Archive of Our Own

ClownPierce pushed open the door to his strategy room, the heavy door creaking softly as it swung inward. The room was quiet, save for the faint crackling of the Nether fire burning somewhere beyond the walls. 

He barely paid attention to it, his eyes immediately fell upon the large map spread across the table in the center of the room.

Something was wrong. There were far too many marks on it now.

The map displayed the server's territories in painstaking detail, from the civilizations scattered across the world to the vast stretches of land that had once been considered completely safe. 

Yet, in between them, dark patches had begun appearing void holes that had not existed before.

And they were spreading.

Slowly.

Painfully slowly.

So slowly that most Players had initially dismissed them as nothing more than strange occurrences. A patch of land disappearing here. A small section of terrain collapsing there, nothing significant enough to cause immediate panic.

But after a while, people started noticing the pattern.

They began talking about it and then the reports started coming in.

ClownPierce's network had been sending him information almost constantly. Civilization after civilization was beginning to fall apart, and the reports were disturbingly similar to one another. 

Entire sections of land were simply collapsing into the void as though the world beneath them had suddenly ceased to exist.

It wasn't a landslide.

It wasn't an earthquake.

There was no natural explanation for it. The ground simply disappeared.

And the most unsettling part was that even bedrock. Something that was supposed to be practically indestructible was failing to hold back whatever was happening.

ClownPierce stared at the map for a long moment before letting out a quiet, irritated sigh.

"Ugh... What a pain."

He stepped closer to the table, his expression tightening as he reached out and placed his hand against the map. His fingers rested over one of the affected territories, following the markings that represented the areas already swallowed by the void.

His eyes moved across the map.

One region gone.. Then another and another. The farther he looked, the worse it became.

The damage wasn't confined to a single civilization or even a single part of the server. It was spreading across enormous distances, affecting territories thousands even millions of blocks away from one another.

That shouldn't have been possible to normal players. Whatever was happening wasn't staying in one place. It basically reaching everything.

After his death.

After what happened. 

ClownPierce's jaw tightened.

"Saparata, you fucking idiot."

The words left his mouth quietly, but the irritation behind them was unmistakable.

He had warned him, not only him. He had warned everyone he could reach before.

Back then, ClownPierce had made it perfectly clear to anyone who came across Parrot was not to kill him, at ANY reason. No matter what happened, no matter what Parrot did, they were supposed to leave him alive.

It wasn't a suggestion, it was a warning he always give every single time. And Saparata had ignored it.

Now, whatever consequences ClownPierce had feared were finally beginning to surface.

He stared down at the map again, watching the darkened regions scattered across the server.

All those warnings.

All those attempts to prevent this.

All of it had been for nothing.

ClownPierce's attention was drawn toward one of the paintings hanging against the far wall.

Unlike the others, this particular painting was hidden behind a heavy red curtain. It stood quietly in the corner of the room. For a moment, ClownPierce simply stared at it from across the room.

Then slowly he began walking toward it. His footsteps echoed softly against the floor as he approached. 

When he finally stopped in front of the curtain, his hand hesitated for only a second before reaching out.

He pulled it aside, making the painting was revealed.

ClownPierce's expression changed slightly.

His eyes remained fixed upon the figure depicted within the frame, studying it in silence for several long seconds.

"He's the last one." The words were barely more than a murmur, as his eyes narrowed slightly.

"He knows that."

A heavy sigh escaped him.

ClownPierce lifted a hand and rubbed his temple, his expression becoming increasingly troubled as he continued to stare at the painting. 

There was something almost painfully about the figure before him, something that reminded him of everything that had already been lost.

But he didn't allow himself to linger on it.

There was no point anymore. Whatever had happened could not be undone.

Slowly ClownPierce pulled the red curtain back into place, covering the painting once again and hiding his fallen friend's face from view.

There was no use staring at the dead.

He weren't coming back.

So he just turned away from the curtain.

His footsteps carried him toward the door, his expression gradually returning to the cold composure he had worn before.

There was still a plan to finish.

And now, he had no reason to hesitate. Because there was nothing left standing in his way.

