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Grian falls from the mountain, marking Joel the winner. He barely hears the crackle of thunder over his yell of victory, all of the built up tension suddenly releasing. Everyone wanted him to die, but he prevailed. He remains standing on the mountain. Everyone is dead and Joel has won.
Eager to return to his home, he dashes to get off the mountain, but the moment he spots a flash of red over the edge of the cliff, he halts, laughter dying on his lips. He doesn’t know if it was Grian’s blood or his sweater he saw. He staggers back, not wishing to find out.
Right. Bodies don’t respawn or vanish when they lose their last life.
Sudden unease fills Joel, when he realizes that Pearl, Scott, Cleo and Ren are also somewhere here on the mountain. He saw them drop, and was the cause for three. Lizzie was- still is under the- Joel is now eager to get off the mountain for an entirely different reason. Blood or death doesn’t scare him. It hasn’t ever since the first fight broke out all those weeks ago. But the thought of the people he killed lying still on the mountain, eyes blown open, staring at Joel as if waiting for something, it bothers him. Their unseeing eyes burn holes into him.
Joel feels a lot less enthused over winning. He blames it on the adrenaline crash. He will celebrate his win when his aching legs finally get to rest. First they need to carry him home.
Turns out it was the wrong place to go to. Joel flinches his head away whenever he spots a body in the corner of his eyes. Just a couple of hours ago he ran through these plains, shooting arrows and swinging his sword, eager to get a catch, as if on a hunt.
A sheen of sweat covers his upper lip. The path to his car is silent. It has never been silent. There was always a distant explosion or laughter or screams in the distance. Along with the discord of noise, the hysteric bloodlust that has been especially prominent the last couple of days, is completely gone. Not a trace. He bathed in his enemies’ blood, used it as war paint, as a trophy and a reminder of who exactly he killed. Joel now wants to take a week-long shower.
Joel turns sharply, now taking the path to his trap. He wonders if it would have worked.
The trap ended up being a bust. Joel mutters silent curses as he digs himself out of it. He can almost hear Gem and Lizzie hysterically laughing at him over that failure. A few days ago, it would have been humiliating and unbearable. Now a sad smile graces his lips and he huffs out a breathless laugh. Sunlight greets him when he finally reaches the surface and he grabs a handful of ender pearls from his bag. He doesn’t need many, seven will do the job. It will not be a shameful way to go. He won after all.
Joel throws them into the air, one after another, in various directions. He knows it’s going to feel like that time he was rapidly teleporting around with his superpower, while being chased down by half the server. Back then he found that exhilarating, fun, almost. It fills him with horrors. What had come over him?
The first pearl falls and he teleports multiple feet to the side in a cloud of purple particles. His health takes great damage.
But when he sees the next one hit the ground in the distance, he feels the familiar pull of teleportation, but the pressure in his head is stronger. A lot stronger. Joel squeezes his eyes shut as the world warps around him, making him feel nauseous. He loses his breath.
.
.
.
And gets it back mere seconds later. Joel’s knees hit the ground with a prominent crunch, making him hiss. He doesn’t need to check to know he’s lost even more of his health. But when he does open his eyes, he is met with a completely different sight from what he expected.
For a second Joel wonders if he somehow teleported out of borders. But that gets disproven quickly, because he isn’t actively taking damage, and there are clear signs of life around him. Or, well, war and death would be the better word. Crevices from explosions, abandoned and broken tools and weapons littering the ground. Stains of blood on the ground he is kneeling on.
“Oh! Do my eyes deceive me?” Joel hears someone yell from the distance and he whips his head up. Someone is rushing towards him, steps periodically hitching in a prominent limp. In a very familiar limp. As the figure gets closer, Joel’s suspicions get confirmed by Scar’s face. Although the scars that strech across his face are different and are framed by way longer hair that is peeking out under a flower lined purple hood, the smile is the same.
“Scar!” Joel says, breathless, shooting to his feet. He never was the one to talk one-on-one with Scar, that role was reserved for Grian. They were close with each other, Grian always seemed like he had a past with Scar that nobody else knew, not even Scar himself. His death hit Grian hard, Joel remembers. And now he is alive.
“Woah!” Scar exclaims from surprise when Joel latches onto him in a hug. But typical for Scar, he is never one to shy away from endearment. He was teamed up with Lizzie, after all.
