Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Theo was losing.

Not that badly.

Not embarrassingly—

Just enough that he could feel it. It was dangerously dragged out for too long.

Every clash sent vibrations through his arms.

Every blocked strike cost more stamina than it should.

His armor was damaged.

His resources were running low.

With no totem left to spare.

And Billy knew it.

Of course he knew it.

The old assassin had spent years teaching people how to spot weaknesses.

Theo was currently one giant weakness.

Which only made Billy's attitude more irritating. Because he wasn't pressing the advantage.

He wasn't trying to finish the fight. In fact, he could just end it with his mace yet—

He kept talking.

Like this was some kind of  lecture—

Like Theo was still his student.

"You're exhausted."

Theo rolled his eyes. “No one asks."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Another clash.

Billy knocked his blade aside too easily.

Theo hated that.

"You should leave."

Theo barked out a laugh. "Right."

"I'm not joking."

"You think I'm running away?"

"I think you're throwing your life away."

That made Theo stop, not physically—

Emotionally.

Because suddenly the conversation wasn't about the battle anymore.

It was about Parrot.

Again.

Always Parrot.

Theo had now lost count on how many times they argue about the same stuff.

Billy sighed. "Look at yourself."

When he heard that, Theo already knew where this was going. "No."

"You abandoned everything for him."

"There it is."

"You follow him everywhere."

"And?"

"You fight his wars."

"It's mine too."

"You've become his dog."

Theo's smile vanished.

Billy immediately knew he'd hit something.

Good.

Maybe now Theo would listen.

Maybe now—

"Funny."

Billy frowned.

Theo laughed—actually laughed.

"You know what's funny?"

"What?"

"You sound jealous."

Silence.

Billy's expression darkened immediately.

Theo noticed and unfortunately decided to keep going.

"You really are jealous."

"I'm not."

"Sure." Theo shrugged. "Because from where I'm standing, you're upset somebody actually wanted me around~"

Billy's jaw clenched. "Theo."

"No, seriously." Theo spread his arms. "You've spent your entire life telling people not to get attached."

"Because attachment gets people killed."

"And yet somehow you're always alone."

That landed.

Hard—like striking a bullseye.

Theo saw it immediately.

The tiny twitch.

The brief tightening around Billy's eyes.

A weakness.

A real one.

So Theo pushed because Theo had never been particularly merciful when angry.

"You know what I think?"

"Don't."

"I think you've convinced yourself nobody needs anyone."

"Theo."

"I think it's easier than admitting nobody stayed."

Billy's sword lowered slightly.

Not much.

Just enough.

And Theo realized he'd actually hurt him.

Good.

Maybe now he'd understand.

Maybe now—

"You became a dog." Billy's voice was eerily quieter now, emphasizing his point.

Theo scoffed. "You literally work for Cindercrest."

"By choice." He spatted immediately.

Theo burst out laughing.

A genuine laugh.

The kind that made Billy immediately regret saying it.

"By choice?"

"Yes."

Theo wiped his eye dramatically. "Oh my god."

"Theo."

"Do you hear yourself?"

Billy's patience was rapidly disappearing.

Theo didn't care.

"By choice?" He pointed directly at Billy. "So helping Parrot isn't my choice?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because you're dependent on him."

Theo's expression hardened.

"No."

"You are."

"No."

"You don't know who you are without him."

Theo stared. Then he slowly smiled.

Not kindly.

Not warmly.

The smile of someone who just found the perfect knife and intended to use it.

"Look at you."

Billy froze.

Theo took a step forward. "Everything that ever happened to you has to be a choice, doesn't it?"

Billy's grip tightened.

Theo continued regardless. "Because admitting otherwise would mean accepting people left."

"Theo."

"It would mean accepting they didn't choose you."

"Theo."

"It would mean accepting you're not some mysterious lone wolf—" Theo's smile widened.

"But a nobody."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

The forest itself seemed to stop breathing.

Billy stared at him.

Theo stared back.

For one horrible second neither moved.

Neither spoke.

Neither looked away.

And Theo realized something.

Billy looked hurt.

Actually hurt.

Not angry.

Not annoyed.

Hurt.

The realization came a second too late.

Because Billy moved.

And Theo moved.

And suddenly they were fighting again.

Except now neither was calm.

Neither was thinking.

Theo attacked recklessly.

Billy defended aggressively.

Steel crashed.

Leaves scattered.

Both breathing harder.

Both hitting harder.

Both trying to prove something neither could properly explain.

Theo's foot slipped.

Just slightly.

A tiny mistake.

Normally he would recover.

Normally he would adapt.

Normally—

But he was tired.

Hungry—

Purely running on determination and not strength.

Billy saw the opening. And years of training took over.

One strike.

Fast.

Precise.

Almost automatically.

The kind of strike meant to end a fight.

Not a life.

The moment the blade connected—

Billy knew.

Theo knew too.

The fight stopped almost instantly.

Theo looked down.

Billy did the same.

The sword was buried deeper than either intended.

"Oh." Theo blinked. Then laughed weakly. "Oh that's...not good."

Billy immediately let go of his weapon.

"Theo."

For the first time all day, he sounded afraid.

"Theo."

Theo's knees nearly gave out but Billy caught him before he could fall.

And somehow that made everything worse.

Because suddenly Billy looked exactly like he did years ago.

Before Cindercrest.

Before the kingdoms.

Before wars.

Before everything—

Just his mentor.

Just Billy.

The death message appeared moments later.

**TheobaldTheBird was slain by Shoebilly.**

Neither looked at it.

Billy couldn't.

Theo didn't need to.

Both already knew.

*

*

*

Meanwhile Parrot and Reina stared in horror at the notification which appeared without warning.

**TheobaldTheBird was slain by Shoebilly**

For a moment, Parrot simply stared.

The words were familiar.

Too familiar.

He had seen thousands of death messages throughout his life.

Thousands.

Yet somehow this one looked wrong—

As if the server itself had made a mistake.

As if someone would realize the error and quickly fix it.

Theo couldn't be dead.

Not Theo.

Not the idiot who charged into battles without thinking.

Not the idiot who somehow always survived anyway.

Not Theo.

"..."

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

His chest tightened.

No.

No.

No.

His body moved before his mind caught up, sword already in hand—feet already carrying him toward the exit.

He barely made it a few steps before someone grabbed his wrist.

"Parrot."

He turned sharply.

Reina.

"Let go."

Her grip tightened.

"Parrot."

"LET GO." He yanked his arm back, his heart hammering—his breathing uneven.

Theo needed help.

Theo could still be there.

Maybe he had a totem.

Maybe someone could revive him.

Maybe—

No.

No no.

No no no.

Parrot knew better.

Death messages didn't lie.

Yet his feet refused to stop moving.

As if walking fast enough could somehow undo what had happened.

As if running could somehow rewind time.

"He's still there." His voice sounded weak.

Desperate.

"He could still be there."

Reina looked away for only for a second. But that second was enough.

The hope inside him cracked.

Theo was gone.

Still, Parrot took another step.

Then another.

Then another.

Until Reina stepped directly into his path.

"Parrot."

"No."

"You need to listen."

"No."

"PARROT."

He froze.

Not because she raised her voice. But because she sounded scared.

Reina never sounded scared.

Not like this.

"If you go there, what happens?"

Parrot opened his mouth and unsupriseringly nothing came out.

"You'll find whoever killed him." Reina continued.

...

"You'll fight them."

....

"You'll die too."

His fingers tightened around his sword. "Then maybe that's what should—"

"Don't." The word came out sharp.

Almost angry.

Almost desperate.

"Don't say that."

Parrot looked away. The floor suddenly became very interesting.

Anything was easier than looking at the empty space where Theo should have been.

"If you die now," Reina continued quietly, "then Theo died for nothing."

The sentence struck harder than any sword.

Parrot's grip loosened. Then tightened again and eventually loosened. Like he couldn't decide whether to keep holding on—

Or finally let go.

"Reina..."

She inhaled slowly and forced out a smile. The kind of smile people wore when they were terrified.

"I have a plan."

She didn't.

They both knew she didn't. But Parrot wanted to believe her.

He needed to.

"What plan?"

"I'll explain later."

"Reina—"

"Trust me."

A lie.

A terrible lie.

Yet somehow she managed to say it with complete confidence.

"I'll catch up."

Another lie.

"I just need a little time."

Parrot searched her expression trying to find the cracks—trying to find proof she was lying.

But all he found was determination.

And he trusted her.

Always had.

"...Okay." His voice cracked. "But be careful."

"I will."

Another lie.

"Focus on finding somewhere safe."

"I can stay and help."

"No." The answer came too quickly—too firmly.

"Parrot. Please."

That single word shattered whatever resistance he had left.

Please.

Not as a queen.

Not as a strategist.

Not as a survivor.

As his friend.

"...Fine."

Relief flashed across Reina's face but it was gone almost instantly as it appears.

"Good." She nudged him toward the hallway. "Now go."

Parrot hesitated.

Just for a moment.

Then turned away.

Never realizing it would be the last time he saw her alive.

.

.

.

The palace felt emptier than ever.

Every hallway echoed.

Every room felt abandoned.

Parrot moved through familiar corridors in a daze.

Theo was dead.

The thought refused to settle—refused to become real.

His hands mechanically gathered supplies—

Important maps.

Coordinates.

Emergency resources.

A few photographs.

The things that mattered.

The things he couldn't replace.

His gaze lingered on one picture longer than necessary.

Theo grinning like an idiot.

Reina looking annoyed.

Everyone alive.

Everyone together.

Parrot quickly shoved it into his inventory. Then turned toward a stack of documents.

If Saparata took the palace, certain locations couldn't fall into enemy hands.

The papers caught fire easily.

Orange flames reflected in his eyes.

One after another.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Much like everything else.

The sound of footsteps made him freeze.

Sounds of several people...approaching—

Fast.

