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Everyone had told him not to do it.
Everyone had told him not to go.
They didn't see why he had to.
Theo had been the loudest fighter on the matter, but the situation defused rather quickly when a short, almost prim explanation was given.
Parrot stood in front of Paragon, looking in.
The high obsidian walls remained ever unwavering. The biomes were just as sickeningly beautiful as he had left them. The dark tower in the center stood tall.
The feeling of being shackled didn't quite fade either.
Parrot flew in, brightly coloured wings making a rhythmic sound against the winds, blowing his feathers and hair in all sorts of directions. The steady beat that normally calmed him sounded like a funeral procession. Footsteps systematically hitting the ground to honor the dead. Or spit on their grave.
He landed at the very bottom with a thump, boots hitting snow and crunching the very same way they did all that time ago.
It'd only been a year.
It's been a whole year.
Climbing the stairs on the outside of the tower alone felt desolate. Climbing them in company had felt terrifyingly suffocating.
Parrot walked with himself. He had no other choices on the matter, really. Theo would've come if he had asked, Parrot knew that. But Parrot hadn’t asked. He needed to do this alone.
How ironic.
The sight platform in the center of the tower caused Parrot to tense and freeze before steeling himself, flying over the pit of lava bubbling beneath him. Nourishment now allowed him to do what he could not have done then.
Boots on obsidian. Hands tracing the walls, standing where he had once stood. Looking in the direction he had looked. Seeing what he had seen that day, when he had tossed his armour and stated the nature of his intent to Parrot.
The final clean slate.
Parrot turned to the staircase. And he sat on the top step. It creaked loudly, having not been used in quite some time. But he sat. And he contemplated.
His hands ran over the flooring too many times to count. Course texture over his calloused palms. Anything to ground him in this moment. Anything.
Anything, because he knows he doesn't know what he'll see down there.
Where he-
Where the Director-
Where Wi-
Not yet. Please, not yet.
Parrot's wings shook out behind him, anxiously folding and unfolding themselves repeatedly until they ached.
How does one turn a page in their story, knowing someone else won't be there in the aftermath?
How does one write their own story with a possible outcome like that?
Lights, camera, action-
Parrot stood. He came here for closure. He came here to take in everything that happened, not shut it away.
He went down the stairs.
Oh-
Oh-
Parrots knees hit the floor.
The damage was horrible. The room was utterly destroyed. The flooring was hanging on by a thread and mostly gone, the walls were rotting and falling apart. The place where the pressure plates were-
The room felt like the hurricane currently swirling in Parrot's mind. He had stood right there. He had walked past him, followed that trail right there, and set the spyglass right- right there.
The spot was blown up, obviously, a patch of dirt and a glimmer of odd colours in the spot.
Parrot didn't move to investigate.
Something wet hit the top of his thigh.
When had he started crying?
He sniffed loudly, too loud for the unbearably heavy silence of the room. On shaky legs, he rose. Arms and wings wrapped around his frame like it could protect him from what had happened here.
And wasn't that just a cruel addition?
Protect him from the person who wanted nothing more than to do just that?
Parrot hadn't lied. Not to him. Not then. He remembers him the way he was before. Kind, caring, the one who gave Parrot the spyglass.
The memories of white flow armour trims on netherite armour and an unseeable face stayed too, though. No matter how many sleepless nights Parrot had spent trying to separate the image, it was always his face staring back through the helmet, snow falling all around.
The patch of colour in the dirt was odd until closer examination. Parrot sat next to the purple flowers for a moment, wondering underneath all the grief how'd they'd gotten here. How they'd survived.
He numbly mused on the sheer odds of flowers, hyacinths, he remembered, growing in a place so barren. So devoid of light and covered in ashes and soot.
Exactly over where Parrot's pressure plate had been-
Parrot gripped his chest, a pang so sorrowful going through it he couldn't stand staying still.
It had been less than five minutes. Less than five minutes before the tnt went off. The spyglass he had placed on his side of the room hadn't despawned. He had grabbed it.
He had died in this very spot.
Where purple hyacinths now grew.
A sob echoed through the room.