No one left to stop him.

Which meant there was no longer any reason for ClownPierce to pretend to be kind to those who still remained in the Overworld.

He had successfully destroyed one of the territories in the Overworld. 

By the time ClownPierce's forces were finished, the territory had been stripped of anything valuable, its resources gathered into piles and carried toward the Nether by his soldiers.

ClownPierce had remained behind for a little while, watching them work.

It had been a rather successful invasion.

And, as if the circumstances couldn't have been more convenient, the territory they had attacked happened to be locate close to a small village.

From where he stood, he could see the village in the distance. 

What a coincidence.

His eyes lingered on the village for a moment before he turned toward Ferre, who was overseeing the soldiers as they transported the stolen resources. "Ferre," he called, his voice calm enough that there was no urgency behind it. "Make sure everything is brought into the Nether. I don't want a single resource left behind."

Ferre nodded, briefly glancing toward the piles of supplies. "Understood. I'll make sure everything gets through."

He then noticed that ClownPierce wasn't looking at the resources anymore. His gaze had shifted back toward the distant village, and the faint smile on his face immediately made Ferre suspicious. 

"What are you looking at?"

"The village," ClownPierce answered simply.

Ferre followed his gaze and stared for a moment before his expression slowly fell. "Oh, no."

ClownPierce raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Don't tell me you're thinking about going there."

A quiet chuckle escaped ClownPierce. He folded his arms across his chest, looking almost innocent despite the obvious amusement in his eyes. 

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because we just finished an invasion," Ferre replied, gesturing toward the ruined territory around them. "You already took everything you wanted. There's no reason to bother with them."

"No reason?" 

ClownPierce repeated, almost as if the idea genuinely confused him. He looked toward the village again, watching one of the villagers walk between the houses without the slightest idea that he was being observed. 

"I'd say I have a very good reason."

Ferre narrowed his eyes. "And what would that be?"

ClownPierce's smile widened.

"Entertainment."

Ferre stared at him in silence for a few seconds before rubbing his forehead. "You're unbelievable."

"I've been called worse."

"You've destroyed an entire territory, stolen their resources, and now you're telling me you're going to visit a peaceful village because you're bored?"

"I never said I was bored." ClownPierce's tone remained perfectly casual as he began walking toward the village. "I'm simply being generous enough to give them a little surprise."

"Clown," Ferre called after him, sounding increasingly exasperated. "That's not what a surprise is supposed to mean."

ClownPierce stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "Then what would you call it?"

"A threat."

"Hm." He seemed to consider the answer for a moment before shrugging. "That works too."

Ferre sighed deeply. "At least take some soldiers with you."

"I don't need them."

"You always say that."

"And I'm usually right."

"Usually isn't always."

ClownPierce gave him an amused look. "You'll survive without me for a few minutes, Ferre."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"I know." ClownPierce turned away again, his expression settling into something calmer as he looked toward the village. "Just finish the work here. I'll be back when I'm done."

Ferre watched him for another moment. "And what exactly are you planning to do?"

ClownPierce's footsteps slowed, but he didn't stop this time.

"I haven't decided yet."

Ferre blinked. "You haven't—"

"But I'm sure I'll think of something once I get there."

"That's somehow worse."

ClownPierce laughed as he continued on his way, leaving Ferre behind with the soldiers and the resources.

By the time ClownPierce reached the village, he immediately noticed how quiet it was. 

It wasn't completely deserted, but there was a strange stillness hanging over the place, as though everyone had suddenly become aware that something was wrong. 

The moment a few of the villagers noticed his presence, their reactions made it obvious. Their eyes widened in shock before they hurriedly moved away, some of them disappearing behind their houses while others simply tried to keep as much distance between themselves and him as possible.

A few mothers immediately pulled their children closer, wrapping their arms around them as they watched ClownPierce cautiously. 

Others stepped aside the moment he passed, lowering their heads and refusing to get in his way. 

No one dared to approach him. No one even seemed willing to look at him for too long.

ClownPierce didn't mind. 

