Work Text:
The message lingered in Joel’s vision far longer than it should have.
The ending is yours… Make It WILD.
The words still hovered there like an after-image, refusing to fade even as he crossed the bridge near Gem’s barn, boots thudding softly against the planks. Below him, water caught the late-afternoon light and shattered it into fractured reflections, rippling gold and blue that danced and broke apart with every step he took.
For the first time all session, the world felt still. There were no sudden surges of borrowed power humming beneath his skin, or the constant fear of something following him, or time bending itself around them for spectacle and punishment alike.
Now, there was just terrain, people, and choice.
That was what unsettled him most.
Joel slowed, fingers tightening around his bow as the meaning finally settled into his bones. The wildcards weren’t coming back. Whatever happened—especially now—was final.
Permanent.
The thought didn’t scare him the way he’d expected. If anything, it grounded him.
He exhaled slowly, the breath steady and deliberate, then squared his shoulders and turned toward the distant rise of Mount Bam, its jagged and broken silhouette cutting into the sky.
He didn’t sprint or panic. He moved with intent, carving a clean line through familiar paths, skirting half-destroyed builds and abandoned traps that felt like fossils from earlier chaos. The server looked so tired and scarred, pockmarked with craters and broken redstone like old wounds that never quite healed.
The explosion rolled across the land like distant thunder.
Joel stopped dead. His head snapped toward the sound, eyes narrowing as a thin smear of smoke curled into the sky near the Tuff Guy’s bases. The blast echoed for too long and too loud, the silence afterward was heavy in a way that set every instinct he had on edge.
Etho blew up.
“...Etho,” Joel said quietly.
He didn’t see the minecart derail, the calculation go wrong, or the split second where things could’ve been salvaged and weren’t. But he knew anyway.
He pressed his lips together and kept walking.
If Etho could fall to his own trap this late into the game, then this ending wasn’t going to be clever.
It was going to be brutal.
The Spanner’s tower loomed ahead, rails crisscrossing its upper level like exposed veins, metal glinting faintly in the light. Joel met Grian up top and then Bdubs appeared moments later, scrambling up with his usual frantic energy and words tumbling over each other in half-formed plans and hopeful ideas that didn’t quite fit the moment.
Joel lingered by the top of the stairs, eyes sweeping the surrounding terrain as Bdubs talked far too close to the edge. The openness of it made his skin itch—too many angles, too little cover—and his instincts screamed a warning he didn’t get the chance to voice.
The wind charge struck Bdubs cleanly.
The impact jerked him backward so suddenly it looked unreal, like the world had skipped a tick. Bdubs’ mouth fell open in shock as he teetered on the edge, arms windmilling uselessly before gravity took over and sent him plummeting into open air.
“Bdubs!” Grian shouted, lunging forward.
Joel ran to the edge as he watched Bdubs fall.
BdoubleO100 was doomed to fall by Tango.
Tango’s shot killed his teammate.
“Well,” Joel said after a beat, voice flat and almost thoughtful. “That’s…unfortunate.”
Neither of them laughed. There wasn’t time. The tower had become a liability long before Bdub’s fall, and Joel was already moving as the battlefield shifted beneath his feet, and the echoes of impact still rang in his ears.
Mount Bam was chaos given shape. Paths reconstructed time and time again twisted and doubled back on themselves. Sudden drops and narrow ledges forced constant recalculation as arrows screamed past or cracked against stone. Joel climbed steadily, deliberately avoiding what remained of the cherry wood path. It was too exposed, and likely to be rigged.
Tango fell without ceremony.
Joel spotted him first—crouched in a corner and distracted, clearly worn down by some fight Joel hadn’t seen—and the opportunity slid into place with almost unsettling ease. He didn’t announce himself or hesitate as he hit Tango once with his diamond sword.
Tango looked back at the perpetrator and tried to flee, but Joel was quicker as he drew his bow back and struck Tango with a poison arrow.
Tango was shot by Smallishbeans.
Joel didn’t linger around. There was no satisfaction in the murder. It was just another step toward the end.
The fight was a blur after that.
Pearl came at him first. She moved like a force of nature, climbing up the mountain with quick, reckless precision, closing the distance in a blur of motion. Joel felt a spike of respect even as he reacted, abandoning finesse for survival.
“Hello Pearl!” Joel shouted enthusiastically, voice bright with adrenaline as he threw spider webs at her feet. They burst forward, sticky and unforgiving, snaring Pearl mid-motion and yanking her momentum to a stop. She fought viciously, eyes blazing as she tried to destroy them with her sword.
