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It’s been three days since the start of Season Seven, and Zam is being haunted by a ghost wearing Flame’s face.
She’s somewhere close to halfway done with the walls of her base— nowhere near as close to complete as she would've liked to be, considering what her plans for the season had consisted of. Puffball chirps at her occasionally from the designated baby ghast corner she’s put him into, a reprieve from the constant feeling of being watched.
“What’s the point of doing all this? Didn't you say you'd move out?” The ghost asks, his head in his hand. He looks almost like an exact image of how she remembers Flame in his last moments. Blindfoldless, armorless, more vulnerable than anyone’s ever been allowed to see him before.
The mark of the void branches out from his chest to his neck, crawling up in purple-black tendrils of a starless sky, a constant reminder of his bloodless death.
(Zam hates it. That’s not how Flame should look. He shouldn’t look on the verge of giving up again, on the verge of leaving everything he had to her and ending his own life. The way Zam likes to remember Flame is as a blazing force, someone who would barrel through his enemies no matter their strength.
Her enemy. Her reason to continue, just as she was his.)
“Are you listening?”
“...Sorry. I was thinking. Eventually, probably,” Zam sighs in response. She resolutely keeps her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her even as she hears the ghost behind her heave a deep sigh to match her own. “But this place works for now. It’s only been three days.”
“It’s only been three days and yet you already have The Apocalypse as your enemy.”
“Don't say their name like you actually respect them, dude. And besides, this is actually a pretty good track record for me.” Zam scuffs at the floor with the corner of her boot, trying her best to visualize the layout of the room. It'd be easier if she could just start throwing things at the wall and look for something that stuck, but with limited resources and time to turn the place into something that actually provided her comfort and safety, it wasn't worth wasting effort.
“You had a better ‘track record’ last season.”
“That was last season.” She couldn't use polished deepslate or quartz on the wall, as much as she would have liked to. It would just be too reflective— too easy to look at the thing in the corner. She shouldn't even be humoring his questions, really.
He isn’t actually there. It’s just in your head, Zam.
It’s just another thing that’ll make people call her crazy.
“...Do you miss it? Last season?”
She could leave the base, maybe. But he follows her no matter where she goes.
“Zam?”
“I think I've spent too much time on Lifesteal today,” Zam decides, abruptly standing up. Puffball coos at her from his corner of the room, curiosity shining in his round button eyes.
The ghost watches her from his corner, a small frown on his face.
She wants to turn around and say something to him, maybe snap at him, but… he’s not real.
It’s all in her head. Of course it is, because if it isn't, then—
(Then he’s really there. Then that means that he’s never left. He’s been here since last season, since the day he died to the void again.)
And Zam doesn’t want that for him. Not for Flame. Not for the man who gave her everything despite it meaning losing himself.
Not for the man she loved. Loves. The man she misses more every day, the enemy who she couldn't ever truly defeat. The one whose legacy she carries like heavy shackles, a constant looming reminder of the promises Zam had failed to keep even in the face of his sacrifice.
So Zam won’t talk to him. Because he doesn't exist. She'll just be talking to herself, and that’s not… that won't help anyone. There’s nothing productive and self-improving about that.
“Bye, Puffball,” Zam says to the ghast, who chirps happily as she spoons a snowball into his mouth. She opens up the menu, and sighs. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
She’s not sure if she’s happy or disappointed that the ghost doesn’t tell her goodbye too when she leaves the server.
She names her sword after him.
It’s a complete accident— just the first thing that comes to mind. It’s dumb and sentimental, but it feels right. The letters etch themselves besides the enchantment runes, and Zam traces her hand over them lightly once she takes it off the anvil, feeling the way the engravings touch lightly against her calloused fingers. They feel warm, glowing with a bright orange-red colour that stand out from the shining cyan of its diamond blade.
The ghost tilts his head at her. He looks almost surprised. It’s an expression Zam’s only been able to wring out of Flame— the real one, the alive one— once or twice, and never without his blindfold on.
