes, when he's still stuck within those borders?
How could he continue living like this when he knows that nightmare will begin anew again soon?
His eyes trail off towards the horizon from atop the hill, taking in the view of the still ocean and faint lights from the others' bases, and wonders if this quiet, serene world will be what breaks him, instead.
The fresh morning air is something Joel didn't realize he missed so much until now, and as he walks beside Grian amidst the small forests, he lets out a soft, almost relieved sigh.
“It feels strange, doesn't it?” He mutters, lightly kicking away some of the fallen leaves on his path.
Even without any added context, Grian instantly understood what the former meant. He hums quietly. “I'm still getting used to regenerating naturally again, honestly.”
Joel chuckles lightly. “Yeah, me too…”
It truly was strange talking about matters like these, rather than thinking up plans to survive for the next day. Maybe it would take a while for him to get used to it.
“It’s weird, being this carefree for once,” he admits, a bit hesitant. He doesn’t know why he’s even saying this. It isn’t like either of them has these kinds of conversations all the time as both of them just simply aren’t good at topics like these. But now the words are tumbling from his mouth like an open dam, and Joel says the words he’s been keeping safe and caged in his heart, too scared that it’ll become set in stone if he lets it all out.
But now he says it all, to the one person sharing a similar kind of destiny to his very own.
“Sometimes I wonder if this is the end. If, maybe, I'm wrong about everything and this really is our escape from the games,” Joel says quietly, as if he's telling secrets. The dried, fallen leaves underneath their feet crunches and sunlight shines through from the small openings within trees. “Maybe I can hope for that, y'know? But still...what if I'm wrong about that, too?”
Hope, after all, was perhaps the cruelest thing in this cursed world. Like a butterfly reaching the skies only to crash through an invisible border and falling straight to the ground—over and over again—it may very well just be the perfect method to break someone.
Grian stays silent at that, glancing over at Joel's direction before opting to look at the ground. The silence between them spoke volumes of mutual understanding.
“I really hope I’m wrong, too,” he says in a tone just a little louder than a whisper. “Maybe it’s hopeless wishing, but I really, really hope I’m wrong about the Watchers’ plan, too. That, maybe, they don’t actually intend on going here.”
Joel raises his head to gaze at the blue skies peeking through the forest. That same sky he used to look up at as a symbol of hope through these horrible games…was now the same place he feared yet wanted to burn down.
“It would be nice if we had a different life,” Joel mutters, smiling bitterly as he stares at the ground. If these games didn’t begin, what would it have been like?
“Hopefully, at the very least, somewhere in the universe, in another life, all of us could live peacefully together.” Grian says from beside him, like he’s saying a solemn wish. Joel glances at his direction to see that the former was also looking up at the sky, a mix of a sort of hopeful expression and bitterness on his face.
Perhaps he was looking at the Watchers in the sky, thinking why not this life? Why can’t it be this life that’s peaceful?
Joel quietly hums in agreement. It was their only way of consoling themselves to this world they’re living in, after all. A hope that probably isn’t even real, that maybe that other life is just as miserable as this one. But still, Joel chooses to lose himself in that illusion, if it means he’ll get a sliver of momentary peace. Maybe Grian thinks the same.
Even then, maybe both of them are indeed right about their guesses—that maybe, this isn’t the end of the games, that maybe, the Watchers really are planning on coming here soon. Still, he holds onto that bit of solace he managed to scrounge through the storm in his head and hopes it would be enough, at least for now.