Chapter Text
Blood.
There was a lot of blood.
Too much for a fight that was meant to be clean, meant to end differently.
It stained the yellow sand an ugly colour, drowning fond memories in its red warmth. It was sticky beneath his palm but Grian barely noticed it, a harsh ringing drowning out most of his coherent thoughts. His knuckles throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the skin spilt open and leaking red in between his fingers, dripping uselessly into the ground.
He unconsciously twitched his wings and was greeted by white-hot pain flooding down his back. Something was wrong. Really wrong. Some instinct in him told him to get up and fix it–to get rid of the pain. The thought came from somewhere distant, like it wasn’t his own. Nonetheless he tilted his head, spotting torn and twisted feathers. The middle of the appendage was bent, the tip of it stuck under his knee. He tried to move it but the second his vision blurred he let out a pained gasp, dropping it back to the ground.
He collapsed back on his hands, a small whine reaching his lips.
Right, he was on the ground still.
A dull thud sounded beside him, his survival instincts forcing his dizzy head to turn and look at what was coming for him.
Scar.
The man was lying on the ground a few feet away, sprawled awkwardly in a heap of sand. Relief–brief enough to be imagined–shot through Grian at the sight. Scar was breathing, he was resting. Just like Grian was. He was taking a break before they had to fight again.
He was alive.
Well, that’s what Grian thought before he really looked at Scar.
Grain gave him a one over, taking in the scene. One of Scar’s eyes was swollen shut, smothered in a deep, ugly purple. The other was staring upwards, blurry and unfocused. His shoulder appeared broken–or was it dislocated? Grian had no idea. There were small puncture marks around his arms and back, signifying the cacti that had impailed the man.
He’s just unconscious. He’s done this before–a trick.
He forced himself up on shaky limbs, the movement racking pain through his body. The grains of sand digging into new wounds like salt. The sun was suddenly scorching hot, burning his back uncomfortably. Once he glanced up at it, his skull screamed in protest to the action. Grian cried out slowly, screwing his eyes shut.
His head–
Grian lifted a trembling hand to his head, pressing his fingers into the hair over his ear. He felt around before grimacing when he felt dampness spread over his skin.
More blood.
Scar must've hit him harder than he thought–atleast hard enough to knock him unconscious.
The fight, he recalled absentmindedly, right we were fighting.
He let out a grumble when he finally reached Scar’s side, flopping down in the damp sand. It puffed up around his body, creating a divot for him to rest in. Grian looked lazily at his eyes before hesitantly pressing a hand to Scars chest.
Nothing.
So he pushed harder.
Nothing.
“Scar,” He mumbled, voice more unstable then he would’ve liked.
So he said it again, and again, and again. Each time the word left his mouth it sounded more and more frantic, more desperate. He repeated it god knows how many times, like saying the word would somehow fix this mess. Like it could rewind the sound of Scar crying out when Grian broke his nose, the feeling of Scar yanking on Grian’s wings and hair desperately.
Grian squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, embracing the stars that flooded his vision before opening them again.
This wasn’t meant to happen–Scar had to win, that was his plan. He was going to die. He was prepared to die, Scar would kill him and win Thirdlife. Grian would die. He would die.
Instead–
His gaze drifted to Scar’s eye, throat tightening as the red slipped away into a lifeless grey.
“Scar,” Grian breathed, panic clawing its way up his throat, “no, no, no!”
His hands made their way up to Scars face, brushing pieces of hair off his forehead and cupping his cheeks. His fingers linger uselessly over Scar’s warm skin that was already growing to a pale grey. A broken laugh makes its way out of his mouth, sounding more like a sob than anything else.
“You weren’t meant to die-” He choked, pulling Scar's face closer, “I–It was meant to be me! You were going to…going to..”
Hot tears made their way down his cheeks as Grian just…stared.
The sun creeped up the sky inch by inch, drowning the land in a soft glow. The heat pressed down on him until the pain in his wings was a distant memory, a dull throb all that remained. Grian sat there longer than he meant to, trying to memorize every indent and crease on the man's face.
His mind worked slowly, pondering over moments that seemed so far away now. Laughter echoing off carved sandstone walls, of Scar’s voice calling his name like it always would after he earned a particularly good trade, light, teasing and alive.