“Inferno, huh?”
He sounds almost surprised. Before Zam can even stop herself, she hears herself speaking.
“...Yeah. It feels right.”
An inferno. A spark of fire that grows slowly, until it blooms into a flurry of blazing flames. She figures it's close enough to the idea she has in mind— a server-long Cleansing. Something that’ll start with just her, and might take over the whole server if she plays her cards right.
And if she doesn't— well, it's not like Zam’s a stranger to execution.
(There’s a part of her that hopes it’ll end with her dead, if only to see him again.)
The ghost cuts through her thoughts with a quiet question. “...Is this the first season you haven't named it Princeblade?”
“Oh. So it is.”
Strangely, the thought is comforting.
It doesn’t fit right in her hand, the blade. Inferno.
It’s no one’s fault but her own, really. The handle’s a little too wide, a little too hot. She forged it a little too broad, a little too long, and it catches her off balance at the most critical times. Zam drops it once, fighting alongside Mapicc (it’s always Mapicc, in the end, always, even if she should know better) and another time fighting against him. And yet, as if by divine intervention, she never loses it.
Maybe Flame is looking out for her, Zam thinks fleetingly, but that can’t be right. He’s not… real. He isn’t here.
Flame’s not here anymore, and she has to accept that.
And yet… Inferno, though it pulses with heat against her hand every time she holds it, never harms her.
When Woogie picks it up, unearned confidence etched across his face, the handle burns against his paw so fiercely that he nearly drops it, marks seared into his fur from the sword’s (from Flame’s ) anger. Days later, when she fights against Mapicc and Leo instead of at their sides, Inferno blazes brighter than ever, carving marks into Leo’s side as he tries to ready his hands for a lucky cart.
Yungy asks her about it once, after they kill Clown and tunnel into the caverns beneath the remnants of worldspawn to hide from the no doubt oncoming orbital strikes. “Dude, what the hell’s up with your sword? It’s awesome, but it’s like it’s sentient or something. I swear I saw like, hands made of fire pop out of your blade or something.”
Zam hadn’t had an answer for him that wasn’t weakly brushing off his questions with a fumbled excuse about max-level enchants working differently. “Maybe it’s some new sort of glitch or exploit. I’ll… look into getting it patched.”
Yungy looked thoughtful. “Nah. I think you should keep it. Even if it is an exploit or something, it seems like it likes you.” He winked as the legs of the spider-beanie he wore clicked in agreement, catching Zam off guard. “And besides, it did help us kill Clown. We’re a good team, aren’t we?”
“...Yeah. Yeah, we are.” She carefully resheathed Inferno, her fingers subconsciously tracing over the runes as she did so.
Somewhere, in the back of Zam’s mind, (a few steps away, hovering above the void, a constant presence beside her) Flame stands behind her, watching proudly.
Season Seven had been going too well for Zam, she supposed. With allies who she could trust like teammates without being weighed down by the title of a proper team, no deaths on her ledger, and a goal that actually looked like it was possible to complete, things were bound to go downhill sooner or later.
It starts with the End closing.
Hannah had been apologetic to the point of fear, and Zam had of course forgiven her— they were friends, after all, and Hannah had promised to give them whatever they needed, and she sounded so distraught it would have been cruel of Zam not to forgive her— but it was still disappointing.
Another year gone by, and she had once again been unable to attend an End fight.
She’s glad for Pentar and Yungy, at least. The two are— well, Pentar, at least, has a track record of not being such a pleasant person to spend time around. But they’re a welcome distraction to how this twist of events had felt, an intentional betrayal of trust from one of the few people Zam thought she could trust unconditionally.
She follows them to visit the ruins of spawn, searching for a fight with Apocalypse. At this point— a day or so after the initial damage Apocalypse’s cannon had caused— it’s been all but blown to smithereens, a picture taken right out of the remnants of 2b2t’s infamous griefed-to-hell-and-back world spawn.
