Archive of Our Own

The clash of metal echoed across the stone ruins, sharp enough to cut through the howling wind that swept across the elevated battlefield. Wemmbu’s sword collided against Spoke’s shield again, the impact sending a vibration through his arm as he pushed forward with enough force to make the other player stumble backward. The fight had been going on long enough that most people would have started slowing down, but Spoke was not most people. Somehow, impossibly, he still looked like he was having fun.

That was the most irritating thing about him.

Wemmbu had fought countless opponents before, enemies who charged recklessly, enemies who relied on brute force, enemies who panicked the moment they started losing. Spoke was different. He fought like every battle was some kind of performance, like every swing of his sword and every block of his shield was part of some bigger joke only he understood. Even now, while he was clearly being pushed back and losing, there was that stupid confidence in his stance that made Wemmbu want to wipe the expression off his face.

The edge of Wemmbu’s blade scraped against Spoke’s armor as the two separated, their footsteps grinding against the stone beneath them. Spoke quickly recovered, raising his shield again before swinging back with a sudden burst of speed that forced Wemmbu to block. The attack was not enough to overwhelm him, but it was enough to prove the same thing Spoke always proved during their fights: even though he was obviously the weaker fighter, he never stayed predictable for long, and that was his greatest strength.

Wemmbu shifted his weight, watching carefully as Spoke circled him. His grip tightened around his sword as he waited for the next move, already preparing himself for whatever ridiculous trick would come next. That was how every fight with Spoke went. The second Wemmbu thought he understood his rhythm, Spoke would throw everything off just to see how he reacted.

"You know, bro, you’re kinda ruining my day right now," Spoke said, lowering his shield slightly as he tilted his head with a grin that was far too relaxed for someone who was currently losing the fight. His armor was damaged, his movements were becoming more desperate, and yet he still sounded like he was casually complaining about something minor. "Usually people at least pretend to make it fun before they start destroying me."

Wemmbu stared at him for a moment, almost unable to believe what he was hearing. There was a certain talent Spoke had for making even a serious fight sound like two friends messing around instead of two enemies trying to take each other down. It was annoying. It was distracting. It was exactly the kind of thing Wemmbu knew he needed to ignore.

"You’re literally the one running your mouth while getting beaten," Wemmbu replied, lowering his sword slightly as he stepped forward. His voice remained proud, though the slightest hint of irritation slipped through as he watched Spoke immediately start moving again instead of acknowledging the point. "Just give up then, that’s not my problem."

Spoke laughed, raising his shield just in time to block another strike from Wemmbu. The force of the hit pushed him backward, his boots scraping against the ground as he struggled to maintain his balance. For a brief moment, the confidence on his face disappeared, replaced by the simple reality that Wemmbu had the advantage.

Then it came back, because of course it did. Spoke was always one to fight against the odds.

A small distortion flickered across Spoke’s arm as he moved, his body briefly glitching before returning to normal. Wemmbu noticed it, but only barely. The strange glitching had become something familiar throughout their fights, something he had learned to account for without thinking too much about it. Spoke’s entire existence seemed built around being impossible to predict, and the glitches were just another part of that.

The first few times Wemmbu had seen it, he had paid attention. He had watched carefully, trying to figure out what triggered it and what advantage Spoke gained from it. However, after enough battles, it became another factor in his calculations. 

Like the shield in his hand, the terrain beneath his feet, and the armor protecting his opponent, it was just another weapon Spoke could use and nothing more. It didn’t change the fact that he would lose today.

Spoke suddenly vanished a few steps to the side with another flicker of distortion, appearing just outside Wemmbu’s reach before swinging his sword. Wemmbu reacted immediately, raising his own blade to block the attack. The movement was fast, but not fast enough to catch him off guard.

"You really do that every time, dude," Wemmbu muttered as he pushed their swords apart, his expression remaining unimpressed despite the sudden shift in distance. He followed Spoke’s movement with his eyes, refusing to let the trick work twice. "At some point you gotta realize I’m not falling for it."

Spoke backed away with a grin, spinning his sword once in his hand before bringing his shield back up. His body flickered faintly again, small pieces of him distorting for a fraction of a second before settling. 

"And at some point you gotta realize I’m not gonna stop doing it, bro," Spoke replied, his voice carrying that same irritating amusement as he leaned forward. "You’re basically telling me it works by getting affected every time."

Wemmbu clicked his tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. That was what Spoke wanted: a reaction, a mistake, or a moment where emotion overpowered judgment. He had noticed that about him a long time ago. Spoke did not just fight opponents; he studied them. He poked at every weakness, every insecurity, every little crack he could find until someone finally slipped.

Wemmbu did not slip. He could not, there was a reason he was standing here.

Spoke was not just some random opponent. He was not just another fighter in his way. He was an enemy of the Zam Empire, an enemy of the person Wemmbu had an alliance with. Prince Zam wanted Spoke gone, and Wemmbu existed to carry out that will. That was the simple truth of it. He was a weapon, and weapons did not hesitate when they were pointed at their target.

