Archive of Our Own

Two months. It had been two months since Pearl stepped foot into this multiplayer server. A place she had only heard rumours of, surrounded by mystery, awe, and boundless talent. Two months since she could call this place home despite how unimaginable it had been. 

Because it was a bit more since she found Grian again. 

Grian, her dear friend who she believed had died her admin. The avian who was loud, unashamed, and exasperating on the best of days, yet gave her a family beyond blood.

Together they relished in their youth; reckless and free in a lawless world. One crafted by a troublemaker to satisfy a collective desire for autonomy. Grian lead them without reign, ever playful and carefree as if consequences were nothing more then an invitation for something greater. He treated them as equals, showing them how to be unafraid as he pushed and prodded, confident that by the end of the day it would all be okay. And for the longest time Pearl had come to believe him.

Until he disappeared without even a wave or goodbye, snuffed out like a light by forces outside their understanding. 

For years they had to come to terms with the sudden loss. Alongside the aftermath, where those otherworldly beings crowned themselves the owners of their world. Working and twisting the server as if everything Evo had come to be was no more than a stage for their entertainment. A sick game in the eyes of what could only be explained as gods. It was a time that Pearl deliberately chose to bury deep under the earth. Away from sight, never to be touched again. A past she had convinced herself she overcame when freedom finally found her.

As if he were never gone, Grian reappeared in front of her. An offer in hand with that same, childish mischief crinkling his eyes and much fuller wings across his back. Proclaiming he found a new world for her to settle into as if knowing how she yearned for a place to rest. Almost like this was the first time – innocent, conversant, almost hopeful – rather than as a ghost of her past.

It all came back so abruptly, so easily. It reminded her that there were never any warnings with him. Only action. And she realized just how much she missed that.

There was no explanation for what happened since they last saw each other, not really. Perhaps this should have been more concerning than it was. But Pearl had been left wanting for so long that she hadn't recognized how weary she had grown. Merely the idea of normalcy was enough for her take his hand, questions left in the wake of a familiar promise.

From there, everything moved quickly.

Pulled to her feet, the moth hybrid allowed herself to be whisked away by the assembly of a new life. The excited hustle and bustle of indulgence. At last she regained the chance to live in the fantastical reality that she had thought was lost forever. The Hermits were kind and welcoming. Grian was so… normal. It was easy to forget how she grieved for it all a short while ago, now immersing herself in creativity and community.

This new beginning felt like a reprint of years ago when she was first invited to Evo. Except this time, she would be safe – they would be safe. HermitCraft was guarded from prying eyes, she was assured this with an undeniable confidence. One that stemmed from a rare, irrefutable awareness. This life would remain an unfinished parallel to an old tragedy.

Days turned to weeks as Pearl followed the early season activities. Everyone settled into their own shops and neighbourhoods, and she found her place in Boatem. Every day she could wake without alarm. Be greeted by a thoughtfully crafted interior as opposed to cobblestone walls. She could peer out a window and see builds constructed by the hands of a friend. Could watch Grian hop and flutter across the plains of their growing home.

Though after maintaining complacency for a while, Pearl began to wonder. Since when had his wings been so capable of flight? Sometimes he would sport tropical feathers, other times the talons of a hawk. All of which were things she never remembered him able to do. And then, of course, the biggest question of all.

Grian had been missing for years, mourned by an entire server, yet here he was as if nothing had ever happened. As much as she hated to interrupt the repose of the season, Pearl needed answers.

It took longer than she would have liked to get them. Grian had a bad habit of avoiding the things he deemed were "tomorrow's problems," and he was annoyingly sharp when said problems were coming his way. Thankfully, there were only so many places for him to go. Pearl was one of his neighbours, after all. Besides that, she was impressively stubborn when need be.

Everything spilled under the cover of night, a half moon rising to illuminate their frames.

The Watchers had taken him, the avian explained. After the dragon fight he was struck with a proposal. Isolated, afraid, nonetheless captivated by the presence of the unthinkable, Grian admitted that it tempted him. He didn't say what it was, simply that it was the catalyst to everything. The reason why he had disappeared for so long. Pearl noted that his wings looked smaller that night, folded close to his body as he spoke. Some kind of sparrow, maybe.

There was always the intention to come home, he insisted. He just wanted to learn more. To revel in sights beyond the world of players for just a little longer. It was this curiosity that doomed him, realizing their entrapment far too late. Grian was never meant to come home.

It was a brief story, all things considered. One full of holes forged in the endless details Pearl knew were left unsaid. However, she let his stuttered ending rest in silence, a knowing weight shadowing her gaze. She understood. They were both victims of the same demons.

Forgivingly, kindly, Pearl announced that it was over. They had both found their refuge and impossibly, found each other again. They could firmly leave the Watchers behind them. Grian gave her a wobbly little smile and nodded along quietly. So with an outspread of her wings she redoubled her resolve, displaying enough courage for the both of them.

Together, they were free. Free from the clutches of a lurid power to live as unbound as players should. 

At least, that’s what she thought.

It was two months later when she saw a Watcher again. 

That morning was meant to be a slow start to the day. She had only come to visit Scar to return the shulker box he let her borrow for the week. A completely harmless visit.

