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Wemmbu takes a deep breath.
He can already tell this is going to suck, because he’s had to remind himself to breathe more than once in the last five minutes alone. Egg would probably be proud of him, which is somehow even worse.
The guards standing outside the entrance to Egg’s prison watch him carefully, hands hovering over their weapons. Wemmbu stares down at the chest they shoved in front of him and reminds himself, again, that this is not a fight he can win. Arachn1d made the rules painfully clear: if he tries anything during his visit, he will pull Egg’s stasis and ban him before Wemmbu can do anything to stop it.
“Everything in the chest,” one of the guards says.
Wemmbu turns his head slowly, fighting the instinct to reach for Gambit. “Yeah, I know.”
One by one, he places everything from his inventory inside the chest. His mace. His pickaxe. His pearls. His totems. His potions. Everything he would need to break Egg out, because that’s the whole point of this humiliation ritual.
“There. Happy?” Wemmbu says, slamming the chest shut a little harder than necessary.
The guard doesn’t answer. He jerks his head toward the tunnel entrance.
The passage slopes downward as soon as he enters, curving into the earth in a long, dark tunnel coated in sticky webs. It smells like mold and dust and something faintly rotten underneath that gets harder to ignore the deeper he goes. The tunnel widens gradually around him until the ground finally falls away into a sheer drop, jagged dripstone waiting far below.
Above it, suspended by chains and webbing, hangs a cage.
Egg is sitting cross-legged inside like this is, at most, mildly inconvenient. His white hair falls over one side of his face, leaving only one bright blue eye visible in the dim light. The little wings where his ears should be twitch faintly when Wemmbu’s footsteps echo closer.
Egg lifts a hand and gives him a two-finger salute through the bars. “Hey, bro.”
Wemmbu stops at the edge of the drop. His throat does something weird and stupid, and for a second he forgets how words work. “Hey,” he says. For some reason, it sounds less like a greeting and more like proof that he is handling this badly. He clears his throat and tries again. “You doing okay, bro?”
Egg looks around his cage as if assessing the accommodations. The chain creaks faintly with the movement, and Wemmbu’s hands curl into fists at his sides.
“Yeah,” Egg replies, after a moment. He sounds annoyingly nonchalant.
Wemmbu crosses his arms, trying to look casual. He is almost definitely doing a terrible job. “Do you have enough food?”
Egg leans back a little, tilting his head like this is a philosophical question. His wings give a thoughtful little flutter.
Wemmbu slowly uncrosses his arms, suddenly a lot less interested in looking casual. They have been feeding him, right? They have to be feeding him. Arachn1d is smug and annoying and apparently really into decorating with spiderwebs, but he’s not stupid enough to starve the hostage he’s using to keep Wemmbu on a leash.
“Egg,” Wemmbu hisses.
“Hold on, bro. I’m thinking.”
Wemmbu pinches the bridge of his nose. Every second Egg spends thinking takes at least a year off his life.
Egg perks up. “Oh, yeah.”
He reaches into his inventory and pulls out a piece of bread, then another, then pauses, mildly surprised by the discovery. “They gave me, like, a bunch of bread. I forgot I had it.”
Wemmbu drags a hand down his face. He really should not be surprised, and yet here he is.
“Egg,” he says, very carefully.
“Yeah, bro?”
“Please don’t forget to eat.”
Egg nods solemnly, holding the bread in both hands with the gravity of a sacred vow. “Sure, bro.”
A moment of silence stretches between them, filled only by the slow drip of water somewhere in the cavern and the faint creak of the chain above Egg’s cage.
Egg looks around again after stuffing the bread back into his inventory, as if only now deciding to form an opinion about the place. His wings give a small, uneasy ruffle. “Are we going now? This place is kinda ominous.”
Oh.
Wemmbu feels his stomach drop. Egg thought he had come to take him home. Of course he did. Why else would he show up after the exchange if not to save him, like he always does, loudly and violently and with maybe half a plan if everyone is lucky?
“Not yet,” Wemmbu says, trying to sound like this is still part of the plan. “Soon, Egg. I just, uh, gotta take care of some stuff first. It’s better if you stay here for now.”