At least, that was what he told himself.

The battlefield cracked beneath their feet as they continued exchanging blows, their swords colliding again and again. Wemmbu kept the pressure on, forcing Spoke further back with every strike. Spoke was dangerous, but danger did not mean unbeatable.

"You’re really committed to this whole loyal knight thing, huh?" Spoke asked, blocking another attack as he slid backward. His voice was still playful despite the strain showing in his movements, and he glanced up at Wemmbu through his helmet with obvious amusement. "Don’t you get tired of following that guy?"

Wemmbu paused only briefly before swinging again, forcing Spoke to move. The comment should have meant nothing. It was another joke, another attempt to get into his head, another pointless distraction from someone who refused to take anything seriously. Yet somehow, Spoke always managed to make even the smallest comments feel like they were aimed directly at something deeper.

"Maybe you should focus on surviving," Wemmbu answered, his voice falsely sweet as he advanced. He kept his eyes locked on Spoke, refusing to acknowledge the way the words bothered him more than they should have. "You talk too much."

Spoke laughed again, stumbling back from the pressure but still refusing to stop. 

"Bro, you say that like it’s new information," he replied, adjusting his shield with a shrug. "You’ve known me this whole time. Complaining about me talking is like complaining that water is wet."

Wemmbu ignored him. That was the easiest thing to do. Ignore the jokes. Ignore the comments. Ignore the strange way Spoke always managed to make every fight feel less like an assassination attempt and more like some personal argument neither of them wanted to end. Ignore the fact that, somehow, Spoke was always the opponent Wemmbu remembered the most.

There was a reason everyone paid attention when Spoke appeared. There was a reason Wemmbu had to stop him. Spoke was dangerous, that was all.

Spoke was reckless, impossible to read, and constantly searching for ways to throw him off balance. He was a threat to the Zam Empire, a threat to Zam’s plans, and a threat that needed to be eliminated before he caused more damage. Any frustration Wemmbu felt was because of that, and any focus he gave him was because of that. Anything else was irrelevant.

At least, that was what Wemmbu believed as he raised his sword again and prepared for the next exchange.

And as usual, Spoke only gave a familiar smile.

The battle dragged them further across the ruins until the ground beneath them became less like a battlefield and more like a death trap. Broken stone pillars jutted out from the cliffside, patches of grass and dirt clinging desperately to the edges of the high platform they had forced each other onto. The wind was harsher up here, cutting between the cracks of the old structure and carrying away the sounds of their fighting before they could fully echo. It was the kind of place where one wrong step could end the fight instantly, and somehow, neither of them seemed interested in moving somewhere safer.

Which was exactly the problem with Spoke. He never knew when to stop.

Wemmbu blocked another swing, his shield absorbing the impact before he pushed forward with his sword. Spoke stumbled back slightly, boots scraping against the stone as he regained his footing, but instead of using the opening to retreat, he laughed. Actually laughed, like getting pushed closer to the edge of a massive drop while fighting someone trying to kill him was just another funny situation he had somehow ended up in.

"Low-key, you gotta admit, this is a pretty sick spot for a final battle," Spoke said, lowering his shield for half a second as he looked around the ruins with exaggerated appreciation. His sword rested loosely in his hand, and somehow he managed to look more like he was sightseeing than fighting for his life. "Like, if I die here, at least the scenery goes crazy."

Wemmbu stared at him for a moment, almost genuinely confused by how Spoke managed to make every situation ten times more ridiculous than it needed to be. There were moments where he wondered if Spoke even understood the danger he constantly put himself into, or if he just enjoyed seeing how far he could push things before something finally snapped. Knowing Spoke, it was probably both.

"You know most people try not to think about dying while they're actively fighting someone, right?" Wemmbu replied, raising his sword again as he stepped closer. There was a faint hint of amusement in his voice despite himself, because unfortunately, Spoke's nonsense had a way of dragging reactions out of him. "Kind of a weird strategy, dude."

Spoke immediately grinned, clearly noticing that small shift in tone. That was the annoying thing about him. He caught everything. A tiny change in expression, a slight hesitation, a moment where Wemmbu sounded less like an enemy and more like someone just arguing with him. Spoke treated every little reaction like a victory.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Spoke said, raising a hand slightly while keeping his sword ready in the other. His eyes narrowed with fake seriousness as he leaned forward. "Was that concern I just heard? Are we having character development right now?"

Wemmbu scoffed, though the corner of his mouth almost threatened to move upward. Almost.

"Don’t flatter yourself," Wemmbu answered, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on his sword. His expression settled back into focus, but his voice still carried the same familiar irritation tinged with slight amusement that came from dealing with Spoke for far too long. "I’m just saying it’d be embarrassing if the guy I’m supposed to kill ends up losing to fall damage instead."