With a flutter of light wings she weaved through the Swaggon industry to marvel at its development. Originally, she had hoped to find some place obvious to return the loan, followed by a quick message to avoid disturbing the man so early in the morning. The sun still hid itself below the horizon, after all; Pearl having been too eager to start her planned building to sleep any longer, and everyone knew how much trouble Scar had waking up. But she had to pivot the idea after hearing that he was also notorious for neglecting his communicator.

Builds upon foundations were passed as she made her way to Scar's main base. To the oddly vertical, mobile contraption he called his home. He wouldn't wake if she snuck in and left the shulker by his front door, would he?

It was when she was halfway up the ladder that she felt it. An unusual drone tingling through her antennae. Such an imperceptible, nagging murmur; it froze her to the wooden rungs. A boney chill seizing her spine. The echo of a bygone hurt thought to be left behind. Only, Pearl would never forget it.

So she dragged herself upwards, step by bated step. Reason told her to make sure, to withhold the worry until she were able to well and truly affirm her fears. Because surely it was a mistake. They couldn't have found her here, she was made to believe this.

Higher, the moth would fly. Even as dread began to worm its way between her lungs. Even as her legs stumbled to the top.

There was a tinge of iron in the air.

"N-now, how about we make a deal?"

Scar's voice was heard, muffled by the floor above. A concerning waver pitched his tone in the recognizable way panic molded words. Immediately, it struck her as something awry.

Pearl unstuck her wings from her back and swung past the next ladder, straight into the room where the humming was loudest.

The first thing she discerned was that the room was startlingly dark. She was barely able to make out vague shapes as her eyes searched for the vex. Although her sight adjusted quicker than most, catching corners and chests, Pearl didn't quite understand what she was staring at. She had been looking for Scar, not the silhouette of wings cascading across the quarters.

Her ears filled with buzzing, the space heavy and oppressive. There was a faint rustle of feathers and the shadows moved. Flexing undefined limbs in cautious tremours, revealing speckles of light trapped within the black hole of its mass. Like a living, breathing vacuum. Pearl knew those coloured glimmers. The stars of the deep void.

And left at the mercy of it all was Scar. Pinned to the floor by this fathomless apparition. Forced still, eyes blown wide, a mirror to the terror that Pearl felt thrumming in her veins.

"Scar?" The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

Two faces turned towards her.

And she had been right.

A mask of that familiar inky blackness hissed a terrible spell, alighting the room in a flare of purple. That same accursed, violet hue. Wings expanded to their full length, revealing feathers both void touched and pure. An unholy mantle amidst the landscape of eyes that blinked into existence. Spreading across each vane, the walls and ceiling, the mockery of its face; even in the air they breathed. Surfacing like an incurable plague.

There were too many eyes. Every single one of them reverberated with that sickening rumble, gaze invasive and cold. Static flooded her ears. Their weight was unbearable.

Stood before her was, without a doubt, a Watcher.

And in a violent crescendo, Pearl felt the fear consume her.

On instinct she reached for a weapon but strained too far, catching a pickaxe instead of her sword. Fingers curling around the handle it was pulled free from her inventory, unaware of the difference. Only the thundering of her heart filled the stretch between her ears, fight or flight jolting her limbs into action.

The clean, succinct unsheathing of diamond marked where she stood on the scale. Despite the stalling of a trapped quarry, an equally strong defiance kept her grip firm. Pearl couldn't run. Past the horror that ensnared her mind, she was determined to survive. No longer would she allow herself to succumb to the doomed narrative they had planned for her. After all of these years, certainly she could now protect her home.

Thus, she charged. With a full-bodied sweep the tip of her pick connected, grazing against flesh with a horrific wail. The Watcher retreated in a flurry of feathers, the eyes tripling in number to suffocate the space between them. It felt like her head was about to burst.

Knees buckling, sharply faint, every fiber of her being screamed "run". What she was faced with was the ending of lives, of homes, of servers. A mere player like herself stood no chance against such a finale. Nevertheless, she took another step towards the raft of infernal plumes.

Pearl counted each breath, not knowing which might be her last, and resolved to make it count.

This time, she would go down swinging.

Her next strike was met with the peal of talons, the force of which nearly knocked her tool straight out of her hands. Still, she held tight and thrust upwards with a clumsy swipe. She missed, but managed to push the Watcher back, its wings beating thunderously as it withdrew. Miraculously, she was driving it away.

Though there was this faraway nagging in the back of her head – that this was too easy, it was just another trick – her arms raised at the ready. Perhaps it would be this next swing that would bring about the pulse of magic that stamped her out for good. Simple, like uprooting a weed.

Her muscles coiled, relying on urgency to keep her moving. Braced for either the clash of diamond or for her own downfall.

“Pearl, stop!”

Her body jolted to a halt. Something held her back, limbs straining against a stronger grapple that locked her in place. A hindrance, an obstacle preventing her from driving the monstrosity out. Pearl thrashed and fought against it.

"Leave-" she croaked, tight. Unable to move. Her anger, her frenzy, clawed against the feeling of restraint. Finally, there was a target for all of the tragedies she was forced to swallow. So close yet just out of reach. All of her triggered fury boiled over with nowhere else to go. Full of so much hatred, of venom she never knew herself capable of, she shouted. Nearly screamed. The only release she had left as her boots failed to stumble closer. Desperate for her misery to be noticed by a creature that did not care.

Somewhere amidst it all, there were words that tried to reach her ears. But she couldn't hear them. Couldn't process anything besides the imminent, looming threat before her. It's violet stare the only thing she saw.

