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The night was unnervingly quiet, the usual hum of activity having died down as players retreated to their bases. The sky, dark and starless, felt like a mirror to the inner turmoil of those who called the server home. While battles raged during the day, and hearts were stolen with ruthless force, the night brought a different kind of silence. A silence that often let darker thoughts creep in, unbidden.
Zam sat at the edge of a cliff, far from the chaotic spawn area, hidden behind the towering obsidian mountains. His fingers trembled slightly as he absentmindedly ran them along the edge of his sword. The blade was sharp, impossibly so, and it gleamed faintly in the low light. But that wasn’t what held Zam’s focus.
It was the feeling of control.
Every now and then, the blade would nick his skin, just enough to feel the sting. It wasn’t deep — never enough to cause real harm. But the pain was a distraction, a momentary escape from the constant pressure that weighed him down. To the world, to lifesteal, he was PrinceZam, the trickster, the chaos bringer, the one who always had a smirk on his face and a plan up his sleeve. But behind that façade, he was exhausted, fraying at the edges. I mean come on 5 seasons of the same shit?
He thought he was alone. But someone happened to be watching.
From behind a nearby rock formation, Mapic stood frozen, his chest tightening as he processed what he was seeing. At first, he hadn’t meant to find Zam; he had just been out scouting, looking for enemy bases. But then he’d noticed his teammate sitting alone, sword in hand, the flicker of a pained expression crossing his face every time the blade bit into his skin.
This wasn’t the Zam that Mapic knew. The one who never seemed bothered by the relentless cycle of death and life on the server. This Zam looked... off.
Mapic didn’t know what to do, which was a strange feeling for him. He was always the tough one, the one who knew how to handle any situation — but this? This was different. He’d seen players lose hearts, lose fights, but this... this was something deeper. Something more fragile. What the fuck was he meant to do?
He stepped forward, his boots crunching against the dirt.
Zam’s head snapped up, and the mask of nonchalance slipped back into place almost instantly. The smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mapic,” Zam said, his voice dripping with his usual bravado. “What are you doing here, sneaking around like a spy? Got something you need to confess?”
Mapic didn’t answer right away. He was not being fooled by the act. Not this time. He took another step forward, his eyes locked on the shallow cuts on Zam’s hand. The cuts that were already healing, but still very visible.
“Zam,” Mapic said, his voice steady but softer than usual, “what the hell are you doing?”
Zam let out a small, forced laugh and shrugged. “What does it look like? Sharpening my sword. Gotta keep the weapons in tip-top shape, you know?”
Mapic frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t give me that crap. I know what you’re doing. I saw.”
Zam’s smirk faltered for a second, just a second, before it came back, sharper and more defensive. “You don’t know anything, Mapic. It’s none of your business, anyway.”
Mapic crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “You're right, it’s not. But you’re making it my business by sitting out here and—” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “You don’t need to do this, Zam.”
Zam’s eyes darkened, his usual cocky demeanor cracking under the weight of what was really going on. He turned his head away, his grip tightening around the sword hilt, almost as if he needed it to keep himself steady. “It’s fine. It’s nothing. Just... a way to keep my head straight. I dont expect you do understand.”
“Maybe i don't,” Mapic admitted, his voice rough but sincere. “But I do get that you’re not okay. And sitting out here alone, hurting yourself, isn’t going to fix whatever’s going on in your head.”
Zam clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching around the blade in agitation. “What do you care, anyway? You think this changes anything? I’m still the same, still the chaos, the guy everyone expects to screw things up. If I mess up in a fight, they expect it. If I lose a heart, no one bats an eye. I’m just the punchline to the jokes, Mapic.”
Mapic's fists clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to grab Zam and shake some sense into him. But that wasn’t what Zam needed. Not now.
“You think that’s all you are?” Mapic asked, his voice low. “You think that’s how I see you?”
Zam was silent, staring at the ground, his defenses wavering.