Parrot immediately drew his sword as the door opened.

FlameFrags stood there with Lomedy beside him. Both of them looked exhausted.

Looked—guilty.

Neither raised their weapon immediately. Which somehow made everything worse.

"Parrot." Flame sounded miserable.

"Don't." Parrot's voice came out flat.

"Please just listen."

"Don't."

Lomedy swallowed. "We don't want to hurt you."

Parrot let out a laughter. A bitter sound, almost unrecognizable.

"Funny."

Neither responded because nobody found it funny.

"Parrot," Flame continued carefully, "if you surrender now, maybe we can still—"

"Surrender?" Parrot stared. Then he laughed again.

More louder this time.

More broken.

"You want me to surrender to Saparata?"

"Maybe we can convince him."

Parrot's smile instantly vanished. "You genuinely believe that?"

Silence.

Bad sign.

A Very bad sign.

Parrot shook his head, disbelief slowly turning into anger.

"You're smarter than this."

"Parrot—"

"No." His voice rose.

"You're smarter than this."

Flame looked away which was answer enough.

Parrot suddenly felt tired—so unbelievably tired.

"Theo is dead."

Neither of them replied.

"Reina is out there."

Still silence.

"And you're asking me to trust the man responsible?"

"Parrot, we're trying to save your life."

"My life?" A hollow laugh escaped him. "Look around."

At the burning documents.

At the empty palace.

At the abandoned throne.

"My kingdom is collapsing."

Another step.

"My people are dying."

Another.

"My friends are dead."

Flame's expression twisted.

But Parrot ignored that. "And you want me to trust Saparata."

The silence stretched.

Heavy.

Painful.

Suffocating —as if anyone could die if they stayed here any longer.

Then Parrot quietly raised his sword.

"No."

The fight began.

Neither side truly wanted to kill the other. Which somehow made everything uglier.

Parrot fought desperately.

Not to win.

Not anymore.

Just enough to escape—enough to go back and find Reina.

Flame blocked.

Lomedy intercepted.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Every route closed—

Every opening vanished.

Until—

Another notification appeared.

Bright.

Unavoidable.

Merciless.

**ReinaDrop was slain by Saparata**

The world stopped for a moment as the sword slipped from Parrot's fingers.

[Clang!] The sound echoed through the chamber.

Nobody moved—

Not even Flame.

Not even Lomedy.

Because they knew.

Everyone knew.

Parrot stared at the hologram message.

Waiting—for another notification.

For a correction.

For anything.

Nothing came—leaving only the sight of that message gradually vanished.

The room blurred as his vision refused to focus.

Theo.

Gone.

Reina.

Gone.

Just like that—his last two friends.

Gone.

His knees hit the floor.

Not by choice.

They simply stopped working. He didn't register the tears streaming down his face.

Not really.

The sword lay forgotten beside him.

The fight was over.

Not because he lost.

But because there was nothing left to fight for.

Time gradually passed—

Seconds.

Minutes.

He wasn't sure.

Eventually footsteps echoed through the doorway.

Slow.

Confident.

Victorious.

Saparata—the culprit himself.

Parrot didn't even look up when he walked through the door.

Didn't have the strength.

Didn't have the will.

Flame moved first, grabbing Parrot's arm and pulling him upright.

Barely.

"Like we agreed." Flame's voice sounded distant. "We caught him before anyone else."

Silence.

"Please honor the deal."

Parrot laughed. A quiet broken sound. Because suddenly he understood.

They still believed there was a deal.

They still believed Saparata would keep his word.

And somehow that was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.

The saddest thing too.

Because Parrot already knew exactly what kind of man Saparata was—and exactly how that deal would end.

*

*

*

Billy never intended for it to happen. At least that's what he would tell himself later.

He only wanted Parrot to understand. To finally understand what Theo had lost because of him.

What Theo could have been.

What Theo should have been.

Instead—Parrot argued back.

Not loudly.

Not angrily.

Somehow that made it worse.

"Theo chose."

Billy scoffed. "Chosen?"

"Yes."

"He followed you because he was loyal."

Parrot shook his head. "No. He followed me because he wanted to."

Billy felt his jaw tighten.

"He had a future."

"He had a job."

"He had a life."

Billy stepped closer to the bars.

"And then he met you."

For the first time, Parrot looked genuinely upset.

Not for himself.

For Theo.

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Reduce him to somebody who couldn't make his own choices."

Billy laughed, a harsh sound—almost forced.

"Choices?"

"He died for you."

Parrot lowered his gaze. The guilt was there.

Billy could see it.

Good.

He deserved to feel it.

Then Parrot quietly spoke.

"And I'd die for him too."

The answer hit harder than Billy expected.

"That's different."

"No." Parrot looked up.

Exhausted.

Broken.

Yet stubborn—

"No, Billy. "

Billy hated that look.

That certainty.

That refusal to blame Theo for caring.

"You keep talking like loyalty is a weakness." Parrot's voice lowered.

"Maybe you're just angry because nobody ever gave you a reason to stay." He paused, eyes looking straight at Billy. 

“Unlike you, we'll die for each other, not kill each other.”

Silence.

The words landed.

Hard.

Billy froze.

Then something inside him snapped.

The first punch came before he fully registered moving.

Parrot hit the floor.

The second came moments later.

Then another.

And another.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Billy wasn't even listening anymore.

Not to Parrot.

Not to himself.

Not to reason.

Every accusation.

Every doubt.

Every ounce of guilt.

All of it had suddenly found a target.

"SHUT UP."

Another hit.

"You don't get to talk about him."

Another.

"You don't get to act like you knew him."

Parrot tried to push himself upright but failed miserably

Instead, Billy grabbed him by the collar. "You ruined him."

Parrot actually laughed. A weak—painful and broken laugh.

And somehow that made Billy even angrier.

"No." Parrot coughed, blood staining his teeth. "I think..."

A shaky breath.

"...he would've hated hearing you say that."

The next hit was the hardest. After that, the cell fell silent.

Billy's breathing sounded far too loud.

Parrot had stopped speaking.

Stopped arguing.

Stopped fighting.

He curled against the wall, shaking.

Not from fear—not entirely.

More like—

Pain.

Exhaustion.

Shock.

Billy stared and finally realized what he had done.

The anger vanished almost immediately, leaving only something uglier behind.

Guilt.

Whether it's to Theo or Parrot—

Doesn't really matter now isn't it?

His hands trembled. And for a brief moment, he looked sick.

Almost horrified.

Then he turned around.

And left.

Quickly.

Before anyone could see.

Before anyone could ask questions.

Before he had to acknowledge why his hands were shaking.

The guards had seen everything.

Of course they had.

Nobody stopped him.

Nobody intervened.

Later, one of them reported the incident.

Mostly because protocol demanded it.

.

.

.

Saparata barely looked up from the documents on his desk.

"Billy attacked the prisoner."

A pause.

"Is Parrot alive?"

"...Yes."

"Then what's the problem?"

The guard hesitated. "There wasn't authorization."

Saparata sighed, clearly annoyed. "Then clean it up."

"Sir?"

"The mess." Saparata returned to reading. "Just make sure he doesn't die."

“Yes. Of course, sir.” The guard bowed before stepping to leave.

“Oh, also—” Sap stopped the guard on his track. “It's Billy, except for Flamefrags and Lomedy, he doesn't need my permission whatsoever. Do what you see fit.”

“Understood, sir.”

The conversation ended there.

No punishment.

No warning.

No investigation.

Nothing.

The guard left and something quietly changed that day.

Not in the prison.

Not officially.

In the guards.

Because they had just learned something important.

Nobody cared what happened to Parrot.

As long as he stayed alive.

*

*

*

The cell was never quiet.

Not really.

There was always something.

The distant echo of footsteps.

The shift of guards outside.

The faint creak of metal whenever someone passed by the door.

Parrot learned to tell time from it.

Not that time mattered much anymore.

At first, they didn’t touch him.

Not directly.

That was the strangest part.

They simply stopped giving him food.

Not completely.

Just enough to make him stay awake.

Just enough to make thinking difficult.

Once a day, maybe.

—sometimes less.

When they did feed him, it was silent.

No words.

No faces.

Just a bowl set down like he was something inconvenient that needed to remain alive.

Parrot didn’t understand the purpose at first.

If they wanted him dead, they could have done it already.

If they wanted him alive, why this?

Then he realized.

It wasn’t about killing him.

It was about making sure he never recovered.

Never strong enough to resist.

Never weak enough to die.

Just existing in between.

Flame and Lomedy only came sometimes.

Not into the cell.

Never into the cell.

They stood far away when he was dragged out.

As if distance made it easier.

As if watching from afar made it less real.

Parrot stopped asking them for help after the third time.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he understood they couldn’t reach him.

…

The guards were the next change.

It started small.

A shove too hard when he was moved.

A punch that lingered just a second too long.

A hit that wasn’t necessary for control.

Then it became routine.

Not enough to kill him.

Never enough to kill him.

That was important.

He learned that pretty quickly.

They always stopped before that point.

Always pulled back just enough for him to recover.

So it could happen again.

And weird enough, those days were when he got more food than usual.

Parrot likes to think that they just need him to recover quickly—but he couldn't help but feel as if he was a dog getting rewards.

Parrot stopped counting days after that.

There was no point.

Every cycle was the same.

Pain.

Silence.

Recovery.

Repeat.

.

.

.

They didn’t take his straight away.

That was the first mistake Parrot made.

Assuming there would be a “straight away” at all.

Days blurred in a way that stopped feeling like time and started feeling like repetition. 

Light, then dark.

Steps outside the cell.

Silence. 

Water when they remembered. Food when they didn’t.

Sometimes neither.

At first, Parrot thought it was an attempt to break him quickly.

Then he realized something worse.

They weren’t in a hurry.

That thought stayed longer than the pain ever did.

It started small.

Not with screams.

Not with anything dramatic enough to justify remembering.