“Go. Get out! You don’t belong here!” The way her voice trembled was unrecognizable.

Left barking like a toothless, cornered dog.

It was those spectral eyes that took her so far back. That miserable era of curses and second guesses. Where every move the Evolutionists made were nothing more than predictable. Exposed and on display to that same, incorporeal audience who clapped and jeered whenever they tripped. Masks crinkling with the sadistic glee of a child plucking the legs from a bug. Inevitably left to struggle and writhe, and then ultimately die.

Even after escaping that stage, finally crawling out of their grasp, their gaze would follow her. For too long she hopped from server to server, a fruitless attempt to move on. To ignore the crawl of phantom eyes along her back. Seeking refuge while locked in a constant battle with paranoia and the longing for rest. Until she no longer remembered why she never dared to settle down.

A home would find her eventually, she'd tell herself each lonely night. A place she might finally be safe, where they would no longer find her.

The worst part of it all was that regardless of how far she fled, it was never more than a feeling. There wasn’t anything real or tangible enough to fight, no body to crack a fist against and beat back. Just that steady, unrelenting feeling of being watched.

“Pearl, come on! You need to-”

There was a grunt when Pearl dug an elbow into ribs, yet somehow still she remained subdued. Amidst her struggling she caught sight of a face behind her, pinched in exertion. It was Scar who held her back.

Why? She didn't know, and frankly she didn't care. Drowned by the single minded determination to break free, to push forwards, to rid the server of the false god before her.

Scar's body streamed with a spark of mana, streaks of icy blue fueling the strength that secured her in place. “Why don’t we slow down for a second-”

“No, you don’t understand!”

All at once, the moth hybrid whipped around to fix Scar with a wild look. “I just need to-” she tried to reason and failed. Frustration ruptured into a tortured cry, giving another harsh jerk of her arms to no avail. Her words felt like they weren't enough. “Scar, we’re in so much danger right now. Let me go!”

Quickly, quickly, her mind was howling, they can always see you coming.

“Can't we talk first?” Scar was steadfast as they wrestled for the upper hand. Locked in a stalemate of equal fervor.

“Talk? What do you mean talk?!” Pearl snapped back, “We need to get that monster out of here!”

Distantly, there was a warble in the air. A low and wobbly noise. To one, it served as a recall of the peril before them. To the other, it was the reason he fought for compassion.

Scar did not loosen his grip. Instead, he secured his arms around any part of Pearl that he could reach. Determined for a cause the hybrid was unable to fathom. A part of her wondered if it was magic, a twist of reality that caused the other to oppose her so fiercely. In which case, would only an admin know for sure? Would Grian? But she refused to involve the avian, not with a matter like this. She knew just how much they had marred him. 

Ultimately, whatever the vex thought he was doing meant little. Only she knew what this thing was capable of, what it's presence here meant for them all. 

With a raging twist she rammed the end of her pickaxe into Scar's side, finally loosening his hold with a winded gasp. Just enough give for her to wrench herself free. 

Time was running out. Soon, the Watcher would decide to move, to end this childish feud. Pearl steadied herself, heels digging roughly into the wooden floor, wings flaring. In the background Scar was heard stumbling. She'd ask for his forgiveness later. Right now she had to stand before an immortal, armed with nothing but her inventory and will. 

In the face of it all, she snarled with a wicked heat, “I’m not letting you hurt us again."

For the first time that morning, light filtered into the room. Lazy, warm rays spilled between pinions of nothingness to reveal just what Pearl was confronting. It was her first time fully laying eyes on a Watcher.

She always imagined them to wear a godly veil given the arrogance they always paraded about. A faux humanoid physique painted purposefully with a divine grace. What she was faced with, however, was the exact opposite. Though she supposed this form was more fitting; a compliment for their twisted humour and complete disregard for humanity.

The Watcher stood with a vaguely bird-like stature, body twisted with unsightly arches, made into something unsound. Pairs upon pairs of pearlescent wings mixed with touches of the deep void. Large, imposing, enough to engulf the entirety of its own being. Blackened talons paved thick grooves in the impossible task of holding all of that burdened weight. But the way it tracked her was the most disturbing of all. Unblinking with an owlish gaze, that unmistakable violet glow brimmed in the nebulous darkness of its face. All-seeing and heartless as her very code unraveled under its regard. Somehow, it was more nightmarish than the hundreds of disembodied eyes encircling its frame.

The beast shifted, an almost indiscernible change, barely enough to reveal a thin trail of gold. Ichor oozing from between its plumage. Pearl's heart skipped at the sight.

Who knew even Watchers could bleed?

She expected it to hiss and spit at her in its ancient tongue, outraged that a mere mortal would dare to wound it. Or maybe for it to spew rhymes to taunt her anger. To laugh at her efforts, only then rising to reveal just how foolish she was to believe in victory. Something, anything to provoke her challenge into an outbreak of war.

Yet it did not move. It remained plastered to the wall, staring her down, as if waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Except, what reason was there to hold back? Why did it remain silent? The Watchers indulged in taunting their victims, this she knew from experience. Never would they choose to hide when goaded. Sat there in that tight corner, as if wanting to disappear from sight.

A touch to her shoulder made her jump, frantically spinning around. Only to find it was Scar who grasped her once again. This time with a mournful look across his face.

“Pearl, please," he urged, hushed, "He’s not what you think he is.” 

