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Chapter Text

Dreary skies and rain fell from the sky relentlessly as it pattered over his netherite armor. Wemmbu let out a breath of relief as he shook his drenched elytra upon reaching the location he spent so long flying to.

A wall of sponge-like deteriorations was carved into the large stone wall with bits of dirt– one of Minecraft’s classic terrain generation bugs was before him. It was so overwhelmingly tall and grand that he couldn’t see the top of the wall itself.

Mist shadowed the edges of the anomalous wall of terrain that dared him to enter once more.

Once more, the Farlands were in sight.

The reason he first ventured here was to take back his stolen mace from Sharpness, a very long time ago. In the end, he victoriously returned to the server with a bonus: an orbital strike cannon that led him to defeat Flame once before.

But there were other matters to come to, before this.

Wemmbu turned sharply around, “Why are you here now of all times, dude?”

There in the flesh was FlameFrags. His former rival, who spent the entire week bothering him and essentially finding him every single time without failure. 

He knew the other was following him early on, but he wanted to see what Flame wanted out of him.

Scrutinizing cautiously as the strongest player smirks, eyes behind his jet-black blindfold most likely crinkled with glee. The strongest player on the server plunged his worn-down trident onto the ground with a thud.

Unfortunately, during his entire trip, the rain persisted– allowing Flame to follow him without much trouble or tribulations. Wemmbu clenched his hands tightly. How displeasing that he’d bother him now of all times.

“Hey, bro.” Flame started before yawning into his palm involuntarily, “Why’d you travel twelve million blocks just to get to this place?”

Wemmbu slouched. Perhaps traveling all the way here without taking any breaks was a bad idea, who would’ve thought. “Uh. None of your business, that’s what I’m sure.” 

Then, there was a small thought that came to mind. 

Wemmbu traveled twelve million blocks without any teleportation tricks.

Then what does that say about Flame?

“So, uh. You followed me, like twelve million blocks.” Wemmbu says aloud, to affirm this.

Flame nodded exasperatedly, “Bro. You went a long way, and I think my trident is about to break.”

“Hm.” Wemmbu knows that it’s probably not going to happen, but he still asks as pleasantly as he could, “Can you leave now?”

“Yeah, I don’t care about that, bro.” Flame shot down almost immediately. Which is fair, with the far distance he’d traveled, but Wemmbu really didn’t need this right now. “And about the whole r–”

“If you say you want to be rivals,” He couldn’t help the basically done with everything tone in his voice, “One more time, then I promise to you–”

“I want to be rivals, bro.”

Wemmbu took out his mace.

His trusty mace that he relied on– a newly repaired Gambit lay roughly in his hands as Flame smiled contentedly at the sight. His former rival waited as if daring him to make the first move. Wemmbu's unyielding grip on his bulky mace shook as he tried to grip onto every inch of self-control he had.

The two locked eyes, rain dripping from the sky as the faded scene was all but filled with tense anticipation. 

There’s no roof here, a treacherous thought purred into his ear. He hated that he couldn’t refute the seething, impatient words of someone who’d been worn down from the prolonged journey. 

This would be the ideal place for a mace-user like him to thrive in combat.

He observed the strongest player on the server closely. On closer inspection, Flame looked worse for wear. His former rival was breathing heavily as he slightly leaned onto his trident as if he’d run a marathon. 

Guessing from the fact that the whole trip was approximately six hours just to get to the entrance, and while he had an elytra with rockets…

Flame got all the way here with a literal trident that shouldn’t have managed to survive thus far.

What does Flame eat for breakfast every morning? Minecraft’s equivalent of steroids? 

Because the constant trident throwing should’ve made him drop to the ground hours before, yet here was the strongest player on the server, standing before him victoriously.

But Wemmbu wasn’t any different. Even if he had a much more comfortable traveling experience and equipment compared to Flame, his crown was tilting to the point that it was on the edge of falling off his head, his body feeling numb and drained at the same time. 

His eyes flicked to his mace for a moment too long.

His mace felt much heavier in his hands, and it took much more effort to even barely manage to hold it up as the gruff blistered texture met with the skin of his calloused hands. He wasn’t sure how he was holding onto Gambit at this point. 

Before he catches a hold of himself and makes certain to keep an eye on Flame at all times. It wasn’t good for him to daydream like a drowsy idiot in the middle of a possibly tense confrontation, even if all his limbs sagged against his will.

Unconsciously, he felt the need to rub his eyes. Multiple times on his six-hour-long trip, he’d find himself jerking awake and having to prevent himself from facing toward the ground and crashing to the floor.

The rain poured over them as it drenched them both, hammering loudly in the background as the sombre atmosphere tightened as Flame took out his netherite sword, Fragger. Wordlessly, he knew that his former rival was asking if he was going to make the first move, else he’d do it first. 

He takes a deep, soft breath after clutching roughly onto his mace and remembers why he was even here in the first place. A flicker of awareness returned to his eyes, and his breath stopped short.

Wemmbu’s grip on Gambit drooped.

Flame frowned.

The endlessly shuddering rain lightened a little.

“Look, if 4CVIT hadn't been on vacation from the server the one time I needed to use his enderpearl cannon that was conveniently destroyed by some random griefer, I wouldn't even have to travel this far.” Wemmbu huffed.

Flame sighed long and weary, shoulders slumping with a disappointed stare. “So, what are you doing here, bro?”

Quietly, he considered his options.

Either way, Flame wasn’t really considered an enemy with his friendly cadence and multiple sparring matches that the other forcibly kicked off. The worst thing he could do now was just force Wemmbu into another fight, anyway.

Not like Flame was going to tell Parrot, because there wasn’t any reason for him to snitch on him either. Maybe this would get the player off his trail.

“Trying to get Egg out of the End.” Wemmbu finally admitted, waiting for his former rival’s reaction.

Flame stared at him for a beat too long. “Can’t he just leave through the portal?”

“His spawn point is far beyond the Farlands.”

“Oh. That sucks, bro.”

Wemmbu quipped with sarcasm drenching every word, “Wow, that really helps, thanks.”

He turns to look through his inventory, taking out a wind charge easily and holding onto it. Staring up at the massive wall, he thinks for a brief moment to reflect on how strange it felt to be here once more. 

Faced with the entrance that led to him finding the orbital strike cannons, and managing to become the strongest player on the server for a bit.

SerpentBound wouldn’t be pleased about his return, that was for sure, but there was nothing he could do anyway. 

It would also be nice to restock on orbital strike cannons, because even if he wasn’t going out of his way to bomb random people’s houses, he needs to protect himself and Egg somehow.