Joel’s eyes go wide and he pushes away from the embrace, hands placed tightly on Scar’s shoulders, hope blooming in his chest. “Are the others here too?” he hears himself ask. “Lizzie, Gem, Etho, Grian? Everyone?”
Scar’s face twists and without any words being said, the warm feeling fades again. Joel lets go and steps back. That’s right. Joel won. Nobody is alive. But then…
“How are you alive?” Joel asks, crossing his arms, one eyebrow climbing high up on his face. “I thought the snail got you. Are you a zombie like Mumbo, Skizz and Martyn?”
Scar blinks, eyes not betraying any recognition, and Joel realizes that something is way more off than he thought. “The snail? What?” He grins, his usual way of showing confusion. “Besides, I should be the one asking you that. How are you alive?”
“I won the death game,” Joel explains, a foreboding feeling growing in his chest.
“No. I won.”
Okay, that’s not the answer Joel expected. Is this a strange new wild card?
“Were you sent by the Secret Keeper?”
“The what?”
Scar points behind Joel and he turns around, only to immediately jump. A huge head made out of stone is looming over him. He’s seen sculptures of people before, of course. But none of them have ever made him feel this much unease before. He can’t put a finger on it, either. Joel would much rather look at Scar, thank you very much.
“The Secret Keeper?”
Scar grins. “Keeps our secrets!”
“Uh uh…”
“Well, they actually give us our tasks, but have been relatively quiet for a while. The only thing they’ve said is ‘win secret life’,” he lowers his voice deliberately, sounding like a haunting ghost, “or ‘wait for the next game’.”
Tension is building in Joel’s chest again. He doesn’t like where this is going. “Am I from the ‘next game’?”
Scar shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. Probably.”
“How many games have been there before us?”
“Again, I have no clue. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. There were a few guys, who acted a little weird. Martyn, mainly.” Scar looks at Joel, suddenly serious. “I have never been given the chance to meet the previous winner. Weird. Do they hate me or love you?”
“They?” Joel parrots.
Scar only stares at Joel for a long minute, multiple emotions running through his eyes. Joel can’t name most of them. But mostly he looks tired. It is an awful realization. The happy-go-lucky Scar, who spent most of the game building a roller coaster, to be in such a state.
“Actually,” Scar breaks the silence suddenly, making Joel jump, “the Secret Keeper said one other thing.” He rounds Joel, walking up to the statue. “They called Jimmy the canary once.” Scar hesitates. “After Lizzie died first. Jimmy was the one to go out after her.”
The mention of his wife makes Joel’s mouth dry. “What’s your point?”
“When the next game finally starts and I get to see them again, I’d like to protect them.” Joel remembers how Scar, Lizzie and Jimmy teamed up in his game. He nods. “Knowing them, I doubt they’ll let me remember this interaction, so please tell me.” He turns around, looking Joel straight in the eye. “Will I succeed?”
Joel considers what he should say for a long time. Finally, he settles on, “Yes. They weren’t out first, but they went together.”
Scar nods, satisfied with the answer. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Rather, I want to show them I can break their dumb rules. By breaking the stupid curses they’ve given us. Including you, Joel.”
The fury in Scar’s voice surprises Joel. He has seen him angry before. Never before has he described it as pure hatred. “I’m cursed?”
“You won. That’s a curse in its own right.”
Before Joel can dwell on it longer, he feels another distant pull as the third ender pearl hits the ground, and he vanishes in a cloud of purple particles.
.
.
.
Joel is forced to immediately duck when his feet touch the ground again.
“You are dead!” Martyn yells, swinging his sword again. “I saw you die!”
If Joel had a weapon of his own, this wouldn’t even be called a fight. Alas, he is forced to dodge and duck over and over again, being slowly backed into a corner. “Hey! Let’s talk about this!” The sword sweeps over Joel’s head, cutting off a few strands of hair.
He only receives an animalistic growl in response. “I won already! I won! Stop doing this and just let–!” Joel jumps over the weapon when Martyn aims for his legs. “- me–!” Martyn lunges for his face with his nails, Joel backs away rapidly, his attacker drops to the ground. “- win !” Joel covers his eyes, when Martyn throws a handful of rocks and dirt at him. The second of blindness would be fatal…
“Would you stop this already?!”