If anything, he quite enjoyed it.

He was used to people looking at him like that. Fear was something he had grown accustomed to seeing in other people's eyes, and he couldn't deny that there was a certain pride that came with knowing his reputation had reached this far. 

He didn't need to say anything. He didn't need to threaten them.

Still, his attention was eventually drawn away from the villagers when someone else caught his eye.

A hybrid.

A bird hybrid, perhaps?

A Lovebird?

ClownPierce had seen bird hybrids before of course, so the sight itself wasn't particularly unusual. What caught his attention was the hybrid's appearance. 

He looked exhausted, the way his expression noticeably dull as he walked through the village with a basket filled with vegetables in one hand and a plastic bag containing fish in the other.

He didn't look like someone who had any interest in what was happening around him.

And then he walked straight past ClownPierce.

His gaze remained lowered as he passed him, never once looking up. He didn't even seem to acknowledge that he was there.

He simply kept walking.

ClownPierce's steps came to a halt.

"Hm?"

He slowly turned his head, his eyes following the Lovebird's back as he continued farther down the road without even bothering to look behind him.

For a moment, ClownPierce simply stared.

Everyone else had moved out of his way the moment they saw him.

But this one?

Nothing.

Not even a glance.

His expression slowly changed, almost amused. 

How.. Bold. 

ClownPierce wanted to approach the person, but before doing so, he figured it would be better to learn a little about him first. 

There was no point in approaching someone without knowing anything about them, especially when the Lovebird had managed to catch his attention in such a strange way.

His eyes wandered around the village until they eventually settled on an old man standing not too far away. 

The man looked like he had been watching everything from a distance, probably too afraid to get involved. But it's the unlucky day for him. 

ClownPierce made his way toward him, and the moment the old man noticed him coming closer, his expression immediately changed.

ClownPierce stopped in front of him, looking down at the poor man for a moment before casually asking, "You know him?"

The sudden question, accompanied by ClownPierce's intimidating stare, startled the old man. He instinctively took a small step backward, looking completely caught off guard as he tried to figure out what exactly ClownPierce wanted from him.

"Him...?" the old man repeated nervously.

ClownPierce tilted his head slightly, his expression remaining calm. "The Lovebird who just walked past me."

"Oh..." 

The old man swallowed, his eyes briefly shifting in the direction Parrot had gone before quickly looking back at ClownPierce. 

"Yes. I know him."

He hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable under ClownPierce's gaze, but eventually decided that answering would probably be safer than keeping him waiting. 

"His name is ParrotX2. He's... an orphan."

ClownPierce's eyes narrowed slightly at that. He remained silent, allowing the old man to continue.

"He's been living here for quite some time. But recently..." The old man paused, searching for the right words. "Two of his three younger brothers left him."

"Left him?"

The old man nodded slowly. "They wanted to live independently. That's what we heard, at least. They were old enough to leave, so they decided to start living on their own."

ClownPierce glanced in the direction Parrot had disappeared, his expression becoming slightly more thoughtful. "And the third one?"

The old man let out a quiet sigh. "The youngest one is still with him. But..." He hesitated again. "If things continue this way, it's possible that he'll leave Parrot too."

"Hm.."

ClownPierce didn't say anything for a few seconds. His gaze remained fixed on the road where Parrot had disappeared, as though he were trying to piece together the little information he had just received.

Then, almost casually, he looked back at the old man. "What are their names?"

The old man blinked, seemingly surprised that ClownPierce was asking for more information. Still, he quickly answered, "The eldest of the three is Flamefrags. Then there's Wemmbu. And the youngest one..." His voice softened slightly. "Spoke."

"Flamefrags. Wemmbu. Spoke."

ClownPierce repeated the names quietly, committing them to memory.

His eyes shifted back toward the road once again.

So the Lovebird's name was ParrotX2. An orphan who had already lost two of his younger brothers, with the last one possibly leaving him soon as well.

Interesting.

ClownPierce's lips curved into the faintest smile. Perhaps approaching him would be more interesting than he had initially thought.