Wemmbu’s made many powerful enemies during his time on the server.

“Bro,” Flame’s drained voice called out to him just before he could leave, noticeably not clasping onto his infamous sword in his empty hands. “Are you just going to leave me here?”

He didn’t hesitate to remark immediately, “Of course.”

“Okay, should’ve expected that.” Flame murmured to himself before announcing to his former rival with a wide grin, “I’m coming with you, bro.”

Wemmbu gave him a dirty look. “This is because you’re bored, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question because he instantly knew as much as he loathed to admit.

“Yup.”

Recently, Wemmbu has been sighing in disbelief at least once in every interaction with Flame. For some reason, after he finally managed to defeat Flame in a fight, things changed, and now the strongest player on the server wouldn’t stop poking at him and messing around with him.

“Don’t you have like anything better to do?” Wemmbu slouched. He stares at Flame’s eager expression as he’s about to say something before he cuts in, “Yeah, knew it. Just… don’t slow me down, bro.”

He searches through his pockets and takes out a spare new elytra, two stacks of windcharges, and offers them to Flame.

“Bro, I’m not using that.” Flame eyed the elytra with distaste, “I’ll follow using my trident.”

Your trident is on the verge of breaking apart completely to the point it's almost irreparable. The thought trickled into his weary mind cynically as he regarded the trident filled to the brim with cracks and worn corners that screamed of it being used for far too long.

When his eyes finally landed on Flame once more, he sluggishly retorted. “That’s not going to cut it. Your trident is on a lifeline, and if you use it one more time…”

“It’ll be fine, bro.” Flame waved his concerns, ignoring the way his clammy hand felt like it was going to fall right off at even the smallest strain on it. “You do you, and I’ll do me.”

Thankfully, the world decided to be kind to Wemmbu for once, because the raging rainfall had quieted to a dull silence in an instant. The darkened clouds slowly made way as the bright blue sky shone from what was left behind. 

Notably, it stopped raining.

Shining between a gathering of brighter clouds, the brilliant sun shone onto them both as warm sunlight bathed their forms.

“Are you going to take it and stop wasting time,” Urging Flame as he lightened his grip on the elytra in his hand that was offered, “Or are we going to argue here for hours until I actually leave you behind?”

Flame watched him without saying a word.

“I’ll take it.” 

Flame begrudgingly took the elytra and wind charges as Wemmbu perked up at the compliance. As if he didn’t expect this outcome. In a moment, the mace-wielder watched his former rival place the elytra over his shoulders and slump.

Wemmbu raised an eyebrow, “You know, most people would be happy about getting the chance to borrow an elytra.” Eyes landing onto his own customized elytra, “I get access to the End and the End Cities in there always thanks to Minute, but like it’s still a super rare item, bro.”

Then, he remembered something, and he said, “Wait. Did you burn the elytra and mace I gave you last time?”

Flame suddenly became interested in fiddling with his sword, as he inched a few paces backwards.

“Seriously?!” Wemmbu hollered because those weren’t cheap items, “I trust you with an elytra and you just…”

Placing his face in his hands as he crouched to the floor, he took a few deep breaths. 

There was something called Box Breathing, was it? Something well-known. Probably the best course of action, because he didn’t just hand rare items all willy nilly, but this opaque guy just…

Four breaths in…

Four breaths hold…

Four breaths out…

Wemmbu finally manages to get his stuff together as an unsure Flame watches him. Surprisingly, he felt like he could speak a few words after the whole experience and gather his thoughts a little better. The revelation still weighed heavily in his mind, though.

Normally, he wouldn't react this strongly on a normal day or even week.

Hell, he even heard the sounds of fire crackling at the time and the sounds of an item melting. He'd always had a suspicion, but he was focused on looking at the destructive remains of the battlefield after killing so many Law members that he was never really certain.

But this whole hours-long trip was really chipping away at his remaining patience like getting maced by someone time and time again.

He eventually settles on a lethargic, “I… I probably should’ve seen that coming.”

“Yeah.” Flame lamely responds, like he isn’t sure what to do after Wemmbu reacted so strongly. 

But it was coming at some point after, once again, the six-hour trip via elytra and being annoyed for the entire week every day by this guy (albeit the fights were… fun, though he’d never admit it aloud), Parrot throwing him under the bus by revealing his secret identity a couple of weeks before, and then finding out about this?

The small things piled up until another one just made him need to take a real breather. Something like this happening was extremely rare, but he needed a break. 

He knew that the strongest player on the server didn’t support elytras and didn’t use them during the match, that Flame became the strongest once more, but…

“This is what we’re going to do, okay?” Wemmbu gets a hesitant nod in return, which makes him continue as seriously as he could muster, even as the bone-deep exhaustion was starting to gnaw at him even now, “You’re going to use that temporarily, and you’re not going to burn this elytra once we’re done.”

Flame affirmed firmly, “I won’t burn it this time.”

“Okay, great.” Wemmbu looks through his inventory and takes out some wind charges. He throws it to Flame, who catches it effortlessly from the air without even having to look at it. “Take these, and… I guess we should get going.”

Flame looked at the wind charges carefully before mentioning, “I’ve gone to some parts of the Farlands all the way to the icy mountains biome, but I’m guessing our target is beyond there?”

Wemmbu gave an approving thumbs up in place of a response before staring up at the wall with a cocky smirk. “Ready?”

“You’re talking to the Immort–”

Wemmbu took off to the sky first with his elytra and wind charges, and a dumbfounded Flame caught himself mid-disbelief and followed right behind him with an invigorated grin.

Chapter Text

Together, they flew throughout the Farlands in a straight line. 

Now and then, Wemmbu would turn his head slightly to check on Flame, seeing that yes, his former rival was hot on his heels. This guy had surprisingly good tracking skills and adjusted perfectly with his speed in a way that feels like they’ve been traveling together for years with a calm rhythm.

If it were another world, then maybe they’d both be a good team.

Wow. That sounded a little too sentimental for his liking, but he’s completely certain that it’s just Flame’s skills in general instead. It makes sense why Flame was shockingly good at something like this.

Because what made it make sense was that the other had spent an entire month tracking him down in the past, so he’d gotten a lot of first-hand experience at tracking people down and following at a comfortable pace. 

He doesn’t really think about it much after that.

There were a lot of familiar sights that came into view during the trip: the streaked lines of grass from the entrance that led to the floating islands, where he was chased by the team that included Flame.

The trip was smoother compared to his first time, because he was being hunted by an entire team and was hunting Sharpness for his mace back. And things were going much quicker, especially because he was spamming wind charges along the trip.