Zam’s hands twitch seeing the scene, itching for a shulker of dirt that no longer exists.
It’s only been a month since then. Since the Zam who gave her all to protect spawn had ended the season with Flame’s legacy still squarely settled on her shoulders, since Spoke had twisted their roles back around to hero and villain, since everyone had given her their wills to continue and since she had failed, finding her way back to Mapicc at the end of it all.
As if summoned by her thoughts, they catch sight of Mapicc, Mane and Leo. Zam’s cautious, even as Pentar and Yungy approach the three like old friends.
She’s right to be, because at a lull in the conversation, a message from Mane shows up on her communicator.
Manepear whispers to you: run
(Somewhere in the back of her mind, she sees herself, a year younger, terrified as she watches a team tear across the length of spawn to rush Flame. Back then, she held no weapon, no way she could possibly protect Flame without being hurt as well.
Here and now, though—)
Zam grabs Yungy back by the shoulder just in time as Mane takes the first swing, a tired frown clouding his usual happy-go-lucky expression. His next swing connects with the blade of her sword, the runes making it come alive with blazing flames. She sees the way Mane flinches back as if hit by some sort of invisible force, and in that split second of an opening, she takes Yungy and Pentar both by the arms and drags them backwards, sharing her potion effects with them.
“Dude,” Yungy calls to Mapicc, his brow furrowed, “What the hell? Why are we fighting now? I thought we were cool!”
Mapicc, as expected, reacts with fury. It’s a rage that Zam knows all too well— one she’s experienced, first fueling, then being on the receiving end of. He’s too predictable sometimes, she thinks privately. But it’s something she prefers. A public fury, a burning rage— that, at least, is easier to deal with than a beloved ally turned bitter enemy.
It’s easier to stomach than Flame, at the end of the world, turning around to give her his everything when it becomes clear that she won’t fight him anymore.
(It’s easier than paying attention to the ghost who stands just outside of her peripheral, a contemplative look on his face as he regards the remnants of spawn.)
So Zam throws herself into the fight, uncaring of whether or not she’s actually able to strike any enemies. Inferno feels strange in her grip still, the subconscious acknowledgement that it wasn’t made for her still in the back of her mind even as she strikes down Leo, fumbling with its handle and dropping it before managing to steal it back when Yungy lands one final strike on him.
There’s no satisfaction to be felt as she watches Mapicc round on Yungy and Pentar, clear fury in his eyes as he shouts encouragements to Leo, who’s probably respawned back at their new base by now.
It’s a hollow victory, and one she never wanted to be a part of.
Still, Zam continues to fight.
When Mane approaches her, his sword lowered, she launches herself toward him in an effort to keep him away from her allies, even despite the clear skill difference between them. Inferno’s flames stay burning bright, but in the light of the fire, she can see the wrinkles of frustration and disappointment reflected in Mane’s face just as clearly as her own.
It's almost laughable how stark the difference is, just months apart.
A gleeful smile settles on Zam’s face as she circles Flame like a bird of prey, despite knowing that of the two of them, she’s the one who will be down a heart. He smiles back at her, baring his teeth at her as he does so.
They both share a look, and—
“—Just say the word, and I'll stop,” Mane tells her, a wind charge in his hand as he launches her back into the crater. “Neither of us want this.”
“...Fine,” Zam says, after taking a moment to check if Yungy and Pentar are doing well for themselves. She sheathes her sword, pivoting on her heel to leave, when Mane calls from behind her.
“Are we cool still?”
Zam… doesn't know what to say. She almost wants to run away, burrow down into the ruined landscape of what was once a place for the server to unify around, but—
A warm hand settles itself on her shoulder, a calming gesture to ground her.
Flame, holding her close after an unfortunate encounter at spawn. Flame, his hand on hers to promise her safety. Flame, holding a sword to her neck to declare the end of their friendship. Flame, at the end of the world, kissing her like he thinks it'll make it all okay.