"Do you know where he lives?" ClownPierce asked again, his gaze still fixed on the old man.

The old man nodded, though he still looked rather uneasy. He slowly raised his hand and pointed toward one of the paths leading deeper into the forest. 

It was one of the roads that would eventually take him toward the cottage where Parrot lived.

"Over there..." the old man explained quietly. "He usually walks that way."

ClownPierce followed the direction of his finger, his eyes briefly scanning the path disappearing between the trees. So that was where the Lovebird lived.

He gave a small nod before turning around and immediately walking away, not bothering to say anything else.

The old man simply stood there, watching ClownPierce's figure grow farther and farther away until he finally disappeared from sight. Only then did the old man let out a long, relieved sigh. Hey, at least he was gone.

The journey along the path was rather peaceful. The only thing ClownPierce could hear was the sound of the wind brushing through the trees, gently shaking the leaves above him. For once, there was nothing particularly interesting happening around him.

It was almost too quiet.

Until he finally spotted a beautiful cottage at the end of the path.

The cottage stood near a river, slightly farther away from the village than he had expected. ClownPierce looked around for a moment, realizing just how far the place was from the village. So Parrot had to walk all the way here whenever he needed to buy something or take care of anything in the village.

What a strange place to live.

However, the moment ClownPierce reached the front gate, he heard a noise coming from inside the cottage.

Before he could even knock, the door suddenly swung open.

A child.. Or perhaps a teenager, he ran out of the cottage. The boy quickly opened the gate before running straight past ClownPierce without even acknowledging his presence.

ClownPierce's eyes followed him for a moment.

A Voidling.

The boy didn't even look at him. He simply ran away down the path as if ClownPierce wasn't standing right there.

Then another voice came from inside.

"Spoke!"

ClownPierce turned his attention toward the cottage, where Parrot had just hurried outside, apparently trying to catch up with his younger brother.

But Spoke didn't stop.

He didn't even turn around.

Parrot eventually slowed down, breathing heavily as he stood near the entrance. His eyes were slightly watery, and his breathing still sounded strained from running after the boy.

Then he noticed ClownPierce.

A guest.

Parrot immediately wiped his eyes, quickly fixing himself up as if he hadn't just been chasing his younger brother moments ago. He straightened his clothes and took a breath, though his voice still sounded slightly hoarse when he finally spoke.

"O-oh, I'm sorry... I didn't realize we had a guest." He hesitated, lowering his head slightly. "Please forgive me. My brother and I were just having a little... disagreement."

ClownPierce could hear the way Parrot seemed to be holding himself together as he spoke.

His gaze remained on Parrot for a moment longer, causing the Lovebird to suddenly realize something.

He hadn't even invited his guest inside.

"Oh, right!" Parrot quickly said, his expression changing as he stepped aside. "Please, come in, sir!"

Sir.

The title made ClownPierce let out a quiet chuckle, though he didn't comment on it. He simply walked through the gate and followed Parrot inside.

The interior of the cottage was neat and clean, yet surprisingly minimalistic. There wasn't anything extravagant about it. Everything seemed simple, practical, and carefully kept in its place.

It was completely different from what ClownPierce was used to.

Parrot led him toward the living room and gestured toward one of the sofas. ClownPierce immediately sat down without waiting for an invitation, making himself comfortable as though the cottage belonged to him.

Parrot, meanwhile, seemed to remember something. A guest was supposed to be offered something to drink.

"Please wait a moment. I'll make you something to drink," Parrot said, already turning toward the kitchen.

ClownPierce raised a hand, stopping him. "No need. I didn't come here to eat or drink."

His voice was flat and straightforward.

But Parrot stared at him for a few seconds, then he shook his head with a small smile.

"No, no. Let me make you some tea. It wouldn't be very polite if I didn't serve you anything at all."

He didn't wait for ClownPierce to argue again. Parrot simply turned around and walked toward the kitchen, leaving him alone in the living room.

ClownPierce watched him disappear without saying anything.

There was something about Parrot.

Something he couldn't quite explain.

The way he moved, the way he spoke, even the feeling he got simply from looking at him...