His hands curl into fists at his sides, fingers digging hard into his palms. He doesn’t even know why he’s lying. Maybe because he doesn’t actually have a plan, or maybe because saying I don’t know when we’re going home feels worse than lying.
Egg ruffles his wings. If he notices the crack in Wemmbu’s voice, he doesn’t say anything.
“Okay, bro.”
Wemmbu hates this.
He hates the cage. He hates the webs. He hates the guards behind him and he hates Arachn1d, wherever he is, probably feeling so smart and smug for someone Wemmbu is going to permanently ban someday. He hates that Egg is trying to make this easier by pretending he believes him. He hates that he has no choice except to play along.
He should be used to it at this point, probably. Egg has been kidnapped so many times that it’s basically a server pastime. Every other week, some group with an agenda and the strategic creativity of a wet paper bag decides the best way to get to Wemmbu is to grab Egg, and every time, Wemmbu shows up and gets him back. That’s how this is supposed to work.
“Bro,” Egg says, waving a hand through the bars.
Wemmbu blinks, only just becoming aware of Egg trying to grab his attention. “What?”
“I gotta tell you something.”
Egg leans forward, suddenly serious, as if he is about to reveal something that will alter the future of the server forever. “I think I caught the biggest fish on the server.”
Wemmbu stares at him and says, very intelligently, “Huh?”
“Dude, are you even listening?” Egg huffs, pretending to be offended. He stretches his arms out as wide as the cage allows, fingertips nearly brushing the bars on either side. “I caught the biggest fish on the server. It was, like, this big. Bigger, even. Massive. Historical, probably.”
Wemmbu feels something in his chest trip over itself. Egg is in a cage over a death pit, talking about fish with the certainty of someone who has personally discovered the meaning of life at the end of a fishing rod.
He almost laughs, but it gets caught somewhere in his throat. “Seriously?”
“Seriously, bro.”
“You’re telling me,” Wemmbu says, pointing at him, “you caught the biggest fish on the server?”
“Yes, bro.” Egg tuts at him, with the solemn patience of a scholar addressing a very slow student. “Don’t underestimate my fishing prowess.”
Egg has always been like this. Prone to exaggeration in a way so calm and self-assured that it feels almost impossible to question him. He says things like he has a spiritual connection with salmon or saw the future because his eye started twitching weirdly. It’s annoyingly charming, which is frankly one of Egg’s more manipulative traits.
“I’m kind of a professional,” Egg says, with the grave dignity of a man who has never once exaggerated anything in his life.
“You are kind of a lot of things.”
Wemmbu actually does laugh this time. It comes out rough and surprised, and Egg perks up at the sound. Was he trying to make him laugh?
He rubs quickly at one eye. “And what happened to this fish? Did you eat it?”
Egg recoils, like Wemmbu has suggested murder in the middle of polite conversation. Which, okay, maybe he kind of has, but it’s a fish. They’ve murdered plenty of fish before.
“What? No,” he says. “I let him go, obviously.”
Egg nods to himself, proud as anything, because apparently releasing a historically large fish after catching it counts as some kind of noble act. For some reason, the sight of him sitting in a cage and looking pleased about fish makes Wemmbu’s chest ache so badly he has to look at the bars instead of Egg’s face.
“Oh, really?” he asks, after a moment. “Why?”
Egg’s posture shifts. He folds his arms more deliberately this time, his visible eye lifting toward the dark ceiling as if searching for the correct scholarly answer. “Because he was a kindred spirit.”
“A kindred…” Wemmbu shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. I have no idea what that means.”
“I looked into his eyes and saw that he carries a heavy burden,” Egg says. His voice is quieter, but not dramatic. “I think he was tired, bro. Like, spiritually. Didn’t feel right to keep him.”
Wemmbu looks at him through the bars, at the white fall of his hair and the little wings where his ears should be, at his long limbs folded awkwardly inside a cage that should not exist around him. He wants to reach through the bars and pull him into a hug, or maybe grab his shoulders and shake him for talking about fish for so long. His best friend. His only friend.
He shifts on his feet, the stone scraping under his boots. He can’t seem to keep still.