Moreover, he had actual preparations unlike before, and had an entire shulker box filled to the brim with wind charges after going through his collection of chests filled to the brim with priceless items.

He was not going to spend more time than needed in this place.

All he needed to do was break Egg’s bed to reset his spawn point and get out. Nice and easy.

The nostalgic views seemed to blend with an archaic memory attached to each, as Egg and he adventured in every place.

Staring down at the myriad of neatly lined grass and gravel scattered unnaturally with oak trees planted here and fro, there was a niche lull that blanketed about between them both as they soared throughout in the same direction.

“So,” Flame starts randomly, “I thought Egg liked his home at the End?”

Wemmbu shrugged, “Egg does like the End, but I’m certain that staying there gets a little stir-crazy. I think he misses when we used to go fishing in the warm sun, and it’s not the same even if fish were brought here in the End.”

“Bro. That’s why you’re traveling twelve million blocks out to break his bed and reset his spawn point without telling him?”

“You got it, bro. I need it to be a surprise,” Wemmbu nonchalantly responded, “I’ve also been planning on helping him escape spawn and from all the withers after I actually break it.”

Everything sounded faintly muted to Flame’s own ears for some strange reason. His chest tightened as what he thought was his voice rang out, “All that way? Just for Egg?”

Wemmbu blinked his eyes owlishly, “Yeah? Is there something wrong with that?”

Something was building up, making it harder to breathe. His already shaky breath from the tedious trip suddenly became more heftier, not from exhaustion but from something else that felt undeniably strained.

Maybe the atmosphere is getting to me. I don’t use elytras anyway, and being this high up is uncommon for me.

But he knew it was a bold-faced excuse.

Forcibly swallowing down a lump in his throat, “... No, nothing’s wrong.”

Wemmbu regarded him dubiously, but said nothing. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or dismayed– feeling both simultaneously without really knowing what else to think. 

He didn’t understand why Wemmbu would go to such lengths for someone else.

The world he lived in was lonely. Monochrome and empty as the air always eventually was filled to the brim with the smell of copper, and the sight of crimson would cover him head to toe every single time. 

There always was a numbing ache that never failed to ebb. In the world he lived in, there was only him and the countless corpses that lay at his feet– once, he thought that he had found someone just like him.

Alone and hated by everyone.

Wemmbu was betrayed by PrinceZam, right?

Someone who knew what it was like to be forever alone in a world that wanted him dead or wanted to use him for their own gain—that same person who could stand toe-to-toe with him, the Immortal Demon.

It made him feel a little more comfortable around his rival.

But maybe he should’ve stopped hoping for someone to understand him a long time ago.

Because if he didn’t care, then perhaps the loss that resounded vigorously that hurt more than any sort of physical infliction– swords, arrows, even nukes– it made the ebbing, deadened throb that gnawed at his insides ever more prominent, torturous.

Flame stopped talking for a while after that.

And judging by Wemmbu’s confused gazes from time to time, the somber void wasn’t lost on him either.

**

Wemmbu took in the new terrain as they both finally left the nickname ‘The Gravel Lands,’ which he decided to call despite Egg's sudden want to leave the Farlands after his naming bit. 

It was a funny joke, and he was being half serious about naming it that, and it was easier to remember anyway.

Not like he’d use the name after resetting Egg’s spawn point anyway. 

Suddenly, the missing presence of his friend felt more noticeable than usual. It wasn’t like him to be so nostalgic, but being here brought many memories– especially when the snowy, narrow mountains came into view, colossal and towering.

The air was freezingly chilly in a way that made his desensitized hands quiver slightly. Severe and possibly dangerous exhaustion and biting cold terrain do not make a good combination, as surprising as it may be.

His hands clench into themselves harder than he intended, trying to ignore the chill slowly creeping into every feeling in his slowly desensitizing body.

Trying to start up some banter to fill the awkward, biting stillness absent from the familiar noise of banter, “Hey, remember this place?” 

Flame responded despondently in a way he slightly cringed at, “... Yeah.” 

Obviously, something happened.

But Wemmbu wasn’t some sort of mind-reader. He thought that everything was going fine between him and his rival, but then his rival suddenly acted like this, and he knew he wasn’t good with words or emotions.

Comforting people and being the equivalent of a therapist were also not a part of his skillset. Destroying and exploding– fighting and all the destructive niches were his thing. Not this.

Normally, he’d bluntly tell him to just tell him outright what’s wrong. Having issues and not resolving them early on was, frankly, a horrible idea. He’d gone through enough consequences to learn that lesson.

But something felt much more off in a way that made him change his approach.

The way that Flame’s normally exhilarated glint in his eyes went dull, his crestfallen and unnaturally low-spirited attitude that came out of seemingly nowhere. The only way that he’d get answers was most likely if his former rival opened up.

But they weren’t remotely even friends, nor allies. A weird combination of former rivals that he couldn’t quite place or define.

Admittedly, he knows that eventually he’s going to ask Flame about it sometime with his chipping patience, but…

Coughing into his fist, he continued as casually as he could. “Brings back memories, dude. This was like the place where you and your team–”

Flame heatedly snapped, “Not my team.”

Okay, apparently Flame was in a worse mood than usual and sounded like he was seconds away from stabbing someone nearby in the gut and burning all their dropped items after getting killed.

“The people you worked with temporarily,” Correcting himself cautiously as if not to dampen Flame's already worsened mood even further, “To jump me until you beat them up yourself after they annoyed you too many times. Good memories, right?”

That seemed to brighten Flame’s mood, at least by a small margin. He watches as the strongest player on the server livens up slightly.

A tint of amusement could clearly be heard as his former rival nodded with a maniacal grin. “Great memories, bro.”

The sudden change in atmosphere where the burdensome weight was ever so slightly lifted (still there, but he took what he could get–) as Wemmbu and Flame fell into a familiar pattern of banter. 

Sure, it didn’t solve the problem of Flame unexpectedly becoming heartbroken without warning from before, but it made the other cheer up a little and get rid of the suffocating ambience that was so silent that a pin dropping would be considered blaringly loud.

This wasn’t permanent, but it was something.

Even though they were chatting lively, it didn’t exactly erase the exhaustion from both, either. But it wasn’t like he needed a break, and Flame hadn’t said anything either, even if he sounded more distant with every answer, so it seemed all right, even if he kept nodding off more often.

He wanted to get finished with this journey as fast as humanely possible with his entire shulker box’s worth of wind charges and surprise Egg with the news.