Just a hand on his shoulder one day when they pulled him up.

A guard holding him too tightly while repositioning him.

A dull, wrong pressure near his wing joint.

Parrot flinched.

The guard paused as they looked at him.

Not angry.

Simply observing his reaction.

Then continued.

The second time, it was deliberate.

A strike—not meant to kill. Not even meant to maim fully.

Just enough force to make him drop.

Parrot hit the ground hard enough to feel something in his ribs complain.

Someone laughed once.

Not loudly.

Like it wasn’t important enough to fully commit to.

“Still fragile.” One of them muttered.

Parrot didn’t answer. He stopped answering a lot of things around then.

Not out of defiance.

But out of conservation.

The wings came into focus slowly after that.

Not as something sacred.

Not even as something cruelly targeted at first.

Just… convenient.

Something that reacted more than the rest of him did.

Something that proved pain faster.

The first real break didn’t happen all at once.

It happened in pieces.

A wrong angle.

A sudden pull when he was lifted.

A sound he felt more than heard.

His breath stopped before his voice did.

And then—nothing useful came out of him anymore.

Just noise.

A loud pathetic noise that filled the background.

After that, they stopped pretending it was incidental.

They stopped pretending a lot of things.

The guards became more precise.

Not harsher.

That was important.

But more efficient.

Parrot learned something during that phase.

That pain didn’t need anger—

It only needed repetition.

When they brought him back to the cell that night, he didn’t try to sit properly.

He just stayed where they dropped him.

One of the guards hesitated at the door.

“Still alive, huh.” Someone said behind them, almost impressed.

Another voice replied. “Not for long.”

Then the door closed.

.

.

.

The infection started quietly.

At first, it was just heat, a continuous feverish day.

Then heaviness.

Then something that didn’t belong there refusing to leave.

Parrot stopped trying to move the wing after a while.

Not because he was told to.

But because it started feeling like it wasn’t his anymore.

Like it was waiting for permission to stop existing.

…

When Sap finally came again, Parrot noticed something different immediately.

Not in him—

In the guards.

They weren’t guessing anymore. Instead, they were waiting.

—for approval.

Sap looked at the wings once.

Only once.

Then sighed, like someone dealing with paperwork that had become inconvenient.

“This is what I mean.” He said calmly.

Parrot didn’t respond.

Sap walked closer anyway, gaze still not fully fixed on the injury—like it was already decided before he arrived.

“You could’ve avoided this,” he added.

A pause.

Then, softer.

“If you had just stopped insisting on being something you’re not built to be.”

Parrot’s fingers twitched again.

Sap noticed.

Of course he did.

“You still think this is cruelty,” Sap said, almost tiredly. “It’s not.”

He finally looked at Parrot properly now.

Not angry.

Not satisfied.

Just… certain.

“This is a correction. The last bit of mercy I'm willing to give you.”

The word landed wrong.

Not sharp.

Just heavy—

Like it didn’t belong in the same world as blood.

Sap turned slightly toward the guards.

“Remove it.”

No hesitation.

No discussion.

—just execution of instruction.

Parrot understood what was happening a second too late.

Not because he was slow. But because his brain refused to categorize it correctly.

Remove it didn’t sound like pain.

It sounded like fixing something.

Like erasing a mistake.

Like—

No.

For the first time, Parrot moved before they touched him.

It wasn’t strong.

It wasn’t even coordinated.

It was instinctive.

A broken attempt to pull away from something that had already been decided.

“No—!” His voice came out rough.

Not loud.

But real.

“Wait—please—!” That alone made the room shift slightly.

A pause.

Not from mercy.

From novelty.

Sap raised a hand slightly.

The guards stopped. For a fraction of a second, there was space.

Parrot breathed in and hated that he still could.

“I—” His throat tightened. He tried again. “Don’t—”

He stopped as his eyes landed on them.

Not because he chose to.

Because he realized something mid-sentence.

No version of this ends with him being heard.

Yet, pathetically enough, he still pleads. “...please.. Anything—anything but this…” He was no longer able to hold back the tears streaming down his face.

Silence returned quickly.

Sap watched him for a moment longer than necessary.

Then he spoke, almost gently. “You’re not begging for the wings.”

A pause.

“You’re begging for the version of you that still had it.”

Parrot didn’t answer.

Because that was accurate in a way that felt worse than pain.

.

.

.

When it was done, there was no dramatic reaction.

No final scream that matched how much it mattered.

Just exhaustion that arrived too early.

And the strange absence of something that had once been part of him insisting it still should be there.

Later, he wouldn’t remember the exact moment it stopped hurting.

Only that at some point, it became easier not to think of it as missing.

Just… gone.

And “gone” hurt less than “taken.”

…

Sap left without looking back this time.

Like the conversation had already finished before either of them arrived.

The guards followed.

Doors locked.

Silence stayed behind.

Or rather, the sounds of sobbing simply didn't register in Parrot's mind.

Whatever it was, it doesn't matter.

And Parrot, alone again, finally understood something he didn’t want to.

This wasn’t the worst part.

This was just the part where his body started agreeing with what the world had already decided.

*

*

*

The first set of clothes came after the wings.

A clean shirt.

Clean trousers.

No blood.

No feathers.

No reminders.

Parrot remembered staring at them for a long time.

As though wearing something different would somehow convince him he was someone else.

The guards laughed when he didn't immediately put them on.

Eventually he did. Because there wasn't much else to do.

…

Days blurred together after that.

Or maybe weeks.

Parrot stopped keeping track.

Pain made terrible clocks.

The only thing that changed was which guard stood outside the cell.

Some were bored.

Some were cruel.

Some seemed uncomfortable looking at him for too long.

Parrot preferred those ones.

One night, after the latest shift changed, something landed beside him.

A bundle of fabric.

Parrot stared at it.

Another set of clothes.

Again.

His gaze drifted down to the shirt he was currently—wearing.

Or rather, what's left of it.

The fabric was torn.

Wrinkled.

Dirty—like he fought in the dirt.

A few buttons were missing.

For some reason he couldn't remember when that happened. He didn't try very hard to remember.

The thought made his stomach hurt.

The guard had already left.

The cell door shut.

Footsteps faded.

Silence returned.

Parrot sat there for a while before slowly changing.

His movements were stiff.

Everything ached.

Not unusual.

Pain had become normal months ago.

Yet something felt different.

There were no fresh cuts.

No new bruises he could immediately identify.

No broken bones.

Nothing obvious.

And yet—

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

His entire body felt heavy.

Wrong.

Dirty—

Like he'd spent the night running until his legs gave out.

Like he'd fought a battle he couldn't remember.

Like blood he couldn't wash off.

Parrot pressed a hand over his eyes.

Don't think about it.

The thought came automatically.

Fast.

Practiced.

He listened.

Just like he always did.

Instead he focused on the shirt.

The shirt was clean.

That was nice. 

Clean things were rare nowadays.

But putting it on felt wrong. Covering it up wouldn't change anything.

His eyes drifted across the cell, landing on the cold water in the cauldron.

Perhaps he could get rid of the impurity if he scrubbed his skin hard enough.

.

.

.

So the routine continued, till the word ‘torment’ no longer meant much. 

It's just another thing in the list.

Another thing to expect.

Parrot has never felt so powerless in life.

Although admitting it hurts Parrot's pride. But in the end, does he even have one anymore?

He lost everything.

His friends.

His people.

His dream.

His hope.

His kingdom.

And maybe even himself.

…

When Saparata spared him, Parrot thought he would live as a prisoner till the day he succumbed.

Or that Saparata just delayed his execution to set an example.

Any other things besides that are what Parrot is afraid of.

The thought of living in constant pain—and that very thought eventually became reality.

Does Saparata enjoy seeing him being pathetic?

Seeing him—

Crying…

Begging…

S̷̺̗̮̕t̶͎̜̱̲͈̋̉̈͊̉͗̃r̸̰̮̺͚̅͜i̷͖̓̄̉̔p̷̗̰̿́̉͜p̴̺̀̐̐͒̂̚ȩ̷̤̠̥̱̘̀̕ͅd̸̖̊͆̐ ̸̖̪̞̪͚͛̈́̏͂͊̚a̴̺͈̹̓w̸̡͈̺̲̞̗̍̀̿̀̕͜͠à̷̗͖̈͑̆̕͠y̵͉͒͐̎̑͜ ̸̪̝̫̊f̶̢̩́r̶̻̼̞̳̘͐͂ͅŏ̶̡̘̗͙̫m̸̙̫̓̄̐̾̅͊̓ ̵̨̛̂̆̔͘ȟ̷͔́̍i̷̞̩̜̔͗̑̐̽s̴̪̮̞̞̝̬͒̌͑̉̚ ̶̫̎̀i̶̗͍̼͔̲̠͔̊̇̒d̸̘̥̮̥̘̟͕̏̄͐̋̽̔̾ẹ̴̻̯̏̃̀̕ͅn̵̛̗̘̓̽̒̑͒͠ť̵̺̺̳ͅi̵̻̿t̶͓̫̠̪̘͙́͊̾̾̑͐͠y̸̫͉͖̩̣̬̹̿̓̀ ̴̮͚̺̫͚͚͓̀ā̴̩̼̋͝n̶̛̬͒̀̑̕ḍ̷̨̧͔͗̊ ̷̢͈̌̈̉̏͒̃p̷̫͍̟͍̣̫̪̎́̒̌͋̆͒ǘ̴̟̯̗͖̯̍̀͋͑̆r̸̞͑̂ỉ̸̥̬̺̻̠̒̏͛̋ť̴̪̬͈̞͇͠y̴͇̅.̶̦̲̤̺͛͛͆̈́

And maybe more—?

Parrot doesn't know. He doesn't understand. And he definitely doesn't want to.

He doesn't need to hear the reasoning behind his torment.

He doesn't want to hear why people justify him getting beaten up.

