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Flame adjusted the strap of his armor, exhaling slowly as he checked the contents of his shulker box one more time. Potions—limited. Spare gear—barely enough. “Tch… this isn’t gonna cut it,” he muttered, snapping the lid shut. If he really wanted to become a combat master, he needed more than this—more resources, better fights, something that would actually push him.
“Guess I’ll just take what I can get,” Flame added under his breath—just as a figure stepped into view.
A chungie.
Flame’s ears perked, a grin tugging at his lips as he rolled his shoulders. “Well, look at that,” he called out, stepping forward. “Perfect timing, heh.” The player turned, sizing him up, but Flame didn’t hesitate. “Don’t worry,” he added with a cocky tilt of his head, already reaching for his weapon. “I’ll make this quick.”
The fight started fast—but it didn’t stay that way.
Steel clashed, potions shattered, and what Flame expected to be easy quickly dragged into something longer, messier. The chungie held their ground—better than expected. Too well. Flame clicked his tongue, stepping back briefly as he reached into his shulker box, grabbing another potion. “…you’re more annoying than you look,” he muttered, tossing it back.
But then he paused. His supplies are getting low. Again. “…you’ve got to be kidding me.”
The realization hit all at once, sharp and unwelcome. He couldn’t keep this up. Not like this. Not when he was already burning through everything faster than he could recover.
“Yeah… no,” Flame muttered quickly, already shifting his stance.
In one swift motion, he grabbed an invisibility potion, downed it, and immediately began stripping off his armor—piece by piece, quick and practiced. The world shimmered faintly around him as he vanished from sight, his gear tucked away just as fast.
“…Where’d you go?” the other player called out, confusion cutting through the fight.
Flame didn’t answer, because he was already gone.
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Only when he was certain he’d put enough distance between them did he finally slow, letting out a long, strained groan. “…that was a mess,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “At this rate… becoming a combat master’s gonna take forever.”
Still invisible, he passed by a small group of players heading in the same direction, their voices carrying easily. “—I’m telling you, Parrot’s actually giving stuff out,” one of them said. “Like, full gear if you play it right.” Flame’s ears perked slightly at that, his steps slowing just enough to listen.
“…Northern Council,” another added. “Whole event’s set up there.”
Flame huffed quietly, nodding to himself despite being unseen. “Figures,” he murmured. Then, after a brief pause—“…might as well.” If Parrot was handing out resources, and Theo was there too…
“…free gear’s free gear.” And with that, Flame adjusted his path—heading straight for the Northern Council.
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Flame had barely stepped into the Northern Council when the noise hit him all at once. His ears perked instinctively at the overlapping voices—laughter, shouting, trading calls echoing off the structures—and his tail flicked before faltering slightly behind him.
There were too many people. Too many groups already formed, already belonging. For a moment, he just stood there, scanning the crowd, trying to ground himself. “…just find Parrot and Theo,” he muttered under his breath, more to focus himself than anything else.
He pushed forward, weaving through clusters of players who talked over one another like it was second nature. Some were laughing loudly, others arguing over trades, a few calling out names that weren’t his.
Flame kept his gaze forward, shoulders squared, pretending he fit into the chaos better than he felt. But the longer he walked, the more it settled in—that quiet, unwelcome thought. He looked like he didn’t belong there. Like he had no one beside him in all of this.
His chest tightened slightly at that, but he shook it off quickly. “…huh, ..must be nice,” he murmured, forcing his pace to stay steady. He wasn’t here for that. He had a goal. He just needed to—his eyes caught something familiar. Two figures, standing just off-center from the busiest part of the crowd. Parrot. Theo.
Flame’s ears lifted again, more alert now as he moved toward them. They were mid-conversation with a few other players, gestures animated, voices easier to pick out from the noise. For a second, Flame hesitated at the edge of the group—but then Theo glanced up.
“…Flame?”
There was a flicker of surprise in Theo’s expression before it softened into something more familiar. “Hey—wait, you actually came?” Theo stepped forward slightly, breaking from the group. “It’s been a while.”