And that was the first thing he said that finally clicked. Light utterances that waded through the rolls of panic and adrenaline.

It was like a fog had lifted from her eyes. Pearl saw how the vex panted from exertion, a light sheen of sweat across his forehead illuminated by fading blue scars. She noticed the desperation in his eyes that likely reflected her own complexion, but was inexplicably softer around the edges. Pleading, almost. Then her gaze followed his slowly, dragged back to the feathered horror awaiting in its corner.

With a new, calmer guide for her sight, she began to discover things here too.

It stood not in anticipation but as if pinned down. Like it was the one expecting the final blow, not Pearl. Those colossal wings were outstretched as its eyes remained large and focused. No longer did it seem as intimidating, but rather as if it were trying to scare her away. For they quivered with something unlike strain or effort. It was fear, she realized. The Watcher was shaking – chest rasping with quick, stuttering breaths.

But Watchers didn't know fear.

When Scar pressed past her it was with a dim nudge. Tired as he dragged his feet over to the wheelchair she hadn't noticed was left toppled on its side, clearly discarded in haste. She tracked the man with a strange passiveness. Openly staring while Scar let out a laboured sigh, pausing before heaving his chair upright again. As he settled into its support he let magic release from his legs; old lesions and marks regaining their fleshy, tanned pigment.

It was as though the ordinary sight brought a trickle of peace to her frazzled mind. Because now Pearl reeled with the awareness that a fierce determination no longer seethed inside of her. Confusion had taken its place to dampen her ire instead.

That is, until Scar started rolling towards the winged creature. Then all of her worries redoubled again.

She felt the urge to move, to warn or save, however her body refused to listen. Stricken by some untellable weakness that left her, ironically, to watch. Helpless once more as each pass of calloused hands over wheels brought another friend that much closer to his end.

Pearl wished she could look away, convinced that each turn would be the last. Right up to the moment Scar sat a mere foot away from his concepted demise.

Against all odds, the beast again did not move. It simply stood with its incomprehensible frame, almost as if unsure. Those eyes which Pearl knew to be ruthless, were something else entirely. Different, faltering in the way they considered the other. Something that made it seem small.

Calmly, almost placatingly Scar approached. Speaking gently in a low, timbered tone. Pearl didn’t catch what was said but not an ounce of fear rattled his form. Even as he coaxed the monster closer, locked his breaks, and urged it into open arms. 

Somehow, incredibly, he welcomed the amalgamation and it followed without a fight. Despite how it bristled and shook, it curled to fit into the shape of Scar's embrace. Moving with a fluidity that almost portrayed intimacy. Neither seemed to care that there was clearly no room for the two of them on the wheelchair as they settled into each other's disparate company.

At last its eyes began to close one by one. Easing the tension in the creature and the very space they shared. The air no longer as suffocating to inspire. Scar never stopped his hushed murmurings, hands daring to caress its tarnished quills. Pearl didn't understand how he did it. How he approached such a being without fear and welcomed it with such affection. And that same affection was returned in kind as its myriad of wings rose in a shield around them both.

No one could deny how protective the gesture was as the moth hybrid found herself sinking to the floor.

Overwhelmed. That's the feeling that seized her. Burdened by fatigue and the flood of endless ambiguities, there were too many thoughts about what to do, what to fear; who to hate and who to strike. All the while confronted with the actuality that maybe they weren't all about to die. It left her muscles tight but weak, heart hammering in arrhythmic beats.

Nothing made sense. She had been so certain that the creature was a Watcher given its distinctly coloured radiance. The way its magic thrummed across her skin and that debilitating glare were everything she remembered. As far as she knew, no other life was able to wear the veil of the deep void as effortlessly as they, because nothing else could exist under its gravity. But those who knew of the Watchers also knew the danger they posed. Not a soul would dare to approach, let alone wish to reach out and touch one. And yet here was Scar doing exactly that. Coming to defend the indefensible.

If this wasn't a Watcher, what then could it possibly be? To mimic a god of such terrible renown.

“M̷on̶s̸t̷e̵r̴.̵..?”

A dreadful sound pulled her head back up. Some form of a grainy croak that grated against her ears, entirely unpleasant. Though there was a strange cadence hidden just below the noise, something she thought she should know.

This time, a gurgling rumble filled the silence and skittered across her very bones. Followed by a few sharp, growling clicks, then that same tone continued.

“L̵e̷av̸e̷,” the beast's chest heaved with the effort, each syllable barely coherent under a thick and echoing waver. “M̸-Mo̶n̴s̷te̵r, ge̶t̸ o̷u̵t!”

And that's when Pearl recognized her own inflection. It was speaking in a distorted parody of her voice, repeating the things she had said. Perverted into accusations, to sound like the vilest curse.

Still, it was Scar who understood just how much torment clawed from out of its throat. For he felt the way the other shivered in his arms. Feathers trembling as that anguished cry crowed louder and louder. Parroting those same words in a cycle that scathed the owner more than their ears. It wailed as if wounded, shrieked like the victim. Those stained talons dug into the warmth it craved, unaware of the pain that it caused all the same.

Bracing against the acquainted, aching lines against his skin, the vex only held on tighter. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, ever so forgiving as his chair creaked under its wild tremors. "She didn't mean it Grian, you're okay."

He had uttered those words so quietly, reserved for the pair alone. However, Pearl heard him. Just barely caught the name, and a part of her wished she hadn't.