Getting his wings broken.

Or how it later got ripped off from his back.

Just to trigger some…shallow emotions.

Just to see how long Parrot would last.

Unfortunately for everyone, the most annoying thing about Parrot is that he never will.

Not even when he got hanged up outside the palace for the public to see.

*

*

*

They didn’t bring him out like a prisoner anymore.

That would’ve implied there was still something left to contain. Instead, it felt more like they were relocating an object.

Something that used to matter.

Something that no longer needed permission to be displayed.

Parrot barely registered the walk—or rather, the dragging.

Not because he was unconscious. But because there was nothing new left for his body to report to him.

Pain had already filled every category it could occupy.

Now it just existed.

Quietly.

The air outside hit differently.

Not fresher.

Just wider.

Like the world had more space than it needed for him.

When they lifted him into view, the noise came after.

Not all at once.

A wave that built itself slowly, like the world remembering how to react.

Murmurs first.

Then recognition.

Then certainty.

Parrot was hanged, with blood all over and fresh wounds painting his skin. Clothes tattered, almost half naked—but the strings of ropes putting him in place hide what needed to be hidden.

Not that he would care even if he was hanged fully naked.

The sight of him was enough of an eyesore.

A dented crown painted with blood lay motionlessly right beneath his hanging feet as if its purpose was only to mock.

Flame felt it before he saw anything.

That shift in atmosphere.

The kind that made people stop speaking mid-sentence.

The kind that meant something irreversible had been confirmed.

Lomedy turned his head slightly first.

Then they froze.

It took a moment for Flame’s brain to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. Because recognition didn’t arrive cleanly.

It arrived in fragments.

A posture that wasn’t right.

A stillness that wasn’t normal.

A shape that resembled Parrot, but had stopped behaving like him long before this moment.

“…No,” Lomedy said quietly.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

Just immediate denial.

Flame didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Parrot was already up there.

Not standing.

Not even held properly.

Just positioned.

Like the world had decided where he belonged and stopped asking for input.

Flame took a step forward before he realized he was moving.

A guard blocked him almost instantly.

Firm hand.

No aggression.

Just a procedure.

“Back.”

Flame didn’t push further.

Not because he agreed.

Because something in his stomach had already dropped too far to coordinate movement properly.

Lomedy’s breath was uneven now.

Not panic yet.

Disbelief still had control.

“It’s—” He started, then stopped. His eyes stayed locked on Parrot.

Like if he looked away, the shape would confirm itself into something worse.

Parrot’s head tilted slightly.

Just enough.

Not toward them.

Not toward anyone in particular.

Just a reflex to sound.

Or maybe memory.

Flame saw it then.

Not the injuries.

Not the condition.

The absence.

Something fundamental missing from how Parrot was holding existence.

Like the idea of fighting back had been removed long before his body followed.

The crowd noise shifted again.

Someone threw something.

It didn’t matter what.

It didn’t reach him properly anyway.

Sap stepped into view at the edge of the platform.

Not rushed.

Not dramatic.

He looked like someone attending something scheduled.

Not something emotional.

His gaze moved across the crowd once. Then turned around as his eyes landed on Flame and Lomedy.

Briefly.

Like noticing two names on a list.

Flame’s jaw tightened as he finally spoke, voice low. “…What did you do to him?”

Sap didn’t answer immediately.

He looked up at Parrot instead.

Not affection.

Not hatred.

Just confirmation that things had reached their intended shape.

Then he replied, “I finished what everyone else started.”

That sentence did something to the air.

Not loud enough for most people to register.

But Flame felt it anyway.

Like something had been placed inside his chest without permission.

Lomedy’s hands were shaking now.

Not violently.

Just enough to be notice.

“That’s not—” he whispered. “That’s not what we agreed to…”

Sap tilted his head slightly. “Agreed?”

A pause.

Then, almost conversational. “You agreed to capture him.”

Another beat.

“I believe you also requested he remain alive.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Parrot again.

“As you can see… I honored that.”

Flame stepped forward again.

This time the guard didn’t immediately stop him.

Sap raised a hand slightly without looking.

The guard stopped anyway.

That small detail made Flame go still.

The fact that Sap finally faced them properly now.

Not angry.

Not defensive.

Just explaining something that had already been decided.

“You all keep confusing mercy with preservation,” he said.

A faint exhale.

“That’s not the same thing.”

Behind him, Parrot shifted slightly.

Not struggling.

Just… existing through the moment.

Like his body was participating out of habit.

Flame looked at him again.

Really looked.

And for the first time, something in his expression broke out of confusion into something sharper.

Realization.

Guilt arriving too late to be useful.

Lomedy whispered, almost to himself. “…We said we’d fix this.”

Flame didn’t answer.

Because he couldn’t decide which part of that sentence hurt more.

Above them, Parrot’s gaze drifted slightly downward.

Not focusing.

Not searching.

Just passing through.

Like even recognition was too expensive to hold onto now.

Sap stepped back half a pace.

The signal was already understood.

Not just by guards.

By everyone.

Flame took one step forward again—

—but stopped. Because the realization hit fully now.

Not just what had been done.

But what they had been slowly accepting without noticing.

That by the time they decided to act…

...there was no longer a version of Parrot waiting to be saved in the same way.

And the worst part wasn’t Sap’s voice.

It wasn’t the crowd.

It wasn’t even what was done.

It was the fact that Parrot was still alive through all of it.

Not as hope.

Not as defiance.

Just a continuation.

Flame’s voice came out quieter than before. “…Parrot.”

No response.

Not rejection.

Just distance.

And that silence—was louder than everything else in the entire square.

The square didn’t quiet down.

It never fully did.

Even when people stopped shouting, the noise stayed—just lower now, like a living thing refusing to leave.

Sap stepped forward again.

Not to the center.

Just enough that people would have to listen if they didn’t want to.

His voice carried anyway.

Not raised.

Not forced.

But practiced—

“You all keep reacting like this was unexpected.”

A pause.

His eyes moved across the crowd slowly.

Not searching for individuals.

Just patterns.

“Like none of you were there when it started.”

Another beat.

“I remember when he opened the spawn.”

A faint exhale, almost thoughtful.

“He called it progress.”

A few people shifted.

Not in agreement.

Not in denial.

In memory.

Sap continued anyway. “I remember when food started running low.”

His tone didn’t change.

“That part you also remember, don’t you?” A slight tilt of his head.

“But you only remember the hunger.”

Not accusation.

Just observation.

“You don’t remember why it happened.”

Flame’s fingers tightened slightly.

Lomedy didn’t move.

Sap’s gaze flicked briefly toward Parrot. Then back to the crowd.

“As if systems fail on their own.”

A pause.

“They don’t.”

That sentence landed heavier than the rest.

Because it didn’t sound like blame.

It sounded like an explanation.

“You needed someone to be responsible,” Sap said calmly.

“And he was convenient.”

A faint pause.

“Power does that.”

A guard near the front shifted uncomfortably.

Sap didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’m not here to punish him for your suffering,” he added.

Then, quieter.

“I’m here because you already did that.”

That caused a ripple.

Not outrage.

Not approval.

Something messier.

Recognition people didn’t want to name.

Sap finally stopped pacing. His voice lowered slightly, but stayed steady.

“You think this is cruelty.”

A pause.

“It isn’t.”

He looked up again.

“It’s correction of a system that convinced itself it was innocent.”

Flame took a step forward—

but the guard stopped him immediately this time.

Firmer.

Final.

Sap didn’t look at Flame when he spoke next.

“You’re allowed to hate me,” he said. “That part is predictable.”

A faint pause.

“But don’t pretend you didn’t benefit from the stability after things broke.”

That one hit differently.

Because it didn’t defend him.

It implicated everyone.

Sap turned slightly, gesturing once toward Parrot without fully looking at him.

“This is what happens when responsibility is concentrated in a single failure point.”

A beat.

“And then left untreated.”

Then, softer—almost conversational again.

“You don’t fix something like that by hoping it recovers.”

Silence.

And then Sap stepped back.

Like the explanation was complete.

Like nothing more needed to be said.

Flame wasn’t listening anymore.

Not properly.

The words were still coming in, but they weren’t attaching to anything.

They just passed through.

Lomedy’s voice came out faint. “…We didn’t know it'd be like this.”

It sounded like a defense.

But it didn’t defend anything.

Flame didn’t answer at first. His eyes were still on Parrot.

Still trying to find something that matched what they were seeing.

Something that justified what they had agreed to.

Something that made sense of it.

Nothing did.

“I thought…” Flame started, then stopped. His jaw tightened.

“I thought we were pulling him out of worse.” The sentence fell apart halfway through.

Because it wasn’t true anymore.

Not in this form.

That was the moment it stopped being strategy in their heads.

And started being a consequence.

In front of them, Sap’s voice continued distantly, addressing the crowd again.

But neither of them were fully there anymore.

.

.

.

Parrot heard Sap speaking.

Not clearly.

Not fully—

Just fragments that didn’t connect properly anymore.

Words like system.

Words like responsibility.

Words like failure point.

They didn’t land as meaning—just sound.

The crowd was loud.

Not angry.

Not cheering.

Just loud.

Thousands of voices blended together into meaningless noise.

Parrot couldn't make out most of it anymore. At some point he had stopped trying.

A few people laughed.

His eyes immediately found them.

A few others looked away.

He noticed those too.

Someone threw a rotten vegetable.

Parrot flinched even though it barely came close to hitting him.

The crowd erupted into laughter—or perhaps only a handful did.

It was difficult to tell these days.

The sounds all blurred together.

A woman near the front covered her child's eyes.

Parrot assumed it was disgust.

He didn't notice the tears running down her face.

A former soldier spat at the platform.

Parrot noticed that.

He didn't notice the soldier staring at the ground afterwards.

A merchant walked away without looking up.

Parrot noticed that too.

He didn't notice the way the man's hands shook.