… hadn’t Joel won the death game by his brawn alone. He meets Martyn, grabs his arm, the sword passes him by an inch, and he uses the momentum to swing him to the ground. The weapon goes flying and Joel finally gets to breathe, Martyn pressed against the ground, trying to fruitlessly break out of his grasp.
“What,” Joel says, in between heavy breathing, “the fuck was that, Martyn?”
“Let me go! I’ve had enough of their tricks! I won!”
“Calm down, Martyn!” Joel says, trying to keep his voice even, while a turmoil is unravelling inside him. This behavior is awfully familiar. He saw it everywhere around him, after all. Was Joel really also like this?
The realization makes his hold weaken by a fraction, but it is enough for Martyn to yank his arms free. In a blur of motion, Joel is now the one pinned on the ground. Martyn’s hands wrap around his neck.
“Martyn!” Joel wheezes out, frantically looking up at the man. His eyes meet pure anger and rage, face twisted in an ugly snarl. His Martyn didn’t live long enough for the red rage to affect him for too long. Back then, Joel greeted it when it gave him bravery to slit a throat. Now he sees how horrible the red rage is.
As the world starts to darken at the edges, Joel sees the red fade from Martyn’s eyes. It also slowly vanished from Joel after there was nobody else to hunt, after all, and Joel doesn’t count as a competitor to Martyn. The hands retreat and he gulps down a greedy breath of air, turning onto his side, rattling coughs wrecking his body. Joel gathers himself quickly, jumping to his feet, breath still coming in wheezes. He didn’t even notice his hand fly up to his throat, and he winces. It will definitely leave a bruise.
Martyn is still kneeling on the ground, but his eyes are on Joel, narrowed in suspicion. The anger is still there, but it lacks the heat. It doesn’t pierce through Joel anymore and he wonders if the glare is even directed at him.
“You aren’t Joel,” is the first sensible thing to come out of Martyn’s mouth.
“Well, I am. But not the one you know,” Joel explains with a cough. His voice sounds like shit. “I’d guess this Joel is already dead.”
“You are from the next game, aren’t you?” Martyn suddenly asks and Joel flinches.
“How do you know that?”
Martyn shrugs, getting to his feet. He pats dirt off of his pants. It doesn’t entirely work, because he only smears blood on them in doing so. Joel realizes that Martyn is covered head to toe in blood. But looking at his hands, the same can be said for him. “It’s the Watchers we are dealing with. They like these games. I doubt they’ve gotten their fill just yet.”
Joel frowns and looks up at Martyn. “Watchers?”
Martyn glances at his wrist and he purses his lips. “You really don’t know anything, do you? How sad that an outsider got swept into this mess, but…” He starts walking away. “It can be said for every participant at this point.” Joel rushes after him.
“What are you talking about, Martyn? What Watchers? What Secret Keepers? Why won’t anyone tell me anything?!”
“Be happy, Joel.” Martyn isn’t looking at him, he keeps walking. “They must like you enough to bring you here.”
“Why? What’s the point in any of this?”
“Maybe they sent you to the past so you could compare yourself to us. I mean, you have a famously big ego,” he says with a dry chuckle.
“No!” Joel catches up with Martyn and steps in front of him sharply. “What’s the point of these fucking games?”
Martyn blinks, as if seeing Joel for the first time. There is a long moment where Martyn considers Joel carefully again, now from a different angle. Not as an enemy, but an ally. But just as Joel thinks he is about to get some satisfying answers, Martyn shrugs again. “Entertainment.”
Martyn passes him again, but any retort dies on Joel’s lips when he turns around. Martyn kneels down in front of Impulse, who Joel didn't notice before, and feels sick. Scott is lying on the ground not too far from them in a similar state, burn marks and blood covering their bodies. This was a bloodbath.
Joel can only watch as Martyn shuts Impulse’s, then Scott’s eyes, and crosses their hands over their respective hearts on their chests. He doesn’t say anything in the process. He should have given burials to his own allys, even enemies. The thought of Cleo, Ren, Pearl and his Scott lying on the mountain, forgotten, makes him sick. Grian is still on the bottom of the cliff, his blood seeping into his equally red sweater. Lizzie, buried under the mountain, impossible to reach after the cave collapsed. A bile rises in his throat but he swallows it down.
“It’s strange to see you like this,” Martyn says. Joel realizes he is standing next to him now. Scott and Impulse are now lying next to each other on the ground, eyes closed and blood wiped off their faces. “You were a pretty bad boy, when I knew you.”