Mapic took a step closer, his voice hard but not unkind. “Yeah, you’re a chaotic pain in the ass, but you’re not just that. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count. You’ve come through when no one else has. So stop acting like you don’t matter.”
Zam swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing as Mapic’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wanted to argue, wanted to push Mapic away like he always did. But something about the way Mapic was looking at him made it impossible. The tough-guy act, the mean words — it wasn’t going to work this time.
“Why are you even here?” Zam finally muttered, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”
Mapic shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving you alone. Not when you’re sitting here, pretending you don’t care about anything, while I can see you tearing yourself apart.”
Zam’s hands trembled again, and for a moment, he looked like he might shove Mapic away, tell him to back off. But instead, his shoulders slumped, and the weight of everything he’d been carrying came crashing down all at once. The sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as Zam’s carefully constructed walls crumbled.
“I don’t know how to stop,” Zam whispered, his voice so quiet that Mapic barely heard him. “It’s just... it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m in control. Like I’m not just some joke.”
Mapic’s chest tightened at the raw honesty in Zam’s voice. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Zam by the shoulder, pulling him into a rough hug. It wasn’t the kind of hug people gave when they wanted to be gentle or comforting. It was firm, solid, like a reminder that Zam wasn’t alone, even if he felt like he was.
“You’re not a joke, Zam,” Mapic said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my brother. We’ll figure this out, okay? You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”
Zam didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away either. For the first time in a long time, he let someone else shoulder some of the weight.
Mapic didn’t let go, even as the silence stretched between them. He didn’t need to. He knew that, for now, just being there was enough.
And maybe — just maybe — that was the first step in helping Zam heal.
___
The base was unusually quiet that morning, the familiar hum of activity reduced to a tense stillness. Zam sat near the crafting table, staring blankly at the wall as Mapic tinkered with an anvil in the corner. The events of the previous night still weighed heavily on both of them. Mapic had stayed up to make sure Zam was okay, but since dawn, things had been oddly silent. Zam had fallen back into his usual routine, acting as if nothing had happened, but Mapic could see the cracks in his tough façade now.
Neither of them knew how to talk about what had happened. Neither of them knew if they should.
The door to their base creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed off the stone walls. Wemmbu strolled in, his typical cocky smirk plastered across his face as he glanced around the room. He and Zam had been frenemies for as long as anyone could remember. They traded insults and pranks like it was second nature, and for the most part, it never went beyond playful jabs.
But this time was different.
"Morning, losers," Wemmbu called out, tossing a handful of resources onto the table. "What’s the plan for today? Gonna sit around here and pretend you’re actually useful, Zam?"
Zam didn’t look up. He continued staring at the wall, his hands resting on the table, fingers lightly tracing the edge of his sword.
Mapic, who had been watching quietly from the other side of the room, narrowed his eyes. Something about the way Zam had gone still set off alarm bells in his head. Or maybe it was just the paranoia from last night.
Wemmbu didn’t seem to notice the shift in the atmosphere. He strolled over to Zam, throwing a casual arm around his shoulders, leaning in with a grin. “What’s up with you today? Feeling all moody or something? Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on us.” His eyes drifted downward, catching sight of the faint, healing scars that crisscrossed Zam’s forearms.
Wemmbu blinked, his expression shifting from playful to something more mocking. “Wait a second,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Are those... scars? What did you do, slice yourself up for fun? That’s some real emo crap, Zam.”
Zam stiffened, his breathing suddenly coming in short, sharp bursts. His fingers curled into fists on the table, knuckles turning white as he tried to control the rising panic inside him. His heart raced in his chest, and the room felt like it was closing in, the walls pressing down on him, suffocating him.
Wemmbu’s laughter rang out, loud and harsh. “Man, I didn’t think even you could be this pathetic. Trying to look cool or something? What, running out of ways to get attention so you’re—"
“Shut. Up.”
Mapic’s voice cut through the room like a blade. He stepped forward, his face hard, eyes burning with anger. He had already crossed the room before Wemmbu could even process what was happening.