After a while, it became easier to stop looking.

Easier to assume everyone hated him.

Easier to believe every whisper was criticism.

Every stare was disgust.

Every silence was condemnation.

Maybe that wasn't true.

Maybe it was.

Parrot no longer had the energy to find out. Eventually his vision wasn’t focusing on the crowd anymore.

It drifted.

Not upward.

Not downward.

Just… away.

Like attention itself was running out of weight to stay anchored.

He became aware of something strange.

Not pain.

Not fear.

Just distance from both.

Like his body was happening somewhere slightly removed from him.

A thought tried to form.

Something about Flame.

Something about Lomedy.

It didn’t finish.

It dissolved halfway.

He blinked slowly. That was still possible apparently.

The rope.

The platform.

The noise.

All of it felt like it belonged to someone else’s memory now.

Not his.

Not fully.

Sap’s voice came closer again in perception.

Not physically.

Just in relevance.

“…you were never stable enough to carry what they gave you.”

That line landed differently.

Not as an insult.

Not as judgment.

Just… classification.

Parrot exhaled once. It didn’t feel like surrender.

It felt like the end of trying to categorize anything at all.

For a brief moment, he thought of Theo.

Not as a pain.

Not as a loss.

Just as something that used to exist in a world that made more sense than this one.

Then even that loosened.

Not forgotten.

Just… no longer urgent.

The noise of the crowd rose again.

But it was far away now.

Like it belonged underwater.

Parrot’s fingers twitched once. Then stopped responding properly.

Not from injury.

From disconnection.

A thought surfaced one last time.

’I’m still here.’

Not proud.

Not afraid.

Just factual.

And then even that stopped needing to be said.

The world didn’t go dark.

It just stopped insisting on being understood.

Sap didn’t leave immediately after the speech ended.

He let the noise settle first.

Let it become background again.

Let people convince themselves they had witnessed justice instead of something else entirely.

Only then did he move.

The guards adjusted without instruction.

Not because he spoke. But because they understood the pattern.

A small shift in formation.

A clearing of space.

A path that wasn’t meant for anyone else to follow.

“Don’t,” Lomedy said immediately, stepping forward instinctively.

The guard stopped him again.

This time harder.

Not violent.

Final.

Flame’s jaw tightened, pulling Lomedy closer.

“…We’re not part of this anymore,” he muttered.

But it didn’t sound like relief.

It sounded like exclusion.

A few metres away, Sap stepped toward the holding platform.

The crowd didn’t follow.

They never were meant to.

This part wasn’t for them.

Parrot was brought down.

Not gently.

Not roughly either.

Just… mechanically.

Like moving something that had already been decided upon.

His feet touched the ground unevenly.

For a moment, he swayed. Then stabilized.

Not because of balance.

But because falling wasn’t permitted yet.

Sap dismissed the guards with a slight motion.

They hesitated for half a second. Regardless they obeyed.

Leaving.

Not rushing.

Just certainty that their presence was no longer required.

.....

Now it was only the two of them.

Sap looked at Parrot properly for the first time.

Not from above.

Not from distance.

But at a level.

There was a pause.

Not dramatic.

But—measured.

Like Sap was confirming something he already knew would be accurate.

“You’re still conscious,” he said.

Not impressed.

Not surprised.

Just noting it.

Parrot didn’t respond immediately.

Not because he couldn’t.

But because the idea of responding didn’t arrive as necessary.

After a moment—

“…Is this the part where you explain it again?” His voice was hoarse.

Not theatrical.

Just worn thin.

Sap’s expression didn’t change.

“I already did.”

A pause.

“But you weren’t the audience.”

That made Parrot exhale faintly. It wasn’t a laugh anymore.

It didn’t have shape.

“So I’m not even included in my own story now?” Parrot murmured.

Not accusation.

Just observation.

Sap tilted his head slightly.

“You were always included.”

A beat.

“You were just never in control of the narrative weight.”

Silence.

Parrot shifted slightly. The movement was slow.

Not restrained.

Just expensive.

Like every action required agreement from multiple parts of him that no longer coordinated properly.

“…You really think this fixes anything?” Parrot asked quietly.

Sap didn’t answer immediately.

That hesitation mattered more than a quick response would have.

“It doesn’t fix,” Sap said finally.

“It corrects.”

Parrot’s gaze lowered slightly—not submissive.

Just tired of holding direction.

Sap continued. “You were given responsibility without the structure to support it.”

A pause.

“And everyone suffered the consequence of that mismatch.”

Parrot’s fingers curled slightly.

Not into a fist.

Just a reflex trying to remember shape.

“You talk like I chose it alone,” Parrot said.

A faint pause.

Then softer—

“…Like I wasn’t already trying to hold it together before you ever decided I was failing.”

Sap watched him quietly.

Not denying.

Not agreeing.

Just evaluating.

“That’s the problem,” Sap said. “You were trying.”

A pause.

“And that was never enough for what you were carrying.”

That line landed differently.

Not cruel.

Not kind.

Just final.

Parrot’s breath slowed slightly. His gaze drifted somewhere unfocused.

“…So what,” he murmured. “I was supposed to let everything fall?”

Sap’s voice stayed level. “You were supposed to not be alone in it.”

A beat.

“But you were.”

Silence again—longer this time.

“Maybe if you're just minding your own business…none of this could have happened.”

Parrot shifted his weight slightly.

His body didn’t fully cooperate with the motion.

Not dramatically.

Just subtly wrong.

Like something inside had started disconnecting earlier than the rest.

Sap stepped a little closer.

Not threatening.

Just closing distance for clarity.

“I don’t hate you,” Sap said.

That was new.

Parrot blinked slowly. “…That’s worse.”

Not emotional.

Just honest.

Sap didn’t react. “That’s irrelevant.”

A pause.

“I’m not here to be personal.”

A faint exhale from Parrot.

Almost gone.

Sap looked at him for a long moment.

Then added, quieter— “You were never built for the position you forced yourself into.”

That sentence didn’t have judgment in it.

Which made it heavier.

“I'm sure your dead friends can attest.”

…..

Parrot froze. At some point he was mad—but that feeling soon withered away like his dream.

His eyes shifted slightly upward again.

Not toward Sap.

Past him.

Like he was trying to locate something that used to exist behind this moment.

“…If I wasn’t meant for it,” he said softly. “Then why did it feel like the only thing I could do?”

Sap didn’t answer immediately.

For the first time, there was something close to hesitation.

Not doubt.

Just acknowledgment of complexity he didn’t intend to carry.

“Because,” Sap said finally,

“you were the only one willing to hold it.”

A pause.

“And willingness is not the same as suitability.”

…

That was the final separation.

Not between them.

But between intention and outcome.

Parrot’s breathing slowed. His posture shifted slightly—not collapsing yet.

Just… losing structure.

Like something inside had quietly decided it didn’t need to keep aligning anymore.

Sap noticed immediately but remained unalarmed.

Just observant.

“…It’s starting,” Sap said.

Not to Parrot.

Just as a fact.

Parrot’s eyelids lowered slightly.

Not fully closed.

Not yet.

“…What did you do?” Parrot asked faintly.

Sap’s voice stayed even. “Nothing you didn’t already survive.”

A pause.

“Your body is simply stopping the effort of continuing.”

Parrot exhaled once, his breath hitched.

Longer this time.

Less controlled.

Parrot’s knees finally gave slightly—not collapsing fully.

Just enough for the world to tilt.

Sap stepped in only to ensure he didn’t hit the ground too hard.

A controlled descent.

Not mercy.

—maintenance.

Parrot’s vision blurred at the edges.

Sound thinning.

Weight redistributing.

The last thing he registered clearly wasn’t Sap.

It wasn’t Flame or Lomedy.

It wasn’t even the crowd.

It was the absence of needing to hold anything together anymore.

And then—

the world stopped asking him to stay conscious.

*

*

*

Parrot woke up again to find the sight of a bird view—a very nice way to say he was hanged again.

Deep down he wishes to find the sight of his friends—a void, an afterlife or the rumour underworld.

Anything but the dread of waking up to this.

But eventually the avian had gotten used to this new lifestyle. Hence, stopped paying attention to any of the passers-by.

Turned out being starved made you unable to give a single fuck about others.

Maybe this is the end of his suffering.

Being starved to death.

Like his people.

Like what most players hate him for.

It's a well deserved ending for him..perhaps.

Yeah…

ParrotX2 had failed as a king. And a king should be responsible for his people's suffering.

For the hope he broke.

For the lie he spatted.

For the dreams he destroyed.

For the lives he's taken.

And for the lives he wasted.

Everyone also believed he would die soon.

Strangely, he didn't.

And he lasted a week hanging there.

But how? He got starved. He was hanged. He was beaten. He was tortured. He was mocked. He was humiliated.

So how come he's still alive? How come that skinny malnourished failure of a king still breathing? Is will is all it takes to survive such things?

Turned out it did.

Just in a way that was really pathetic.

.

.

.

The square was quiet at night.

Not silent.

Never silent.

The wind still moved.

Lanterns still flickered.

Guards still patrolled.

But compared to the chaos of daytime, it felt almost peaceful.

Almost.

Parrot barely noticed.

The first few nights had been miserable.

He remembered every second.

The cold.

The pain.

The strain in his shoulders.

The ropes digging into bruised skin.

The humiliation.

The crowds.

The voices.

The things they threw.

The things they said.

The things they didn't say.

Eventually it all blurred together.

The days blended.

The nights blended.

Even time itself felt distant.

At some point, Parrot stopped counting.

At some point, he stopped caring.

So when he heard footsteps approaching the platform, he didn't bother opening his eyes.

Probably another guard.

Maybe another curious spectator.

Maybe someone wanting to throw something.

Who knew.

Who cares.

Who—

"...Parrot, you there?" The voice froze him.

Not because he was surprised. But because he recognized it.

Slowly, he opened one eye.