None of those memories fit the picture in front of him.
It took a while, but eventually the truth settled in his chest. Scar wasn’t going to wake up. There was no sarcastic remark waiting for him, no sharp inhale of breath, no laughing voice declaring this as a joke.
Scar was dead.
And Grian was not.
He finally pulled his hands away from the man's face, pushing some lingering sand away from his clothes and hair. He traced his fingers over the scar on his nose–the one he never got to learn where it came from.
A short smile twisted onto Grian’s face but it felt hollow, it felt fake.
It reminded him of the smiles Scar used to give him when they first met–those odd deals that had him throwing on mask after mask.
Now the desert offered him none of the comfort it used to, he was alone. He had won. So he turned away from Scar, his health having gone up enough for him to walk. He stumbled through the sand, each step feeling mechanical and heavy–forced. The mountain loomed at the edge of his vision, the drop looking oh so welcoming. There was no one waiting for him, so, with a harsh bought of clarity, he jumped.
—🚦—
Pain.
There was a horrible, sinking pain in his neck as he hit the ground. His wings crumpled under his body, the delicate bones splintering almost instantaneously. He let out a shriek that sounded more bird than human, feeling the air leave his lungs.
Then it was dark.
—🚦—
Grian woke with a desperate wail, body jerking so suddenly his vision swam with white spots. A dull pain shot through his back–heavy and unnatural. It was enough to steal air from his lungs and he grabbed at his chest, waiting for the world to steady.
Darkness stretched endlessly around his body, thick and unsettling. The void was pulsing faintly, the glitching particles appearing every so often. A few purple shimmers spun for a moment before disappearing, not ever letting Grian get a good look. He swallowed hard, grimacing.
So he was here…
He sighed, dragging a hand down the side of his face. He paused briefly once he could feel feathers tickling his ears, dancing over the skin there. They sat folded against his face, a new weight he had to get used to.
The heat was gone–the sand, the cacti, the soft wind, Scar.
“Xelqua”
The voice echoed around him, whispered by too many voices and yet not enough. His body reacted on instinct, pulling his wings close to his body. His muscles tensed, like he was ready to attack at any moment. He set his jaw, grinding the teeth together.
“...yes.” Grian tentatively replied, he didn’t bother looking for them. He knew they were there, watching him, listening, shifting just outside of his vision. He listened for the shuffling sounds of wings against nothing.
“You did good.” The Watcher mused, voice pressing against his skull until it hurt, “You won.”
The word made something twist painfully in his chest.
Grian shivered, Scar’s grey eyes flashing in his vision for a few seconds before he blinked the memory away. The image remained burned into his eyelids, sharp and unkind.
“I survived.” He grit out, voice harsher than intended, "That's not the same thing.”
He shifted uncomfortably, hissing at the weight of his watcher wings. They were heavier than he remembered, yanking at his skin as he tried to adjust. It felt wrong, like wearing a skin he had tried to shed.
“You know the rules, Xelqua,” There was a hint of sour amusement in the words, “The last one standing is a winner. The strongest. The best. Although we expected this outcome, judging your origins.” The voice mused thoughtfully.
Grian scoffed at the name, it felt foreign. It wasn’t him. “Scar had to win.”
The words burst out before he could think, raw and sharp and laced with something dangerously close to hatred. Normally he would’ve bit his tongue before speaking to the Watchers like this, but now he didn’t care. Not now.
The watcher clicked their tongue, followed by a few seconds of silence. It pressed into him, thick and deliberate. He swallowed again and pulled his wings closer to his body, like a sort of shield.
“But you killed him, Xelqua.” They pointed out, making Grian pause at the reminder. “You chose this ending.”
Then the void was fading in Grian's vision and there was heat. It was binding, suffocating even. Sand burned holes into his feet as he watched from a distance as Scar chatted with BigB. He could feel the wind through his wings, smell cactus sap and the harsh scent of sandstone.
And Scar was laughing.
He was running towards him with that stupid lopsided grin on his face, a chestplate glowing in his hand as he waved it triumphantly. Pizza was trotting slowly behind him as BigB chatted about reputation points, and alliances and fairness. Scar shouted something, but Grian couldn’t hear him. He was focused on the look in his eyes. Scar threw himself into Grian’s arms, babbling excitedly about how clever he had been. How he got such an amazing trade for them.