It felt familiar.

Strangely familiar.

ClownPierce narrowed his eyes slightly, but eventually leaned back against the sofa. Whatever it was, he wouldn't think too much about it for now.

Parrot eventually returned with a cup of tea in his hands. He carefully placed it on the table in front of ClownPierce, and the pleasant aroma immediately filled the small living room.

ClownPierce picked up the cup and took a sip without caring that it was still hot. Parrot sat down on the other side of the room, quietly fixing the folds of his kimono skirt before finally looking back at his guest.

ClownPierce took another sip. It was actually... Good.

Sweet, but not overwhelmingly. The taste was warm and comforting, almost enough to make him forget that he had only come here because he was looking for something to entertain himself with.

"You seem pretty good at making tea," ClownPierce said, his tone carrying a faint hint of praise.

Parrot let out a small chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. "No, no. It's nothing."

The corner of ClownPierce's lips lifted slightly. He found the way Parrot reacted to compliments rather amusing.

ClownPierce lowered the cup, his attention now fully focused on the Lovebird sitting across from him. 

"Do you live here alone?"

It was a question that didn't really need an answer. He already knew the basics from the old man in the village.

Still, Parrot shook his head.

His eyes slowly wandered toward one of the framed photographs hanging on the wall. For a moment, he simply stared at it before quietly answering, 

"No... I used to live here with my three younger brothers."

His voice was softer now.

"The other two have already left. They said they wanted to live... independently." Parrot paused, his fingers lightly fidgeting with the edge of his kimono. "And my last younger brother wants to leave me too."

His voice gradually became quieter until ClownPierce had to lean forward slightly just to hear him.

There it was.

The loneliness.

ClownPierce had been looking for something interesting, and apparently, he had found it much sooner than expected.

He placed his cup back onto the table, his expression changing into something gentler. At least, gentle enough to fool someone who wasn't paying attention.

"That must be difficult."

Parrot looked at him. 

ClownPierce held his gaze, his voice remaining calm. "You've spent all this time taking care of them, haven't you?"

Parrot hesitated before slowly nodding.

"I suppose I did."

"And now they're leaving you one by one."

The words made Parrot's expression fall slightly.

ClownPierce noticed it immediately.

He leaned back against the sofa, sighing as though he genuinely felt sorry for him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's alright." Parrot quickly shook his head, forcing a small smile. "It's not your fault."

"Still." ClownPierce looked down at his hands for a moment before looking back at him. "It doesn't sound like you're alright."

Parrot went quiet. He didn't immediately know what to say. ClownPierce continued before he could find an answer. 

"You look exhausted too."

Parrot's fingers stopped moving.

"I..." He looked down at himself, almost as if he had only just realized how tired he actually was. "I'm fine."

ClownPierce gave a quiet hum.

"You don't have to say that."

Parrot slowly looked up.

ClownPierce's expression remained soft, almost sympathetic. "You don't have to pretend that everything is fine just because you're talking to a stranger."

The words settled between them.

Parrot stared at him for a while before his shoulders finally dropped.

"I just.. Don't want to be alone."

There it was.

A quiet confession, barely louder than a whisper.

ClownPierce's eyes softened. At least, that was what he wanted Parrot to believe.

"I understand."

He paused for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch before continuing, 

"You know, you don't have to stay here all the time."

Heading that, Parrot tilted his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

"If you need somewhere to rest, I know a place."

"A place?"

ClownPierce nodded. "Somewhere quieter. You could stay there for a while. Get your mind off everything that's happening here."

Parrot looked uncertain.

ClownPierce could see the hesitation immediately, so he smiled faintly. "You don't have to decide now. I'm not forcing you."

He deliberately made his voice gentle, reassuring.

"I'm only offering."

Parrot looked down at his tea, his thoughts clearly running through everything ClownPierce had said.

ClownPierce watched him carefully.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

He wasn't going to force Parrot.

He didn't need to.

"You've been taking care of everyone else for so long," ClownPierce added quietly. "Maybe it's time someone took care of you for once."

