Chapter Text
It was just supposed to be a normal day.
Normal being Minutetech, going to the Overworld to gather supplies and return to the End to continue his moral duty and obligation: to protect it. He didn’t earn the title of “The Guardian of the End” for nothing and stayed as such for a century. The dimension may as well collapse into chaos in the hands of greedy players if he weren’t there.
His whole job was to keep it safe and to keep people that wanted to hog its resources.
Simple as that.
It had become a routine at this point. He would spawn in the portal room, go to a nearby village, and trade for all of the resources he needed. The villagers had known him well at this point and would be more than happy to trade.
His boots tapped the stone bricks beneath him as he arrived at the stronghold. Checking if he truly brought the right amount of shulkers, he walked down the small steps and was on his way to the outside world until—
He stopped.
A peculiar noise was echoing in his mind. A scream, perhaps?
No, it wasn’t a scream. He had heard one too many times to know.
It was a cry.
The wails felt as if they had originated from his skull.
Maybe a side effect of portal travel?
No, definitely not. The books hadn’t mentioned anything about that.
It resonated from the room he was standing in.
The voidling’s sharp claws found the handle of his sword while his gaze scanned the four corners of the chamber. His senses sharpened instinctively to find where the sound was from. He could never be too careful.
He looked left to right, up and down, and—
Oh.
An infant, no older than five or six months, lay on the cracked mossy floor before him. Its ebony black skin made it stand out from the grey stone that Minutetech had wondered why he hadn’t noticed it. It cushioned itself with the ash gray feathers of its wings, a shattered halo floating lazily above its head. Wide, pale white eyes stared at him, sobbing. Its small, stubby hands reached out to him, as if he were his father. The most peculiar thing was the bandana that wrapped around its forehead, glowing a blue and purple hue while its ends curled, stretched in his direction.
Two voidlings, in the same room.
“Oh my gods…”
At that moment, it had felt as if the world had stopped around him. The crackling of fiery hot lava that illuminated the room went silent. His own sleek black suit felt restricting, the small red bowtie tightening around his neck. The soft, aged whirring of the portal and his heartbeats were the only things that he could hear. He unknowingly held his breath at the sight, his lips quivered briefly as he took a small step back.
Without thinking, Minute immediately picked up the baby and nestled it carefully in his hands before jumping right back into the portal. Not even being bothered by the screams of the ancients and the dizzying feeling that rang through his mind.
Once he had arrived at the End, he immediately looked for a thick cloth to wrap the baby with. The End had a harsher temperature than the Overworld, and he didn’t have any clothes that would fit him, so it would have to suffice for now. Afterwards, he found himself milking the cows from the small farm he made and putting it inside a potion bottle, poking a tiny hole in the cork, and feeding it to the small creature. Gods know how long he had been in that stronghold, lying against the cold stone floor, helpless.
There's a reason why Overworld voidlings are so rare.
If Minutetech hadn’t been there, the infant would’ve died.
His gaze was fixed on the baby in his hands, tucking away some pesky strands of hair that clung to his forehead. He had long drifted into slumber, holding the potion bottle close to his chest. Now, the mysterious bandana gleamed a kaleidoscopic mix of all the hues of a rainbow. His peaceful face was etched into the back of Minute’s mind.
Wait…
What was he even doing?
Why was he, out of all people, taking care of a baby?
What was running through his mind when he picked up that child?
Was it mercy?
Was it fear?
For the first time since Minute held that infant in his hands, he thought to himself.
He was in no position to take care of a baby.
He had a dimension to guard, a risky job for someone who wanted to be a parent. He knew nothing except fighting and diplomacy; not raising children. Not to mention the endless void that surrounded the islands, the dangerous creatures that lurk within its farthest regions, and the distinct lack of resources. The End was a dangerous place for a kid.
The voidling sighed, slumping into a chair in his main quarters, though still careful of the little creature he held.
He should find a parent to take care of him, someone who's not like him.
For now, he shouldn't get attached, and he should probably go and trade for resources now. Minutetech couldn't leave that baby unsupervised though, so he'd probably need to bring him with him to the trading hall.