Flame huffed lightly, something easing in his posture. “Yeah. Been busy.” His gaze shifted briefly between them. “Didn’t expect this many people.”
“No kidding,” Theo laughed. “Parrot’s been busy since the whole ‘taking down the law’ thing. Things got… bigger.” He gestured vaguely to the crowd. “Way bigger.”
Flame glanced around again, then back at them. “…yeah. I can see that.”
Parrot turned his attention to Flame then, his expression more measured but not unfriendly. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said. “What brings you to the Council?”
Flame straightened slightly at that, slipping back into something more composed. “I need gear,” he said plainly. “Potions, armor—stuff for combat training.” A brief pause. “Figured this was the best place to get it.”
Parrot hummed, considering him for a moment. “That’s fair.” His gaze lingered, sharper now. “And you’re planning to use it well, I assume?”
Flame’s jaw tightened just a bit. “Obviously.”
Theo glanced between them, sensing the shift, but didn’t interrupt.
After a moment, Parrot nodded. “Alright. I can help you with that.” Flame’s ears perked slightly at the answer—but Parrot continued. “But I need something from you first.”
Flame blinked. “…what?”
“I’m trying to build up an army for something,” Parrot said, tone steady. “—Something that requires capable players. Fighters. People who can hold their own.” His gaze didn’t leave Flame’s. “I need recruits.”
Flame frowned slightly. “…wasn’t this supposed to be free?”
“For new players,” Parrot replied simply. “People who haven’t had time to establish themselves.” A pause. “You’ve been here longer than that. You know how things work.”
Flame hesitated, then let out a quiet exhale. “…right.”
Theo shifted slightly, watching him now, but still stayed silent.
Parrot continued, “Bring me players who are worth investing in. Strong, reliable—people who can actually fight.” His tone sharpened just enough. “But I’m not taking chances. They’ll need to be tested first.”
Flame tilted his head slightly. “Tested by who?”
Parrot’s gaze didn’t waver. “By you.”
That caught him off guard.
“Prove they’re capable,” Parrot added. “If they pass, they’re in. If not, they’re not worth the resources.” A brief pause. “Do that, and I’ll give you what you came for.”
Silence lingered for a moment.
Flame looked away briefly, thoughts already shifting, weighing the task against what he needed. It wasn’t impossible. Just… tedious. “…fine,” he said finally, rolling his shoulders slightly. “I’ll find people.”
Theo gave a small nod, like he expected that answer. “Good luck with that,” he said, a hint of amusement slipping through.
But as he turned away, stepping back into the crowd—
his tail flicked once, uncertain.
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Flame didn’t expect the first rejection to sting.
He approached cautiously—shoulders squared, voice steady, the way a “future combat master” should sound. “Hey. You look capable,” Flame said, nodding toward the player adjusting their gauntlets. “I’m scouting for fighters. There’s an opportunity—” The player glanced at him, then snorted. “For who? You?”
Flame blinked, thrown off just enough to hesitate. “I mean—yeah. It’s for King Parrot’s—” “Right,” they cut in, laughing under their breath. “You’re that guy, aren’t you? The one who runs around alone pretending he’s important.” Flame’s jaw tightened, something defensive rising up too quickly. “I’m not pretending anything.” The player leaned closer, voice quieter now, more personal. “You don’t even have a team. Who’s backing you up, hm?”
Silence lingered longer than it should have. Flame forced a scoff, crossing his arms as if that would hold him together. “I work better alone.” The response came flat, unimpressed. “Yeah. Because no one wants to work with you.” And just like that, the conversation ended—with Flame left standing there, words stuck somewhere between denial and doubt.
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The second one didn’t even let him finish. “I’m recruiting—” “Hard pass.” Flame frowned immediately, irritation sparking as he tried again. “You don’t even know what I’m offering.” The player shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “I know you. Always by yourself. Always talking big.”
