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Shades of blue and grey cycled across his vision, the dark room providing little light for his eyes to supply him with an image, and instead making one up to occupy him.
The blankets were plush beneath him, the kind that almost mimicked short fur and caught fire easily, all arranged around him in a circle atop the huge bed.
His body curled around a pillow, one leg hooked over the velvet cover just slightly below his arm, wings splayed outward behind him as his neck craned to the ceiling.
He watched as bubbles of faux light floated around larger circles of darkness, only for the scene to restart whenever his eyes dried enough and forced him to blink.
His tail laid still, curled slightly around his bottom half on the bed.
The play of light bubbles on the ceiling paused when a blink lasted longer than most, only to continue its rhythm like his eyes had barely shut at all.
Purple hair remained damp from ocean spray and filtered water as the result of a task fulfilled maybe an hour ago, someone with a title he hadn’t even known existed until the duty to kill them reached his ears in a room too big for two people.
His eyes remained half lidded and dry as he recounted not for the first time how the player had died, surrounded by four cold bodies and one that offered no warmth even though it still stood, reimagined the tears uselessly spilling in fat streams down their cheeks, the shaky grip that was too forceful on the hilt of their sword. The ocean weeped for them, waves spraying salt water across the shore Wemmbu had stood on as it mourned. By sunrise, their body would be returned to the Earth, along with the bodies of those four who died before him.
He neglected to wish them well as he shot off into the dimming sky, orange and pink hues long taken over by a dusty blue as the ocean raged on for a set of lives lost varying stages of too soon.
The scene reset beyond his eyes again, the small grey bubble of light drifting around the almost black shadow that took up a quarter of his vision, before disappearing a moment after making contact.
There was a distant hiss of air passing by, before it settled and died just as quick as it came, being overwhelmed by the mugginess of the stale cave air.
There were no curtains that decorated the window his eyes vehemently ignored, yet still, no light breached into the room much too large for only one. The candles scattered on the occasional shelf or side table remained snuffed out and unlit, as they had since he’d first been given the title of royalty.
The leg underneath the pillow started buzzing with numbness, and he found just enough strength to heave it downwards, his other leg moving up and dragging the pillow tighter to him. It was a thoughtless action, not unlike most of the ones he’d made recently.
How long has it been since he’d made a decision purely because he wanted to? Hours? Maybe it had been days. It was hard to keep track of time anymore.
The scene of greys reset again.
The angle his head rested at put an aching pressure against the tip of his horn. He ignored it in favour of observing the light show his vision had come up with.
He thinks Egg would be displeased with the knowledge of this being the way he spends most of his time. He knows Egg would want to hear it, all the same.
He can’t find the energy in him to stop thinking and sleep, so he continues thinking.
Had Egg been held in comfier prisons? Ones where there were windows? His thoughts are interrupted by the memory of Egg in a hanging cage above a beach, then of Egg in an obsidian box with layers of iron bars through a one block gap. Then of Egg in MinuteTech’s End castle. He thinks then, yes, Egg’s been in much better prisons.
He finds himself grateful of the prison Egg’s ended up in this time.
Then he retracts that thought as well.
His lungs expel oxygen in a slow exhale upwards, one that leaves his eyelids heavy and his vision just slightly more unfocused.
The sight of greys dancing around each other start up again.
Would it be this way forever?
He finds that he’d rather not know.
There’s a fuzziness that makes itself known under his ribs. It expands with leisure before swelling into something reminiscent of pressure.
The pressure must feel comfortable, because Wemmbu feels it halt and stay there, content with the barely-there discomfort it inflicts on him.
This is ok, he thinks.
The caves stay quiet for a long while then, and the greys continue rotating around each other in his vision.
His tongue is textured and sticky against the roof of his mouth, and he drags it languidly across the backs of his teeth, starting with the duller ones at the centre of his mouth before moving to the far left and catching on one of the sharper ones further back. The taste of metal lingers on his tongue as he moves it to the far right, then back to the centre. He does this for a long while.