For a moment, their eyes met. Joel felt a prang of regret then—sharp and unwelcome—and he stepped back.
Grian didn’t hesitate as he swooped in to finish her off. Pearl went still as she was hit, the fight draining out of her as the webs held fast.
PearlescentMoon was slain by Grian.
Joel turned away immediately, jaw clenched tight enough to ache.
There was no time to sit with it, because Cleo was already moving.
She came from higher ground, voice cutting through the chaos in a sharp yell as she charged, weapon raised and posture all confidence and momentum. Joel reacted on instinct, spinning to meet her head-on.
The clash was fast. Brutal. Over almost as soon as it began.
Joel struck once and Cleo fell back, surprise flashing across her face just before the world took her.
ZombieCleo was slain by SmallishBeans.
Joel exhaled, shaky and controlled, and forced himself to keep moving.
There was still work to do.
Ren was like a storm. He fought like someone with nothing left to lose, movements wild and relentless as Martyn’s presence clung to him like a second pulse. Joel met him head-on, the clash of swords ringing across the mountainside.
Step by step, Joel forced Ren downward, pressing him toward narrower ground where the terrain worked against him. Ren knew this too, and he tried to look down at his feet, which slowed him just enough for Joel to hit him one final time.
Ren stumbled, missed his footing, and fell.
Renthedog was doomed to fall by Smallishbeans.
Joel watched as Ren vanished from sight, then turned away, chest heaving.
Only one remained.
Joel and Grian had orbited each other all season—allies by circumstance more than trust—and now there was no one left to hide behind. Grian took the high ground—of course he did—perching in a cherry blossom tree near the edge, firing arrows at Joel.
“Joel!” Grian called. “I can’t even hit you from here!”
An arrow hit Joel square in the chest anyway. The pain knocked the breath from him in a sharp gasp, the impact rattling straight through his ribs despite wearing a netherite chestplate.
Something inside of him snapped cleanly in two.
“So that’s how it is,” Joel breathed, stalking around the tree as adrenaline surged even higher.
The ender pearl left his hand in a clean arc. Reality lurched, and Joel reappeared behind Grian, laughter tearing out of him—wild, breathless, almost hysterical—as he drew out his sword and swung.
“I’m sorry Grian!” he cackled, shoving him hard.
Grian fell with a cut off gasp.
Grian was doomed to fall by Smallishbeans.
Joel felt it the instant the body hit below—the rush of energy and the overwhelming stillness as the server acknowledged what had happened.
He laughed. “Victory is mine!”
He stood alone near the peak.
He had done it.
The adrenaline didn’t last long. It bled out of him faster than he expected, leaving his limbs heavy and his thoughts sluggish as the world around him began to blur. The mountain faded first, then the sky, then even the sensation of standing, until Joel drifted in something warm and indistinct.
Voices layered over one another, softer than he’d imagined.
Blood spilled, bonds held tight,
family chosen, forged in fight.
Not alone when the end is near,
victory born from those held dear.
Joel tried to focus on the words, tried to lift his head, to respond, to understand—but the exhaustion slammed into him all at once. His thoughts slipped through his fingers, awareness flickering as the Watcher’s presence pressed in around him.
Family.
That word stuck to him the most.
It reminded him of Gem, the safety of loyalty, and the sense of fighting for something rather than just against everyone else.
Joel exhaled, or he thought he did, eyes finally slipping shut.
“Worth it,” he murmured, barely audible even to himself.
And then the void took him, carrying him away before he could hear what came next.
Joel woke to the sound of wind moving through bamboo.
For a long moment, he didn’t move. He lay still with his eyes closed, breathing shallowly, counting each rise and fall of his chest as if he needed proof the world was obeying normal rules again. The bed beneath him was familiar—dark wooden frame, soft wool blankets, and the faint scent of incense infused to the blankets that he’d forgotten to extinguish before logging off.
Days ago.
Weeks.
Longer than that?
Time felt unreliable now, slipping past when he wasn’t fully aware.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Sunlight filtered through the shoji screens, casting warm, geometric shadows across the wood floor. Outside the windows, buildings in all different colours and shapes towered above. Everything was peaceful and intact, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. As if the world hadn’t ended somewhere else and quietly carried on without him.
He was in Hermitcraft, in his starter base.