“That’s not—” Flame started, but the interruption came again, sharper this time. “You call yourself a combat master-in-training, right?” they said with a grin. “Self-proclaimed titles don’t count.” Flame’s hands curled into fists, tension settling into his shoulders. “I never said I was already one,” he snapped. “Could’ve fooled me.”
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By the third attempt, something in him had already started to fray. “…I just need people willing to be tested,” Flame said, quieter this time, his earlier confidence dulled. “It could get you resources, recognition—” “Tested by you?” the player interrupted, raising a brow. “No offense, but weren’t you just seen running from a fight earlier?” Flame froze, the memory flashing too vividly.
“That was—strategic,” he forced out, though it sounded thinner than he wanted. The player didn’t look convinced. “Looked like you were ditching your own gear in my perspective. Not exactly leader material.” A pause followed, heavier than the last. Then, almost casually, “Besides… you’re kinda hard to trust.”
Flame’s voice dropped, quieter but sharper. “Why.” The player shrugged, like the answer was obvious. “You don’t stick with anyone long enough. Feels like you’d bail the moment things get rough.” “That’s not true.” “Then where’s your team?” And just like that, the question landed again—harder this time, because there was still no answer.
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That question followed him. Through the crowd, through the noise, through every step he took back to the Northern Council. Where’s your team? It echoed louder than the laughter around him, louder than the trading calls and chatter. Flame exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple as if he could physically push the thought away.
“…Whatever,” he muttered under his breath, forcing his steps forward. “Didn’t need them anyway.” The words felt hollow even as he said them. Parrot’s task? “Forget it..” Flame sighed by just abandoning the said task. Either way, Flame didn’t turn back.
He pushed past a group of players, heading straight for the trading stalls instead. If he couldn’t recruit, he’d at least regear—that was the goal, right? Right. But even as he sorted through items—potions, spare armor pieces, ender pearls—his thoughts refused to quiet.
You don’t even have a team.
No one wants to work with you.
Self-proclaimed.
Hard to trust.
The phrases repeated, overlapping, louder than they should have been. Flame’s grip tightened around a potion vial. “…shut up,” he whispered, though no one had said anything.
His tail flicked sharply behind him, tension clear in the movement before it slowly drooped. He stared down at his incomplete armor, the missing pieces suddenly more noticeable than before. “…I was doing fine on my own,” he added, weaker this time. Wasn’t he?
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“—and then he just fell straight into the ravine!” Laughter burst nearby, bright and unrestrained.
Flame flinched slightly at the sudden noise and turned—only to pause when he recognized the voice.
Lomedy. Surrounded, talking easily, his hands moving as he spoke, his voice light—warm.
His friends leaned in, laughing, nudging each other, completely at ease. Like it was natural. Like it was normal. Flame stopped walking, watching for just a moment longer than he should have. “…of course he did,”
one of Lomedy’s friends laughed. “That sounds like you.”
“Hey!” Lomedy protested, grinning. “It was one time—”
Flame looked away quickly. His chest felt tight, something uncomfortable curling beneath his ribs—something he didn’t want to name. “I need to get out of here,” he muttered under his breath, already stepping back. Before anyone could notice him, he turned.
And walked the opposite direction—faster than necessary. “…this is just some stupid event anyway.” he added, though the words came out thinner than he meant.
“—I’ll catch up in a bit, yeah?” Lomedy’s voice cut through the noise, distracted now. His friends waved him off. “Don’t take too long!”
“I won’t!” But Lomedy wasn’t looking at them anymore—his gaze fixed on something else in the crowd.
“…was that…?” A flash of red. Familiar. Moving away. “…Flame?” His brows furrowed, concern replacing the earlier lightness. “…why does he look like that?” No armor—or at least not complete. His posture off. Shoulders lower than usual.
Without thinking, Lomedy turned and followed.
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“Flame!” The call echoed just enough to reach him, making him stiffen immediately.
…No. Flame kept walking.
“Flame—wait!” Footsteps approached quickly behind him as he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Just ignore it.” he thought.
