Work Text:
Like always, the world's attention was firmly fixed on its singular player. Mogswamp was left smiling after Wandy T's most recent visit, ending up with a bit of brown dye and 4 more tropical fish. They flew to the Well of Surrender, first visiting an enderchest they had placed nearby to choose an offering, gently dropping it into the well and pressing the button to have the hopper minecart retrieve it. They stood there for a moment longer, then continued on towards the sanctuary, still smiling.
The world's memory had been fuzzy ever since its player began building its history. It held two entirely incompatible ideas, that a building the world had watched its player create was also something that had existed for much longer than even the player xemself had. It remembered how it felt while Mogswamp planned and built the dilapidated church building only a few months before, and it remembered how it felt centuries ago when the church was crowded with people who believed in the Azure One with all of their strength. Still, the faces of those worshippers were indistinct in comparison to its player. The world wondered whose bias had caused that.
The world could feel the respect its player had for it as he entrusted his elytra to the ritual. It understood how much faith it took for its player to willingly ground himself, even for such a short time, and to allow such a precious item to pass through his own redstone, simply for the comfort of the axolotls he treasured. It knew that servers lacking players who valued sentimental actions such as that rarely lasted as long as it had. Mogswamp was always working, reaching higher, appreciating everything the world could give her and devoting herself in return. Her world had flourished because of her. It hoped she would always find pride in what it had become.
The world watched its player descend the steps of the spawning sanctum, the buckets of tropical fish slightly sloshing in xeir grip. It had seen xem perform this ritual enough for it to be watching out of habit instead of curiosity. It already knew this attempt would not be a success, had known since Mogswamp's most recent offering had disappeared into the depths of the redstone contraption they had constructed beneath the Well of Surrender. Would those offerings retain their value when the time came for Mogswamp to reenter the Cave of Reclamation?
Outside the perspective of a superflat world, some of the offerings would surely seem like insults. Most worlds were overflowing with deepslate and tuff, it knew, and amethyst would grow given time. If there were two sides to reality, where the sanctuary had been created either by the Azure One's followers or by Mogswamp, and where the eventual birth of a blue axolotl signified either the fulfillment of a prophecy or a simple dice roll, then the world felt that it could view the offerings as something directed also towards itself.
The world understood that the hills, the farms, the ever-expanding stretches of bedrock exposed to the sky, were things that could never have existed at the time of its birth. At its creation, even many of the natural structures that would come to dot its newly generated landscape in the future were unavailable to it. Almost everything that seemed like it had been created by countless hands far in the past had truly been built by its player alone. Beneath everything, the world understood its own nature. The world allowed itself to lose focus for a moment as its player released the two newborn axolotls into the pit of the unchosen and discarded the buckets used. Mogswamp's creations were beautiful, and the world was proud to count itself among them.