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Wemmbu doesn’t remember falling asleep.
One moment he’s sitting against cold stone, armor still half-on, rainwater drying stiff in the seams of the gleaming metal. The next —
He’s standing in sunlight.
It’s warm.
Not the harsh, artificial glow that filters through cracks in deepslate. Not the dim lantern light of the abandoned civilization.
Real sunlight. It’s warm rays practically hugging him as golden light illuminates everything.
The sky stretches open and blue above him. The city isn’t broken here. The towers stand tall and whole, banners fluttering lazily in a breeze that smells like grass instead of dusty rock.
And in the distance, someone is cloaked in bright yellow, red cardigan wrapped loosely around their shoulders.
Rejoice is standing a few paces away, sunflower-yellow elytra folded neatly behind him like resting wings. He looks exactly the same and completely different—eyes clear, no exhaustion lining his face. Just… at ease.
“You’re staring,” Rejoice says, grinning, striding over to Wemmbu and gestures for him to sit down.
Wemmbu’s throat tightens.
“You’re so annoying,” he replies automatically, leaning onto Rejoice’s shoulder.
Rejoice gasps, offended. “Rude. I came all this way to visit you in your extremely dramatic brooding session and this is how you greet me?”
Wemmbu’s heart is pounding.
“You’re not—” He stops.
Rejoice tilts his head. “Not what?”
Not here.
Not alive.
Not real.
The words refuse to come out, clogging his throat, leaving him unable to speak.
Rejoice leans his head on Wemmbu, sunlight catching onto his shining golden hair.
“You look tired now,” he says, softer now. “You’ve always looked tired, but now it’s worse.”
“I don’t sleep much,” Wemmbu mutters. “Don’t need to.”
“Yeah. I noticed. Get some rest man.”
There’s no accusation in it. Just observation. Just that same careful attention Rejoice always had — the way he noticed when Wemmbu went quiet, when his shoulders tensed, when his replies shortened to single syllables.
Wemmbu swallows.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says finally. “You’re—dead. ”
Rejoice shrugs lightly. “Maybe I am. But I’m here, no?”
The breeze shifts. Somewhere in the distance, sunflowers sway in a field that definitely didn’t exist before.
Wemmbu’s chest aches.
“I tried,” he says, voice low, head landing into Rejoice’s lap. “I should have—”
“Hey.” Rejoice strokes Wemmbu’s purple locks, now dry and brittle from lack of care. “It’s not your fault.”
Wemmbu can feel warmth radiating off him.
Well, he always did seem like the sun.
"You did what you could.”
“That’s not enough. I’m never enough.”
Rejoice’s smile fades—not completely, but just enough to dim the light behind his eyes.
“You’re not a god,” he says gently. “You’re just you. That’s all you need to be.”
Just you.
Wemmbu hates how much that hurts.
I could have done so much more.
“Is this real?”
“Sure it is!” Rejoice laughs, soft fingers wrapping around Wemmbu’s. “I’ll always be here with you.”
Time stretches between them, soft and peaceful as the sound of sunflowers rustling in the wind fills the air.
Rejoice gently shakes Wemmbu awake as he gets up, looking around the restored city, at the repaired courtyard, the cleaned alleyways, the dust-free arena where they used to spar.
“It’s nice like this, right? No traps. No wardens. No JadenMan running around.”
Wemmbu flinches at the name.
Rejoice notices.
Of course he does. He always did read Wemmbu like a book.
“Still chasing him?” he asks lightly.
“I sealed him in,” Wemmbu says. “He’s not getting out. Ever.”
Rejoice nods approvingly. “Good. He always did talk too much.”
The sun shifts higher in the sky.
Wemmbu feels something slipping.
The edges of the world blur slightly, like glass fogging over frostbitten windows.
Rejoice doesn’t seem to notice.
Or maybe he does.
“You can’t stay here,” Wemmbu says suddenly, unwrapping his fingers from Rejoice’s, already missing his warmth.
Rejoice smiles again. Soft. Almost fond.
“I know.”
The breeze grows stronger.
The field of sunflowers begins to ripple like water.
Wemmbu steps forward instinctively. “Don’t.”
Rejoice laughs quietly. “You’re the one dreaming.”
That makes him freeze.
Dreaming.
Of course.
This is what his mind does now—builds something whole just to take it away again.
Rejoice reaches out.
For a moment, their fingers brush.
It feels real.
“You’re not alone,” Rejoice says and then presses his lips to Wemmbu’s.
Warmth spreads through his chest, uncoiling something tight and rusted there. The kind of warmth he hasn’t allowed himself in years.
He almost wants to shove Rejoice back, unable to believe that this is real.
Rejoice pulls back slowly, their foreheads resting together.
“I told you,” he whispers, smiling faintly. “You got this.”
The sunlight flares—
And then it flickers.
Rejoice’s outline wavers, edges dissolving like smoke caught in wind.
Wemmbu’s breath stutters.
“No,” he breathes, grabbing lightly at Rejoice’s sleeve. “Don’t leave me.”
Rejoice’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t look scared.
Rejoice’s expression softens in a way that feels unbearably familiar.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I’ll always be here. I promise.”
And then dissolves in gold.
Just… gone.
Wemmbu lunges forward anyway, fingers brushing against empty air.
His hand closes around nothing.
—
He wakes up gasping.
The ruined civilization exactly as he left it.
Fractured stone floors, crumpled towers, and shattered windows.
Just the loud silence.
His chest rises and falls too fast, armor digging into his ribs as he pushes himself upright.
For a few disoriented seconds, he expects to see yellow wings folded nearby. To hear humming. To be told he speaks too little and should let loose a bit.
There’s nothing.
Just him and his grief.
And something clenched tightly in his fist.
Wemmbu slowly uncurls his fingers.
A sunflower rests in his palm.
Its bright yellow petals are uncrushed, sparkling of youth and sown with the sun.
He stares at it.
He doesn’t remember picking it up.
Doesn’t remember holding it when he fell asleep.
It looks exactly like the ones that used to grow near the tower. Exactly like the one he planted.
Exactly like—
His throat tightens.
The room is still cold.
The city is still broken.
Rejoice is still gone.
But the sunflower is warm from his grip, vivid gold against the ashy stone.
Wemmbu exhales slowly.
For the first time in days, the silence doesn’t feel quite as suffocating.
For the first time, he doesn’t feel the crushing weight of grief.
He closes his fingers gently around the stem.
“I’m not alone,” he mutters.
The words don’t fix anything.
But they don’t shatter him, either.
He can keep living.
If not for himself—
Then for Rejoice.
It could have been more.
But for now, this was enough.