Spoke placed a hand over his chest dramatically, pretending to be offended while slowly backing away. His armor was already damaged from their fight, and the faint flickers of glitches continued appearing across him whenever he moved too quickly. It had become more frequent as the battle continued, small distortions appearing along his arms and shoulders before disappearing again like nothing happened.

"Wow, bro. That’s actually the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day," Spoke said, shaking his head as he smiled beneath his helmet. He lifted his shield again, preparing for another exchange while still looking far too entertained. "You’re basically saying you’d miss me!"

Wemmbu rolled his eyes and moved in.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he replied, swinging his sword toward Spoke’s side. His attack was fast, but not completely serious in the way it could have been, because even now, even knowing why he was here, part of him was still caught in the rhythm of the fight. "The silence I’d get would probably be peaceful for five minutes before I got bored."

Spoke blocked the strike, but the force pushed him sideways. He quickly recovered, using the momentum to spin and attempt a counterattack. Wemmbu stepped away just in time, the blade passing close enough that he felt the movement of air against his armor. Spoke immediately followed with another attack, refusing to give him any time to settle.

That was how Spoke fought. Not just with weapons, but with pressure, chaos, and the constant need to keep Wemmbu reacting instead of thinking.

Spoke did not want a clean fight. He did not want predictable moves and careful strategies. He wanted the kind of battle where both people were forced to show pieces of themselves they normally kept hidden. That was what made him dangerous: not just his abilities, not just his nature as a voidling, but the way he somehow turned every confrontation into a conversation.

And Wemmbu hated that he was good at it. Because the longer they fought, the easier it became to forget why they were fighting.

The mission was simple. Prince Zam wanted him gone, and Wemmbu was the one sent to make sure that happened.

There was no complicated reason behind it. There was no mystery. He was a weapon, and weapons existed for a purpose. His job was not to question the orders given to him. His job was to carry them out.

But Spoke made everything complicated.

"You're thinking too much again," Spoke said suddenly, interrupting the silence between their attacks. He ducked beneath another swing, his movement accompanied by a brief glitch that made his body flicker before returning to normal. His voice remained casual, but his eyes stayed locked onto Wemmbu like he had noticed something. "I feel a little forgotten when you go all quiet and dramatic, you know."

Wemmbu frowned slightly as he blocked another hit. "I’m literally fighting you."

"Yeah, but you’re fighting me like you’re also arguing with yourself," Spoke replied, shrugging as he stepped away. His tone was playful, but there was a strange accuracy to it that made Wemmbu pause for just a second. "Kinda weird, bro. Maybe you should take your own advice and focus on the fight."

Wemmbu hated that Spoke easily noticed things he shouldn’t.

"Seriously, does your mouth ever get tired?” Wemmbu said, moving forward again. His voice was lighter than before, but there was still a firmness underneath it, a reminder that this was not just a game. 

Spoke laughed as he raised his shield. "Not once."

"That’s tragic."

"Sounds like a you problem, huh."

Their weapons collided again, the sound ringing through the empty ruins. For a moment, it almost felt normal, and that was the part Wemmbu disliked the most.

Fighting Spoke was frustrating, but it was also familiar. There was an annoying comfort in knowing exactly what kind of ridiculous comment would come next, exactly what kind of impossible move Spoke would attempt. He had memorized the way Spoke fought without realizing it, and had learned the patterns hidden beneath all the chaos.

He knew when Spoke would dodge. He knew when he would attack. He knew when he was pretending to be weaker than he actually was.

But he did not know this. Spoke was unpredictable by nature, and that was why Wemmbu always had to stay alert.

The fight carried them backward, each step taking them closer to the edge of the ruined platform. Neither of them seemed to notice at first. They were too focused on each other, too caught up in the exchange of strikes and blocks. The world outside the fight became distant, reduced to nothing more than wind and stone beneath their feet.

Spoke noticed first, but from Wemmbu’s perspective, there was nothing different about him.

No hesitation, warning, or obvious plan. Spoke was still smiling and talking.

"Okay, not gonna lie, bro," Spoke said as he stepped backward, raising his sword again. His voice carried the same teasing energy it always did, and there was nothing in his expression that suggested anything unusual was about to happen. "I think I’m starting to run out of ways to annoy you until I can get away."

Wemmbu tilted his head slightly, watching him carefully. "That might be the most unbelievable thing you’ve said all day."

Spoke laughed, and then he stepped back again.

Wait.

The space in front of him was suddenly vacant. One second, Spoke was standing there, still grinning, still ready to fight.

The next second, he was gone.

For a moment, Wemmbu’s brain refused to process it. The fight was still happening; that was the thought that should have come first.

Spoke had probably moved somewhere else. He had probably used one of his tricks. Wemmbu had fought him enough times to know that Spoke loved making things unnecessarily complicated.