“I keep forgetting that even though everyone died in our games, they will respawn in the next one.” Not exactly what Joel wanted to say, but he needs confirmation to breathe even a little easier.
“My guess is that they will be different from the ones’ we know.” Martyn sounds mournful. “I’m sorry, Joel, but you can’t recreate memories. Your friends are dead.”
Joel feels his lower lip wobble so he digs his teeth into it. “But we will remember it.”
“And the next games to follow. That’s our trophy for winning.”
Joel scoffs bitterly. “Doesn’t really sound like a blessing, does it?”
“Don’t blame the messenger. Anyway, I’d like to go visit some stuff now before my time runs out. Got bodies to bury.”
Joel’s head whips up. “Time?”
Martyn lifts his wrist for Joel to see. It has red numbers engraved on it, almost like fresh wounds. They are counting down. There is less than an hour left. “If it runs out, I kick the bucket,” Martyn explains humorlessly.
“What? But you won. Why would you die?” The wild cards ended after Joel won, so why wouldn’t the time stop?
“Winning doesn’t give you immortality. The time keeps ticking, even when you stop a river with a dam, it doesn’t become still.”
“But Scar is still waiting for the next game to start. Why wouldn’t those Watchers make you wait also?”
“Scar wins the next game?”
Joel winces. “Oops! Spoilers.”
Martyn huffs a laugh, turning to leave again. “Whatever. I won’t remember any of this anyway. They will make sure of it.” He pauses. “And regarding your question, me and them have a complicated past. Let’s just say they’d rather have me dead than roaming the world.” His steps pick up again. “Besides, I think being forced to wait in an empty world isn’t as big of a blessing as you make it out to be.”
Joel opens his mouth. He isn’t even sure what he wants to say, but it doesn’t matter because he isn’t given the chance. The world vanishes again in a blur of purple.
.
.
.
This time Joel braces himself for an attack. He stands still for a long moment, arms shielding his face, but soon it becomes apparent that nothing is lashing out at him. Slowly, Joel lowers his hands. Only to immediately jump away from the sight that greets him. Pearl is lying right in front of him in blood stained grass. Her cape is deep red in color, but to him it seems almost purple in the cold light of the moon, and a worn scythe is discarded by her hand. Even in death her eyes are blown open in shock, one sliced by a long scar, mouth slightly parted as if she was yelling at someone. It doesn’t seem like anger, more like fear. Pearl’s head is tilted slightly to the side and Joel follows her unseeing gaze without thinking.
Scott’s mangled body is on charred grass and this time Joel can’t swallow down the bile. He drops to his knees, body wrecking with the ugly noises. His eyes are squeezed shut but the scene doesn’t vanish.
Why is it always Scott?
He’s seen his corpse three times already, all dead in different ways. Was he there with Scar as well? Did he bury him?
Joel left his Scott and his Pearl on that fucking mountain. The sight here is mocking him. He is being mocked.
Now it isn’t vomiting that is wrecking his body, but broken sobs.
Is this his punishment?
For what?
For winning?
For leaving his friends? For not being able to save his wife?
Joel is back on the mountain, he has the choice to face death again. This time he gathers up enough courage to lift his bloodshot eyes. It’s the least they deserve.
The scene hasn’t changed. The two are still lying a couple of feet apart. Joel has the urge to look away again and wait for the next enderpearl to send him away, to just wait it out. But then he hears a quiet whine.
Joel doesn’t know how he missed it before, but there is a dog next to Pearl. Its head is resting on her abdomen and its beady eyes are looking up at Joel. The sight is like a twisting knife in Joel’s gut. The dog huffs deeply and its eyes rest on Pearl’s face again. Another whine escapes it.
“Hey, buddy,” Joel starts quietly, trying to make his voice as soft as possible. His rough and abused throat isn’t helping much. “Are you okay?” The animal doesn’t flinch away when Joel approaches it, so he places his hand on its head, petting it gently. Joel reads its nametag. “Tilly? What a beautiful name for such a good dog.” The name makes it perk up. It walks up to him, sniffing his face and clothes. Joel laughs quietly. “You hungry, buddy?” He grabs a piece of meat from his bag. Tilly immediately starts jumping for it. “Easy, easy! Here. Feast!” The meat is gone in an instant. “Woah, you are a hungry one.” Joel takes another piece of meat from his bag. Chicken, this time. Tilly takes it again in its mouth, but to Joel’s surprise, doesn’t eat it. Instead, it brings it to Pearl and places it near her hand, even nudging it with its cone.