But then—a hand caught his wrist, not tight, just enough to stop him.
“Hey,” Lomedy said, a little breathless, trying to catch his attention. “What’s up with you bro?”
Flame pulled his arm back almost immediately, avoiding eye contact “Nothing.” he said shortly, like that would end it.
“That didn’t look like nothing.” Lomedy looked at Flame, trying to get context out of him, searching his expression.
“It is.” Flame exclaimed almost immediately, trying to avoid conversation—cutting it off before it could grow.
Lomedy tilted his head, studying him more closely now, noticing the small details. “…you’re missing gear, thats unusual for you being out here in the open.”
“I know.” The response came flat, like he didn’t want to explain any further.
“—And you look like you just fought three bosses back-to-back.” Lomedy added, watching him carefully for a reaction.
“..I didn’t.” Flame muttered, though the hesitation gave him away.
A pause stretched between them before he gave in slightly. “…okay, maybe one,” Flame admitted, quieter this time.
Lomedy huffed a small laugh—but it faded quickly as concern took over. “Did you lose?” he asked, more serious now.
Flame’s jaw tightened as the question landed. “…I got out.” he replied, carefully avoiding the real answer.
“Flame.” Lomedy said his name again, this time firmer, like he wasn’t going to let it slide.
“I was being strategic—!” he snapped, a little too fast, like he was defending himself more than explaining.
Silence settled between them, heavier this time, pressing in from all sides. Lomedy didn’t push right away—he just looked at him, really looked. “…you’re shaking,” he said softly.
“I’m not.” Flame denied it quickly, almost instinctively, refusing to acknowledge it.
“You are.” Lomedy replied just as fast, his voice steady but gentle.
“I said I’m—” Flame started, but the words caught before he could finish.
He stopped because his hands were trembling—just slightly, but enough to notice. “…whatever,” he muttered, looking away like it didn’t matter. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.” Lomedy said firmly, not letting him brush it off so easily.
“No, it doesn’t,” Flame shot back, m frustration finally cracking through. “I just need to regear and that’s it, that’s literally why I’m here.”
“And Parrot’s task?” Lomedy asked quietly, watching how the question would land.
Flame went still at that, the reaction immediate. “…I’m not doing it.” he said, trying to sound certain.
“Why?” The question came simple, but it carried weight.
“Because I don’t need to,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “It’s a waste of time.”
Lomedy’s gaze didn’t waver, holding steady on him. “Or…?” he prompted, leaving the rest unsaid.
Flame let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Or what?” he challenged, deflecting.
“…or people didn’t take you seriously.” The words landed quietly—but they hit too close.
Flame’s expression hardened almost instantly. “I don’t care what they think.” he said, forcing it.
“Flame.” Lomedy said again, softer this time, but more certain.
“I don’t.” Flame insisted, doubling down even if it didn’t sound right.
“You do.” Lomedy answered simply, not backing off.
“I said I don’t—!” His voice broke—just for a second, but it was enough to expose everything.
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Silence settled again, heavy and unavoidable between them. Flame swallowed, his gaze fixed anywhere but Lomedy as he tried to steady himself. “…they just boasted about their own opinions onto me,” he muttered finally.
“What did they say?” Lomedy asked, careful but direct, giving him space to answer.
“Nothing.” Flame answered quickly, like shutting the door on it.
“Flame.” Lomedy pressed gently, not letting him hide behind that.
“…they said I was alone,” he admitted, barely audible, like saying it made it real.
Lomedy’s expression softened immediately as he heard it. He didn’t interrupt, letting Flame keep going.
“They said no one would follow me,” Flame continued, words uneven now. “That I just… make things up, bro like— they say that I act like I’m better than I am.”
“That’s not true.” Lomedy said firmly, not hesitating for a second.
“I know that,” Flame snapped—but it didn’t sound convincing. “I know that.” he repeated, quieter, like he was trying to convince himself.