Joel stared at the ceiling, his heart beginning to race despite the calm surroundings. The void had taken him without ceremony and returned him the same way—no announcement, no warning, no sense of how long he’d been gone. The last thing he remembered clearly was the mountain and the certainty of victory still burning in his chest even as his body failed him.
Family chosen.
He swallowed hard and sat up too fast, dizziness washing over him in a nauseating wave. His hand went to his chest on instinct, half-expecting pain, but there was no damage or scar. Just a dull pressure beneath his ribs, like something heavy had settled there and refused to leave.
“Right,” he muttered to the empty room. His voice sounded normal. Too normal. “That’s… fine. Totally fine.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, grounding himself in routine. Armour was by the door with his sword mounted on the wall beside it. Lanterns were still lit from the last time he’d logged out. Everything was exactly how he’d left it.
It made his skin itch.
If the server had noticed his absence—and it absolutely would have—then questions were coming.
And as if summoned by the thought, the unmistakable woosh of wings cut through the air, followed by quick and purposeful footsteps.
Joel froze.
The front door slid open with a sharp clack, and Grian barrelled up the stairs, skidding to a stop by Joel like a bird landing badly.
“Joel!”
The force of the shout alone made Joel flinch.
Grian stared at him like he was seeing a ghost—eyes wide, chest heaving, wings half-folded behind him. Neither of them spoke at first. The air crackled with something electric and unresolved.
Then Grian laughed, breathless and uncredulous, dragging a hand through his hair. “Oh my god, you’re back.”
Joel forced a grin into place, even as his heart hammered. “Morning to you too. You always burst into people’s bedrooms like this, or am I just special?”
Surprisingly, Grian didn’t laugh again. Instead, he stepped closer, gaze flicking over Joel with unnerving certainty—like he was checking for fractures or something missing. “You disappeared,” Grian said quietly. “For a while.”
Joel shrugged, deliberate and casual. “Went exploring off-server. You know me. Got distracted.”
Joel didn’t even know why he was lying to Grian. Grian knew what happened after the games—he was a winner after all—but he still kept the facade up.
“That was not exploring,” Grian said flatly.
There it was.
Joel met his eyes and held the look. “I don’t know what you wanted me to say.”
Grian studied him for a minute, then exhaled and looked away. “X’s been worried.”
“I’m fine,” Joel replied instantly.
“Uh huh.”
The silence that followed wasn’t hostile, but it was heavy. Eventually, Grian nodded once, sharp and decisive, and hummed as if shelving the argument for later.
“Well,” he said, clapping his hands together with forced brightness. “You’re alive, your base isn’t destroyed, and you didn’t log back in standing in lava. I’m calling that a win. Welcome back.”
Joel let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
Xisuma came by later.
Joel had half-expected it—the admin had a sixth sense for these things—and sure enough, Joel’s nether portal flared to life just as the sun dipped low and painted the area in golden light. Xisuma stepped through calmly, helmet reflecting the glow as he took in the surroundings with practised ease.
“Joel,” he greeted. “Good to see you.”
Joel inclined his head to look polite. “Likewise.”
There was a pause, and as expected, Xisuma went straight to the point. “You were gone for a while.”
Joel leaned back against a wooden pillar, arms crossed loosely as if he hadn’t already braced himself for this. “Yeah. Got lost.”
“In what?”
“Thoughts,” Joel said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know how it is.”
Xisuma regarded him carefully. He wasn’t suspicious, just concerned. That was worse. “You didn’t respond to any of the hermit’s messages.”
“Didn’t notice them.”
“And several other members disappeared around the same time.”
Joel’s jaw tightened before he could stop it. He forced the tension out of his shoulders and shrugged. “Must be a coincidence.”
Xisuma went very still. “Joel,” he said carefully, voice lowering, “you’ve been in… what, six of them now?”
Joel stared at a knot in the wood beside his shoulder and didn’t answer.
“You know what I mean,” Xisuma continued gently. “I’m not going to push much further, but I need to know if you’re safe.” He paused. “Was it a game?”
Joel’s breath hitched despite himself. “No,” he said quickly. “Nothing happened.”
Xisuma hummed, clearly unconvinced, but true to his word he didn’t push. “If something happened,” he said gently, “you know you can talk to me. Or any of the other hermits.”
Joel straightened, arms crossing more tightly this time. “If something does come up,” he said coolly, “I’ll find someone, alright? It that’ll shut you up.”