Lomedy standing beneath the platform with Flame right beside him.

Both looking exhausted.

Both looking guilty.

Parrot stared at them. Then closed his eye again.

"...Unfortunately yes."

Silence.

Flame pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously?"

"No idea what you're talking about."

"You literally sound dead."

"I'll try harder next time."

Lomedy let out a weak laugh before immediately covering his mouth.

The laugh sounded wrong here.

Like none of them deserved it.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Flame climbed onto the platform.

The closer he got, the quieter he became.

Because from afar, Parrot looked bad.

Up close—

Flame wished he hadn't climbed up.

The bruises.

The cuts.

The way Parrot's clothes barely fit him anymore.

The way his head hung lower than before.

The way his body instinctively twitched whenever someone got too close.

Like he was expecting another hit.

Flame felt sick.

Parrot noticed.

Of course he did.

"...Don't make that face."

Flame's jaw tightened. "What face?"

"The guilty one."

Silence.

Parrot sighed. "You're making me feel awkward."

That somehow made everything worse.

Because he sounded genuine.

Like he was worried about them.

Not himself.

Them.

Lomedy quietly climbed up as well.

A small bundle sat in his hands.

Parrot immediately recognized it.

Food.

His stomach twisted.

The reaction embarrassed him.

He hated that it embarrassed him.

"Eat." Flame held it out.

Parrot looked away.

"No."

"Parrot."

"No."  The answer came faster this time.

More stubborn.

More desperate.

As though refusing somehow gave him control over something.

Anything.

"I don't want it."

A lie.

A terrible lie.

Everyone knew it.

Especially when his stomach immediately betrayed him.

The noise echoed through the quiet square.

Nobody commented.

Nobody laughed.

That somehow felt worse.

Lomedy slowly unwrapped the cloth.

Bread.

A few berries.

Water.

Nothing fancy.

Just enough.

Parrot stared at it. Then he looked away again.

Flame sighed. "You're unbelievable."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I'll take what I can get."

For a second it almost felt normal.

Almost.

Then Lomedy quietly tore off a piece of bread and held it out.

Parrot didn't move.

Another piece.

Still nothing.

A minute passed.

Then two.

The former king remained stubbornly motionless.

Until Lomedy's voice cracked.

"...Please."

Parrot froze.

"..."

"Just..."

Lomedy swallowed.

"Please."

Silence.

Then slowly—

Very slowly—

Parrot opened his mouth.

Not because he changed his mind.

Not because he suddenly wanted food.

But because Lomedy looked seconds away from crying.

The bread tasted stale...

—It tasted wonderful.

Parrot hated that.

Every bite felt like admitting something.

Admitting he still wanted to live.

Admitting he wasn't ready.

Admitting he was scared.

So he let Lomedy feed him.

Because somehow that felt easier than reaching for it himself.

The three remained quiet for a while.

Only the occasional sound of chewing broke the silence.

Eventually Flame spoke. "We've got a plan."

Parrot snorted.

The sound immediately turned into a coughing fit.

When it finally ended, he looked exhausted.

"Sure."

"I'm serious."

"Sure."

"Parrot." This time Flame sounded annoyed.

Actually annoyed.

The old kind of annoyed.

The familiar kind.

The kind Parrot hadn't heard in a long time.

Slowly, he looked up. "...You have a plan?"

"Yeah." The answer came immediately.

No hesitation.

No uncertainty.

Just conviction.

For the first time all night, Parrot paid attention.

Flame noticed.

So did Lomedy.

And suddenly both looked relieved.

Because there he was.

For a second.

The real Parrot.

The one who immediately started thinking.

Calculating.

Planning.

"Tell me."

So they did.

The disagreements.

Arachn1d.

The growing tension.

The shifting patrols.

The routes.

The timing.

The distractions.

Everything.

Parrot listened quietly.

Occasionally asking questions.

Occasionally correcting details.

Occasionally suggesting improvements.

And for the first time in days—

Hope returned.

Small.

Fragile.

Dangerous.

But there.

By the time they finished, the night had grown colder.

The guards would rotate again soon.

They needed to leave.

Flame stood first.

Lomedy followed.

Neither seemed eager to go.

Parrot understood why.

He wasn't eager either.

Eventually Flame cleared his throat. "We'll come back tomorrow."

Parrot smiled faintly. "Looking forward to it."

The lie was obvious.

Not because he didn't want to see them.

Because none of them knew if there would be a tomorrow.

Flame knew it too.

But nodded anyway.

Before leaving, Lomedy hesitated.

Then quietly adjusted part of the torn cloth hanging from Parrot's shoulder.

A pointless gesture.

A useless gesture.

A caring gesture.

Parrot nearly laughed. "Thanks."

Lomedy smiled weakly.

Then both disappeared into the darkness.

Leaving Parrot alone once more.

The square returned to silence.

The wind brushed against his face.

His stomach no longer hurt quite as much. And somewhere deep inside—

Against all logic.

Against all reason.

Against all odds.

The thought appeared.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

He'd survive long enough to see the plan through.

.

.

.

Saparata seemed to ignore and let those two mysterious individuals feed him late at night when no-one was there to see, thinking Parrot would have no will to continue living such life.

However, pathetically enough, Parrot eats.

Not much…but enough.

And that amuses Sap, seeing how Flamefrags and Lomedy continued taking care of the living corpse when they're the one who captured that very person.

But have they ever wondered why Parrot eats? When the world screams for his death—so that the sight of him would no longer haunt them.

The answer is simple.

ParrotX2 wants to live.

Despite everything, he still wants to live. He wants to continue. He wants to fix his mistakes, do what he can till the day he no longer can breathe anymore.

He wants to be able to reunite with his friends and say he tried his best.

Parrot doesn't care if he has to go through torture, humiliation or the guilty eyes from his former allies.

Even Flame started questioning his unlogical thinking.

“Parrot…how are you—?”

“Still alive?” Parrot joked around, laughing bitterly at the sight of his caretakers’ expressions.

His laugh soon turned into a dry coughing fit as Lomedy quickly moved to feed him some water as soon as it ended.

“Sorry…We didn't mean to—We didn't think Sap would go this far… I'm sorry you have to suffer this way.” Lomedy started tearing up but held back.

The avian said nothing, eyes staring emptily at the ground.

“... That's true, Parrot. We get it if you're mad at us. We want to fix this up as well…” Flame trailed off. “So I'll be leaving for a while to get everything prepared. We'll get you out of here. We promised you, bro.” His tone was low but firm.

“...no crying over spilled milk now aren't we?” Parrot gave a reassuring smile in return, implying he's down to anything that could keep him alive.

Even if that thought hurt his dignity. 

Even if he had to forgive the betrayal.

Even if he had to live in a constant state of suffering.

Even if he had to wake up to see the ugly side the server has become.

He will continue.

…

*

*

*

And so the plan was set to motion. With the Arachn1d’s matter being used as a distraction, Flame and Lomedy continued getting what needed to be done.

But unexpectedly, Parrot got another visitor before they got the chance to truly go through the final part of the plan.

It was supposed to be another day, when suddenly the sounds of chaos were heard.

Sounds of battles.

Of totems popping one after another.

Of triggering death messages.

That very noise made Parrot tremble.

Not in fear for his life—not really. Not when he's literally on life support—on his friends’ caretakers' mercy. Perhaps he was just reminded of the chaos he went through in the past.

Where players died left and right.

Where it rained with blood and not water.

Where his friends were tragically killed.

Where he was left hopeless and powerless to do anything.

.

.

.

Soon enough, Parrot saw a silhouette coming through the leftover smoke from the explosion.

Then a familiar purple blob came into view.

Oh.

Wemmbu.

Of course it will be him.

After all there are rumors that Arachn1d and the Cindercrest didn't get along now.

Of course…a war all over again.

Parrot laughed tiredly as Wemmbu looked shocked at the state the former king was in.

“Damn, bro...”

“I know…pathetic, right?” He chuckled a bit.

“That's not—” Wemmbu sighed.

“It's fine, Wemmbu. I've gone through the worst.” Parrot assured him. “Are you and EggChan doing well?” He changed the topic, trying to keep any ounce of normalcy alive. But it seemed like the question struck something inside Wemmbu.

“I—umm I'm well I guess. And EggChan—he’ll be fine as long as I did what I was told to.” He paused for a bit, looking over his shoulder. “Are you—nevermind, that's stupid, my bad.”

The former king just gave a gentle smile in response, purely just glad he could chat with an old acquaintance.

“By the way, Wemmbu. I didn't expect to meet you here. Is killing me still on your list?” He let out a humourless chuckle, inviting the idea of his death. Truly his curiosity really knows no bounds. “Though I doubt that since I had fallen, with no worth in my name whatsoever.” Parrot trailed off.

Wemmbu was still contemplating on how he should act. He didn’t move immediately.

He stayed there.

Long enough for the silence between them to stop feeling like a pause—and start feeling like a conclusion.

Parrot was still hanging where they left him.

Still breathing.

Still present.

Still not asking for anything anymore.

That was what made it worse.

Not desperation.

Not pleading.

Not even hatred.

Just… acceptance of whatever state the world decided he should remain in.

Wemmbu tightened his grip on his mace.

Not for combat.

Not yet.

Just grounding himself.

His mind ran through options automatically.

Escape route.

Extraction.

Distraction.

Force.

Delay.

Negotiation.

All of them stopped meaning anything halfway through.

Because none of them solved what he was actually seeing anymore.

Parrot wasn’t trapped in a situation.

He was trapped in a condition.

Something that continued regardless of external input.

Wemmbu exhaled slowly. “…So that’s it.” His voice was quiet.

Not a question.

Not disbelief.

Just recognition.

Parrot tilted his head slightly.

Waiting—

Still not interpreting tone as meaning anything beyond surface sound.

Wemmbu looked at him for a long moment. Then lowered his gaze. “…You’re not coming back from this normally.”