Because Scar, in that moment, said Grian. To the unworldly, abhorrent manifestation he cradled so close to his heart – the thing she had been so sure was a Watcher…

He called it Grian.

Numbness was the next thing she endured.

It was a simple truth. Merely putting a name to a trait less face. But it was a devastating, inconceivable revelation to one unfortunate soul. How was Pearl supposed to believe that this was Grian? That the vibrant little avian she thought she knew had been contorted into this deformed entity.

A part of her thought that there should have been more anger, the type that boiled and swelled with betrayal. But most of that fury had burned when she still believed herself to be fighting for her life. Now, she wasn't sure what to feel. Left in the wake of fluster and fatigue with the smouldering remains of hurt. She had been led on, deceived- or she had just been blind. Either way somewhere, somehow, something had gone wrong.

In spite of all the things it could become, it was guilt that took root and settled inside.

The delicacy of Pearl's heart sought to apologize. A subconscious reflex that overshadowed the possibilities of something uglier. Oftentimes to her own detriment, she always started with finding fault within herself. The way she snarled and made him cower, beaten by the heartless accusations of "monster, monster, monster." The same chant that wailed in her own voice as if trapped in mourning.

If this truly was Grian then he did nothing to deserve the way she treated him. It was the fault of the Watchers, it had to be. What the Evolutionists believed to be an execution was, in reality, an opportunity. Where they had been free to twist and torture a player's code into the shape of a disturbed being. How else could this be possible? Grian would never have wanted to share the same face as their oppressors.

Eventually, mercifully, the terrible crowing softened with pacifying hushes, replaced by weak and moaning whines. But Pearl's thoughts never stopped spinning even as silence rested on their shoulders.

Nothing made sense, everything unbelievable, and somehow she was left feeling like a fool at the center of it all.

"Oh no," a breathy whisper caused one antenna to perk, "You didn't hear that, did you?"

And Pearl blinked. Unsuspecting, caught off guard as big, green eyes held her stare. Scar spoke as if it were a minor hiccup. A slipup to expose the foils of an everyday prank.

"Wha- I-" Pearl couldn't manage much more than a few incredulous noises.

Scar, to his credit, looked at least a bit remorseful. Lips pursed as he hummed a noncommittal note. Clearly hesitant. How much did he understand about what was just revealed?

Pearl knew she should say something. To find a way to organize herself and pick one of the countless questions that demanded an answer. But the words eluded her. It was like grappling at mud with how her hands still quaked. Everything raw and confused as the pinpricks of violet that still lingered in the room pinned her in place. Unable to suppress the shudder knowing what was – or wasn't, who could be sure anymore – still watching.

Trying to separate this feeling from the other was guarded at best. A difficult thing to convince herself that this was Grian, not them.

"… How did this happen?"

Her uncertainty came out frail with the effort of prying her mouth open, tiredly working each letter out. A hesitant enquiry that lacked the innocuity that should have been natural. Truth be told, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out. This revelation felt ruined, everything about it misguided. Like a piece of gossip she had the misfortune of hearing where ignorance would have been bliss. But there was nothing to be done now that this secret had been dragged out into the light.

The weight of those eyes grew heavier as she spoke. As if they saw the grit and turmoil behind them. That it- Grian, understood each nuance better than she ever would in the same way one would study the pages of a book. And wasn't that an awful thought? To acknowledge the fact that the avian was no longer just an avian, but something more. Something worse.

It took Scar a long while before he said anything in return. Occupied by running his hands through feathers in repetitive passes. Choosing to give Pearl more time to collect herself, or simply stalling for himself.

"I can't-" he started, but then paused with a tight frown, "I don't think I can tell you." It sounded like an apology, most of him hidden with how those wings still blanketed his body. It only took a moment longer before he tacked on a smaller, "I'm so sorry."

An apology indeed.

While it was a wholly unsatisfying response, it encompassed everything Pearl had come to know Scar to be. Kind and respectful when it mattered. Pinched in a way that kept him out of trouble all the same.

Pearl continued, no longer wanting to sit in this uncomfortable lull. "I thought you were hurt," she settled on next, barely catching the way Scar sat a bit straighter. "What the heck were you two doing?"

"Well whatever do you mean?" Scar's voice came out stronger now, teetering onto the side of performative. But Pearl hadn't quite caught on to that aspect of his tone so early in the season. So she clarified.

"I mean it looked like you were getting mauled, Scar."

While the vex may have been able to smooth his own features down, the mass of feathers in his arms twitched. Ruffling as limbs buried deeper into each fleshy curve they found, drawing its wings to sweep Scar completely from Pearl's sight. It stirred the guilt back up inside of her, wincing slightly. Though Scar was hardly phased under the near suffocating pressure.

Akin to second nature, his arms drew up and warm palms laid against the plumes that raised like hackles. He encouraged them down, cooing tenderly as he readied the answer already practiced on his tongue.

When he managed to get Grian to settle again, Scar fixed Pearl with a smile. "Oh, it was just a bit of roughhousing between the boys. You know how it is!" He added a little laugh at the end, to really feign his innocence.

Pearl didn't need to know how his bones still ached from being crushed into wooden boards. Or how the beading of crimson soaked his back. Molded by large, wicked talons.

"Right," Pearl breathed, plumose antennae flicking. Contemplating. That pit at the bottom of her stomach only seemed to grow with each exchange. There was too much she was missing. From the obvious questions to the subtle motions, it was impossible to know where to start. Or if she even should.