Flying above the large mountains with Flame behind his tail– he knew without even looking– the clouds were leisurely drifting throughout the brilliant, bright sky blue expanse far above the rugged ground.

“-and that’s why…”

He cut himself off mid-banter when he heard no sounds of refusal.

Ordinarily, Flame would’ve argued against his point profusely. What he was talking about wasn’t really that important, some taunting banter that fit the norm, but what unnerved him was that there was no challenging response.

Eyes spinning around to look behind himself, where Flame should’ve been, there was nothing but clouds drifting calmly in the sky.

Then, he saw it.

His breath hitched for a moment.

A lone static figure fell from the sky like a shooting star, burning as it crashed to the crust of the Earth.

He didn’t think.

Because he finds himself nosediving down to Flame’s skylevel. His former rival seemed mostly out of it, hands empty of where there should’ve been wind charges or something to prevent his fall.

Wemmbu snapped as his eyes flicked to the rapidly approaching ground to Flame. “What are you doing?!”

“So.” Flame starts intelligently as they continue to fall. Everything around them rushes past as his voice grows subtly more rushed. “I can’t move my body, bro.”

Wemmbu choked on his own spit.

“WHAT?!”

Flame grimaced. “Yeah, not good.”

Then, Flame cringed slightly into himself, as if slowly dying. A conclusion quickly came to mind. 

Freeze damage. 

The type of damage you could only get if you were submerged in powder snow, but with exhausted bodies in a freezing mountain region, the body is left vulnerable to things that it would normally be able to brush off.

Such as freezing climates.

Flame traveled twelve million blocks with a single riptide trident without any breaks, managing to follow him the whole way without losing him once.

The air encompassed him with frigid bitterness as he fell next to Flame. There wasn’t much time left.

He maneuvers his body to grab onto Flame’s shoulder and scrounges his inventory for a wind charge. When he searches, there’s none. He spent it all on the trip. 

If only he had an ender chest, but he couldn’t grab items out of it so quickly.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know– stop nosediving into the ground?!”

Flame gave him a dirty look, “Bro, I told you! Can’t move my body at all!”

“Well,” Wemmbu yelled back, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!”

Flame opens his mouth, a retort on his tongue before abruptly shutting it close. Biting back his first response and gulping it down, but there’s not enough time for that.

“Why can’t you just maneuver us with your elytra–”

“Ever heard of something called gravity?” Wemmbu snarled, “I can’t just hold an entire person and bring them with me safely to the ground without using anything like a windcharge to push back against inertia–!”

But then he noticed the incoming floor, the surrounding mountains being scaled, and Flame’s eyes went wide as the unforgiving wind rustled them both.

Wemmbu held onto Flame without thinking.

Immediately, he was met with a balmy warmth that contrasted with the harsh climate of the snowy mountains. He feels Flame strangely sink in his grip, but his grip sure doesn’t falter as the booming realization that he just screwed himself over, and the ground seems much closer than seconds before.

He really didn’t want to get dragged down with his rival.

Technically, it was possible to hold someone with an elytra. There was a specific wording that the landing wouldn’t be safe– practically would end up in a messy crash, one that he didn’t want to get caught up in.

Perhaps that’s why he was so surprised when he did just that. 

Trying to tilt his elytra to gain wind wasn’t really working– partially working in that he couldn’t control which direction he was heading. His arms felt like they were about to fall off at the hinges, holding someone while poorly gliding sucked.

A towering, thick, and unavoidable mountain was in the way.

Wemmbu couldn’t move in a different direction.

There’s only one thought that comes to his benumbed mind when he finally faced death in the face, like the many times in the past. Except this time, he wasn’t going to get out of this alive.

Sorry, Egg.

He slowly closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable crash to kick in.

Chapter Text

FlameFrags was known as the most powerful player on the entire Unstable SMP.

He could defeat entire enchanted diamond-armor teams with his bare fists and a single strength potion. Defeat professional mace-users with just his sword. When the Invisible Mafia reigned over the server, he was a Diamond player– the best of the best.

A little cold, frigid wind was nothing to him.

After all, he was called the Immortal Demon, for his insane combat skills and quick thinking that separated him from every other player.

Maybe that was why his mind stilled when he couldn’t flex his unfeeling fingers and tilt his body anymore.

Everything seemed to go so well moments before, sure– the cold wasn’t… pleasant to say the least, and he was forced to use an elytra again, which was essentially taboo to his own fighting style, but this?

He’d gone through multiple wars and seen many civilizations, but this was something he’d never expected.

This is not my day.

So that was how he found himself falling, his entire body going rigid and locking in itself. Then, Wemmbu noticed him free-falling to his death and rushed to his level, presumably searching for something in his own inventory.

Then, they start arguing like Flame isn’t about to fall to his death until he can see the snow covering the hard, compact flooring of the impending floor, and he’s about to die in a miserable wintry mountain region instead of going out in a blaze of glory, with him about to yell something when–

Wemmbu hugs him.

And every clamorous thought in his mind goes blank.

Logically, he knows that this is most likely an attempt at rescuing him, as strange as it is to think. He knows this for certain when Wemmbu tilts himself to adjust his elytra to follow the air current to an extent that’s obviously not going to work. 

That grip is steady and unyielding, and he isn’t sure why. 

The only one who made Flame feel safe was himself from the countless enemies that roamed around the server. 

From the beginning, he was never protected by someone else. Always being treated like or used as a weapon. But why would someone like him need to be protected in the first place? 

He wasn't weak. For as long as he could remember, he protected himself as a solo player, as the strongest on the server, by cutting down everyone in his way. Gritting his teeth as he narrowly avoided death time and time again as he strains himself to the limit. Yet.

Now, he just felt undeniably protected in a way he doesn't exactly mind.

Even when hanging out with Lomedy or basically anyone else, he'd always somewhat had his guard up at all times. Whether it was habit or his survival instincts kicking in, he never really left himself vulnerable.

It was taboo.

But he finds himself relaxing anyway, letting his guard down as Wemmbu protectively holds onto him to ensure he doesn't fall to his death.

Of course, a moment later, he sobers up swiftly with the wind whipping into his face– and yo, is that a mountain in the way– and has half a mind to shove Wemmbu away. He would, if they both weren’t about to die via a crash.

Briefly, as he scrounges up his exhausted inventory, he accidentally catches Wemmbu’s expression.

When faced with death, people always reacted in some similar way or another. They’d either scream, fear written onto their faces, beg desperately for their lives, or die before getting a chance to react in the first place. It was the same repetitive pattern. 