Joel’s smile is immediately wiped from his face.
After Pearl doesn’t make any moves to accept the food, Tilly whines again and lays down next to her, head on her stomach again.
Joel takes a deep breath and makes up his mind. It doesn’t seem there is a winner here. Alive, at least. It is pretty clear how Scott died, he is laying on the charred remains of dynamite, after all. On closer inspection, there are no obvious fatal signs on Pearl. It doesn’t matter, Martyn mentioned that winners can die.
Joel walks up to a tree and uses its branches to make a simple shovel.
Tilly watches him quietly as he digs two holes. In one, he places Scott, then covers it in dirt again. But when he tries to approach Pearl, Tilly growls at him dangerously. Joel raises his hands. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I won’t hurt her. I’m just doing what I should have done in the first place.” Obviously, Tilly doesn’t understand him. Joel drops his hands. “I’m just putting her to rest.” Although Tilly doesn’t stop growling, it doesn’t lash out either. That single piece of meat wasn’t enough to give it days worth of energy back. The burial continues without any other fuss and soon only two lumps of dirt remain next to each other.
Tilly whines and Joel turns around. The dog drags itself weakly over to Pearl’s grave and lays down next to it. The sight breaks Joel’s heart. But at least he knows she was loved.
The world twists again.
.
.
.
Joel left Tilly. That's the only thought that runs through his head as he appears in the middle of a brand new forest, dim stars leaving dark shadows around him. It will die of hunger.
Joel takes a shuddering breath. “Hey, Watchers!” he calls out to the stars. “Send me back! Or let me take Tilly with me, if you like me this much.” Wind shuffles the trees around him, but he gets no response. “Are you listening?” His throat is raw.
“Never seen a player address them before,” comes a voice from behind him and Joel’s blood runs cold. The silence that follows is deafening, he wonders if even the world is holding its breath. Joel doesn't need to turn around to see who it is, the prominent Scottish accent is enough.
Joel should be happy to finally see Scott alive. But right now, he feels like he is about to face his sins. His Scott is still on the mountain, after all.
“You seem scared to see me. Is it something I did?” says the disembodied voice. Because Joel can’t turn around.
“It was nothing that wasn’t in your control,” is what he manages to force out. Scott is dead. He is alive. He is like Schrödinger's cat. If Joel turns around, Scott might be dead. He can’t see him dead again. He is being unreasonable, he knows, but when isn’t he?
“Would you rather not look at me?”
“I’d prefer that, please.”
“Okay,” Scott says, calm as ever. A long silence follows, Joel notices even the wind has stopped. A shudder runs through him and he glances around. The forest is dark but most definitely empty, he doesn't know why he feels like he is being watched. Joel doesn’t know how to break the silence. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to. “How do you know about the Watchers?”
“Others mentioned them in passing,” he replies quickly.
“Others? So there are more?”
Joel doesn’t want the topic to change again. He is finally about to get some answers. “You sound like you are familiar with them?”
“A little. I know of them.” He pauses. “Actually, I also know one.”
Interesting. Joel makes note of that. “Who are they? Gods?”
“Well, a little. They are powerful beings that create for their own entertainment. They… or rather, most of them can’t interact with the world, they can only watch and have people do their bidding. These games are made for them to consume.”
“So they want to watch us die over and over again?”
“That’s one way you can put it.”
“Then why switch it up? Why add all these tweaks?” Tasks, wild cards, time? What is the point in all of that?
Scott doesn’t say anything for a long minute. “It isn’t my answer to give. Sorry.”
Joel groans, frustrated. “What is the point of winners remembering the games? What satisfaction does it give them? Why do we still die?”
“From what I've gathered, players will be wiped of their memories and put into a new scenario, a new game. The first winner told me that winners weren’t actually supposed to remember either, but he messed with the code so he could keep his. Well, it worked, but it worked too well.”
Joel’s shoulders slump. “So there’s one more.”
“You should turn to him with your questions. He can be of more help than me.”
“Is there any way to escape?” Scott hears a sense of desperation sneak into his voice.
Scott hums thoughtfully. “Well, we are trying, but considering there have been many more games to follow, we haven't succeeded yet. I'm sorry.”