Though, all he could think about was that he heard not an attack, but the sound of stone breaking apart beneath someone’s weight. And suddenly, there was no Spoke in front of him, only the empty edge of the platform.

Wemmbu stopped moving. The wind rushed past him, carrying away dust and loose pieces of stone that fell into the endless space below. His sword was now kept in his inventory, and the battle itself had disappeared from his mind. The mission, the duty, the reason he was standing there in the first place, all of it vanished in an instant.

Because Spoke was falling. The same person who had been standing there seconds ago, making jokes and irritating him like he always did. The same person who had been blocking his attacks and laughing like this was all some game. The same person Wemmbu had been trying to defeat was suddenly someone who might not reach the ground alive.

His thoughts lagged behind what his eyes were seeing.

No.

That was the only thing that came to mind.

"Wha..." Wemmbu started, the word leaving his mouth before he even realized he had spoken. His eyes widened slightly as he stared over the edge, searching for any sign of Spoke below. "Spoke?"

The name sounded strange coming from him. Not because he never said it, he did, many times even. Usually followed by annoyance, some comment about how reckless Spoke was or how much of a pain he was being, and an irritated tone that made it clear he was still trying to pretend none of this mattered.

But this time there was no irritation, only alarm. 

His body moved before his mind caught up. That was what scared him the most. Wemmbu was not someone who acted without thinking. Every fight, every movement, every decision had a reason behind it. He calculated distances. He measured risks. He watched patterns and waited for openings. That was how he survived. That was how he carried out his orders.

But there was no calculation this time. No pause, a moment where he considered whether this was a trick or where he remembered Spoke was his enemy.

His wings spread violently behind him. The movement was so sudden that it almost threw him off balance, air tearing outward as he launched himself from the platform. The same height that had made him hesitate in any other situation meant nothing now. The same danger he would normally avoid became irrelevant.

Because Spoke was below him, falling, and for reasons unknown to him right now, Wemmbu was going after him.

The wind slammed against him as he dove, his armor catching against the air as he forced himself downward faster. When he finally spotted Spoke, his eyes stayed locked onto the falling figure below, refusing to look anywhere else. Everything around him blurred together into streaks of stone and sky, but Spoke remained the only thing he could see.

The thought came suddenly. He could die. It was simple and obvious. It was something Wemmbu should have considered before, but he hadn’t.

Because there had not been enough time. The second Spoke disappeared, the only thing Wemmbu cared about was reaching him, and that realization hit harder than the fall itself.

Why did he move? Why did he go after him? Why?

He could have watched. He could have stood there. He could have told himself it was better this way. One less threat to the Zam Empire. One less enemy standing between him and his mission. One less problem for Zam to worry about.

That should have been the most logical decision, but Wemmbu hadn’t even thought of it.

"Come on, bro," Wemmbu muttered under his breath as he pushed himself faster, his wings beating harder. His voice was strained, almost swallowed by the rushing wind around him. "Don’t do this."

It was almost a plea, and he hated that. He hated that Spoke had managed to become someone who could make him sound like that.

As he got closer, the glitches became more obvious. They had always been there. Wemmbu had seen them during fights countless times before. The strange distortions along Spoke’s body, the way parts of him seemed to flicker for a moment before returning. It was just another part of being a voidling, another ability he had to keep track of whenever they fought.

Normally, Wemmbu barely thought about them.

Now, though, with Spoke falling faster than he should have been able to, they were impossible to ignore.

The glitches flickered around him in unstable bursts, spreading more noticeably across his body as the distance between him and the ground disappeared. His form seemed to glitch against reality itself, appearing and disappearing in fragments before snapping back.

But Wemmbu did not stop to analyze it. He didn’t wonder what it meant. He didn’t wonder if Spoke was trying something. He didn’t wonder if there was some trick hidden underneath all of this.

Because all of those thoughts required time, and Wemmbu didn’t have the luxury of time.

All he knew was that Spoke was falling, and that he needed to reach him.

"Spoke!" Wemmbu shouted, his voice cutting through the wind as he stretched his hand forward. His expression tightened with panic he didn’t even realize he was showing, his eyes locked onto the figure below. "Spoke!?"

There was no response. That made something in his chest twist. Usually Spoke always had something to say.

Be it a joke, a comment, or even some stupid remark that somehow made every situation ten times more frustrating. Silence was wrong, because Spoke was never silent.

Wemmbu pushed harder, ignoring the strain in his wings and the sharp rush of air against him. His entire focus narrowed down to one thing. The distance between them. The seconds disappearing too quickly. The fact that he was getting closer but not fast enough.

He had faced stronger opponents. He had fought impossible battles. He had hunted down people who were considered impossible to catch.

But nothing had ever made him feel this helpless, because Spoke was falling, and he could not do anything but chase after him and hope he could reach him before he fell.

The distance disappeared too quickly.