The dragon stared at him and the newcomer curiously, but Minute only rolled his eyes and turned back to the portal, splashing himself and the baby with a turtle-master potion before jumping in.
That day never came.
Every single player that came through that bedrock-framed portal, Minutetech deemed incompetent. Whether it was merciless hitmen, dirt-poor demons, or slow-witted blobs, he couldn't bring himself to giving away the infant.
As the months slowly turned into years, the temporary arrangement turned into a weirdly comforting permanence. Minute found himself more and more attached to the baby, which he later decided to call Spoke. He was determined to keep the kid, since the desire to get separated from him became non-existent. He tried shutting off his emotions, of course, but that still proved to be futile.
One evening, or day, as you can't exactly tell in a place of perpetual night, nine-year-old Spoke, with a small frown on his lips, asked Minutetech an innocent question.
"Mr. Minutetech?" the young voidling called out, bringing back Minute's mind to the unkind coldness of the End.
His gaze moved from the emptiness of the void below to the child behind him, his tiny hands pulling on the hem of his favorite sweater. "Yes, Spoke?" were the only words he could utter.
Spoke's face flushed a tint of red, waiting a beat longer before continuing. "Do you know... where my parents are?"
Oh.
Minutetech sighed shakily.
He should've expected this sooner.
The older voidling shifted to the side, gesturing vaguely to the space he made for Spoke to sit on.
"Why do you ask, kid?" Spoke sat beside him, his feet dangling at the edge of the island. The end stone beneath him felt pleasant, the dragon that perched on the obsidian pillars was in deep sleep, opening one eye to watch the two before closing it once more to return to its slumber.
"Well..." Spoke started, keeping a small distance from the latter. "The books said that everyone has one... and you said you were just my guardian. And guardians are different from parents..." The voidling's voice was small, but it resonated louder in the bare dimension. Minute observed him with understanding, his hand placed heavily on the kid's slouched back.
"Us voidlings... we don't exactly have parents. We emerge from the void alone and wander around the world for our whole lives..." Minutetech paused, both of them looking at the starless skies above, faint purplish glows pulsating around them to provide the slightest light it could offer. "I guess that's what makes us special, isn't it?"
Spoke hummed, grasping the truth quietly with as much understanding as a nine-year-old has. Minutetech scooted closer, a membranous wing gently snuggling the boy. Solemn silence stretched before the two until Minute broke it with an offer.
"Is there anything I could do to make you feel better?"
Spoke looked to his guardian, his feathered tail flicking low behind him. The question was simple, he thought, and his request followed suit.
"Can I call you dad...?" Spoke asked hesitantly.
Minutetech met the child's gaze, chuckling softly as his hand ruffled Spoke's short hair in a way that made the kid giggle.
And with a smile, he said. "Sure, kid."
Time flew like a blur, until came Spoke's 11th birthday.
The kid didn't wish for anything special, only for Minute to bring him to the Overworld to explore. And who was Minutetech to say no?
Minute stood near the portal, still waiting patiently for Spoke. He already gave Spoke his turtle-master potion, and now, he was just grabbing some things from is room.
His gaze dropped to the small box that sat idly on his hand. It was neatly wrapped with charcoal-black paper with a dainty white ribbon on top. A simple gift for his son, Spoke.
And after a few moments, Spoke arrived at the portal.
"All set?" Minute hid the box behind him, kneeling down to level with Spoke.
Spoke eagerly nodded, a wide grin plastered on his face. But before he could jump headfirst into the portal, Minute stopped him by the shoulder, tucking away loose strands of Spoke's hair.
"Before we go..." Minutetech brought out the box, and Spoke took it from his hands excitedly. With wide-eyed glee, he gently removed the ribbon and opened it.
Spoke gasped, hugging his father tightly "Thank you, Dad!" Inside was an earring that resembled a salmon, specifically, his pet George. Minute acquired the accessory from a gift shop near the village for a bargain last week.
"Happy birthday, son." Minute hugged him back, savoring the moment for a little longer before getting up, dusting away the dirt from his slacks.
"Let's go?" The older voidling offered his hand, which Spoke took happily. Before splashing his potion, he waved to the dragon that lurked in the skies. "See you later, Jean!"
