Chapter Text
Wemmbu, the only Ender Dragon of this server, was sitting on the couch.
A really long time had passed since the war with Law and the civil war occurred.
There were many events even after that, and they had created stories together.
Time flowed so quickly.
The parrot hybrid from the Overworld was the first to leave this world.
Wemmbu thought his life was far too short.
However, time is absolute, and no one would ever be able to fight time and win.
The funeral for him, who was the king of this server, was truly grand.
He looked down upon the sight from a high place.
All the citizens were mourning his death.
Wemmbu did not like that extravagant funeral.
And he was certain that if it were Parrot, he would have spent those resources for other players rather than holding such a lavish funeral for himself.
So Wemmbu visited his grave only after everyone else had left.
Only then did it feel real that Parrot had truly died.
He looked down at Parrot’s tombstone before sitting down beside it.
Wemmbu did not cry.
Parrot, at least, neither grieved nor feared his own death.
Parrot was not murdered, either.
He simply grew old.
That was all.
However, after Parrot's death, their contact gradually decreased.
Wemmbu thought it was inevitable.
So he lived as he usually did.
Eventually, just as he had wanted, no one on the server could touch him anymore, and his life became truly quiet.
He was almost always in the End.
Wemmbu joked with Minute and, on rare occasions, went to the Overworld to fish with Egg.
Letters would occasionally arrive from Spoke.
He had explored all of the Overworld, the Nether, and the End.
However, the direct meeting between Wemmbu and Spoke was brought about by Flame’s death.
Flame’s grave was not in the Nether.
Although he was originally from the Nether, he did not hold any particular affection for that place.
He probably preferred the Overworld, which he had shared with Mane.
They heard the news of Flame’s death, decided together on a place to set up Flame’s grave, and built it.
Wemmbu did not cry this time either.
Because Flame had also eventually died of old age.
It was perhaps the most peaceful death among all deaths.
Now, only Wemmbu and Spoke remained.
Of course, Wemmbu had Egg.
Yet, losing two close friends was not without its impact.
And naturally, as time passed, Spoke left him as well.
Voidlings are a long-lived race and leave no corpse behind.
However, Wemmbu possessed a lifespan even longer than that of a Voidling.
He was the only Ender Dragon on this server.
The Ender Dragon has the longest lifespan among all races existing on this server, and there is always only one in existence.
The death of an Ender Dragon signifies the birth of the next Ender Dragon.
Just like a star.
At any rate, Wemmbu decided to build a grave for Spoke.
Wemmbu knew that this was a meaningless act, but for some reason, he wanted to do it anyway.
Egg, who was beside Wemmbu, helped him.
Wemmbu did not cry.
Later, Egg said that he had cried.
Wemmbu thought Egg was making a joke.
So anyway, returning to the present, Wemmbu was sitting on the couch.
And soon, he intuitively felt that his end was approaching.
He stood up from his seat, retrieved the egg, and headed toward the center of the End.
Holding the egg, he stood before the portal.
It was something Wemmbu had made himself.
Naturally, Wemmbu does not lay eggs.
Wemmbu had never been taught what to do, but he intuitively realized that this was how it should be done.
Wemmbu held the black egg he had made with both arms.
His chest pressed against the egg.
And he felt a sensation as if something was being drained from his heart.
That sensation was very strange, yet not unfamiliar.
Wemmbu held the egg for a little longer before placing it atop the portal.
Instinct is a truly curious thing.
Wemmbu picked up the tiara he had been wearing on his head all this time.
He placed it upon the egg.
Wemmbu sat on the edge of the portal.
Egg knocked on the door of the room where Wemmbu should be.
When there was no response from inside, Egg thought that Wemmbu was probably sleeping.
He reached toward the doorknob to open the door.
And then, Egg heard a majestic roar.
In an instant, Egg realized.
His body froze in place for a moment before he barely managed to turn around.
Egg ran toward the center of the End.
And when he reached the center, he saw a light.
Egg stopped running upon seeing that light.
Instead, he did not take his eyes off it.
Wemmbu died
Wemmbu left the game
His communicator vibrated, but Egg knew he didn't need to check it.
Egg remained in that spot until the light disappeared.
And only after the light finally vanished did he slowly begin to move again.
He approached the portal at the center of the End.
There lay the black egg and Wemmbu's familiar tiara.
Wemmbu's body was nowhere to be seen.
Egg knew that races originating from the End leave no trace behind.
Still, he felt a sense of longing.
Egg adjusted the tiara that was slightly disarranged over the black egg.
He then took a few steps back and looked at it.
A moment later, Egg turned his steps back toward Wemmbu's room.
Egg knew that Wemmbu was far from the kind of person who wrote letters, but he also knew that Wemmbu was not someone who would leave him without saying goodbye.
Egg would look for Wemmbu's last testament.
And he would go to meet Wemmbu again.