Xisuma sighed, but nodded anyway. “Alright.”
Joel watched Xisuma go through the portal again. He didn’t move until the portal’s light simmered down, and only then did his hands curl into fists at his sides, knuckles aching with the effort of keeping everything else locked down.
Days passed. Joel gathered resources, decorated, and expanded his base with meticulous care, losing himself in symmetry and structure and the comfort of creation. He laughed with the hermits, joined group calls, made jokes sharp enough to deflect anything that drifted too close to the truth.
And no one pushed him.
Except Grian.
Grian stopped by often, sometimes with an excuse, sometimes without one at all. They sat on rooftops and bridges, watching the server continue on, and talked about builds and nonsense and half-plans that would probably never happen. Sometimes, in the quiet moments, Grian would glance at him sideways and say nothing, and Joel would feel seen in a way that made his chest ache.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Grian said one evening, voice low as lanterns flickered to life across the landscape.
Joel snorted. “Pretend about what?”
“That you’re fine.”
Joel was quiet for a long time.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said finally.
Grian nodded. “Okay.”
The visitor arrived without warning. Grian had most likely asked, and Xisuma, after one look at Joel’s recent activity logs, had approved it without hesitation.
Joel was trimming bushes by the grand archway to his base when a familiar laugh—warm, bright, and grounding—rang out behind him.
“Well,” she said cheerfully, “your base has changed a lot since I last saw you here.”
Joel turned so fast he nearly sent the shears flying. “Lizzie?”
She stood by the gate, hands resting on her hips, wings folded neatly behind her. Her smile was easy, but her eyes searched his face with practised care.
“You’re—” His voice caught. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You’re here.”
She smiled softly. “Hi.”
Joel crossed the distance between them in three long strides and pulled her into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around her back, holding her like he’d been bracing against a storm and finally found something solid. She made a sound of surprise, then hugged him back just as fiercely, fingers curling into his shirt.
“Oh,” she murmured into his shoulder. “Okay. This explains a lot.”
He let out a shaky laugh, face pressed against her hair. “You’re real, right?”
She snorted softly. “Rude. But yes.”
He didn’t let go of her, and Lizzie, for once, didn’t tease him for it.
Eventually they drifted to the engawa, sitting close enough that their legs brushed. The leaves whispered softly in the trees, and lanterns flickered on as evening settled in.
Lizzie leaned back on her hands, watching him from the corner of her eye. “Grian asked if I could come by,” she said casually. “And in typical Grian fashion he didn’t really explain why. Just said you needed some company.”
Joel huffed. “Sounds like him.”
She nudged his knee with hers. “You’ve been… quieter lately.”
He stared out at the garden. “I’ve been trying not to think.”
“About the games?”
He nodded.
Lizzie shifted closer, resting her shoulder against his. “Joel, I’ve played in them too.” Her voice softened. “And I also know I don’t remember any of it afterward.”
“I didn’t want to bring it here,” Joel said quietly. “Not because you wouldn’t understand, but because I don’t want this place touched by it. The games take enough. They don’t get Hermitcraft too.”
Lizzie reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “They already did. But you survived them, and you’re still here.”
He swallowed. “I won. I won Wild Life. I was the last player standing.”
Her grip tightened instantly. “Oh,” she breathed. “Then you remember.”
“Yeah. I do.”
She didn’t rush him for answers about how he won or what he remembered from the other games. She just stayed there, grounding him with her presence.
“It wasn’t fun,” he continued. “There was no last-second nonsense or anything. The wildcards stopped, and what was left was just… us. It was up to our decisions, mistakes, and choices.” He let out a slow breath. “That was what scared me. I hurt people. I hurt my friends. I didn’t enjoy it—but I didn’t hesitate either.”
She squeezed his hand. “You survived.”
“I did more than that,” he said. “And I don’t know how to feel about it.”
Lizzie turned toward him then, lifting a hand to his cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath his eye. “You don’t have to decide that right now.” Her forehead rested against his. “You came back,” she said. “That matters more than any ending.”
Joel leaned into her, arms wrapping around her again, slower and gentler this time. He pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing her in like oxygen. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“For what?”
“For being here,” he said. “Even when you don’t remember the worst parts.”
She smiled, soft and unwavering. “I remember you.”
They stayed like that as the lanterns glowed brighter, bamboo rustling quietly in the dusk. For the first time since the mountain, the weight in Joel’s chest eased just a little.