The memory made his face feel oddly warm.
But then the Watcher spoke again and he was back in the void. His little world cracking around the edges, being replaced with darkness. He was alone again.
“You could always try again.”
Grian sharply looked up, scanning for the Watchers position in the void. Of course he failed, eyes frantically scanning the area. “What?” He asked, an edge of urgency in his voice, it sat raw and unguarded.
The Watcher let out a barking laugh-it was pleased with how desperate he had sounded.
Grian felt heat crawl up his neck, clearing his throat quickly. “What do you mean,” He forced his tone to be steady, but you could hear the neediness seep through his tone, “I can try again?”
Another pause.
His nerves were shot, he could feel the familiar thump of his heart against his ribs. Why were they waiting?
Grian let out an embarrassing yelp as something latched onto his wing–the one beside his ears–and tugged. He blinked a few times before regaining focus. A singular purple eye was staring back at him, unblinking. The one the Watchers liked to paint on their masks.
He was grossly familiar with it.
He let out a huff as a hot puff of breath was forced near his face. A singular clawed finger wormed its way up, tucking under Grian’s chin and yanking his head up with humiliating ease. He grit his teeth, feeling as his tongue was pressed to the roof of his mouth.
“Get-”
Harsh pain flared through his head as the hand vanished only to grab his wing instead. They hauled him closer, pulling on the delicate feathers and forcing a sharp gasp from his throat.
“Get away from me.” He spat, glaring into the mask.
His demand went ignored as the Watcher started to talk again, “we, meaning you, create these servers and games.” The stated smoothly, “We are the masters, we force those insignificant,”
Grian let out a squawk of indignation.
“Little players into these arenas of death. We are the puppet masters, they must obey. You know that much Xelqua.”
“I am nothing like you!” Grian snarled, “And I have no desire to be.”
The Watcher breathed a harsh laugh, “You were always the weak one.”
Grian chose to ignore the comment–as much as it stirred a fire in his chest–and growled deep in his throat, “Get on with it!”
The Watcher hummed, almost thoughtful, before speaking again, “You want him to win? Do it again. You have the power to afterall. You can bring those players into that world again and again until you get the ending you want. All I need, is a simple yes.”
The thought made Grian feel sick. Bring those players back? Force them to die over and over again simply because he didn’t get the outcome he wanted? It was selfish–it was cruel–it was…
But Scar.
It was all he could focus on-flooding his senses and memories before he even realized it. Scar laughing in the sun, leaning against him as they ate, calling his name like it was the safest thing in the world.
An unnatural anger shot through him, sudden and overwhelming.
Scar should have won. He should have been happy. He should have lived.
And before he knows it Grian is nodding.
“Yes–again. We can do it again. Put us there again.”
His mind stays focused on Scar, on the happy memories he has on the mountain. He turns them over in his thoughts like precious gems. However, against his will, the bad ones creep their way in as well. His death, the screaming, the begging, the tears, the sleepless nights.
The overwhelming realization that he was going back to that hit him hard, making an unnatural panic flare in his gut.
“Wait I change-!”
The void shatters.
And then there's trees, and sun, and the sickening certainty that he had just forced them all to start again.
—🚦—
Grian woke up choking on air.
There was no darkness this time-quite the opposite actually. He was bathed in a bright light, but it was too sudden and he sputtered on the ground as he tried to regain his senses. Sunlight filtered through the thick trees above him, covering his skin in patterns. They were lush and alive and wrong. He flipped over to his side, trying to escape the tug of ground on his wings. He dug his fingers into the grass, half expecting it to melt away like sand. But it was just cold, wet, and green. The feeling of solid ground under his body was unnatural–unsettling even. He had grown so used to the uneven terrain of the desert that it had become a sort of comfort. Anywhere else meant he was out in the open–unsafe.
Unsafe.
He sat there for a moment, pushing himself up and trying to force himself out of the stunned state he found himself in. His heart was a constant reminder of life in his chest, hammering against his ribs with a fervor he forgot it could do. He could still hear the Watchers voice in his head, you could always try again.