The words felt heavier than they should’ve.

But they also felt honest.

Parrot blinked once. “…Normal?” He said it like the word didn’t quite fit anywhere in his understanding anymore.

Wemmbu gave a short, humorless breath.

Yeah.

That answered enough.

He looked away briefly.

At the broken square.

At the empty edges of movement.

At the remnants of a system that no longer cared how anything inside it felt.

Then back at Parrot.

Something in Wemmbu’s expression changed.

Not soft.

Not kind.

Not cruel either.

Just… resolved.

“…I get it,” he said quietly.

A pause.

Then firmer—

“I get what this is now.”

Parrot didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

Wemmbu adjusted his stance.

Feet settling properly.

Grip shifting from hesitation into control.

Not aggression.

Not anger.

Something colder.

A conclusion.

“If I leave you like this,” Wemmbu muttered, mostly to himself now, “you’re just going to keep being moved around.”

A pause.

“…Kept like this.” His jaw tightened. He didn’t look at Parrot when he spoke next.

“That’s not saving you.”

Silence.

Then, softer. 

“That’s just letting them continue.” Wemmbu finally looked at him directly again.

And this time, there was no attempt to find the old Parrot underneath.

No expectation of return.

No hope of restoration.

Just acknowledgement of what was currently in front of him.

“…I can’t fix this,” Wemmbu said.

A beat.

Then—

“But I can end what they turned it into.”

…

The words landed heavily in the air. Even Parrot seemed to register them differently.

Not as a threat.

Not as mercy.

But as a structure.

A decision being finalized.

Wemmbu exhaled once.

Slow.

Steady.

“I’m not doing this to kill you, Parrot.”

A pause.

“…I’m doing this because I can’t leave you like this in their hands anymore.” He tightened his grip fully now.

No tremor.

No hesitation.

Just acceptance.

Parrot looked at him quietly. For a moment, something almost familiar flickered behind his eyes.

Not fear.

Not hope.

Just recognition of a familiar kind of inevitability.

“…That’s fine,” Parrot said softly.

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“I think I stopped being… something anyone can fix a while ago.”

Wemmbu didn’t answer. 

Because he knew that was true. Instead, he simply nodded once.

Small.

Firm.

Not permission.

Not agreement.

Just acknowledgment of reality as he now understood it.

“…I’m sorry,” Wemmbu said. And this time, it didn’t sound like guilt.

It sounded like closure.

Parrot gave the faintest smile.

Not bright.

Not comforting.

Just… there.

“It’s okay.”

A pause.

“…I think everyone is, at this point.”

Wemmbu closed his eyes for a second. Then opened them again.

Focused.

Stable.

Decided.

When he spoke again, his voice had changed completely.

No hesitation left in it.

Only intent.

“Then I’ll do it properly—” His voice cracked halfway through. Wemmbu’s facade completely dropped after that, eyes filled with sorrow.

Regardless, he continued to finish his sentence as he looked deep into Parrot's empty eyes.

“So would you like to have one final spar with me, dear old friend?”

Friend.

Not old king.

Not an enemy.

But friend.

Parrot's eyes widened by that question. It was the first time in a while he was asked such a thing. Not after Theo's death.

Not when he got stripped of everything he owned.

Most wouldn't even ask. But the questions he often gets nowadays are whether he wishes his suffering to end quickly— whether it was purely out of mockery or fed up by the sight of him still alive—not whatever this is.

Regardless, the intention is clear. Wemmbu purely just wanted to end his suffering.

One would say that Wemmbu is crazy for pitying him, but Parrot didn't think so.

Not when the purple blob stays firm on his words.

Wemmbu is giving him circumstance.

Not reason.

Nothing malicious.

Nothing pathetic.

It's not really pathetic to die at the hands of one of the strongest players out there. 

It showed how even if he failed as a king, the strongest player still saw him as a threat. Though Parrot knew that was far from the actual reason.

Wemmbu was just offering him a way to die in the most honourable way—perhaps…

Because even if he was able to escape with Lomedy and Flame… he wouldn't be able to go back the way he was before.

Parrot had been too afraid to admit it but truthfully, he was far too broken to be saved.

He had gone crippled for all the torture he received. Hell even if he didn't, the state he's in won't let him run so far yet alone fighting back.

And that was the moment the spar offer stopped being a request—

and became an ending that had already been accepted by both sides, just in different languages.

That somehow made Parrot happy for the first time in a while. He smiled gratefully at Wemmbu, unable to hide his childish side.

“Sadly I'm far too injured to fight you normally…” He paused. Then he asked for a favour—a saying in this matter.

 A choice he made.

Something that he has been meaning to do.

“So may I use my singing skill in a mace fight?” 

The look of confusion in Wemmbu's face was hilarious. But soon enough he understood what Parrot meant.

No, it wasn't sarcasm.

He knew the bird hybrid loves to sing.

And for that to be his last wish seemed reasonable enough.

“Sure, bro...” Wemmbu slowly came near him before cutting the ropes carefully.

For a moment, Parrot's body simply folded forward.

Not because he wanted to.

Because it had forgotten how to hold itself up.

A week.

A week hanging above the square.

A week of starvation, humiliation, and pain.

His legs trembled violently when they touched the ground. It wasn't long before he fell over.

Wemmbu instinctively reached out to catch him.

Parrot laughed weakly. "Wow. That's embarrassing."

"It's not embarrassing, bro."

"It kinda is." His voice came out hoarse.

 Thin. 

Nothing like the confident king that once stood before thousands.

In the end, Wemmbu slipped an arm around him and guided him toward the edge of the platform.

Parrot stumbled after only a few steps.

Without a word, Wemmbu scooped him up.

The former king didn't protest.

He merely let his head fall against Wemmbu's shoulder and closed his eyes.

...

Wemmbu froze.

Not because of the contact.

Because Parrot hadn't even asked first.

The king he remembered would've rather collapsed than admit his weakness.

The weight against his shoulder was barely noticeable.

It should have been comforting.

Instead, it made Wemmbu's stomach twist.

The former king felt frighteningly light in his arms.

A sword should not outweigh a person.

And yet a living proof was right in front of him.

It was only now, with Parrot being this close, that Wemmbu realized just how bad things had gotten.

Bruises stained nearly every patch of exposed skin. Some were already fading into ugly shades of yellow and purple, while newer ones sat angrily on top of them.

His once vibrant blue-green hair hung in tangled strands around his face, dull enough that Wemmbu almost didn't recognize it.

The oversized clothes did little to hide how much weight he had lost. Every time Parrot shifted, sharp ribs pressed against the thin fabric.

And his wings—

Wemmbu had to look away.

He remembered watching Parrot address entire crowds with his wings spread wide behind him, bright enough to draw every eye in the kingdom.

Looking at him now, it was hard to believe they were the same person.

Wemmbu thought back to EggChan. 

The possibility of his little chungus facing the same fate—but he quickly dismissed it as anger sore up inside him.

But soon enough that anger was replaced with sorrow.

The sight of a fragile man sitting alone on the edge.

The former king stared quietly at the ruined city beyond the square.

At the distant rooftops.

At the broken banners.

At the kingdom he failed to save.

For a while neither of them spoke.

Parrot inhaled. The breath rattled painfully in his chest.

For a moment, he wondered if his voice would even work.

Then he laughed quietly at the thought.

One last humiliation, perhaps.

After everything else, losing his singing voice would be almost funny.

Almost.

Wemmbu stood behind him.

Mace in hand.

Silent.

Waiting.

Or perhaps hoping he wouldn't have to.

Parrot couldn't tell.

He didn't turn around to check.

The ruined square stretched endlessly before him.

Broken banners.

Cracked stone.

A kingdom that no longer belonged to him.

A kingdom that perhaps never truly had.

He closed his eyes.

And sang.

"If you missed the train I'm on..."

The first line came out rough. His throat immediately protested.

Weeks of screaming.

Weeks of dehydration.

Weeks of surviving.

"You will know that I am gone..."

Gone.

The word lingered.

And suddenly—

A palace rooftop.

A warm evening.

Theo sitting beside him.

Arms crossed.

Trying very hard to look intimidating.

Failing miserably.

"You know you're terrible at sneaking around, right?"

"I'm literally used to be an assassin."

"Yeah. And I still hear you every time."

"You're impossible to impress."

"Correct."

Parrot smiled.

Just a little.

The memory dissolved.

"You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles..."

Wemmbu noticed the smile.

And hated it.

Not because it was wrong.

Because it looked genuine.

The man sitting before him wasn't thinking about revenge.

Or justice.

Or escape.

He looked like someone remembering home.

"A hundred miles, a hundred miles..."

The melody carried softly across the square.

Weak.

But stubborn.

Just like him.

Parrot remembered another voice.

"You call that a plan?"

Reina.

Immediately annoyed.

Immediately judging.

"It worked."

"You almost died."

"But it worked."

"One day that's going to stop being a valid argument."

Parrot nearly laughed. Even now he could hear her disappointment.

The memory vanished.

Leaving only silence.

"Lord, I'm one, Lord, I'm two..."

His breathing grew heavier. The words are slower.

But he continued.

"Go get some sleep."

"Nah."

"Theo."

"Nah."

"Theo."

"Nah."

The idiot had stayed awake for nearly two days.

Just to guard him.

"You're going to collapse."

"Then I'll collapse near you."

A laugh escaped Parrot's lips.

Half memory.

Half song.

Behind him, Wemmbu's grip tightened.

He couldn't understand it.

How someone who had lost everything could still smile.

How someone moments away from death could sound so alive.

"Lord, I'm five hundred miles away from home..."

Home.

Not the palace.

Not the throne.

Not the crown.

A campfire.

Theo arguing with someone.

Reina trying to organize people who refused to be organized.

Friends talking over each other.

Food burning.

People laughing.

Tiny moments.

Stupid moments.

The kind nobody thinks to treasure.