He’d seen this many times, as most came from the chunguses he killed after they decided to mess with him.

But there’s no frantic shock written on Wemmbu’s expression. There’s the familiar regret of not being able to do more in their life that he sees in the ones that he’d killed, but there’s no outright refusal.

There was only one word to describe it.

Acceptance.

Quick and simple. The word was quite straightforward, and it was so unlike the chaotic, rebellious, and unpredictable maybe rival he knew. Wemmbu always had this persistent determination, but none of it could be seen now.

Sure, he could be an annoyance at times.

But this graphic sight that he was met with and never wanted to see again, one that he couldn’t help but resentfully admit–

He looks so peaceful.

Eventually, with his static arm that he could barely move, he managed to take the item out that may just save them all.

Encasing it with the same hand, his eyes flicked to the approaching mountain, and he knew he only had one shot. There was a very good chance that he’d fail this throw or be unable to follow through, with his benumbed arm feeling like it was frozen.

Flame took a deep breath and readied the wind charge in his palm.

The mountain was but a hair’s breadth away.

Wemmbu closed his eyes.

Hastily, he threw the single windcharge and prayed that his arm wouldn’t fail him and throw the only windcharge he had below to the ground, missing it entirely.

The sounds of a powerful gust whipping into hardened stone clamored about.

Flame internally let out a sigh of relief. But not aloud, because that wouldn’t do well for his image. Meanwhile, Wemmbu peeled open an eye to see them both being propelled from the incoming crash.

“Wha–?”

More falling.

To be honest, crashing into the floor seemed more appealing than slamming headfirst into a rocky and rugged mountain. The crashing part was inevitable, but at least they both wouldn’t be punctured with the sharp, uneven, pointed edges of the mountain.

Then, he crashes to the hard floor anticlimatically.

He hears something snap, but it’s not from him– at least he didn’t think so.

For a moment, he blinks his eyes blearily as he adjusts to the newly acquainted snow flooring. He catches vivid violet in the corner of his vision and lets out a shaky laugh. His bones feel like they’re about to shatter, even more so now.

It’s so hard to believe, but so easy to believe at the same time that they both somehow lived.

But he’s not like any other player, so he strains his–freezing, painful, deadened– arms and gets to his knees. While he was the strongest player on the server, he did have limits contrary to popular belief, so he couldn’t quite get onto his legs just yet.

“Wemmbu?” Flame called as he briefly noted his maybe rival’s condition, thankfully free of any crimson. “You there, bro?”

Without a word, Wemmbu’s head cocked up as he was still lying down on the floor– voice unusually strained at the edges. “Before we continue, allow me to say that you are entirely insane.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that before,” Flame bantered with a wide grin.

Wemmbu took a beat longer to respond with an occupied, “... Uh-huh.”

There’s not much to talk about, and Flame takes a moment to check up on himself.

Except for some major purple bruises and aching limbs that wanted to give up at any second, he was pretty well off for someone who had just fallen from hundreds of feet in the sky.

The perks of being the Immortal Demon, indeed.

Afterward, he mentally prepared himself as he chucked out Fragger and plunged it into the ground with some difficulty. Ignoring the shivers in his hands, he used the sword as a support to scramble to a standing position.

It’s strangely silent. Unforgiving, frigid gusts blew past them both as Flame took a moment to really look at Wemmbu, who had been acting strange. There’s no physical injury, and he seemed to be covered in similar bruises. 

But other than that, his perhaps rival seemed fine to a point.

“Bro, are you going to get up or lie there?” 

No response.

“Hello? Are you even listening to me?”

Once again, he didn’t get any indication that the other person even heard him in the first place. 

Something crept onto him, a dreading feeling that he was well-familiarized with and despised. He felt just like before, when he lost his identity as the strongest for the first time, but it felt different at the same time. Worse, somehow.

He carefully walked to Wemmbu, who was unmoving on the floor.

At the same time, he wants to bolt toward his maybe rival. But his limbs would scream with every single movement, and he couldn’t conjure the same strength and fiery passion from before, with the feeling of something heavy overtaking everything he felt.

He paused right in front of Wemmbu, whose back was still turned from him.

“... Wemmbu?”

He isn’t sure why he’s surprised when silence is his only response.

Gently (and when was the last time he treated someone like this?), he placed his hand on the second strongest player’s shoulder. Carefully shifting him to see–

Wemmbu deadpanned as he cradled an arm he couldn’t quite see well from a glance. “What are you doing.” 

Flame lets out a huge breath, one that he didn’t know he was holding. That relieved sigh did not bode well for his image. Thankfully, there were no chunguses here to snitch. “Just checking if you were dead yet, bro.”

“In your dreams.” Wemmbu rolled his eyes good-naturedly. But he was still holding onto his right arm’s wrist that Flame couldn’t see well, and like the bold person he was, he bluntly blurted out–

“What’s wrong with your wrist?”

Wemmbu stilled.

“Uh. None of your business, dude.”

Flame regarded his maybe rival with a dubious look as if he had just told him that he wasn’t going to use maces and elytras anymore in their fights and retire to a peaceful abode in the countryside with a tuxedo cat named Jerry.

Perhaps his imagination was a little crazy and far-off, but it didn’t change how suspicious that single claim from Wemmbu was.

Flame cautioned heedfully, “You’re going to tell me what you’re hiding, or else.”

“Or else what?”

“I’ll… uh, bro. I’ll tell Egg.”

Wemmbu’s jaw dropped. “... What did you just say?”

Victoriously, a grin made its way up on Flame’s face at the flabbergasted reaction as he continued. “Yep. You heard right, bro. Unless you don’t want to–”

“Fine, fine,” Wemmbu grumbled as he presented his right arm with a frown that quickly turned into an involuntary wince. “Happy now?”

Right where Wemmbu’s hand connected to his forearm, his wrist displayed a swollen, dark-blue coloring. It was like his bruises, but from the way that Wemmbu’s wrist trembled ever so slightly– something told him it was something worse.

It painted a very graphic picture in his mind.

Flame’s eyes didn’t look away from it. “A sprain. That's a sprained wrist.” 

“Most likely a grade two sprain,” Wemmbu pitched in with a grim attempt at a grin. “It hurts a lot even when I don’t move it, but not enough that I feel like being hit by a hundred maces at the same time every second.”

“Bro, why did you try to save me?” Flame spluttered, because last he checked, they weren’t allies. “I had it covered, but like…”

Wemmbu looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. 

“As far as I knew, you didn't have wind charges.” His maybe rival defensively retorted, “Why didn't you say anything sooner?”