Grian half expected the world around him to shatter into a black void, the seams ripping at the edges. A bird screamed from somewhere around him and he jumped, pulling his wings into his body.
This was real.
Grian let out a shaky laugh that bordered on hysteria and placed his hands in his hair, threading his fingers through and pulling. “Again..” He whispered, “We’re really doing this again.”
He squeezed his eyes shut only to be greeted by the–all to real–vision of Scar.
First his smile, his eyes, and then his body in the sand. Grian felt as his stomach twisted violently and he doubled over, as if the memory had weight to it.
The words rang in his head, “Yes–again. We can do it again. Put us there again.”
I chose this. He reminded himself, something sharp tugging at his heart once again. He swallowed hard, forcing the thought back down.
And so he forced himself to stand, shaking non-existent sand off his pants. It was a reflux almost, having grown used to the itchiness that came with the desert. He took a few seconds to glance around, spotting a pig rooting around in the grass. It caught him off guard for a moment–when was the last time he spotted a pig? His first instinct was to kill it, to dig his hands into the meat and find food. Then he faintly remembered the mob shortage and chose to leave it, his brain screaming at him as he turned and walked the other direction.
The forest gave way slowly, trees starting thick and lush until they thinned out closer to his destination. Where was he going, you ask? Well the village. If his memory was correct, their whole alliance started after Scar proposed taking over the sand biome. And then Grian blew him up, leading to his debt. The image of him blowing Scar up was something that made him laugh now, even if it was still a sore spot. What did he think was going to happen?
Grian moved through the woods without urgency, his steps heavy in the dirt. He knew Scar would take a while to get there, so he was in no rush. Why arrive earlier than he had to?
Time passed strangely, going by far too quickly but too slow all in one. The sun was rising high in the sky by the time he stumbled on a shallow river, taking a moment to rest his feet. Grian didn’t mind the water, but it was something he avoided going in if he could help it. The feeling of waterlogged wings wasn’t pleasant, but having them dirty could be dubbed worse.
He slid off his boots before wading into the stream, allowing his limbs to relax at the push and pull of the waves. He stretched his wings out for a moment to allow the sun to soak into his feathers, enjoying the heat that was quickly reminding him of home. He dug his feet into the soil and breathed a heavy sigh, trying to relax just a little.
Relax before the wars, and alliances, and deaths started.
Grian let out an embarrassing chirp when something slimy started to poke at his foot, suckers gnawing at the dead skin that had grown there. His gaze shifted from the sky to see a large salmon rubbing at his foot. He contemplated kicking it away, before his stomach rumbled and he wet his lips.
One salmon wouldn’t hurt…
And so he reached into his inventory, pulling out a sharper stick he had picked up and shifting his wings for stability. With a speed he had grown used to, Grian raised his fist and stabbed right through the wriggling creature. He let out an amused laugh when it stopped moving on his weapon (stick) before moving it to the grass, ripping the stick out and turning back to the water.
The more food he gets now, the more chance he has of survival. And in turn, Scar’s.
He spent what had to be twenty minutes digging around for fish, coming up with a hearty ten of them. Thankfully for Grian, fish were not the smartest mobs out there. He trudged out of the river, shaking off his legs and looking down at his fish pile. Cooking would be an issue…concidering he hadn’t even made a pickaxe yet. Soon enough he would need coal, and a good set of armour.
Grian threw the fish into his inventory and pulled his shoes on, grimacing at the dampness that remained from his soak. He made his way over to a few trees that lined the river and got to work, breaking down the wood and making himself a nice crafting table. He was moving more on instinct than urgency at this point, mindlessly throwing items into his inventory as he went. He finally settled and made a lousy pickaxe and sword, keeping the items out as much as he could.
As he traveled Grian came across a shallow cave, it wasn’t very tall or deep but it had an open coal vein. He eagerly made his way over to the entrance, frowning when he realized just how small the area really was. He could fit, but he would need to force his wings down and keep himself low to the ground.
Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, but Grian came to learn that his avian instincts really didn’t like confined spaces. He much preferred to be out in the open, in a tree or in the sky. Though of course his wings didn’t work here, so not much could be done about his urge to take to the sky.