Until they're gone.

“Five hundred miles, five hundred miles, five hundred miles, five hundred miles…”

Wemmbu swallowed.

The song was beginning to hurt.

"Lord, I'm five hundred miles from my home..."

Parrot understood now.

Even if Flame and Lomedy succeeded.

Even if he escaped.

Even if some miracle happened.

There was no home waiting anymore.

Theo was gone.

Reina was gone.

His dream was gone.

The realization settled strangely gently.

Like an old wound finally being acknowledged.

"Not a shirt on my back..." His voice cracked.

"Not a penny to my name..." Another crack.

Wemmbu found himself staring at the empty space on Parrot's back.

Where wings should have been.

The sight made him feel sick.

Not because it was grotesque.

Because it was wrong.

The strongest thing about Parrot had never been his kingdom.

Or his soldiers.

Or his influence.

It was that ridiculous refusal to stop trying.

And someone had taken even that.

Piece by piece.

"Lord, I can't go back home this way..."

No.

He couldn't.

Not like this.

Not broken.

Not after failing them.

Theo appeared again.

Not bleeding.

Not dying.

Not a corpse.

Just Theo.

"You look awful."

Parrot laughed softly.

Inside the memory.

"Thanks."

"Seriously. What happened to you?"

"Long story."

"Well hurry up. You can tell me later."

Later.

The word struck harder than any blade.

Because there won't be a later. Or perhaps the ‘later’ was going to be the afterlife—if there is one.

The memory flickers.

Starts disappearing.

Theo pauses.

Then sighs.

The same sigh he'd used a hundred times before.

"Just don't take forever, okay?"

And suddenly he's gone.

…

The memory flickered as it began to fade.

Parrot kept singing regardless.

"This way, this way..."

The square blurred. His voice weakened.

"This way, this way..."

His body ached.

"Lord, I can't go back home this way..."

Yet somehow—

For the first time in a very long time—

He felt lighter.

Not happy.

Not healed.

Just...

Finished running.

Behind him, Wemmbu nearly lowered the mace.

For one stupid second.

One selfish second.

Because Parrot looked peaceful.

And somehow that made everything worse.

If Parrot had screamed—

Wemmbu could've hated himself less.

If Parrot had begged—

Wemmbu could've justified it.

If Parrot had cursed him—

At least there would've been anger.

Instead—

…

Wemmbu stood behind him, gripping his mace so tightly his knuckles hurt.

He hated this.

He hated how calm Parrot sounded.

He hated how grateful Parrot seemed for the opportunity.

He hated that part of him wanted to throw the mace away and help him escape.

But EggChan.

EggChan.

EggChan.

The reminder sat in his chest like a knife.

"If you missed the train I'm on..." Parrot sang softly.

"You will know that I am gone..."

Like he was comforting someone.

No longer just saying goodbye.

"You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles..."

The final note faded into the evening air.

Silence settled over the square.

Parrot opened his eyes.

The sunset painted the ruined kingdom gold.

He sat quietly on the edge of the platform.

The wind brushed against his face.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn't hanging.

It was nice.

He had almost forgotten what sitting felt like.

A strange thought.

Wemmbu remained behind him.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them needed to.

Parrot sat there for a moment.

Then—

"Huh."

Wemmbu blinked. "Huh?"

"I still got it."

The purple-haired player stared at him. "...You almost coughed out a lung halfway through."

"Bro, why are you so blunt?" Parrot crossed his arms, acting offended.

Wemmbu actually snorted.

Parrot looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

"There it is."

"What?"

"See? I made you laugh."

"Oh, shut up."

The former king laughed.

A real laugh this time.

Weak.

Hoarse.

But genuine.

For a while he simply stared at the sunset.

Then he started talking again.

And talking.

And talking.

Like he was trying to fit weeks of silence into a few remaining minutes.

"You know, Theo would've hated that."

"The song?"

"No. The fact I missed half the notes."

A pause.

"He would've spent the next week teasing me."

Wemmbu lowered his gaze.

Parrot didn't seem to notice.

Or maybe he did.

"He was really annoying like that." A small smile appeared. "Reina too."

He laughed quietly. "Actually she'd probably say something like 'Wow. That was awful.'—"

"Then she'd secretly learn the entire song just to prove she could do it better."

The smile lingered.

Soft.

Fond.

For a moment it almost looked like they were still there.

Standing somewhere nearby.

Listening.

Waiting.

"Aww man." Parrot rubbed his face. "I've probably kept them waiting long enough."

His tone was joking.

Mostly.

Wemmbu's grip tightened.

Parrot looked up at the sky. "I wonder if Wifies is gonna yell at me."

"He definitely would."

"Right?" A laugh escaped him. "Dude was terrifying when he got worried."

"Dean too—Actually no. Dean would wait until everyone calmed down."

A pause.

"Then he'd absolutely destroy me."

…

"That's true." Wemmbu nodded despite barely recalling the guy called ‘Dean’. He never got the chance to know them personally, and Parrot knew that as well. 

"SEE?" Parrot pointed at him triumphantly. "I'm glad somebody understands." 

Perhaps he just wanted someone to talk to.

For a few seconds the conversation felt almost normal.

Like two friends sitting together after a long day.

Not a mercy killing.

Not a fallen king.

Not a war.

Just...

People.

Then Parrot's smile slowly softened. Eventually Parrot tilted his head back slightly.

Looking toward the darkening sky. His gaze drifted toward the horizon.

Toward somewhere far away.

Somewhere impossible to reach.

"...It's pretty."

"Huh?"

"The sunset."

Wemmbu glanced up.

Orange.

Gold.

Purple.

The colours stretched endlessly across the horizon.

Parrot smiled. "Looks better from down here."

Something in Wemmbu's chest twisted painfully.

"Bro..."

Parrot shook his head. "No. It's okay."

A pause.

"...I miss them." The words came out so quietly that Wemmbu almost didn't hear them.

But he did.

And they hurt.

Because for the first time all evening—

Parrot sounded tired.

Not physically.

Just...

Tired.

The kind of tired that settled into someone's soul.

A long silence followed.

Then Parrot suddenly spoke again.

"Wemmbu."

"Yeah?" His voice came out smaller than intended.

Parrot smiled. "Do me a favor…"

“Anything.”

The answer almost escaped immediately.

Parrot looked toward the horizon. "Tell Flame and Lomedy..."

A pause.

A breath.

"...that I said thank you."

Wemmbu's throat tightened.

"...Okay."

Parrot nodded.

Satisfied.

A long silence followed.

Then—

"Take care of EggChan."

The purple head froze.

Parrot smiled. "Seriously."

"I will."

"I know you will." The smile widened slightly. "You're always worried about him."

Wemmbu looked away as he lowered his head.

Because Parrot still didn't understand.

Or perhaps he understood perfectly.

And forgave him anyway.

That possibility hurts far more.

Parrot continued. "And..." His expression grew more serious. 

"Don't let people decide who you are."

A pause.

"You're more than somebody else's pawn."

Wemmbu's eyes widened.

Parrot turned slightly.

Not enough to look at him directly.

Just enough.

"You're Wemmbu."

The words were simple.

Honest.

"My friend."

"My ally."

The mace suddenly felt heavier.

Much heavier.

Wemmbu frowned as he quietly thought of those words again.

Because friends wouldn't kill each other.

An ally wouldn't backstab.

But Wemmbu is Wemmbu.

No matter how much he changed, it doesn't change the fact that he's still Wemmbu.

Like how a murderer is always a murderer.

No matter how you phrase it.

…(😬)

Parrot looked back toward the sunset.

Seemingly unaware of the damage he had just done.

Or perhaps fully aware.

It doesn't matter.

Another laugh escaped him.

"Man."

"What?"

"If there is an afterlife, I'm never hearing the end of this."

Wemmbu blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it." Parrot grinned. "Theo."

"Oh no."

"Exactly."

For the first time all evening, Wemmbu genuinely laughed.

A broken laugh.

A painful laugh.

But a laugh nonetheless.

Parrot looked pleased. "There he is."

"Shut up."

"No promises."

The wind brushed against his face. The sunset painted the sky gold.

And for the first time in weeks—

Parrot looked happy.

Not because he was dying.

Not because he had given up.

But because for a few brief moments—

He got to be himself again.

Before the end.

A silence stretches between them as if no one could think of anything left to say.

So Parrot decided to call it a day.

"I think..." His voice was soft. "...I think I'm tired."

Not physically.

Or perhaps physically too.

But mostly something deeper.

A tiredness that had settled into his bones long before the kingdom fell.

Long before Theo died.

Long before Skymore burned.

Long before everything.

Wemmbu lowered his gaze.

His grip tightened around the mace.

Parrot noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He always noticed.

Yet he didn't turn around.

Didn't force Wemmbu to look him in the eye.

Didn't make it harder.

That somehow made it worse.

The wind passed through the square one last time.

And so Parrot spoke for the final time.

Softly.

Almost sleepily.

"Thanks for giving me a choice."

Wemmbu felt his throat close.

And that—

More than the song.

More than the memories.

More than the smile.

That was what broke something inside Wemmbu.

Because it wasn't a king speaking.

Or a prisoner.

Or an enemy.

Just a tired friend.

Wemmbu raised the mace.

And hesitated.

One breath.

Two.

Three.

Then he thought of EggChan.

Of Arachn1d.

Of promises.

Of consequences.

The former king closed his eyes.

The smile remained.

Small.

Tired.

Genuine.

And for the first time in a very long while—

Peaceful.

And finally—

A wind charge was thrown as the mace came down.

There was no pain.

No dramatic realization.

No final regret.

Only darkness.

And somewhere within that darkness—

Theo's voice.

Faint.

Annoyed.

Familiar.

"You took forever."

“My bad…but I'm here now.”

Then the void swallowed everything.

**ParrotX2 was smashed by Wemmbu with <The Crucible>**

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