Wemmbu raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering as Mapic grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him back. “Whoa, relax, man. What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” Mapic growled, his voice low and dangerous. “My problem is you running your mouth when you don’t know a damn thing about what you’re talking about. Get out.”
Wemmbu blinked in surprise, his smirk gone, replaced with genuine confusion. “What? I was just joking around.”
“Get. Out,” Mapic repeated, his grip tightening for emphasis.
There was a long, tense pause before Wemmbu finally scoffed, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, whatever. No need to get all sensitive about it.” He backed away, shooting one last glance at Zam, whose face had gone pale, his breathing shallow. “You two really need to lighten up.”
Wemmbu turned and left, the door slamming behind him, leaving the room in suffocating silence once again.
Mapic’s fists unclenched, his body still tense with anger as he turned back toward Zam. His friend sat hunched over, head down, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Zam’s hands trembled, fingers twitching restlessly on the table as the panic continued to coil tighter around his chest. The air felt too thick, like it wasn’t enough, and his vision blurred at the edges.
“Zam,” Mapic said, his voice softening immediately as he approached. He knelt down beside him, close but not too close. “Hey, look at me.”
Zam shook his head, unable to speak, unable to do anything but try to breathe, each gasp more ragged than the last. His wings twitched uncontrollably, their edges trembling with the weight of the panic that gripped him.
Mapic’s heart ached seeing him like this. He’d known the scars were still fresh — not just the physical ones, but the emotional weight that Zam had been carrying alone for so long. And now, the casual cruelty of Wemmbu’s words had torn open wounds that hadn’t had the chance to heal.
“Zam, listen to me,” Mapic said. “You’re okay. I’m right here, alright? Just focus on breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You can do that, okay?”
Zam’s eyes were wide, unfocused, but Mapic’s steady voice began to break through the fog. Slowly, painfully, Zam tried to follow his instructions. He inhaled sharply through his nose, though it was shaky and uneven, and exhaled through his mouth. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.
“That’s it,” Mapic encouraged, his tone softening even more. “Just keep doing that. You’re safe. No one’s here except us.”
Zam’s hands still trembled, but his breathing began to slow, little by little. His wings stopped twitching so violently, though they still shook slightly as the last remnants of panic ebbed away.
“I... I can’t,” Zam finally managed to whisper, his voice barely audible, cracked with emotion. He pressed his palms against his forehead, as if trying to hold himself together. “I can’t keep... pretending. It’s too much.”
Mapic’s chest tightened at the raw vulnerability in Zam’s voice. The tough, cocky mask that Zam always wore had been shattered, and underneath was the broken boy who had been hurting for far too long.
“You don’t have to,” Mapic said, his voice quiet but firm. “Not with me. I don’t care about the tough guy act, okay? You don’t have to put that on when it’s just us.”
Zam swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he tried to compose himself, but the weight of everything still bore down on him. He felt like he was crumbling, falling apart piece by piece, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hold himself together.
Mapic, sensing that words alone weren’t enough, reached out and gently placed a hand on Zam’s shoulder. This time, Zam didn’t flinch away. He didn’t push him off. Instead, he let Mapic's steady presence ground him.
“You’re not alone in this, Zam,” Mapic said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I know you’re used to handling everything on your own, but you don’t have to anymore. I’m here. I’ve got your back.”
Zam didn’t respond right away, but the tension in his body slowly began to ease, his breathing finally leveling out into something steadier, more controlled. He still felt like he was drowning in his own thoughts, but Mapic’s voice, his presence, was like an anchor, keeping him from slipping under completely.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Zam let out a shaky breath and looked up, his eyes meeting Mapic’s. There was no cocky smirk, no snide remark, just a quiet, exhausted gaze that spoke volumes about the pain he’d been carrying.
“I’m sorry,” Zam whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
Mapic shook his head. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything.”
Zam’s throat tightened, but he nodded slightly, the weight of those simple words settling over him like a fragile kind of comfort. He wasn’t okay, not yet, but maybe — just maybe — he didn’t have to keep pretending to be.
And for now, that was enough.