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"Why do you wear that blindfold?"
The fabric of the blindfold obscures all sense of form. Yellow is hovering over him, soft and curious and everything he is not. He hums noncommittally. "Why're you asking?"
"I'm just curious, bro. Is it, like, a family thing, 'cause Manepear wears one too and y'all are like, brothers or something, right?"
"Um… I mean, he's my adoptive older brother, yeah." That face is burned into his mind. Being one of the few he knows, it's impossible to forget it, even though most of his memories see it as as a pale orange lump. "But- no, it's not a family thing. Uh, Lomedy, hang on."
He puts his sword away, satisfied with his mended tools and armor, and gestures for Lomedy to follow him. He sits down on the floor of the main room, playing at the frayed edges of his jacket. Lomedy joins him, and even through the blindfold Flame can tell how relaxed he is.
Flame clears his throat, feeling something heavy on the back of his tongue. "So, like, I'm a Netherborn, right? I have ancestry with, like, Nether mobs."
"Yeah, I think you've mentioned it before," Lomedy says. The brown mass that is his head bobs with patience and intrigue. Maybe if Flame focuses, he can see the shape of Lomedy's hair.
Flame continues, "Aside from the lava, the Nether is, like, pretty dark. Netherborn have eyes adapted to that. But the Overworld is so bright in comparison that it's, like, physically painful. Maybe not for all Netherborn, but like, I can't see anything during Overworld days 'cause of the damn sunlight and shit."
Lomedy chuckles. "Bro, I feel like there's better ways to deal with sensitive eyes other than blinding yourself."
Flame scoffs and shoves Lomedy's shoulder. "Shut up, bro, I ain't done." He shifts his body away from the sinking sun, already enjoying his darker surroundings. "A-and, so, there's also, like, no water in the Nether."
Lomedy huffs. "We got Captain Obvious over here, bro."
Flame's right eye twitches. "So, um, because of that my tear ducts don't have, like, normal tears. I have this, kinda, thin form of lava- it's, like, hard to explain-…" He falters, sentence stuttering to a stop. "But, um, that also means that water can't touch my eyes at all, since lava is coating my eyes, and if water comes into contact with them…"
The shape of Lomedy's hair shifts. "Oh, like how water turns lava into cobble?"
Flame really wishes he was more read up on Netherborn physiology. "Like- I guess? It's… not quite like that, but I've heard of Netherborn going fully blind from getting water in their eyes."
He hadn't been any older than five, but he vividly remembers his mother warning him about the hazards the Overworld posed to Netherborn. It's been so long he can't remember her face as anything more than a fuzzy red circle. One of the few he's seen, forever gone from his memory.
He shakes his head. "So, this blindfold is a special type of Nether fabric that basically evaporates all water it touches. It also keeps my eyes from getting dry because, I'm not gonna lie, it be cold as hell in the Overworld. Even in the deserts. I live here in the Mesa 'cause it's the closest thing y'all got to normal Nether temperatures and I can literally freeze to death in anything colder than a plains."
Lomedy makes a noise of understanding. "Oh, cool."
A tan shape is coming into view, growing larger and getting closer. Flame leans away and grabs Lomedy's hand. "Dude."
"I'm curious, bro!"
"Bro." Flame hopes the firmness of his look translates without his eyes. "It's super freaking hot. If you touch it, it'll just burn your hand. You're not a Netherborn, bro!"
Lomedy sits back with a sigh. "I'm just wondering… when was the last time you took that off?"
All of his memories from the past two or three years have been blurs of color and light. It's been… a long time since he's seen clearly. "I don't know."
Flame can feel Lomedy's smile. It feels like a hearth, a fire meant to be shared, something he knows for a certainty despite never seeing it. "Well? It's nighttime, and it isn't raining. D'you mind?"
When was the last time he saw a new face?
"I'm curious what you look like under there."
Flame lifts his thumb under the fabric.
The blues and greys fade away in favor of footsteps, the chilling breeze, and the smell of fear.
He lets his remaining senses guide him through the army. He cuts down player after player, staining the ice-coated arena with blood. Mistrul's voice calls him, taunting, but he is saying things Flame doesn't understand nor care about.