Joel takes a deep breath, holds it in his lungs, and releases it slowly. “Don’t feel responsible, Scott. It's not your fault.”
He feels hesitation in the atmosphere and Joel’s eyebrows twitch a little. “Thanks,” is what Scott decides to say. “That's very kind of you to say.”
Thunder rumbles in the distance, making Joel look up. The air is loaded with electricity.
“A storm is approaching, I don't think you want to be here for this.”
Joel’s hands curl into tight fists, he feels his nails dig crevices into his skin. His teeth grit against each other and with a deep breath, whirls around, quickly, like ripping off a bandage.
Scott looks like he's seen better days. His clothes are ripped and dyed brown with dried blood. Bruises and wounds litter his body, the sword in his hand is still dripping blood. But he is alive. The sight reminds Joel a lot of the last fight with his Scott on the mountain and then it hits him.
He is the Scott from the mountain. Just from the past, before Joel’s game, but his Scott still had the memories of his own games. This isn’t an entirely different person.
So Joel opens his mouth, as if preaching to a priest, “I'm sorry I left you on the mountain.”
Scott blinks, caught off guard by his words. Then his eyes soften. It is so painfully familiar to see. Scott’s kindness is a constant across every game. “We are left with so many responsibilities. You can't expect to carry all of them.”
Joel sighs. “It sure as hell feels like winners are the real losers in these games.”
“You may have hit the nail on the head.” Thunder rumbles again, this time a lot closer. Scott looks up and scrunches his nose, as if his doom is a bothersome inconvenience. “Good luck with him,” Scott says a mere second before getting struck by lightning and Joel being teleported away to the last location.
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Which ends up being a desert. Joel has to shield his eyes from the sudden onslaught of light. Going from a dark forest to a blinding field of sand is not something one’s eyes can get used to. It takes a couple of teary blinks and finally gets his vision back.
First thing Joel notices is that he is back on a fucking mountain. It gives him a great view of the world and he recognizes a warzone when he sees one. The aftermath of explosions and fighting spreads as long as his eyes can see. It is a grim sight.
A long shadow from the top of the mountain stretches across the desert and Joel turns around. He is faced with a beautiful tower made out of sandstone. It looks like it has seen its fair share of battle as well, but has been recently renovated.
Joel looks up and realizes that the sun is actually slowly inching closer to the horizon. He doesn’t have much daylight left and he heard deserts can get rather cold at night so he better start moving soon to find the winner.
He first stumbles across a bloody cactus ring. Joel winces at the thought of the needles piercing his skin and he rounds it with a long circle. He can take a wild guess where the final battle went down. What a convenient way to end the dispute.
The mountain isn’t big, so Joel has to barely walk to reach the next sight. Two graves stand next to each other. One of them is older, worn down by the harsh sun. It has the word “Pizza” engraved on it. The other one seems a lot newer, but it seems to be put together more hastily. There is no name on it, but a poppy is planted on the grave.
From there, Joel spots a figure sitting on the edge of the cliff. Grian still wears that same exact red jumper, only lined with different tears and holes. Joel remembers how Grian taped up his wings in his game, saying that he wants to make the game fair to everyone else. It would be no fun if he could fly around. Now Joel wonders if it was for a completely different reason. The tape offered them protection, a way to hide them from others, after all. Because his left wing is tightly wrapped up in bandages, hanging limply from his back, the other one charred and burned from fires and explosions. Joel doubts they can carry him anymore.
He walks up to him, sand crunching under his feet, and sits down next to Grian, eyes cast forward towards the sunset. Joel knows he should say something. Maybe introduce himself as one of the victors, explain the situation, ask for help. Grian saves him the trouble.
“Was it fun?” His voice is quiet and resigned, nothing like Joel has ever heard before. He wonders if this is the real Grian, if the one in his game was also deep down like this, pretending to laugh and cheer, or has he gotten better. “Your game, I mean. Was it fun?”
Joel doesn’t question how Grian knows about the other rounds, considering almost all of the winners seem to be on the same page. Except for Joel. “Well,” Joel starts, thinking his answer over, “kinda, yeah. There were those freaky snails that were actually pretty cute when I’m now thinking about it. And we got to be cinematic as hell in slow motion… Oh! We also found out how deepslate tastes!”
Grian huffs an amused laugh. “I’m glad.”
“Was it fun for you?”
Joel sees Grian tense in the corner of his eyes. “No. Not particularly.”