One moment, Spoke was still too far below him, a flickering shape caught between the open sky and the ground that waited beneath them. The next, Wemmbu was there, his hand finally reaching him.

There was no careful landing, no perfect rescue, no smooth movement like the kind he would have performed in any other situation. There was only panic.

His fingers closed around Spoke’s arm with enough force that he almost worried he had grabbed too hard. The moment he felt something solid beneath his hand, something real and present, his entire body reacted before his mind could catch up. He pulled Spoke toward him immediately, wrapping an arm around him and using the momentum of his wings to shift their position before they could continue falling.

For a second, Wemmbu genuinely thought he had failed. That single thought had been unbearable.

The possibility that he would reach out and find nothing, that Spoke would slip through his fingers before he could do anything, had flashed through his mind so quickly that he barely had time to understand it. And now that he was actually holding him, now that he could feel the weight of another person instead of empty air, his body still refused to calm down.

His wings strained as he forced them upward, fighting against gravity with everything he had. The sudden change in direction was rough, far from graceful, and both of them were thrown slightly by the force of it. Wemmbu barely noticed the impact, barely noticed the ache spreading through his shoulders from the effort.

All he noticed was that Spoke was there, alive.

The thought should have relieved him. Instead, it left him with a strange emptiness. Now that the immediate danger had passed, his brain finally caught up.

Wemmbu stared forward, still holding onto Spoke as they moved through the air. The realization settled slowly, piece by piece, like his mind was trying to process something it refused to accept. He had not considered whether it was the right choice, he had simply done it.

He, someone who had spent his entire existence following orders, someone who had trained himself to separate unnecessary emotion from action, had thrown himself off a cliff after the person he was supposed to kill.

The irony almost made him laugh. It was utterly ridiculous.

Spoke was his enemy, the sole reason he was there, and the person Zam wanted gone. Despite all that, though, Wemmbu had just abandoned every logical thought he had for a single instinctive reaction.

"Bro..." Wemmbu muttered, his voice low as he stared ahead while keeping his grip firm. His expression twisted slightly, caught somewhere between disbelief and frustration as he tried to understand his own actions. "What am I even doing?"

The answer was obvious. He was saving Spoke, and he hated how simple that was.

The moment they reached solid ground, Wemmbu landed harder than he intended. His boots struck against the stone with enough force to make dust scatter around them, his wings folding back immediately as he regained his balance. He released Spoke almost instantly, though not before making sure the other was actually standing.

The second his hands were no longer needed to keep Spoke safe, Wemmbu realized exactly how close and tight and desperate he had been holding him.

That only made everything worse, so naturally, he did the only thing he knew how to do. He got angry.

"What was that?" Wemmbu snapped, turning toward Spoke with his eyebrows drawn together. His voice was sharper than usual, carrying the leftover adrenaline from the fall rather than the calm confidence he normally had during fights. "Seriously, dude, what was your plan there?"

The words came out faster than he expected.

Good. That was better. Anger made sense. It was normal and something he could explain, unlike… whatever just happened there.

Spoke being reckless was something he understood. Spoke doing something stupid was something he had dealt with countless times before. It was much easier to focus on that than the fact that his hands had been shaking slightly when he thought he was too late.

"You just casually fall off a giant cliff in the middle of a fight?" Wemmbu continued, gesturing toward the edge they had just escaped from. His sword was still hanging at his side, forgotten for the moment as he focused entirely on the person in front of him. "What was going through your head? Did you… what, did you forget I was your enemy and not the void?"

It was a familiar tone of annoyance and sarcasm, but there was something underneath it. Something Spoke would probably notice. 

Wemmbu hated that. He hated that his voice sounded different. He hated that he could still feel the memory of that fall, the split second where everything in him had screamed that he needed to move. He hated that the fear was still there, buried underneath all the frustration he was throwing at Spoke.

Because that was the actual problem, that for one moment, Wemmbu thought he was going to lose him, and he did not know what to do with that.

"You understand that you could've actually gotten yourself killed, right?" Wemmbu said, his expression tightening as he looked at Spoke. His tone lowered slightly, losing some of the sarcastic edge and becoming more serious despite his attempt to hide it. "Like, actually dead. Gone and banned from the server. Not your usual 'let's do something dumb and see what happens' stuff, bro!"

He paused only for a moment, but it was enough, because the words he almost said were different.

I thought you were going to die.

They sat right there waiting, but he swallowed them before it could get out.

He looked away briefly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His wings shifted slightly behind him, the leftover tension making it impossible for him to stand completely still. He looked less like someone who had just saved an enemy and more like someone who was desperately trying to convince himself he had not done anything unusual.

"Seriously, man," Wemmbu muttered, shaking his head as he looked back at him. His expression was irritated, but there was an exhaustion behind it that he could not fully hide. "You’re actually lucky I was there."

The sentence bothered him the second it left his mouth, because it was true and it sounded far too much like he cared.