(Like he thinks she’ll be okay with losing him.)
It’s Mane, of course. It has to be Mane, because there’s no one else it could be, no one standing beside her except the flickering light of a fire not yet extinguished. And yet, when Zam turns around, all she can see is Mane, still standing at the edge of a rocky cliff, his blindfold tied around his wrist.
It feels like a painful reminder to look him in the eyes, eyes that look so much like Flame’s.
(It’s worse, in a way, because in the end, Zam knows it’s her who took Flame from him.)
“I don't want us to be enemies,” Zam says after a moment. “But it looks like that's where we’re headed.”
“We don't have to be,” Mane says. “You don't have to do this. You don't have to fight us. That's why I told you to run.”
( “You don't have to do this, Flame. You— you don't have to give up. We can go and rebuild spawn together,” she pleads, but it all falls on deaf ears.
She should have expected it. After all, she had never known Flame to be the kind of person to let his mind be swayed.
And yet.)
“I wasn’t going to leave them,” Zam tells him. “Like you couldn't leave Mapicc.” Like you couldn't leave Flame to his fate, either.
Mane huffs a sigh, looking off at the distant horizon. “Well, duh. He… reminds me of someone who's not around anymore. You know?”
And Zam, with the ghost of the man they both miss more than anything standing right behind her, chokes back a sob. “...Yeah. I know.”
Zam moves two days after the unfortunate encounter with Daycare at spawn. It’s not because of them, no, but her base doesn't feel safe anymore. Someone’s mined in through the ceiling, and it's too open, too exposed, too damn close to spawn, and—
Well. Maybe part of her was hoping that if she moved, she would stop seeing Flame in the back of her reflection.
(It would be futile, anyway. She sees him in everything around her. In the veins of the crimson wood she uses, in the red of the blood that stains her weapons, in the embers of the fires that follow her as she runs around the server. In the destruction of spawn, the way that Mane follows Mapicc like he isn’t sure what else he can do. In the way Pentar and Yungy laugh and smile and rib at each other despite the bloodshed they’ve partaken in, in their red-trimmed armor.
In her sword, burning brightly at her side.
In the way his ghost still stays right behind her, just a few feet away. Close enough to touch, but never to scare. Like he still cares for her, despite everything.)
It’s dumb. It's stupid.
But it comes from her own guilt and shame and regret, at the idea of having let Flame down so thoroughly that his spirit stays by her side, unable to move on. It’s not like leaving Lifesteal— dying for the last time— is a new thing. Flame hasn't been the first to leave Lifesteal permanently, and he certainly won't be the last.
(Subz is gone. Wemmbu is gone. For a time, Poafa was gone, too.
And yet, Flame’s the only one who’s been stuck. Tethered to this anarchy server forever, forced to follow behind the girl who pulled the strings to his death.)
A fate like that would be worse than death, to Zam. So she hopes, and she prays, and she bites her nails and holds back tears as she painstakingly coaxes Puffball through the portal to her new base.
Please let this work.
(It was a futile effort from the start. After all, nothing ever seems to work out. Not for Prince Zam. Never for Prince Zam.)
Because when she enters the new base at the end of the day, her shoulders aching and the feeling of a unfairly earned pair of elytra on her back, there he is. Sitting in the corner, watching like he always has.
The ghost— Flame. It’s Flame. It’s him, it’s always been him, he’s been here this whole time— looks back at her, and Zam can't bring herself to meet his eyes.
“I—”
There’s a thousand things she could say that’s all stuck in the back of her throat. Things that she was afraid she’d never get to say, things that now that she’s standing in front of him, feel almost impossible to express. I’m sorry. I miss you. I wish you hadn’t done that. I wish I’d been better to you, I wish we’d had more time. I wish you could be here. I wish that you’d known how much you meant to me.
“Zam,” Flame says, softer than he should. There’s the faint sensation of warmth by her side, and then, she’s being pulled into a half-solid embrace. “What’s wrong?”