The creature growled back and continued her aerial patrol, disappearing back into the darkness. Finally, Spoke hurled the potion to the ground before jumping into the shimmering frame of the portal.
The two had arrived on the jungle's edge.
Minute had been setting up a small picnic beneath a tall jungle tree, gently placing down the cake he fought for his life to bake. The aroma of freshly baked treats filled their surroundings. Spoke had set off on his own little adventure near him, picking up an array of flowers to decorate his room with. He even left with dark-blue particles trailing behind him from the potion he took.
"Spoke! Let's eat!" Minute called out to the boy playing peacefully in the fields. Even if Minute didn't want to admit it, they were in a bit of a schedule. After lunch, they'll be going home to watch fireworks, since he realized that Spoke had never seen one before. They also couldn’t leave for too long since the End will be vulnerable to intruders, and Jean can’t take on too many people. Then, he’ll cook Spoke his favorite chicken stew and talk about their day over dinner.
Weird... Minutetech thought. There was no annoyed or witty response from the kid. "Spoke! Come on!" Minutes' gaze swept through the grass, but only a small bunch of poppies, orchids, and tulips was left lying on the damp earth.
"Spoke?" The father called for a third time, but only the gust of the afternoon wind answered. The sun's heat beat down on his nape, and cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
Still no answer.
Panic settled into his nerves. Chilling, sharp, unforgiving.
He immediately stood from his seat, knocking down the glass of juice he had prepared for Spoke. "Son? Where are you?" Maybe his son was playing hide-and-seek! He loved playing pranks, especially on Minute.
He started wandering around the area, desperate. Behind the bushes, in another hill, at the back of a tree, inside a cave.
Nothing.
"Spoke!" His voice broke. His legs collapsed under him. His chest heaved rapidly in a frantic need for air.
Too quick.
Too shallow.
Too useless.
"This isn't funny anymore!" White-hot tears spilled from his eyes. He felt light-headed. His vision spun round and round and round and round—
And in that moment, the universe took everything from him.
Fifteen hours.
Minutetech had been searching that damned jungle for fifteen hours.
His feet were sore, and his wings were tired. He left the picnic mat as it was as he had lost his appetite far too long ago. The food must've gone cold at this point, chickens pecking at the cake like it had been a blessing from the heavens. He had a sliver of hope that Spoke had returned to the End by himself and was now getting impatient and hungry. The poor child hadn't eaten anything for lunch or dinner; his stomach must be grumbling.
But when he jumped through that portal, there was no worried kid that approached him from the other side, asked him where he had been, and pulled him to the dinner table to eat.
Only the deafening silence of the End greeted him.
He stepped outside of the spawning chamber, only to witness a heavily-injured dragon. Deep wounds pierced her jet-black scales, leaving her laying on the ground. Cobblestone blocks towered up on the side of some obsidian pillars, and only half of the end crystals survived. Power surged through the floating gemstones, healing the dragon little by little.
He had left for too long.
Minute approached her, expecting the beast to be raging in anger. He was supposed to help her, after all. But instead, he was met by a concerned growl, as if she was asking where the little voidling was. The little voidling she grew fond of.
His gaze dropped to the wilted flowers held forgotten in his hand.
And by then, he had already broken down to tears.
Now, he sat on his son’s bed in his son’s room.
Sunken, bloodshot eyes stared at the potion in his hands. A splash potion of turtle master he took from his son’s nightstand. The vial was full of the purple liquid, and had been sitting there, untouched, for hours.
And a passage from a book he read came to mind.
“When it comes to portal travel, kids have a 1 in 100,000 chance to experience permanent memory loss. But this can be easily prevented with turtle master potions, as it provides resistance to the child.”
It was a small chance, but a chance nonetheless.
His stomach twisted; a breathy, bitter chuckle escaped his throat. He felt like the ground was going to swallow him whole anytime.
It’s my fault.
Why didn’t I double check?
I should’ve noticed it.
He wanted to cry, but no tears streamed down his cheek. He wanted to scream, but no words came out of his mouth. He wanted to thrash out, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy the peacefulness of Spoke’s room. He wanted to blame the world, but even his own finger pointed at himself.
Spoke never got to see the fireworks…
And everything felt numb.