Another pause stretched between them, filled with everything unsaid. “…I just—” Flame exhaled shakily, struggling to keep it together.
“I just needed people for one thing. One. And they couldn’t even—” His voice faltered before he could finish.
“…it’s not even hard,” he added weakly, like he didn’t believe it himself anymore.
Lomedy stepped a little closer, careful not to overwhelm him. “Hey.” he said softly, grounding the moment.
Flame shook his head quickly, trying to pull himself back together. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Lomedy replied, calm but certain.
“I am.” Flame insisted, even as it fell apart.
“You’re not,” Lomedy repeated, gentler this time, not pushing—just steady.
Flame’s shoulders tensed under the weight of it. “…stop looking at me like that.” he muttered.
“Like what?” Lomedy asked, genuinely wanting to understand.
“Like—” Flame gestured vaguely, frustrated and unable to explain it properly. “Like you’re about to say something.”
“…I am.” Lomedy admitted, not hiding it.
Flame huffed, exhausted, the fight draining out of him. “Then just say it.”
Lomedy hesitated only briefly before speaking. “…you’re not alone.”
Flame let out a quiet, humorless laugh at that. “That’s—” he started, already dismissing it.
“I’m serious.” Lomedy cut in, firm this time.
“…Lomedy.” Flame said his name like a warning, like he didn’t want to hear it.
“I’m literally right here.” Lomedy replied, grounding it in something real.
“That’s different.” Flame said, almost immediately rejecting it.
“How?” Lomedy asked, simple but direct.
Flame opened his mouth—then closed it again, searching for something to say. “…you have people,” he said instead.
“I saw you.” he added, quieter, like that proved his point.
“My friends?” Lomedy blinked, a little confused.
“Yeah.” Flame answered, like it was obvious.
“And?” Lomedy asked, still not seeing the divide Flame was making.
“…and I don’t have that,” Flame said flatly, the truth sitting heavy.
Lomedy frowned slightly, thinking it through. “You have me.” he said simply.
Flame looked at him—really looked this time, searching for something real. “…why,” he asked quietly.
“Why what?” Lomedy asked, giving him space to finish.
“Why do you even bother?” The question came out softer than expected, but heavier.
The question lingered between them as Lomedy took a moment. Then, simply—“Because you matter to me.”
Flame’s breath caught at that, the words hitting deeper than expected. “…that’s stupid,” he said, though there was no bite in it.
“Maybe,” Lomedy shrugged lightly, not denying it. “Still true though.”
Silence settled again—but softer now, less suffocating. Flame’s shoulders lowered, just a little as the tension eased.
“…I messed up,” he admitted, the words quieter now.
“With the fight? ”Lomedy asked, trying to understand what he meant.
“…with everything.” Flame answered, not looking at him.
Lomedy shook his head, disagreeing immediately. “You didn’t mess up, you just had a bad run.”
Flame scoffed faintly at that. “That’s one way to put it.”
“And hey,” Lomedy added, nudging him lightly to lift the mood. “you got out alive, didn’t you?”
“…barely.” Flame admitted, though it almost sounded like a joke now.
“Still counts.” Lomedy replied easily, not overcomplicating it.
A small pause lingered between them. “…I don’t think I can do this alone,” Flame said quietly.
Lomedy smiled, just a bit at that. “Good thing you don’t have to.”
Flame glanced at him, uncertain but hopeful. “…you’re staying?”
“Yeah.” Lomedy answered simply, no hesitation.
“…even if I lose again?” Flame asked, testing it, unsure.
“Then I’ll watch you lose again,” Lomedy said easily. “And then help you regear after.”
Flame let out a soft huff—something almost like a laugh. “…that’s a terrible deal.”
“Best one you’re getting.” Lomedy shot back without missing a beat.
Another pause passed between them, quieter now. “…thanks.” Flame said, softer than before.
Lomedy grinned at that, like it was nothing. “Anytime, bro.”
And for the first time since the fight, something shifted.
Flame didn’t feel like he had to walk away.
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