“In my defense, my body was crashing out on me. I can't search through my inventory that fast when dying,” Flame narrowed his eyes, “And you aren’t as slick as to change the subject so easily, bro.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Keep telling yourself that, bro.”

Flame and Wemmbu stared at each other, both sides unwilling to stand down even in the freezing frigid biome, and with harsh injuries.

Before Wemmbu winced as he held onto his wrist, “Fine, fine. It would be weird if you weren't trailing me everywhere, I guess.”

It's an excuse.

Flame stares at the other's sprained, swelling wrist and staunchly decides not to point it out.

“... Yo, we should get that healed.” Nodding toward the discolored wrist, “Unless you want to suffer for the next few weeks.”

Wemmbu huffed with his shoulders relaxing at the subject being dropped, “Yeah, bro. Any ideas?”

“I have golden apples, bro.” Flame hastily spoke as he searched through his inventory, “Have some–”

“FlameFrags.” Wemmbu interrupted with a grimace, “If a snapped ligament like this gets forcibly healed– especially a serious sprain– then it doesn’t exactly yield healthy results with my ability to heal in the long run naturally. This isn’t some gash or laceration.”

The strongest player on the server groaned. “Bro, why does healing have to be so complicated?”

“Health potions aren’t healthy either in the long run, too.” Wemmbu shrugged casually before flinching at the sudden movement, hissing at the painful sensation. “I… I just need some food and time to heal from this.”

Flame tentatively nodded as Wemmbu got to work on analyzing the damage.

Glancing at his wrecked and dirty armor, he sighed wearily as if he were the world’s most unlucky man.

His chestplate is in ruins, which was quite obvious even at a glance, and his elytra lost a good amount of durability, there being the smallest rips in the edges of the elytra– not enough to upset the delicate balance needed to fly with it, but enough to annoy him.

Okay, evaluation finished. It wouldn’t bode well if he sulked over his wrenched items for an hour or something. He’s gotten a lot of experience at losing things over and over to unexpected hostile situations or mistakes.

Though his wrist really stings. A lot, and he’s just going to ignore the fact that it hurts and trudge on like he’s always done when covered in bruises and evidence of hard-fought battles where he always ended up leaving the desecrated scene.

Wemmbu inquired of his former rival. “Do you have any regeneration potions that can speed up the process?”

Regeneration potions didn't forcibly heal injuries and therefore weakened the body's ability to heal naturally, but instead increased the metabolism of the body, which was a much healthier alternative overall.

Flame takes a prolonged time to answer, before asking a simple question: “Do you think you can go through the entire trip like this, bro?”

“... You’re being serious?” Wemmbu presented his right wrist that felt like it was on fire, “I have a sprained wrist that cannot either fight or use wind charges normally.”

“Bro, I don’t have anything.”

Wemmbu just stared at him dubiously. “Uh huh.” Before moving on and searching through his inventory. And placing the sleek black-green ender chest on the floor next to him.

Wemmbu huffed, “Let me take a look at my e-chest instead.”

The enderchest opens, and he takes a long time simply staring at the blank inside of the enderchest.

Eventually, he closed the ender chest with a thud.

It’s been a while, and he forgot that being in the Farlands means your enderchest gets wiped. What a great start to this journey– beaten and injured and out of restocks.

Wistfully, the words that spilled out were– “I miss my oak wood.”

Flame stumbled over his words, “Bro. Why?”

Rolling his eyes, “I spent an unhealthy amount of time getting stacks of just pure wood for a project later, alright?” 

At his serious response, Flame just choked out shakily, “You. You defeated me. You. And the same guy who did that has an e-chest filled with wood.”

Wemmbu's glare increased when Flame started hitting the ground as his chortles grew louder.

He watches as Flame dies from laughter at his expense.

“Are you done yet?”

The chuckles don't end.

“Pfftt– okay, wait, bro– I just need a minute!”

“I'm going to leave you here. Twelve million blocks out.”

“Wouldn’t we have to travel the same distance back anyway?”

Wemmbu snorted. “Okay, actually shut up, bro.”

Painstakingly, it takes a minute and a half for Flame to stop laughing.

And when a still-battered Flame amusedly gets up, and his attentive eyes linger on Wemmbu’s swollen wrist for a fraction too long– sobering up a little too swiftly for there to be any satisfaction, he doesn’t say a word about it.

Chapter Text

The sun is somehow still shining just as brightly. Only slightly dimmer than before.

“We should build a campfire to warm ourselves up,” Wemmbu stated, taking the initiative with the same in-control voice. Like he wasn’t fazed at all. But he knew better than to lie to himself now that he was in his ‘peaceful hermit arc’ as Egg would insist on calling it constantly.

He’d done this many times back then, when he pretended to have more control than he really did. Habits truly stuck, and it felt like second nature to fall back into that attitude. “I have some wood. You got any coal?”

Flame scrounged through his inventory and brightened. “Bro, I told you before that mining for random ores was worth it!” Announcing it as he presented the singular coal to Wemmbu.

Taking the item presented to him, “Sure. We spent an hour and a half mining in that cave mine location leading to the void, and this is what you say. If you need more netherite restocks because you’re broke, don’t go running to me.”

“Bro.” Flame grumbled. “I can grind for myself, and do you remember why I lost so much of my stuff in the first place?”

Wemmbu casually used his left arm and grabbed his oak wood, and turned it into planks, then assembled it masterfully into a crafting table that he placed onto the ground. An accepting hum was his only response of acknowledgement as he got to work.

Then, he found himself on a rant despite the tense air between them, “All those chunguses kept following me around and challenging me to fights, using underhanded traps with too many people on their side, and– like bro, so many people just want to see my stuff in the trenches.”

“Wow, I can’t believe people hate you,” Wemmbu drawled sarcastically as he could muster, ignoring the painful stinging in his right wrist as he constructed the finishing touches of his campfire wood design, “No one could’ve expected that.”

Flame scowled with his voice carrying a tint of exhaustion, “They came looking for me back then; it was justified self-defense. And now that I’m the strongest once more, nobody’s been coming by recently. It’s crazy!”

“You sure it isn’t because you killed a thousand players alongside me? That’s a good portion of the server’s population.” Wemmbu shrugged his shoulders slightly so as not to agitate his right wrist or to even get a look at it by accident. 

Flame’s mouth went thin. “Bro. It was, uh. Self-defense, as already explained.”

“Still doesn’t change how many people we killed together.” Wemmbu irritatingly pointed out, not even bothering to look at his former rival.

Flame sighed listlessly. “Are you done yet, bro?”