All he cares about is ensuring that no survivors remain.
Bodies drop to the floor. In another universe, maybe he would feel guilt for slaughtering them. But in this one, Lomedy-
He falters for a millisecond. Mistrul gets the jump on him. His advantage doesn't last long, but Flame learned a long time ago that those kinds of mistakes can be fatal.
In this universe, he destroys the Mist. He has never been more sure of anything.
He hardly even notices when Mistrul drops, Flame's sword piercing right through him. He shakes the blood off of Fragger and sheaths it. His beloved blade is one of his oldest friends, as reliable as the knowledge that the sun will still rise tomorrow.
Will the sun still rise tomorrow? Will the morning still come if the only person that cares about him he cares about is gone?
His blindfold is loose. He reaches up to fix it, but it falls off of his face the moment he touches the knot.
It's not a pretty sight. The oldest blood spilled is starting to freeze under the frigid air of the Mist, and Mistrul's body is already running cold. He looks at the area, riddled with corpses. A stunning picture of the violence that surrounds him.
Flame lets out a dark laugh. Lomedy would hate this. If he saw this, he would be scolding Flame and threatening to mace him. Flame looks behind him.
Any moment now, Lomedy would hurry out from around the corner.
But he doesn't, because dead people can't walk.
Did he at least get a proper burial?
Flame clutches the blindfold in his hand. In his eyes, there is that heat, the feeling he should be unfamiliar with, because he is strong and has no need for it. But deep within his strength is a warm, gushing, sighing weakness, the soul of someone far more delicate than he was ever made to be.
God. No matter how much he hides it, he can't deny that he feels so, so much. He may be able to survive traps, armies, nukes, and countless other weapons, but he cannot survive this.
He can't survive knowing that Lomedy died because of him.
Lava drips to the ground, hissing when it comes into contact with the thick layers of ice.
His small voice reverberates across the walls of the arena.
In this universe, he never talks to Lomedy again.
"I'm sorry, Lomedy." He closes his eyes and for a moment imagines what Lomedy really looks like, standing in a wheat field and laughing without a care in the world.
His breath hitches. "I'm mourning you, and I never even saw your face."
"Flame! Wazzup, bro?"
Flame's hand flinches away from the blindfold. He grinds his teeth together. "Spongs, what are you doing here?"
Spongs crouches down and throws an arm around Flame's shoulders. "What, I can't visit my friend?"
"No. Go away," Flame snaps, pushing Spongs off of him and standing up.
Spongs whines and scoots up to Lomedy. "Flame, you're so mean, bro. Lomedy would never do me like that."
"Spongs, bro, we were having a bonding moment!" Lomedy giggles. "But it's nice to see you, bro. How you been?"
"Booooored. The LAW hasn't sent me on any missions." Flame wanders over to his sharpening table, deciding this is a perfect time to sharpen his axe. "I've just been sitting at HQ doing jack, bro!"
"You could always help me out on the farm, bro," Lomedy offers. "Flame helps… sometimes… but usually he's busy doing other things. Plus, like, he's not a farmer, bro. He don't got those farmer hands. But you and me, bro?" Lomedy clicks his tongue. "We're locked in with that farm life."
Spongs laughs, bright and clear and very annoying. Flame nearly slices through his hand with the force of his whetstone. "I do kinda miss that farmer life, not gonna lie."
Inferno doesn't really need to be sharpened.
"Flame, didn't you already fix up your gear, bro?" Lomedy calls to him.
He just needs to distract his hands so that they don't pull his blindfold right off his face.
When he walks out of the Mist civilization, Flow's words still ringing in his head, his steps are heavy. He moves with the mourning of a funeral march, in quiet acceptance and a burned-out anger.
His blindfold is still off, tucked into a pocket on his pants. The glare of the ice is hurting his eyes even when the sky is blocking out the sun.
"We only did that to break you."
Maybe this will be the last time he is able to see at all. Snow is falling, as it usually does in the Mist, but it's gentle. The Mist seems to be apologizing for taking his friend away.
He scoffs at the thought, because it sounds ridiculous. (It does, however, truly seem sometimes that this server is alive, somehow; like the players are microorganisms living on the skin of a much greater being.)