And Zam— Zam— she can’t—
“I cared about you. I still care about you . But you’re—” Gone. But she can’t bring herself to say that.
“I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
“That’s the problem, ” Zam says, her voice cracking. She can’t remember the last time she’s lost composure like this, and it’s embarrassing. “I don’t want you to be stuck here. I don’t— you shouldn’t be forced to follow me around and unable to do anything about it. I— I want—”
I want you to live. I want you to be happy, I want to see you laugh again. I want what we used to have back. I want to bare my teeth at you and see you reciprocate. I want to raise my sword against yours again.
“I don’t want to live without you.”
Flame’s eyes soften as a small frown pulls at his lips. “Well, I mean— why else do you think I’m here? I wanted to leave, but… you stayed. I couldn’t just leave you alone.”
“That’s worse. That’s so much worse,” Zam hiccups. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re forced to stay.”
“You’re not forcing me to do anything,” Flame says. “I just want to make sure you’re not… you know. Like this.” His hand— barely solid, floaty, but there, it’s there— comes up to brush a tear off her cheek. It feels like warm stone on skin, like the statue she made of him, in her base at the end of the world. She wants to cling onto his touch, wants to memorize the way he feels, if only to hold onto a fleeting memory before he leaves for good. Because he has to leave, at one point or another. It just doesn’t make sense not to leave.
She’s Prince Zam, trouble magnet extraordinaire, self-saboteur of all time. Zam’s not allowed to have a good thing. She’s not allowed to have Flame.
“You don’t have to,” Zam says. “You— you can leave. I’m… fine. I’m doing fine. ”
(It sounds like she's trying to convince herself.)
“I won’t.” Flame says, and— it’s so simple. The way he says it like it’s a fact, like nothing will change regardless. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Flame will stay. “Fine or not, I want to stay with you. I want to see you win, Zam. I want to be there when you kill Apocalypse, or Hannah’s team, or whoever your enemies are. You were— are my purpose. I want to see you fulfill yours, too.”
“I love you, Zam,” Flame adds, leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. “I’ll stay for as long as you’ll let me.”
There’s a thousand things she could say. Thank you. You were my purpose, too, at one point. I loved you so much. I think I still do.
In the end, all she can say is, “And you’re sure you won’t leave?”
Flame just smiles. “As long as you don’t want me to.”
A week or so into Season Seven sees a girl and a ghost sitting next to each other above the thrice-bombed remnants of what was once spawn, watching the sun set as they both look over a place that once tore them apart.
“Wow, they really did a number on this place, didn’t they?” Flame mutters. “Not even I did anything this bad.”
“I don’t know if I’d say that, ” Zam says, laughing when Flame swats at her. He’s joking, of course— his hand goes straight through her shoulder, but she playfully pushes at him anyway. “No, but seriously though. It’s never looked this fucked up before.”
“That’s because you were there to fix it.”
Zam closes her eyes. “You know, when it first got blown up, I actually started instinctively repairing it. I don’t know if you saw that part.”
“I did,” Flame laughs. “I also saw you fight against Mane after.”
Zam groans. “Seriously? Fuck. That was embarrassing. He totally beat my ass, too.”
“Well, on the bright side, you have gotten better at PvP now that you’re no longer holding yourself back. You did drop Leo,” Flame laughs. Zam rolls her eyes, not even bothering to hide the smile on her face. It’s not something she needs to hide around Flame, anyway.
“Well, I have a certain player I want to live up to, so I have to practice if I want to become as good as him.”
Flame’s eyes widen, then settle in an amused expression. “I guess you do.”
“Mm.” Zam knocks her head against his shoulder, basking in the contradictory warmth of his phantom touch. “Hey, Flame?”
“What?”
“I love you.”
He laughs, then turns to plant a kiss on her head. “Yeah, okay. I love you too.”
All the while, Inferno burns in its sheath, its warmth as solid as the embrace that Flame gives her.