Maybe it would be easier to wait. Give herself a day to process everything and let Grian steady himself enough where she might then ask him directly. …Except she wasn't sure how long that would take. Or if he was able to revert the mutations that gnarled his form in the first place. Scar certainly seemed far too calm for the changes to be irreversible. But she was beginning to wonder just how much she could trust his input. Did Scar even know what the Watchers were?

He had welcomed such an imposing, dreadful image of a thousand eyes and wings. And Pearl couldn't decide if it was a result of knowing who wore that terrible face, or because he was oblivious to what it all resembled.

"Do you know what the Watchers are?" she had to ask. "Does the rest of the server?"

She tried her best not to read too much into the quiet that followed.

"Well, you know," the other began, a touch uneven, "There may be a few fuzzy details, but who cares? Sure, people think he's a big, scary, hundred eyed googly boogie, but Grian's not like that." The vex managed conviction at the end. Despite how Grian did, in fact, reflect that exact, crude description.

There should have been a bit of humour in that. But Pearl didn't quite manage a smile, stuck on one unanswered detail. It mattered little how that fantastical body fit within the confines of a wheelchair or how uncharacteristically those eyes tracked her. Scar hadn't denied that Grian was a Watcher.

Which opened up a completely new, unpleasant line of possibilities. Somehow, her old admin, her friend, had been stripped of mortal skin. Now burdened to wear the layers of false godhood by some inexplicable means. Just how much of this story the others knew, she wondered if she would ever find out. The Hermits may just be stronger than her. Able to put aside the rumours and the haunted tales in favour of believing that the avian was different. Or maybe Grian hadn't told them what it all meant. Glazing through half truths and white lies to convince them that this was just another shape of his. Imposing but ultimately harmless and entirely under his control.

Either way, he was allowed to stay on the server. And Scar was confident enough to hold him so close.

"You're okay with that," she found herself saying, "He's a Watcher and you're just… okay with that?"

She hadn't meant to sound so accusatory. So much like a projection of the insecurities she had yet to fully admit. Even so, Scar didn't react in any way she might have expected. He remained calm, grounded in the manner she wished to be. A lens of condolence, or perhaps pity staring her down.

"Are you not?"

What a loaded question that was.

Immediately, Pearl felt compelled to fold. To deny whatever skepticism Scar might be hiding and shun her own reservations. But she couldn't. It was as if a concrete wall stood in her path. Something that betrayed the bond she and Grian once shared on Evo – still shared, in fact. Something instinctive and fearful, and most of all ashamed.

There were no words to explain herself. Not in any way that would matter. Nothing that would help relieve the sickly pressure that nestled its way inside her chest.

"I don't know," she spoke, muttering as if alone. Her head dipped low with the darkened cover of her bangs, wings laying limp like a tattered veil. "I just- I don't understand…"

And then she fell silent.

In the short while Scar had come to know Pearl, defeat was not a look that he'd picture her with. It felt inappropriate, misplaced. Just like what he had stumbled his way into.

It was hard not to perceive himself as an intruder to this moment. Witnessing something that should have been kept private, reserved for the two hybrids alone. He might not know their history with one another, but he had heard enough to comprehend its length. Seen the way they embraced once the season began. Chattering as if to restore a decade of memories. But it seemed even that wasn't enough for Grian to let loose those secrets burrowed deep within his flesh.

The vex couldn't help but commiserate with Pearl in a way.

Though he wasn't the only one who stewed with sympathy or remorse. With only a handful of eyes left hovering in the morning light, Grian watched the stricken form of a player he remembered calling family.

He stirred, purposeful enough for Scar to let him go. Soon he found himself shifting slowly, achingly, until he was able to twist his gaze and face the rich concoction of emotions left discarded on the floor. True, purple eyes held wide and passive; picking apart each flicker of turmoil. Each dip of frustration, of perplexity and self hatred. Seasoned with that desirable note of misery.

With a deep, reverberating sound, Grian clicked. A series of strange, taut echoes as he slid from the elevation of Scar's chair. He was drawn to what he saw ruminating within the moth. That brew that was as irresistible as it was… unpleasant. Because unlike so many times in the past, it was not hunger that moved him. This was different. Unnameable in his current state; something distinctly mortal. A longing to soothe rather than devour. It drove his lumbering form closer and closer to the object that enraptured him so.

Unconsciously, more eyes blinked open around the shivering player. Refining his sight in an attempt to make sense of what plagued them so. If he could understand, maybe then he could help.

Curiously, he noted how their code thrummed faster with the fluttering of their heart. So he drew nearer, watching it rise again, all in hopes of figuring out why. Ignorant of the way each growing glare swelled oppressively the farther he peered. How his intent shifted from naif intrigue to scrutiny, as though to dissect a complicated puzzle.

It was those same eyes that made Pearl's skin crawl. Their gaze that was so sickeningly uncaring as they parsed through her very lines of being – pitiless and cruel.

She knew he didn't mean it. Grian would never truly want to harm another. But it still felt the same.

Blurring the lines between now and back then, all she retained was how much they had plagued her. Barely a presence, almost a memory, somehow always just out of sight. But each time she was convinced they had been there. Below every pot and pan, amidst the grains of her bread. When she closed her eyes they would even meet her in her dreams.