Nonetheless Grian sucked up his pride and squeezed himself into the cave. It was claustrophobic, and he let out several annoyed grumbles on his journey, but eventually he had clawed away at enough of the stone to get to the coal. He quickly chipped away at the ore, gathering enough so he could make a few torches and cook his fish.
With a sigh of relief he shimmied out of the cave, stretching his wings and reveling in the quickly setting sun. He would need to find shelter soon, or he could take perchance in a tree. He would probably do the latter.
As soon as he crafted his furnace and cooked the fish, Grian found the tallest tree he could and started to climb. Rough bark dug into his palms and leaves rustled against his nose in a way that made him squint, but he continued his accent until he reached the very top.
Once his head poked out the top, Grian let out a shaky sigh of relief. Wind was delicately brushing against his skin, flowing through his feathers in a way that had him melting. He felt around until he found a branch that was sturdy, leaning against it and throwing his legs over each side. It wasn't Monopoly Mountain, but it wasn’t horrible.
He pulled the-now cooked-fish out of his inventory and took a bite, mouth watering. Sure he knew he was hungry, but Grian had severely misjudged just how hungry his poor body was. Back on the mountain he had gone days without food, his stomach growling and screaming at him for any type of food. He could vividly remember eating a handful of sand in hopes that it would make the pain stop.
(It didn’t.)
Once his fish was nothing but bones, he threw it to the ground without care for where it would land. The lingering taste of meat made him hungry for Scar’s cooking, the memory of sitting at their table for two and diving into a home cooked meal felt too recent. It made his stomach twist with something violent, the fish he just ate threatening to come back up.
Something growled under him-loud and unnerving. Grian drew his sword before noting a zombie clawing at his tree, a threat sure, but it couldn’t reach him. He would only have to worry about spiders and skeletons really. Even then, he was far out of reach for a bow. (He hoped). And these mobs always looked smarter than they were. In short, he wasn’t worried.
Something whizzed by his face, nearly drawing blood and throwing him out the tree. A sharp gasp left his lips as he regained balance and brought a hand to his heart, feeling how it was beating harder now. Grian pulled some wood out of his inventory and made a small platform, just under him so he couldn’t be shot at as easily.
This would be a long night.
—🚦—
Soon enough the sun was up and so was Grian.
He managed to get a few hours of sleep at best. His dreams were plagued by bloody fists and stinging hearts, so vivid it had him waking with a clenched jaw and tense body. His wings acted as a thin blanket, wrapped around his frame throughout the night. Great, those were sore too. By the time the sun made itself known to him, shining into his eyes with a shallow pain, he figured it was useless pretending to sleep.
He was tired, his limbs aching with a dull stretch as he raised them to the sky. His body protested as he moved, but he had to.
For Scar.
Grian let himself fall from the tree, landing harder than normal and wincing as his legs tingled unpleasantly. Around him, the morning looked as it usually did. There were some sheep wandering, birds singing their low songs, and the scent of burning.
Grian’s first reaction was panic, wings flaring up as his body tensed.
Fire. Something was on fire.
He scanned the area and let out a shaky–if not relieved–laugh as he spotted a zombie trudging towards him. It hissed and burned as the sun ate away at its flesh, melting off in chunks that smelt of rot.
Grian pondered for a second, relaxing and watching as it fell to its knees. He let out a smaller, humourless laugh at the sight. Served them right, this place was hell enough without them making their presence known. But then he was just embarrassed, glancing down at his frame. He was so ready to attack, so ready to fight, so scared.
That was just ridiculous.
He pulled a fish out, tearing into the cooked flesh. It was cold now, but Grian barely noticed as he downed half the fish. He couldn’t remember what it tasted like, he was too focused on getting out of there.
Finally, he started walking.
The forest was quiet–aside from the rustling of trees or screech of a bird. It was calm, a type of calm that was unsettling. The calm that was wrong. He kept his mind alert as he moved through the woods, dodging low-hanging branches and manoeuvring himself around tree trunks. He was gathering as he went–random seeds, wood, some iron in a cave he found. His hands moved automatically while his thoughts lagged behind him, mindlessly moving around.
Every so often he caught himself listening, watching.
Waiting.