“Yup.”

Wemmbu bestowed the bundle of wood and sticks constructed in a form akin to a campfire. Except there was no fire just yet, as the second strongest player on the server sat next to the pile. He used his left hand to grab onto a spare stick.

He was about to start getting to work when a firm hand grabbed onto the same stick he was shakily holding. His former rival’s face was carefully blank as those eyes bore into his sprained wrist. “I’ll make the fire instead.”

Listening to others was not his motto, especially from his former rival.

But with a significant injury like this, even if it was really weird and uncomfortable to get help from his former rival and the rough history that both shared, it wasn’t like he had any control, anyway.

And there’s something sinister about to trickle into his mind– one of those dark thoughts that would forever haunt him in the form of a former crowned yellow monarch, this time, and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

Once, he’d asked MinuteTech for tips related to quote word by word, ‘how to reach inner peace.’

The flabbergasted expression was quite a treat to see, but it only took the man a moment to get himself together. Somehow turning his off-handedly spoken quip into an entire lecture with the guardian of the End explaining to him.

MinuteTech was extremely talented, he knew. The guy was very combatively capable, managing to protect an entire dimension from bandits and any other malicious teams of players. But apparently, he just had to be gifted the power of sageful wisdom.

Sometimes, Wemmbu wondered if Minute had worked in the philosophy major before becoming a guardian. Though he wasn’t complaining either way, since it helped to have someone in his corner who knew things.

Box Breathing was also one of those extremely helpful tips. He hadn’t needed to use it for a good amount of time until recently, when he was so overwhelmed that he required a decent minute or two.

Briefly, he thanked MinuteTech for all the life-saving tips that managed to keep his wits about himself in a healthy coping sort of manner.

“Wemmbu?” Flame waved a hand in front of his face, “Bro, why are you blanking out?”

Ah, right. This guy was still here. For a moment, he thought he’d seen someone with a bright white eyeball as a head, a familiar black-suited figure mirthfully guffawing alongside him. It faded as fast as it appeared.

Wemmbu missed Egg. 

MinuteTech would be a nice and comfortable sight, too.

But he’d be caught dead showing that. Instead, he adjusts his slumped stance and meets Flame’s eyes with an attempt at a mischievously challenging glint. Even if he was on some arc, he was still the same player who’d dethroned the strongest once upon a time.

He could see them after this, anyway. He’d faced worse than a sprained arm, and something as common as that wouldn’t hold him down.

All he had to do was ignore the feeling of his wrist constantly being on fire. Melting, burning, and being slammed with ten density maces at the same time every second, and despite not even jostling the injury.

Flame and he weren’t on horrible terms, but they weren’t allies either. Showing weakness was not really an option.

Smirking at his former rival, “You sure you know how to make a fire without using a flint and steel, anyway?”

“Of course, bro.” Flame accepts the change of topics, continuing just as easily. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“The guy I beat in a fight.”

A frustrated noise. “You have to be kidding me, bro.”

“Hey, you laughed at me for having oak wood planks in my e-chest.” Passing the stick he was holding to Flame with a familiar smug tone, “I think I get to have a little fun, too.”

Flame grumbled to himself as he held the surprisingly flimsy sturdy stick in his hands, “I need to concentrate, so shut up, bro.” In an attempt to get his maybe rival to stop.

“Eh, alright.” Wemmbu unexpectedly and abruptly agreed before sitting next to Flame, who was crouching down. The same strongest player on the server was concentrating on starting the fire. The second strongest watched his every move like an experienced critic inspecting his former rival’s progress.

Ignoring the watching eyes, Flame grabbed Fragger and started chipping at the blunt stick’s end until it became sharp. After a few minutes, he ended up holding a very pointy stick. Satisfied with his progress, he grabbed another trivial, blunt stick from the pile of campfire sticks.

With the newly acquired stick, he carved a small hole in it. Wemmbu oddly didn’t say anything, continuously gazing as he continued to work. It was a little unfamiliar to be side by side, former rivals with a choppy past filled with bitter fights to the death.

Yet, here they were.

Flame was making a fire using old classic tricks usually seen during a camping trip, and Wemmbu was sitting next to him like it was something they’d always done.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Instead, he drowned himself in his rigorous task. He grabbed the sharpened stick and slammed it into the neatly carved hole in the blunt stick that was placed on the ground.

Wemmbu dubiously commented with a raised eyebrow, “Dude. You sure you don’t need a string to make things easier? It helps make friction between the two sticks more efficient.”

“Bro, I didn’t ask for your help,” Flame grumbled.

At the unwelcome response, the second strongest player on the server just marginally shrugged his shoulders and sat back to watch the show.

It takes a while of continuously rubbing and spinning the sharpened stick on Flame’s part, as the bitingly freezing snow underneath them both began to numb the feeling in his lower body. This only made him grit as he persisted diligently until black ash and charcoal smoke sprouted from the contact point of the sticks.

Wemmbu unhelpfully quips, “About time.”

“Bro.” Flame simply speaks with all the frustrated exasperation coming from someone who’s been rubbing at a rugged, uneven stick for several minutes straight.

“Alright, alright. Message received,” Wemmbu quiets down after that.

Lifting the sturdy stick with the vantablack ash that’s still on it, he waves the charcoal smoke billowing from it. Then, he maneuvers it and shifts the stick so that the ash pours down into the campfire structure.

Seeing the neatly piled black embers on the wood, he adjusted the sticks to cover them more. Controlling the amount of oxygen the ember gets would take a while as it smoldered slowly but surely, but he was willing to wait.

Well, maybe his movements were a little more frantic than usual. But anyone would react like that if they were stuck in a freezing mountain region.

Unfortunately, neither he nor Wemmbu had a flint and steel, so he was forced to resort to this slow, delicate method of making a fire. After a few minutes of the kindling smoldering, there started a nice chunk of thick smoke spilling from the campfire logs.

In the center of the campfire, it finally sparked with small sparking gluttonous red started to materialize in the bundle of sticks. Finally, bro. This method truly took an abnormal amount of time.

Wemmbu spoke, actual genuine awe in his voice. “Wow, I actually thought I was going to freeze to death by the time you finished. Great job.”

Flame chucks in a spare coal to really get the fire crackling, watching proudly as it starts to expand and cling to more of the logs. “Well, I’m not like most players. It’s a given that I could make a fire faster than most, bro.”

“Sure,” Wemmbu accepted easily. He hurriedly sits a little closer to the campfire, splaying his hands over it in an attempt to warm himself. Flame watches him act and sits down next to him a second later by the campfire.