The walls pulsed with their endless stares. There would never be any reprieve, no semblance of peace. Every corner, every particle in the air was infested with eyes. It was the same now as it was then. There would always be a crowd, silent and eager. Like a taunt, teasing in the violent way that they loved. Knowing just the idea of them was enough to make her squirm. Watching every breath, every thought tick between her ears, no longer private. Every beat of her heart unstable, perceived, forced to pump harder, faster, her legs couldn't carry her far enough, she could never escape and-

"Stop!" she gasped wetly, begging.

Nevertheless, the eyes continued to bear into her code. Always watching. Even the stillness of the room that her outburst had drawn offered no pardon. Would she really never be free?

"Just-" She hated feeling so fragile. Hated the weakness that gripped her like a vice that was as humiliating as it was frustrating. Leaving her to croak out a feeble, "Stop looking at me like that."

And though she didn't see it, couldn't stomach the effort to raise her head again, Grian recoiled as if he had been burned.

At once, every one of his eyes snapped shut under the crack of stormy magic. He staggered away, unexpectedly afraid, and cloaked himself in his array of wings. Sealing his sight in a desperate attempt to make amends, or as a punishment for his own indulgence. Suddenly all too aware of his inhumanity.

In the end, that was all it ever was.

No matter how many times he'd convince himself otherwise, wearing disguise after falling disguise, Grian would never return to what he used to be. When his code remained pure and undefiled. Free from those pervasive hands. They had changed him. A permanent disfigurement or a curse perhaps. They were the ones that stitched together this ugly imitation of their own pride, ego, and that godforsaken appetite. It was because of them that his mind felt so far away, lost in the lure of impulse over thought. Even the simplest of things like help or hurt were muddled and plated the same as a meal.

He tried his best to rear away from those cravings. To grasp the hazy remnants of his consciousness and remind himself that he was wrong. His image, his desires, all of it amiss. What stood amongst friends was no player, but a wretched caricature of a Watcher.

And Watchers would always pain the player. Like a parasite, he so often found himself comparing.

Grian understood better than anyone else how ambrosial the human heart could be. It was the only thing that may quell the gluttony branded into his code. Only to resurface again and again. Never satisfied irregardless of how many times they'd feast. He was no better than them for he was greedy too. Greedy in the way that he still longed to draw nearer; to burrow into the warmth of the moon-touched player. Desperate to pick apart that blend of intensity and drink the pain away, even as they pleaded for him to stay back.

Insatiable for acceptance, for the forgiveness he did nothing to deserve. For the mercy from someone he still wished to believe was flock.

"I'm sorry."

It was what he needed to say, not hear. Falling from Pearl's lips with a reluctant quaver. It held petite, tart accents, that apology. Smoothing out into the coating of guilt that seemed to drown the other. Strong, heady; enough for him to detect without sight. Somehow, it just made him feel worse.

Normally, these flavours should beckon him nearer, appeal to the vampiric nature of a Watcher. But now? When he was so painfully aware of all the reasons he was to blame?

"I- I didn't mean it," she continued while he wished she wouldn't. "I just- I need a minute. I'm sorry."

Grian wanted to stitch that mouth shut but was left without the words to ask. He wanted to seal his ears too. Why did Pearl have to apologize in his place when he had been the one to afflict her so? Why did he always fail to face his own fears and admit when he was wrong?

Coward, some spiteful voice hissed. Something he couldn't help but acknowledge with a miserable keen.

Amidst it all, fixed so close to the floorboards as if hoping they'd come swallow him whole, Grian was still hungry. Sat tight and blind – silent yet yearning for all of the things only players could want.

Dimly he sensed the syrup of languor glide steadily closer to his side. Wooden planks creaking as wheels turned over them. It made him shrink farther into the coverts of his own limbs, praying for it to simply roll by.

It didn't. Scar would never let him stay cowering like this.

He bristled at the first touch. A jolt to his system, wild and afraid. Defaulting to the mantra of bad, bad, bad-

But that hand was steady and no pain ever followed. Just a weight that tucked between his shoulders. Familiar, grounding. It always made it easier to lay his feathers flat. To then lean into that small bit of contact. Scar took that as a sign to begin running his palm through the pearly vanes along Grian's back. Enough times for the bird to allow those same hands to cradle his head without so much as a flinch.

Gently, so unfairly gently, he was guided into Scar's lap. Coaxed into resting atop legs that shuddered only slightly beneath. He breathed a low sound, something between a sigh and a coo, while the vex ran fingers through downy, brown curls.

Although Grian stubbornly kept every pair of aural wings up to veil his face, still so self-conscious, he understood Scar's intent. Above the other's fatigue there was determination, a plea; the tartness of hope. Nothing forceful, only encouraging as a thumb brushed across his cheek. It almost burned. That undeserving kindness ruffling his feathers. And yet he felt compelled to melt into it all. The taste of solace that should burn acrid on his tongue was relished instead.

Emerging from the mire of fleeting coherency was an idea. A whim that he lunged for, refused to lose against instinct and mindless being. It was a rebellion that he knew well.

For he was not helpless. Did not need to be coddled like a wounded animal, not these days. He was capable of so much more than that, fit enough to repay this kindness alongside clarity this time.

Scar, despite how much support he offered, was tired. It was evident in the way his breaths drew long and heavy, how his reassurances came languid and his body sapid like molasses. It became clear to Grian what he wanted next. So he hauled himself up and away from the ground then dipped his head in a bow. Arched deep enough to rest his brow against the curious vex's.