His hair is uncomfortable against the back of his neck, and he’s nearly brought to tears at how scratchy it is at its new length. It’s longer than it was during his initial cut when imprisoned with Zam, Baablu, and Fantst, but it still hangs too light against the end of his neck.
His eyes are thankful for the tears that crowd his waterline, drinking in the moisture they’ve been deprived from for the past however long and quickly removing any trace that tears were there in the first place.
The pillow pushes uncomfortably against his stomach, the full bladder he’d only just noticed making itself increasingly annoying as he continues to ignore it.
He tries to think of a time where he’d felt this exhausted, only to come up short and empty. His brain is hollow where it tries to fulfil the request.
The greys leave his sight, and he finds himself missing the show.
The sound of an open elytra practically reverberates in the quiet of Wemmbu’s cut off section of the cave, yet he can’t bring his hands up to cover his ears.
The booming voice of Yungy becomes clearer as the man swings open his front door, and he blinks as a shelf bangs against a downstairs wall.
The greys are back now, continuing to orbit each other like his own little galaxy.
His room is a shade brighter now, and he can’t find it in himself to reason why.
The pillow is practically squeezed against his ribs as his body stays curled around it like he’s trying to protect it. Even still, the closest thing to a reaction to the loudening of Yungy’s voice is a barely-there, drawn out exhale.
He wonders if Yungy visits Egg outside of that one time he’d taken Wemmbu to see him; then finds himself wondering if Jaden’s seen Egg at all.
He settles on no, but tries to repeat the question enough times that he hopefully remembers it when he sees the pirate again.
The sound of boots thumping against carpeted stairs notifies him that Yungy’s only one floor beneath him now, if his words getting less muffled wasn’t enough of a sign.
The greys reset their choreography again, interrupted by a lazy blink but not complaining.
He wonders if Egg would like Yungy, wonders what— if Yungy had indeed visited Egg without him— Egg thinks about him being second in command. He can imagine Egg would whine, but can’t manage to think about what he’d say. The ball of pressure under his ribs nestle closer to his lungs and make it harder to breathe, but he can’t muster up a complaint.
Yungy’s made it to his door now, if the incessant pounding on the wood is anything to go by.
It doesn’t matter. If Yungy wants in that bad, he’ll make a way in.
His eyelids become heavier despite the racket beyond his room door, and his eyes lose focus as candle glow seeps into the darkness of the room, claiming the space as its own even as the shadows take any chance they can to fight back.
The man shuts up pretty quick after opening the bedroom door, and Wemmbu finds himself content with the light if it means everything can be quiet like this.
The sound of fabric rustling slice away at the silence, soon overtaken by the sound of netherite against sturdy wood planks.
Wemmbu remains as he has been since he woke up, the pillow still tugged tight against him, body curled into it like something worth holding onto. His tail neglects its neutral sway or flick, the thick limb motionless from where the end is resting atop the lower half of his stretched out leg.
His hands cramp where they’ve been useless for however long since he’d left his mace leaning against the wall.
Soft footsteps trail towards where he lays still, and the urge to growl never comes. There was a time where he’d snap at anyone even knocking at his door, where maybe he’d find the energy to look towards where Yungy had entered his room. All that energy was now locked away in a spot reserved for anything that would keep Eggchan alive.
The greys in his vision restart their dance again, not disturbed by the fizzles of oranges and reds that interrupt their definition.
Distantly, he recognizes that noise started up somewhere, and his brain struggles through layers of soft to identify it.
The hair against his neck becomes a nuisance again, pricking his skin in a way that makes his eyes water when accompanied by how hollow his stomach feels.
There’s a light pressure on his shoulder, and he blinks in acknowledgement.
He misses the dark.
He can feel a shove, the increased pressure against his shoulder before it’s drawn back and he returns to the same place he was like nothing even happened.
There are footsteps retreating, then netherite clanking against netherite before he sees the blurry form of Yungy grabbing his window frame and hauling himself through it, an elytra equipped and then he’s alone.
His eyelids get heavy again at the notion of candlelight still insisting its right to his once dark room.