So he immediately corrected himself, even though all it did was make him look more of a fool than ever.

"Not because I care or anything," Wemmbu added quickly, pointing a finger at Spoke as if that somehow fixed the implication. His expression became defensive, almost annoyed at himself more than anything else. "I mean, obviously. It would just be annoying if my mission got messed up because you decided to die not by my hands. Zam would be disappointed."

The silence after Wemmbu’s words didn’t last long, but it felt stretched in a way that made it uncomfortable. The wind still moved through the ruins around them, brushing against broken stone and scattered debris, yet neither of them immediately filled the space with noise. Wemmbu stood there with his sword now in hand, shoulders tense, like he was waiting for the situation to reset itself back into something familiar.

Spoke, of course, was the first to break it.

Wemmbu noticed the way he shifted his weight slightly, rolling his shoulder as if he had just stepped off from something far less dramatic than a near fall from a cliff. There was still faint distortion around him, little glitches that faded in and out along his arms, but his posture was already returning to its usual relaxed state. It almost made the entire thing feel unreal in hindsight, like Wemmbu’s mind was struggling to accept that it had actually happened.

"Wemmbu, bro..." Spoke said slowly, tilting his head as he looked at Wemmbu with an expression that was way too calm for the situation. He raised a hand slightly, pointing vaguely between them as if trying to replay the last few minutes in his head. "You did not just try to act like that didn’t happen."

Wemmbu’s grip tightened around his sword immediately, like the words themselves had physically pushed him back into reality. He turned his head slightly, giving Spoke a look that was equal parts annoyed and defensive, but there was still a lingering edge of instability underneath it. His mind was still catching up to itself, still trying to file what happened into something that made sense.

"What are you talking about?" Wemmbu replied quickly, too quickly. He shifted his stance, stepping slightly away from the edge as if distance from it would somehow erase the memory of it. His voice carried irritation, but it was clearly forced, like he was trying to rebuild control over a situation that had already slipped out of it. "You literally just fell off a cliff in the middle of a fight, dude."

Spoke blinked at him for a moment, then let out a short laugh that sounded more confused than amused. He lowered his hand, shaking his head slightly as he looked at Wemmbu like he was trying to figure out whether he was serious or not. There was no aggression in it, just that annoying curiosity he always had, like he was constantly observing things instead of simply experiencing them.

"Yeah, and you jumped after me," Spoke said casually, like he was pointing out something obvious Wemmbu had somehow missed. He shifted his sword to rest loosely at his side, completely unconcerned with the fact that they were still technically in the middle of a fight. "Like, full send, no hesitation, straight off the edge. That was kinda crazy, bro. Even for you."

Wemmbu immediately scoffed, shaking his head as he took another step back, as if the physical movement would separate him from the accusation itself. His wings twitched slightly behind him, a subtle reaction he didn’t bother controlling. His expression hardened, but it wasn’t quite stable. It kept slipping.

"I didn’t jump after you," Wemmbu said, voice sharp as he pointed his sword slightly toward the ground, not at Spoke, but just enough to emphasize his point. He tried to sound confident, tried to sound like this was still the same kind of argument they usually had, but it didn’t land the same way. "I reacted. There’s a difference. I didn’t do it for you, it was because of you."

Spoke tilted his head again, clearly unimpressed, and took a slow step closer instead of backing away. The movement wasn’t threatening, just curious, like he was trying to see how far Wemmbu would go with the denial before it cracked completely. The space between them felt smaller now, not because of proximity, but because of how focused the conversation had become.

"Okay, but what exactly did you react to?" Spoke asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. His voice was light, but there was a quiet edge of something more observant underneath it. "Because from where I was falling, it kinda looked like you saw me go over the edge and just decided ‘yeah, I’m following that guy to his death.’"

Wemmbu’s jaw tightened at that, his grip on his sword shifting slightly as he looked away for a split second. The memory flashed back again, unwanted and sharp. The empty space where Spoke had been. The sudden drop in his stomach. The movement before thought. He forced himself to look back at Spoke almost immediately, like breaking eye contact would give the moment too much power.

"I had wings, I was not dying there, bro! And… whatever. It was just instinct," Wemmbu said, voice growing lower as he went on, more controlled but still clearly defensive. He gestured vaguely with his free hand, as if explaining something logical would make it true. "You fell. I had time to stop it, that’s it. That’s literally it."

Spoke let out a quiet hum, like he was considering that answer, but not fully buying it. He shifted his weight again, this time slightly more relaxed, as if he had already gotten the reaction he wanted and was just continuing the conversation for fun. The casualness of it made Wemmbu feel even more aware of how off-balance he still was.

"Right," Spoke said slowly, dragging the word out. He glanced briefly toward the edge of the platform, then back at Wemmbu. "So you just instinctively decided to dive off a cliff for your, what’s it called? Your enemy! You did that for your enemy. But that’s normal behavior, I guess?"