“Egg,” Wemmbu starts, but it’s hard to find the words. “I’m—”
Sorry, he wants to say. I’m sorry this keeps happening to you. I’m sorry they keep using you to get to me. I’m sorry I can’t keep you safe.
“I know,” Egg says, and Wemmbu’s mouth snaps shut.
Egg is watching him through the bars, his one visible eye bright in the dim cavern light. There is something painfully gentle in it, which is rude, actually. Wemmbu is the one visiting the hostage. He should not be the one being treated gently.
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say,” Wemmbu mutters.
Egg hums. “I know enough.”
Of course he does. Eggchan, the All-Knowing. Eggchan, who claims his eye sees all and then forgets he has bread in his inventory. Eggchan, who has a render distance of four but somehow always sees straight through Wemmbu at the worst possible times.
Wemmbu looks away first. “That’s annoying.”
“Yeah,” Egg says. “I’m really wise.”
“You’re really something.”
For a few seconds, neither of them says anything. The chain above Egg’s cage creaks softly, followed by the faint rustle of his wings.
“Let’s go fishing, bro,” Egg says.
Wemmbu blinks. “What?”
“When you’re finished doing whatever you need to do,” Egg says softly. “I’ll teach you my secret technique for catching really big fish.”
Wemmbu laughs under his breath. It comes out rough, but at least it comes out. “Sure, bro.”
“I’m serious.”
“That’s the problem.”
Egg’s wings ruffle, offended. “You need training.”
“I do not need training.”
“Your fishing aura is underdeveloped.”
Wemmbu stares at him. “My what?”
“Your fishing aura, bro. It’s tragic.”
“I could be amazing at fishing if I wanted to.”
“Okay,” Egg says, with devastating calm. “Then prove it later.”
Later.
The word settles somewhere tender and dangerous. Later means Egg is out of the cage. Later means they’re sitting by a river, maybe, or a dock, or some stupid little pond where Egg can say nonsense about legendary fish and Wemmbu can pretend not to care while caring so much it makes him sick.
“Yeah,” Wemmbu mumbles, quieter. “Later.”
Egg slowly stands, the cage swaying faintly beneath him. Wemmbu takes half a step forward on instinct, heart kicking hard against his ribs. Egg reaches into his inventory, pulls out a piece of bread, and tosses it through the bars.
Wemmbu catches it before it can fall.
He looks down at the bread in his hand, then back up at Egg. “Why are you giving me a piece of bread?”
Egg shrugs. “I don’t know. You look kinda sad, bro. I thought maybe you were hungry.”
Wemmbu stares at him.
There is so much wrong with that sentence that he doesn’t even know where to start. First of all, he does not look sad. He looks cool and dangerous and maybe mildly inconvenienced. Second, Egg is the one in a cage. Third, Wemmbu is absolutely not going to get emotional over a piece of bread. That would be insane. That would be bottom-tier behavior. That would be embarrassing on a level no person could recover from.
Before he can answer, one of the guards shouts from the cavern entrance, “Time’s up.”
The shout echoes down the tunnel, harsh enough to make the chain above Egg’s cage seem to tremble. Wemmbu’s hands curl around the bread, but he catches himself before his fingers can dig in too hard. He turns slightly toward the tunnel without stepping back.
“I’ll be back,” he says.
Egg looks at him through the bars.
Wemmbu forces the words out before they can catch in his throat. “I promise.”
Egg nods. “See ya, bro.”
Wemmbu turns on his heel before he does something he regrets. His footsteps echo back through the cavern, each one dragging him farther from the cage. The tunnel seems longer on the way out, the webs catching on his cloak. He tears them off with more force than necessary and keeps walking.
At the entrance, the guards are still standing by the chest.
Wemmbu opens it and starts taking his things back. His hands move fast, practiced, every item slotting back where it belongs until he feels almost like himself again.
Finally, he looks down at the piece of bread still in his hand. It’s slightly crushed from how hard he was holding it.
He takes a deep breath. It’s different from earlier, not the kind meant to keep him calm. This one feels more like making a promise. First, he gets Egg’s stasis back. Then he gets Egg out.
Then he’ll blow up every single cave crawling with spiders.
And after that, he and Egg are going fishing.