It sounds terrifyingly loud. The last sound this room had known was the explosion-
The last sound he had heard was the explosion.
Tears streamed freely down Parrot's face as he scooted closer to the flowers, ruining his pants in the dirt. A gentle but horrifyingly shaky hand reached out and softly the flowers’ petals, careful of their delicacy.
Something caught his eye. Parrot wiped his face on his jacket sleeve to see the glimmer at the bottom of the growth better.
A small tube of copper, glass filling the inside.
Parrot recoiled back as far as he could in a single move.
It wasn't the full spyglass, no. But the smallest piece had stayed intact. The smallest piece had survived, right where the flowers grew.
Parrot steadied himself before tentatively approaching once more. His hand grazed the glass, weary of being cut on it. It was far too dirty and melted in the ground to move, which Parrot couldn't figure out if it was disappointment or sheet relief at that knowledge.
He spent a few more silent moments, just sitting there. In front of some flowers and the last thing he and his friend ever shared.
Then he started talking. Almost akin to babbling with the soft hiccups that laced his words.
Just little updates. Nothing huge. There was nothing Parrot could say to a dead man to heal either of them.
He gathered the materials he had brought while he talked, setting up what he had been so reluctant to do before. What would've torn him apart just a couple months ago and now he feels just safe enough to guide his shaky hands to do.
Parrot constructs a grave.
It wasn't anything special, bar the flowers at the bottom, but it felt lingering. Like Parrot was doing something that would have consequences, whether they be good or bad.
The signage was difficult. Parrot had fallen silent by now, holding the sign carefully. What words could he ever write to give peace to what happened here?
Words did not solve everything. They simply couldn't. But… maybe they could help.
Here Lies a Friend
Wifies
Rest in Peace
Parrot’s cheeks were wet once more. They had never really dried, but new tears had sprung up far too quickly to stop them.
So Parrot sat again. He spread some water from his bottle tied to his belt on the flowers. And he talked once more. This time, he looked back.
The scavenger hunts, the field of flowers, running from Clown, making their own Civilization, running to the Farlands, starting their rebellion, lighting the Beacons.
Parrot sat talking about it all. Reminiscing. Contemplating. Every good time. Every bad time. Every time they spiraled into laughter together. Every time they fought. Precious memories are worth more than the gold people pay for material goods. More than what even the richest person owns.
Parrot manages to smile a couple times. It looks odd on his tear streaked face, but he doesn't care. Why would he? It's just him and his memories swirling in this room.
He didn't know how long it'd been. Didn't know how long he was here, talking. Laughing. Crying. Mourning. Did it matter? Not particularly.
But it was time to go. Theo and the others would worry and proceed to hunt him down in this rubble if he took any longer.
Parrot needed to march forward.
While retaining the treasure trove of his memories.
It was the only way to truly grow.
He stood. His wings stretched. His joints popped. It felt like saying goodbye.
Maybe he was.
Careful of the flowers, Parrot leaned his forehead against the grave. Whispered words filled the air.
"Thank you for being my friend."
Silence. The tears sprang back, a single one hitting the petal of a flower, but Parrot wiped the rest away.
It's okay. He just has to turn the page.
Parrot forced himself to turn away. Behind him, was his final addition to his memorial. A feather from Parrot's wing, tucked gently in with the flowers.
It swayed softly as Parrot climbed the stairs.
Like a wave farewell.
He looked back, briefly.
The sight made his chest tighten, just as it did before. But not as harshly.
His boots hit the stairs once more. And he climbed.
Parrot took flight over the pit, lava warming his body. Back the way he came. All the way back to the wall.
This view.
This view was the exact same as on that day.
It looked different.
It looked...
Parrot didn't know. Maybe it was the same. Maybe it was his perception that had changed.
He spotted the cherry wood house his friend had made. That he had burnt down and helped rebuild. He saw his birch one sitting beside it.
Parrot watched for a moment, for the last time.
His soft words carried on the wind.
"I won't forget."
Parrot turned. Wiped his face a final time. His expression softened.
"Goodbye, Wifies."
And took off into the breeze.