(But if that's true, why would it take Lomedy away from him like this? Does it even care?)
Flame makes sure his face is dry and ties his blindfold back on. He steps onto the happy ghast and makes his way out of the Mist.
Alone.
As he flies, he runs through every memory with Lomedy. The good and the bad, every time they've argued and every time he's been in danger and every time they've shared quiet moments that Flame doesn't deserve.
He would rather Lomedy hate him.
Anything but this.
Lava drips onto the happy ghast. It whines, sounding eerily similar to the normal ghasts he grew up with. He wipes his face and clears the remaining lava, apologizing to the creature.
Apologizing to a ghast. He never thought he'd see the day.
Lomedy would be proud of him, he thinks.
He organizes his shulkers just to have something to do. They don't really need to be organized.
Footsteps sound from across the room. "Hey, Flame," Skrilley greets, somehow sounding happy despite the fact that the sun is gone.
Flame looks up in mild surprise. "Skrilley? Yo. Glad you made it back." He goes back to organizing. "You can stay here if you want."
He's not lonely.
…Skrilley can stay until he has somewhere else to go.
Skrilley scuffs his foot against the floor. "I, uh. I have good news."
Flame pauses.
"Good news?"
"Yeah."
He hesitates to breathe.
More footsteps make their way up the staircase, and these ones are of a stride Flame could never forget. Not in death, not in his dreams, not lost in the Mist. He always knows when the sun is nearby.
"Yo! Flame!"
But— how is that possible?
"Lomedy?!"
Lomedy's grin is so wide Flame knows it must be true. "Hey, bro!"
"You're alive?!"
"Duh!"
He hears Lomedy's voice. He feels his warmth. But he needs to see for himself.
Flame pushes his blindfold up onto his forehead, wincing at the sudden light flooding his eyes. He squints up at Lomedy, taking in every detail he can.
It's Lomedy. Even without ever seeing his face before, Flame knows it can't be anyone else.
Lomedy's own eyes are wide, shocked at seeing Flame without his blindfold. "Wha-"
Flame takes a step forward, then decides he can't wait any longer and barrels right into Lomedy, knocking them both to the ground in a tackle. He holds Lomedy close and pretends he isn't tearing up.
"Flame?" Lomedy chuckles. "I'm not dead, bro. Lemme up already!"
He doesn't want to let Lomedy up. He never wants to let go of him again.
Grumbling, Flame rolls off of Lomedy, hands still on his shoulders. He meets Lomedy in a sitting position and pauses to take in his face.
He couldn't see well through the glare of the sun. But now, with Lomedy right in front of him…
Flame pours over every detail, determined to memorize this face like he's memorized the few others he's seen. Lomedy giggles as Flame studies the shape of his nose, the curve of his chin, the freckles covering his nose and forehead, the mole at the corner of his eye.
"Your eyes are cool, dude. They're like liquid magma."
Flame looks at Lomedy's eyes. A blinding yellow, not unlike the sun itself, but still reminiscent of flowers and wheat fields and a burning hearth.
Everything he imagined Lomedy would be.
Lomedy blinks at him. "You okay, bro?"
"I just-" Flame swallows, pulling Lomedy into another tight hug. "I thought you were dead."
"Ay… nah. I fell off the ghast, bro, and I ran and hid. I climbed up an ice spike, but I couldn't get down, and…"
A wet laugh bursts out of Flame. "So you were just stuck up there? For hours?"
Lomedy sighs. "…Yeah…"
Flame pulls back and looks Lomedy dead in the eyes. "Bro. I slimed out an entire civilization 'cause I thought you were dead. And this whole time, you were on an ice spike?"
Lomedy nails Flame with a look, and he recognizes it as the one Lomedy uses when very disappointed with him. "Flame. Really?"
Skrilley fails to hide his snickering. "Bro, you are cooked."
Flame pulls the blindfold down again, face turning uncomfortably red. "W-we're not talking about this."
Lomedy lifts it back up with his gloved hand, glaring at Flame. "No, Flame, we are talking about this."
And, well. If the sun wants to talk, Flame doesn't have much choice in the matter.