Waiting for a bright face to turn around a trunk and exclaim that he found something for them to use. Waiting for Scar’s voice, loud, cheerful and way too close. Each time the forest failed to provide that, his heart twisted a little more.
The ground shifted around him, gradually so his distracted mind didn’t notice it immediately. Trees thinned out, grass grew taller and swayed around his knees, the sound of cows ringing through his head. Grian inhaled sharply as cold washed up his legs and he sank. Sank like a rock, quickly and suddenly enough for him to let out a startled yelp.
He glanced down to see a deep moat, a river even. He had fallen in a river.
How had he not noticed it? He should’ve been more alert, how will he keep scar alive like this??
He angrily looked down in the water, watching as his face was disoriented by the waves. He frowned, he looked…older. Not physically, but there was a look in his eyes. It was like something had settled there and wouldn’t leave-like he had seen too much.
In a way he had--he was part Watcher afterall.
He glowered at his expression, huffing and walking into the water. He crossed as the cold water numbed his feet, boots getting soaked through. Nonetheless he crossed.
Time blurred after that. The sun climbed higher before beginning its slow descent, bathing the land in an orange glow. He climbed up a dirt hill that left his legs burning, his feet slipping on loose dirt that would send him sliding down to the grass. He itched to flex his wings and just fly over the hill, escaping his problems on the ground. He stopped briefly to hunt again, slaughtering a sheep and quickly cooking the mutton. His hunger was becoming horribly hard to ignore and he wanted to save the fish.
Once it was cooked, he swallowed down the meat along with the lump in his throat.
This was normal, he tried to tell himself, this was how it always started.
But it wasn’t.
This time every step felt like one closer to death, dragging him closer to something he had already fumbled once. Something horribly fragile.
By the time the village came into view he was tired, sticky, and close to giving up. The stone and wood breaking the horizon, smoke billowing from chimneys and curling lazily into the sky. Grian slowed to a halt, his heart pounding painfully in this chest. His stomach churned-he felt like he was going to spill his guts. Was it nerves? Why should he be nervous, it was just Scar!
Right?
He stayed there longer than he should have, just watching players walk in and out of the doors. He felt something in his chest twist when all too familiar blonde hair came into view-Martyn. The only memories he has of the man are enough to bring him to tears, or having him shaking in anger.
He tried to remind himself that it was a new Martyn, not the one who had killed for his joke of a king. Not the one who had so badly hurt Scar. Well, it was the same Martyn but he didn’t remember anything about the last server. It would be fine.
It would be fine.
Grian swallowed hard, forcing his feet to move again.
—🚦—
The village felt wrong the moment Grian stepped foot into it.
It wasn’t a hostile wrong, it just felt too normal.
Villagers wandered between houses, murmuring softly about their day as players wandered around them. He took a deep breath, finally stepping foot onto a cleanly made path. He made his way around a house before slowing his pace, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted from place to place, trying to see someone-anyone.
He was grossly familiar with this part.
Grian had walked the paths of villages hundreds of times before, looting them, trading with the residents, laughing with his friends as they took down the golem. Now everything felt too real. Every noise was too loud, every step too shaky, his own body betraying him as his heart beat out of his chest.
And Scar would be here.
It was just a matter of finding him.
Grian took another sharp breath and started to walk again, turning between two houses and letting out a yelp as his head collided with something-or rather someone.
“Hey!” A voice said brightly, backing away and placing a hand on Grian’s shoulder. He flinched, jumping back and staring at the person in front of him.
Scar.
Alive.
Breathing.
Smiling down at Grian.
Grian let out a breath, staring up at Scar with disbelieving eyes.
“Careful there!” An all too familiar voice chidded, “you don’t wanna get hurt, Buddy.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Grian stared at him, frozen in his own mind. His thoughts refused to catch up with what his eyes were looking at. Scar looked exactly the same-same oddly bright green eyes, same sun-warmed skin, same stupidly familiar grin that had haunted Grian’s dreams.
There was no blood, no bruises, no stillness in his frame.
Grian took a good look at his eyes and frowned, recognizing one of the salesman masks Scar likes to use. Scar never used his masks around Grian, it was always his genuine self. That’s what made their relationship so special to him-what made him so excited whenever their eyes met.
Now those same masks Scar had used against his–their–enemies were being used on him.