“Oh,” he says dumbly. “I’m sorry.”
“Watchers don’t like fun. They enjoy tragedies.”
Joel throws his arms into the air in aggravation. “Gosh! Those Watchers again ! If I get my hands on one I swear I’ll–!”
“I’m a Watcher.”
His brain blue screens. “Huh?”
For the first time, Grian turns to look at Joel. There are heavy bags under his eyes, despite the harsh sun, his skin still seems sickly pale and sullen. And there is a purple eye on his cheek, it is strained on Joel. The sight is enough to scare even the bravest of souls, but he doesn’t flinch away. Instead, Joel leans closer to get a better look at the eye. It follows him, taking in his every move. “Woah… that’s freaky. Can you see out of it or does it belong to someone else?”
Grian grins, it seems genuine. “It helps me see better.”
“I think I can get by with only two.” Then Joel sobers and straightens again. “But I was under the impression that Watchers, you know, watch . Why are you playing with us, then? Am I right to even trust you.”
The eye on Grian’s cheek closes and his smile diminishes along with it. “I haven’t been accepted into their ranks for a long time now. Mostly because I couldn’t let go of my human roots. So I was kinda doing my own thing. Playing, building, befriending people… all that jazz. But then I got wind of them planning to start a new ‘reality game show’ so to speak. The players they chose included some of my close friends. They probably did it out of spite. So I inserted myself forcefully. I only came to mess with the Watchers by pulling a few strings and pranks, to ruin the experience for them, but make it fun for the players. It quickly swiveled out of control. I didn’t think it would end up being so violent. I came here to stop these games, I ended up kick starting them. How many have there been by now?”
Joel swallows. “Including this one, six.” Involuntarily, the remaining feathers on Grian’s wings puff up at the answer, but he remains quiet. “But we still had a lot of fun, even with everyone red.”
“I’m glad. My powers aren’t meant for anything big. Just for a few tweaks and quirks to be added. Next time, I think I’ll add more lives. I still need to sit on it, though.”
“How about superpowers or immortal snails?” Joel offers with a grin.
Grian blinks up at him. “Maybe I'll consider that also. I’ll make sure I remember this. But considering it happens in your game in the future, I must have succeeded.”
“A little too well.”
“I tweaked the code so I wouldn’t lose my memories along with the others. Having them remember would be too much of a curse. It is my burden to carry.”
Joel decides not to tell him his powers affect every single winner to come as well, because in all honesty, he’d rather not have Grian fix it. He wants to remember, to keep alive the memories and promises he made. And also, he can now help Grian along with the other victors to escape the games with everyone.
Grian rubs his eyes but it leaves a smear of blood and dirt on his face from his hand. “You should get cleaned up,” advises Joel.
“I wish I could, but there isn’t any water in the desert.” Grian seems to run out of words so Joel looks ahead again. WIthout noticing, the sun has vanished behind the horizon, leaving behind a purple, darkening sky. “On second thought.” His sudden voice makes Joel jump slightly. Grian seems apologetic. “There might be a few pouches of water left in the tower. Could you please get it for me?”
Joel exaggerates a deep sigh. “Can’t you get it yourself?”
The smile Grian offers him is soft, but he can’t hide the undertone of sadness. “I’m really tired, Joel. I’m sorry.” Grian turns away and stares at the horizon with an unreadable expression, almost as if looking at a lost lover. Or something even worse. Joel glances back at the tombstones behind them. “I think the stairs would be too much for me.”
Joel gets to his feet. “Fine,” he agrees with faux reluctance. “Be right back.” As he walks back to the tower, he pulls his jacket closer around his body with a shudder. The desert really does cool down quickly at night. Joel reaches the door and then it hits him. “Hey, Grian! Where exactly can I find…” His voice dies out when he turns around and finds the cliff empty. There isn’t anywhere Grian could have gone in such a short amount of time, especially with his injuries.
Joel lets go of the doorknob and stands in front of the tower. He isn’t sure how much time passes. The cold is turning his fingertips blue but he barely feels that, not even the chilly breeze in his hair.
Joel remembers pushing Grian off the mountain and not daring to even look after him. He failed to give his friend a formal funeral. His eyes land on the two tombstones and he finally finds his ability to move. The last ender pearl will fall soon and take the last of his health with it, but in the meantime, he can finally redeem his sins by finally letting his friend rest next to his family.