Parrot's eyes widened slightly. That sentence seemed to reach somewhere deeper than the others.

ClownPierce noticed.

And, hidden behind his calm expression, he smiled.

"Think about it, Parrot."

He picked up his tea again, taking another slow sip as though he hadn't just offered to take a lonely, exhausted stranger away from everything he knew.

"You might find that getting away for a little while isn't such a bad thing."

Parrot stared at ClownPierce for a few moments before finally shaking his head.

"I... can't. Sorry.."

ClownPierce raised an eyebrow slightly, though he didn't look disappointed. If anything, his expression remained surprisingly calm.

"It's fine."

He picked up his cup again and took another sip, as though Parrot's refusal hadn't bothered him at all. "I wasn't expecting you to agree immediately anyway."

Parrot looked at him with a faintly confused expression. "You weren't?"

"No." ClownPierce shrugged. "You barely know me."

There was something almost reassuring about the way he said it. He wasn't pushing Parrot anymore, and that seemed to make the Lovebird relax a little.

"Besides," ClownPierce continued, "you have a rather nice place here. I would probably be thinking twice to leave too."

Parrot blinked before letting out a small laugh. "It's not really anything special."

"I didn't say it was." ClownPierce glanced around the room again. "It's simple."

"That's the point." Parrot smiled faintly. "I don't really need much."

"Hm."

The conversation slowly drifted away from the subject of leaving the cottage. They talked about small, meaningless things instead. The village, the weather, the river nearby, and even the tea Parrot had made.

At some point, ClownPierce casually asked where Parrot got the vegetables he had been carrying earlier.

"The village," Parrot answered. "Sometimes I grow some myself too, but the soil here isn't always good."

"You grow your own food?"

"A little.." Parrot shrugged. "It's cheaper that way."

ClownPierce hummed in response, letting Parrot continue talking. He didn't interrupt much, mostly listening while occasionally asking another question whenever the conversation began to quiet down.

It was strange.

ClownPierce hadn't expected to spend this much time sitting inside someone's cottage simply talking.

Yet somehow, he wasn't bored.

His eyes eventually wandered around the room again.

That was when he noticed something he hadn't paid attention to before.

Pictures.

There were quite a few of them hanging around the cottage.

Not photographs.

Drawings.

Most of them seemed to be simple pictures made with colored pencils and crayons. Some showed the cottage itself, while others depicted the river, trees, flowers, and various little figures that ClownPierce couldn't immediately recognize.

His gaze lingered on one of them. It was a drawing of three children standing beside a taller figure.

ClownPierce narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Did you draw these?"

Parrot, who had been talking about something else, suddenly stopped. He followed ClownPierce's gaze and immediately looked a little embarrassed.

"Oh... those."

ClownPierce pointed toward the wall. "They're yours?"

Parrot nodded, "Well.. most of them."

"Most?"

"Some were drawn by my brothers."

ClownPierce looked at the pictures again.

There were more than he had initially realized.

Some looked old and slightly faded, while others appeared newer. There were drawings of the cottage, the forest, the river, and even several childish pictures of what seemed to be Parrot and his brothers together.

"You kept all of them."

Parrot smiled softly.

"Of course."

His answer came so naturally that ClownPierce went quiet for a moment.

"They're memories," Parrot explained, his eyes moving across the wall. "Even if they're just drawings, I don't really want to throw them away."

ClownPierce's gaze returned to the picture of the three children.

"Your brothers drew these?"

"Some of them." Parrot pointed toward a few of the messier drawings. "Those were probably Spoke drawing."

ClownPierce glanced at them. That's the most ugliest drawing ever see (not really -C). So yeah, he could understand why.

"They're not very good."

Parrot immediately let out a small laugh. "Hey! Don't say that."

ClownPierce's lips curled into a small smile. For some reason, hearing Parrot laugh felt oddly satisfying.

His gaze wandered across the wall once more, taking in every little drawing that had been carefully kept there.

It was such a simple thing. Parrot had spent years taking care of his brothers. He had kept their drawings.

Their memories.

Their little pieces of childhood.