And it hurt.
“You uh..” Scar’s soft gaze shifted to confusion, “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
Grian opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, the words getting stuck on his tongue.
His chest tightened painfully breath catching halfway in as a thousand thoughts crashed into each other all at once. His mind was racing, wanting to say so many things but yet nothing at the same time.
“Well…let me start. I’m Scar!” His voice was softer now, like he had realized Grian’s distress. Of course he did. He was Scar.
Grian nodded slowly, tilting his head to look up into the man's eyes. “G-Grian. It’s nice to meet you!” He cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of nerves. It was just Scar, he should be able to function like a normal person.
“Gri-ane.” Scar sounded out the word, like he was testing to see if he liked it.
Grian felt his stomach flip as Scar looked down at him, a goofy smile slapped on his face. “I like it! It’s easy, a nice name it is!” He declared, tousling Grian’s hair. To his surprise, Grian shrank back once the man touched his scalp. It was more of a reflex, trying to get away from something that could hurt him.
“Scar…” He breathed, straightening again once he saw the slight hurt in the man's eyes.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out!” He grinned, his familiar cheeriness returning once he heard Grian speak.
Grian took a step forward without meaning to. Then another. His hand lifted halfway, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out. His heart was pounding as he just stood there, trying to stop himself from touching the man in front of him.
Scar shifted his weight on his feet, clearly unsure about what he was doing. “Uhm..okay.” He started with a small smile, “Either you hit your head real hard, or something weird happened when you spawned in.”
The word spawned shattered and fixed something inside of Grian.
“I-” Grian swallowed hard, forcing his voice to be calm, “How long have you been here?”
Scar let out a soft laugh, “well since I spawned! So as long as you have, I presume.”
That didn’t help.
Grian was trying to gather his thoughts when his hand was wrapped in warmth, causing him to twitch and look down at his arm. Right-he had never put his hand down from where it sat between them.
And Scar had taken the opportunity to grab it.
Grian felt his face flush, letting out a confused sound that came out more avian than human. He sputtered out words before Scar laughed again, grabbing Grian's other hand and bringing them in front of him.
“Right-well of course you’ve been here, HAHA, we spawned at the same time we-” Grian’s panicked rambling was cut off by a brisk laugh from Scar.
Grian went quiet and looked up, watching as Scar studied his face. His expression shifted to something softer as he started to speak again, “Hey, if something went wrong, we can figure it out, okay? New seasons can be weird like that.”
Grian nodded, even as something heavy and sick twisted in his stomach.
Scar dropped his left hand, keeping his right in a firm grip. “Let me introduce you to a few of the others! They’re really nice, trust me!” He grinned, starting to pull Grian over to the rest of the group. He could hear faint chatter, the distinct voice of Cleo and Martyn sent a chill down his spine.
“Wait!” Grian sputtered, speaking before his brain could realize what he was saying.
Scar stopped and turned, quirking an eyebrow at Grian. Grian stuttered for a second, feeling squished under the weight of his stare.
“Wanna take over the sand biome with me?”
Scar fully turned and Grian was well aware at how his palms had started to sweat. He yearned to wipe his hands, but Scar was still holding it captive. He felt his wings twitch uncomfortably as Scar bit down on his lip, something he did when thinking.
“Take over the sand biome?” He questioned, waiting for Grian to explain.
“Yeah! We find sand, take all of it, and then people have to give us stuff for the sand!” He explained, fumbling over his words and gesturing around with his free hand. “We can make a monopoly of it, living in the desert.”
“A monopoly..” Scar whispered.
Grian flinched at the pause, it reminded him of the wait in the void.
A slow smile spread on Scar's face, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Yeah…Yeah let’s do it!” He exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’re a genius G! But first let me introduce you to the others! Then we get started.” He grinned, turning again and pulling Grian towards the voices.
The avian found himself smiling against his will as he stared at the man in front of him, taking note of how half his hair was tired up. Was it like that in the first life?
People greeted him from all angles as Scar pulled him into view and he introduced himself to people he had already met-already killed. He spent most of his time hiding behind Scar, making sure he wouldn’t move too far.
And every time the taller man noticed, he gave Grian a smile.
This could work.
For now.