Wemmbu immediately opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out fast enough to sound convincing. That pause was all it took for Spoke to lean into it slightly, like he had just found a crack in something he was now very interested in exploring.

"Hey," Spoke added, shaking his head slightly with a small grin. "That’s kinda insane."

"It’s not insane," Wemmbu snapped back instantly, too quickly again, his voice rising slightly before he forced it back down. He stepped forward this time instead of away, like movement could reset the conversation. "It’s practical. If you die mid-fight, it causes problems. Everything gets complicated."

Even he knew that didn’t make sense at all. And even as he said it, he could hear how weak it sounded. Spoke clearly heard it too. He didn’t laugh this time. It would’ve been easier for Wemmbu if he laughed, because nothing about this was normal and he needed any sort of stability right about now.

Instead, he just watched Wemmbu for a moment, quieter now, more focused. The usual humor in his expression didn’t disappear completely, but it softened just enough to make the moment feel different, like he was deciding whether or not to push further.

"Yeah, well, I could’ve saved myself," Spoke said suddenly, like it was nothing. He adjusted his grip on his sword slightly, almost absentmindedly, while keeping his eyes on Wemmbu. "Voidling stuff kicked in when I fell. I wasn’t exactly helpless down there, dude."

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Wemmbu froze for half a second, not physically stepping back, but something in his posture definitely shifted. His mind immediately replayed the fall again, but this time with different information attached to it. The glitches. The distortions. The way Spoke’s body had flickered more violently as he descended.

He hadn’t thought anything of it before, now it didn’t fit the same way. Wemmbu frowned slightly, his expression tightening as he tried to process what he was hearing. 

"You could’ve… what?" he asked, voice lower now, slower, like he was trying to make sure he understood correctly. His grip on his sword loosened slightly without him noticing.

Spoke shrugged, completely casual again, like he hadn’t just shifted the entire meaning of the situation. He looked away briefly toward the ruins, then back at Wemmbu with that same annoying calm.

"I could’ve not died," Spoke said simply. Then, after a moment, he added, "I just didn’t know if I needed to, you know?"

Wemmbu stared at him. His mind immediately filled in the rest, whether he wanted it to or not. The timing, the fall, the choice Spoke apparently had. The fact that he hadn’t been helpless at all, that there had been a moment where everything could have gone differently without Wemmbu ever needing to act.

Which meant…

Wemmbu exhaled slowly, almost inaudibly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked away for a moment. The realization didn’t come as dramatic, it came as something quieter.

He hadn’t saved someone who had no other option. He had chosen to save someone who was watching to see what he would do. He didn’t know what to do with the knowledge of that fact.

"Are you serious right now?" Wemmbu said finally, turning back toward him with a look that was half disbelief, half frustration. His voice carried more energy again, but it was uneven, like he was trying to rebuild the ground under himself. "You just decided to test that randomly?"

Spoke gave him a small grin again, less sharp than before, more like he was acknowledging that yes, that was exactly what he did. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t justify it either. He just stood there, letting the answer exist between them.

Wemmbu let out a short, sharp breath, dragging a hand down his face for a moment before dropping it again. His wings shifted behind him slightly, restless, like his body hadn’t caught up with his thoughts yet. He looked away again, jaw tightening.

"That’s actually insane," Wemmbu muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Spoke this time. Then louder, like he needed to regain control of the situation, he added, "You’re insane. You know what? Doesn’t matter. You’re still my target."

But even as he said it, something about it felt further away than it had before, and the worst part was that Wemmbu knew exactly why.

The air between them stayed tense, but it wasn’t the same kind of tension as before. It wasn’t the pressure of a fight anymore. It was something quieter, more unsettled, like the battlefield had forgotten how to continue. Wemmbu still had his sword in his hand, still technically in position to continue, but nothing about his stance looked certain anymore.

Spoke noticed it immediately, unfortunately.

Wemmbu kept his gaze forward at first, jaw tight, like if he focused hard enough he could force everything back into place. The mission and his objective. The reason he was here. Spoke was still standing in front of him, still alive, still talking like nothing about what just happened mattered. That should have made things simpler. It didn’t.

A quiet laugh escaped Spoke as he tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking down toward Wemmbu’s sword. Not in fear, not in caution, just observation. Like he was looking at something interesting that wasn’t behaving the way it was supposed to.

"Wemmbu…" Spoke started, voice light and almost amused as he slowly shifted his weight onto one leg. His hands were relaxed at his sides, no shield raised anymore, no defensive stance. It was like the fight had already ended for him mentally, even if the space around them hadn’t caught up yet. "You’re still standing there like you’re gonna swing."

Wemmbu didn’t respond immediately. His grip tightened slightly, but the blade didn’t move. That was the problem: it should have moved, it always moved. That was the entire point of him being there. Yet now, with Spoke standing in front of him, unbothered and annoyingly calm, something in him refused to follow through.