"There will always be a next story for us."
Wemmbu opened his eyes.
He got up from his white bed.
Then he stepped off the bed and took two steps.
The cool chill rising from the wooden floor wrapped around his bare feet.
That reminded him that he needed to put on slippers.
He turned back around, returned to the bed, and put on the fluffy slippers lying scattered beside it.
He took his steps toward the room door again.
He was going to head to the kitchen, but stopped in front of his mother and father's room door.
His father had said his mother was ill, and he had gone outside to get medicine.
And that was about three days ago.
He gently pushed their room door.
Even though he pushed it softly, the door opened with a chilling sound.
Wemmbu peeked his head in and looked inside.
There, he saw his mother lying on the white bed.
Wemmbu stood in place, blinking his eyes, before opening his mouth.
“Good morning, Mom.”
Wemmbu hoped for his mother’s gentle voice to return a ‘Good morning.’
However, his house was far too quiet.
In the end, he closed the door and headed toward the kitchen.
As he went to the kitchen, a faint light streamed in through the window.
The region he lived in was always winter.
Of course, he had never consciously realized what winter was.
However, his mother and father had told him.
They said there were four seasons in this world.
Spring, warm and blossoming with sprouts and flowers
Summer, with long days and scorching heat
Autumn, cool with turning leaves and bustling harvests
And winter, cold with falling snow and frost
They also said there were five regions in this world, and four of those regions were always spring, summer, autumn, and winter.
The capital, located at the center of those regions, was said to possess all four seasons.
He had never left this region, so he did not know what spring, summer, or autumn were.
He could not imagine the ground not being white.
At any rate, he stopped thinking and decided to eat breakfast.
On the wooden table were a few loaves of bread, and in the kitchen was a pot containing stew his father had made before leaving.
He lit a fire with firewood and warmed up the stew.
His father had always told him to be careful when using fire.
Wemmbu missed his father.
Because honestly, for the past three days, his mother had not said anything nor moved at all.
So he was starting to feel scared.
He poured the warmed stew into a wooden bowl.
He placed the stew and bread on a tray and opened the door to where his mother was once again.
His mother was still there.
He placed the tray on the small table next to the bed where his mother was lying.
Then he looked at his mother.
His mother looked truly pale.
Wemmbu fidgeted with his fingers for no reason before leaving the room.
He returned to the kitchen and poured the stew he would eat into a bowl.
And Wemmbu sat alone at the dining table.
His house was in a cold region, but he had never felt that his house was cold before.
However, now, it was so cold.
Wemmbu put a spoonful of warm stew into his mouth.
Then he pulled his body back and looked out the window.
Perhaps he might have to go out to gather firewood today.
He knew his father had never allowed him to hold an axe.
However, he had no choice.
He wanted to get more wood before it rained.
Wemmbu dragged the heavy axe, walking through the snow.
His footprints and the trail left by the dragged axe remained on top of the snow.
Wemmbu exhaled.
As he did, a white puff of breath briefly blocked his view.
He arrived at the place where his father usually chopped wood.
Wemmbu set down the basket he had carried on his back onto the ground.
Then he approached the wood stacked to one side.
It seemed to be firewood his father hadn't finished chopping before.
He barely managed to lift one of those logs.
The log was heavier than he expected.
Wemmbu placed the log on a cut tree stump.
He recalled what his father used to do.
He aligned the blade of the axe with the center of the log.
Then he raised the axe above his head and brought it down with force in his wrists.
The log did not split in half at once.
Wemmbu’s wrists hurt more than expected, so he shook them lightly.
However, he gripped the axe tightly and struck down once more.
Honestly, chopping wood was difficult and boring.
Yet he could not loosen his tension, fearing he might get hurt.
And although it was morning, being alone in the middle of the forest was truly terrifying.
He decided to chop the wood quickly and return home.
Wemmbu was occasionally startled by the sound of squirrels moving.
He thought it was a relief that at least no one saw him like that.
Wemmbu put the firewood he had chopped into the basket.
Then he slung the basket onto his back again and walked back along the trail he had left.
Wemmbu had walked through this forest before, but the forest looked different.
The scenery seemed different when entering the forest compared to when leaving it.
Carrying the axe along with the wood back home was tough.
So he decided to sit on a rock for a moment to rest.
He wanted to return home quickly, but at the same time, he also didn't want to go back.
Wemmbu felt that his home did not feel the same as before.
It felt really awkward, and he hated experiencing that feeling.
And then, he heard the sound of a tree branch snapping from behind.
Wemmbu turned around, startled.
There stood a man.
When Wemmbu turned around, the man also seemed surprised, taking a small step back.
The man had green hair and wings.
Honestly, Wemmbu was surprised because the man possessed so many colors.
He stood out so prominently amidst this white snow.
Wemmbu looked up at the man, on his guard.
“...Who are you?”