How easy it was to then pick and choose. Plucking the exhaustion from the mix that was Scar while leaving the rest of him intact. Just enough to lessen the burden on the physical form while allowed to enjoy its syrupy sweetness. Finally easing a small part of the hurt that he caused today.

Softening into the magic that teased along lines of code, Scar supplied a pleased hum in return. It left him a touch lighter than before.

Both thankful and proud, he leaned back with a lopsided grin. Finally able to catch the avian's eyes again that now bubbled with anticipation. He didn't need to say anything, he knew this. He'd been told how much a Watcher could perceive. But Scar whispered his thanks anyways just to see how Grian's feathers fluffed with the praise.

He was able to help. Scar's affirmations made that abundantly clear with that silly little smile he'd share too, if he could. Though it was not in the same way as a player, Grian still could act in service. And he hadn't forgotten the other in the room. The one he had left in muted anguish.

Help her, his own voice resounded clear at last.

With a whisper of feathers, he moved.

The Swaggon lulled under the grazing of claws. Tentative things that would drag and jump, pausing as if afraid of each noise it made. A sedate crawl in one absolute direction.

Pearl startled at the brush of barbs which in turn made it jolt back as well. Wide eyed and anxious she scrambled first from the landscape of white and void. Memories of abuse setting her nerves ablaze. A visceral drive to pull farther away. It took a moment of quiet for her mind to catch up and realize there were no eyes that glared back. Just a bed of plumage coiled tight into a ball.

She paused, left staring in confounding silence. Because what she was faced with was unlike anything she had braced herself for. Loosening her muscles, turning away from the panic that did not belong here. It was completely and utterly… harmless.

Against its size and wretched stature, those limbs tucked neatly into such a compact bundle. Leaving only rounded, soft edges; no eyes in sight or glare of purple. Pearl now recognized the shade of brown cascading from the creature's- no, Grian's head. The name settled far easier than before.

Timidly, doubtful, the bird's quills shuffled. Then slowly he reached and touched Pearl's knee. This time, neither of them retreated.

It didn't feel so scary anymore. To look down at the otherworldly being that was now her friend and note how he kept himself turned away. All of those wings were drawn tight and high to maintain some obscurity. Pointedly blind and unassuming, all because of the things she said. Playfully abiding yet insistent for closeness. Exactly as he always was.

How obvious it was now that Grian was nothing like them. He was not suddenly cruel or terrifying. He played no role in the misery that weathered her. Just like her, he was a victim. Just like her, he was the same.

With a long and tired sigh, Pearl urged her thoughts to lie. Putting aside all of her blame and uncertainties – whatever resentment that might still simmer inside – she placed a hand atop those mousy feathers. They cowered, it seemed to be a new habit of his, and she quickly decided that she hated that. So she let her body fall into practiced routine, running fingers along the crest of his neck. In that same way she knew he liked yet never managed to admit. Hoping that the familiarity of her motions would console the other as well as it guided her hand.

Again those feathers rattled each time they were pet. Unsure what to make of the intent. Pearl did her best to convince them both of safety, that they could come to rest at last. The silkiness of the down she carded so delicately through made it simple to believe.

Fondly, she was reminded how few got this opportunity. Grian was always so particular about who he let preen his wings, after all. Perhaps embarrassed or just that little bit afraid of how soft it always left him. At the mercy of such trust and intimacy that never failed to make the bird coo.

And though it wasn't quite how she remembered, a low croon began to fill the air. One that curled the edges of her mouth up with a recognizable song.

Maybe they'd be okay.

Messy, yes, and far too exhausted for so early in the day. But they would be able to figure things out. She grew confident with each drag of her hands across the avian's spine, working mindlessly through the vanes of each wing. He rumbled, content, just a puddle of plumes. Then all too quickly his body rocked, shifting as if contemplating, and Pearl was smothered in feeling.

Immediately, she was swamped. The beating of wings, the pinpricks of too sharp talons, the force of muscle and mass against her that were both snug and frigid. It all wrenched panic back into her gullet. Flickers of the void and the magic of Watchers replaced the calm she had barely been able to attain.

What a jarring thing it was when it then settled just as quickly.

In the next breath she took, there was stillness again. Pearl, left dazed and confused, had to take a moment to reboot. Wondering what on earth just happened.

Wings rustled around her and it was then that she registered the new weight atop her. Something cold yet suspiciously warm seeped through her clothes, a prickle of scales holding her uncomfortably tight. It deflated with a heavy breath as it buried into her arms. Wrapping her in a faintly dusty scent.

With the way his body swathed her in feathers, a pair of bird-like feet nestled in her lap, Pearl realized what all the fuss was about.

Grian just wanted a hug.

It was as ridiculous as it was endearing to see that hulking figure reduce itself to what was essentially an oversized blanket. Determined for some unfathomable reason to fit in her hold. He always was decidedly clingy, she reminisced. Something that, apparently, remained even with this new frame.

"You're such a nugget," Pearl muttered, feeling silly for her initial fright. Of course Grian would choose that moment to rise, to discover a way to scare her with a hug of all things.

A resonant grumble thrummed in her ears. Then a series of clicking as a voice stuttered to life.

“N̵ug̷g̸e̶t,” came the distorted, parroted reply.

And despite it all, Pearl found herself laughing.