The blazing flames danced in a comfortable pattern, the noises of soft snapping accompanying them. There was something relaxing about the whiff of the burning logs. He hadn’t had a slow moment like this for a long time.

Feeling the welcoming warmth reach his face as the fire greets his face from a distance. Engulfing him in a defrosting wave of coziness that made his limbs untense. A content smile made its way on his face.

Maybe if he ignored the blindingly intense sunlight engulfing him and illuminating the field of pale snow and lofty mountains, he could pretend that this was a normal camping trip with his maybe rival.

Somehow it was still daytime, or somewhere between the day. 

This tedious journey felt longer than it actually was.

“Hey,” Wemmbu spoke all of a sudden. 

“Yeah, bro?”

The second strongest player on the server stared at Flame like he was the world's hardest redstone machinery to figure out. 

“This is pretty random, but like, why were you acting so weird earlier?”

Flame responded a little too quickly, “I don't know what you mean, bro.”

From the flat stare that was sent his way, it was obvious how much Wemmbu believed his words.

“Uh huh.” Wemmbu deadpanned, clearly out of patience. “It's obvious that you're pretending to be all normal, but I've known you for longer than I should've to know that something’s off.”

Flame tries to put a casual grin that he’s used to having on his face, but it feels like nothing but plastering stiff plastic on his face. 

“Bro. What are you trying to do?”

Wemmbu’s eyes narrowed, “You know exactly what I mean. Unlike you, I’m not fine with continuing this journey with this tense atmosphere. So tell me, what did I do wrong?”

“I…” Flame took a moment to organize his words, ignoring the way the cacophony in his mind boomed so much louder without warning. A part of himself wants to talk about this, and the majority of him is practically screaming at himself to snap his mouth shut with cobwebs before he says anything. “How do you know that it’s even you in the first place?” 

Wemmbu ominously stated, “I just know.”

“That doesn’t make sense, bro.”

“You don’t make sense. Also, it helps that you keep looking at me weird whenever I mention Egg.”

“...”

Wemmbu stared at him for a good while before starting awkwardly, “You can tell me. I won’t judge.”

“Well, it's like…” Flame gestured wildly, “It's…”

No matter how hard he tried to string a single sentence together, it fell flat as it dissipated on his tongue. There’s so much he wants and doesn’t want to say, chaotic ideals and thoughts that pile up over one another before he can say a single letter aloud.

He’s supposed to be the strongest player, never failing and never vulnerable. That’s how he kept his title for so long, isn’t it?

Wemmbu’s the one who ripped that title, his identity away.

But he’s the one who sacrificed his right wrist for his sake, and added a bit of excitement to his dull, repetitive life as the strongest.

He couldn’t decide what to do. Any attempt at the control he was so used to having was shredded to pieces as an expectant Wemmbu stared at him carefully.

Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he said instead, “It’s just a weird name, bro. That’s all.”

The words ring hollow, and they both know so well that it was a blatant attempt at deflection. Something deep, brittle, and vulnerable inside him cracks as every word made its way out of his tongue. He isn’t sure if he’s happy or disappointed in himself.

“So, uh.” Wemmbu frowns as he’s still staring at the fireplace, “That’s a weird reason, bro.”

He doesn’t notice. The thought is both a curse and a blessing as his fists shakily tighten without his input. Wemmbu’s never been a feelings person, he knew. It’s an out that his maybe rival is giving without realizing, and there’s a chance that they both could start talking about the stuff that’s been dwelling in the deepest pits of his mind, but.

Whipping his head around at the sound of a familiar noise of a trident, he saw him.

He knew it was oh so fake, oh so cruel.

A cynical man met his eyes, his black-blue pirate garb with a vicious smile, unlike the ones in the past during the times when Flame thought they both were friends. He’s supposed to be warm with the campfire bathing him, but for some reason, all the feeling in him goes dead.

Something in him clenches at the sight; the reminder.

This was simply a phantom of his past, conjured up by his exhausted mind. Certainly, it was the first time this happened because he was so caught off guard that his eyes went wide. But there was one thing he knew now. He wanted to make sure that it would be the last time something like this happened. 

What a realistic reminder, one that almost made him choke out a bitter laugh, but he kept his mouth stiffly shut as something in him barbarically gnawed at his weary heart without leaving a trace.

FlameFrags learnt from his past mistakes in putting too much trust in people.

He’d rather get killed in a blaze of glory than be played as a fool again.

“Yeah, bro.” Flame smiles, and it’s so sweet. So fake. “I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

Wemmbu stops admiring the fire. There’s something so off about that tone, and his eyes flicked to Flame once more with furrowed brows. “... I’m guessing that’s not what’s wrong.”

Flame shrugged, “What do you mean, bro?”

Wemmbu grimaces at the smile that graced his former rival’s face. He wasn’t all that good with talks about emotions, but he has a very strong feeling that– “I’m guessing I missed something important, huh?”

His former rival instead gets up without saying a word. “Do you have any spare shulkers with windcharges?”

“Uh, yeah, but–”

Flame interjects with a carefully composed voice, “Let’s just get going.”

Wemmbu doesn’t rip his eyes off the ground. He’s not sure what to do. He does what he can and says, “Sure, just give me a moment to grab the stuff.”

They both pretend that there’s nothing wrong, even as the tension cuts through the usually warm banter between them. Again, there’s a thin layer of silence that slowly makes them both feel like they’re being slowly choked to death, like how poisonous gas slowly suffocates its victims.

When Wemmbu soundlessly takes out a shulker and hands Flame wind charges for the trip, they both silently glide out of the snowy mountains without saying anything to each other. The silence is unrelenting agony.

They continue on their journey and leave the warm campfire behind. It’s strangely unbearably colder, and the thoughts in his head are so thunderous without warning. Tumultuous and raging, they don’t stop, and the throbbing in his hand doesn’t go away.

Wemmbu screwed up, didn’t he?

A thought whispers into his mind, resounding and overwhelming as it cruelly purred into his mind. Profoundly, powerfully, and brutally it sang within his mind, and every other thought was out of sight. He can’t shake it off anymore because it's true.

Wemmbu had always gotten up and gotten himself together, even after PrinceZam betrayed him, when his empire was destroyed, after Rejoice died because of Jaden, and when ManePear left.

But this time, his eyes subtly tremble uncontrollably, and even the grandest of empires would crumble if one were to chip at its foundation ruthlessly, time and time again. Even the strongest of the strong could shatter with enough effort.

This time, he couldn’t refute or ignore the vitriolic words that came to the forefront of his mind.

Lost cause.