Spoke leaned forward slightly, just enough to make the distance between them feel more noticeable, his expression shifting into something teasing again.

"You can’t even do it properly right now, dude," Spoke continued, nodding slightly toward Wemmbu’s sword. His tone stayed casual, but there was a knowing edge to it, like he was pointing out something obvious that Wemmbu hadn’t fully admitted to himself yet. "You’re all tense and stuff, but your arm’s not moving."

Wemmbu’s expression twitched slightly, his eyes narrowing as he finally looked directly at him. For a second, it looked like he might actually raise his sword again, like muscle memory might override everything else. But the motion stalled halfway, it barely even started.

Spoke noticed that too. His grin widened slightly, softer than before but still far too confident for someone who had just fallen off a cliff moments ago.

"See?" Spoke said, straightening back up and letting out a small breath of amusement. He tilted his head slightly, watching Wemmbu like he had just confirmed something he already suspected. "I knew you can’t kill me."

Wemmbu’s jaw tightened immediately.

“That’s not…” He started, but stopped himself halfway, cutting the sentence off like saying it out loud would make it less stable. His wings shifted slightly behind him again, restless, reacting to something his voice refused to acknowledge properly. He tried again, firmer this time. “That’s not how it works.”

Spoke hummed softly, like he was entertained by the answer rather than convinced by it. He took a small step back this time, creating a bit more space between them. Not because he was afraid, but because he was clearly done standing still.

"Sure, sure," Spoke said, rolling his shoulders slightly as if shaking off the last remnants of the fight. His tone was easy again, slipping back into that familiar casual rhythm like nothing about this situation had actually changed him. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, bro."

Wemmbu frowned, his grip on his sword loosening again without him noticing. That was the part that bothered him the most. The fact that he kept losing control of things without actively choosing to. His focus, timing, and certainty. All of it kept slipping in small ways he couldn’t fully catch.

Spoke glanced past him briefly, toward the ruined edge of the platform, then back at Wemmbu. For a moment, there was something almost thoughtful in his expression, like he was considering how much longer to stay in this moment before leaving it behind.

Then he sighed lightly, as if making a simple decision.

"Alright, man," Spoke said, stepping fully back now and lowering his hand to his inventory for just a second. His movements were calm, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world despite everything that had just happened. "Let’s just leave this fight here, okay?"

Wemmbu blinked slightly at that. That was not how this was supposed to go.

He didn’t respond immediately, his mind trying to catch up to the shift. Spoke wasn’t retreating out of fear. He wasn’t negotiating. He wasn’t even really asking, it was more like he was deciding for both of them that this was where things ended.

Wemmbu finally found his voice again, though it came out quieter than he intended.

"You don’t get to just decide that," he said, tightening his stance slightly, though even he could hear how weak the resistance sounded. His sword stayed lowered but present, like he was still holding onto the idea of the fight more than the fight itself. "We’re not done. I still need to kill you."

Spoke paused for half a second, glancing at him again. There was no irritation in it, no anger, just that same annoying calm confidence that made everything feel uneven. Then he smiled slightly, like Wemmbu had just said something predictable.

"Alright," Spoke said simply, nodding once as if acknowledging him. Then, without waiting for any kind of response, he reached back and equipped his elytra.

The movement was so casual it almost felt disrespectful.

Wemmbu’s eyes flicked immediately to it, the sudden shift catching him off guard more than it should have. He didn’t move, didn’t attack, didn’t stop him. His brain registered all the possible outcomes, all the ways he could react, but none of them fully formed into action in time.

Spoke stepped off the edge, and then he was gone again, but this time not falling. He was flying.

The elytra caught the air effortlessly, and Spoke rose into it like he had never been in danger at all. The force of the rocket and the wind carried him upward and away from the ruins, his figure quickly shrinking as he moved further and further from the platform. He didn’t look back. 

Wemmbu stood there, unmoving. The wind continued to push through the ruins around him, carrying away the last traces of what had just happened like it didn’t want to linger either. His sword was still in his hand, but now it felt heavier than it had before. It had no purpose left in that moment.

He slowly lowered it as his gaze stayed fixed on the empty sky where Spoke had disappeared, his mind refusing to immediately fill the silence with something logical. There were too many thoughts trying to surface at once, none of them settling properly. The mission. The fight. The fall. The catch. The decision. The hesitation.

Wemmbu exhaled slowly, looking down at his hand for a second as if checking whether it still belonged to him. It did, unfortunately. Then he looked back up at the sky again, jaw tightening slightly as the realization sat heavier than anything Spoke had said.

He stood there for a long moment, the aftermath settling around him like dust that refused to fall. Slowly, it became clear that he had lost this fight not in the moment the other fled, but in the moment he chose not to let him die. There was no version of this where he could have won. He had already crossed the line he could never step back over.