And now, one by one, they were leaving him behind.

ClownPierce rested his cheek against one hand, quietly observing the Lovebird.

ClownPierce's gaze remained on the drawings for a little longer before he suddenly looked back at Parrot.

"Did you ever draw yourself?"

Parrot blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the question.

"Me?"

ClownPierce nodded toward the pictures on the wall. "You have drawings of your brothers, the cottage, the river... but I don't see many of you."

Parrot let out a small laugh, glancing toward the wall. "I don't really like drawing myself."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Parrot shrugged. "I guess it's more fun to draw other people."

ClownPierce hummed. "So you've never drawn yourself?"

"Maybe once or twice."

"And?"

"I didn't like how they turned out."

ClownPierce chuckled quietly. "You're too harsh on yourself."

Parrot smiled awkwardly. "Maybe."

For a while, they continued talking about the drawings. Parrot explained which ones had been made by his brothers and which ones he had drawn himself.

Some of the pictures were old enough that Parrot could barely remember when he had made them, while others were newer and still looked surprisingly neat.

ClownPierce listened.

He didn't really care about the drawings themselves.

What interested him was how easily Parrot talked when the subject was something he genuinely enjoyed.

Eventually, their conversation drifted back toward the village.

ClownPierce glanced toward the window, where the evening light had begun to fade between the trees.

"You know," he said casually, "you could always come with me for a while."

Parrot looked at him again.

ClownPierce raised one hand before he could refuse. "I'm not asking you to leave forever."

"I still can't."

"You already said that."

"And I meant it."

"I know."

ClownPierce leaned back against the sofa, looking completely unbothered. "Then don't think of it as leaving."

Parrot frowned slightly. "What else would I call it?"

"A break."

"A break?"

"Yes." ClownPierce nodded. "You've been taking care of your brothers for years, haven't you? You deserve to spend a little time somewhere else."

Parrot looked down at his hands.

"But Spoke..."

"You said he wants to leave too."

Parrot's expression immediately fell.

ClownPierce noticed, but his voice remained gentle. "I'm not saying you should abandon him. I'm saying that perhaps you should stop chasing after everyone for a moment."

Parrot didn't answer.

"You can't force him to stay," ClownPierce continued. "And you can't make your other brothers come back either."

His words were quiet, almost sympathetic.

"So why not give yourself a little time to breathe?"

Parrot stared at the floor for several seconds.

ClownPierce waited.

He didn't rush him.

Eventually, Parrot sighed. "Just... for a little while?"

ClownPierce's lips curved into a faint smile.

"Of course."

"And I'll come back?"

"Whenever you want."

Parrot looked at him suspiciously for a moment, as though trying to figure out whether there was some hidden meaning behind his words.

ClownPierce simply smiled back.

"Besides," he added, glancing toward the drawings again, "you could always draw something while you're there."

Parrot blinked.

"What?"

"You said you enjoy drawing."

"I do..."

"Then bring your things."

A small smile slowly appeared on Parrot's face.

"You really think I should go?"

"I think," ClownPierce answered calmly, "that you could use a change of scenery."

Parrot remained silent for a few moments.

Then, finally, he nodded.

"Alright..."

ClownPierce's smile widened just slightly.

"Good."

Parrot looked toward the kitchen, then toward the doorway where Spoke had disappeared earlier.

"I'll just need to prepare a few things first."

"Take your time."

ClownPierce stood from the sofa and looked around the cottage one last time before walking outside. He decided to wait there while Parrot prepared his things.

The moment he stepped outside, the sound of the river immediately caught his attention. It flowed quietly beside the cottage, almost completely undisturbed, with the occasional sound of birds coming from the trees nearby. It was strangely peaceful.

Too peaceful, perhaps.

ClownPierce leaned against the wooden fence near the gate, crossing his arms as he waited. He could still hear Parrot moving around inside. Drawers opening and closing, footsteps going from one room to another, followed by the occasional quiet thud of something being placed into a bag.

He glanced back at the cottage. He had expected Parrot to take only a few minutes.

Apparently, he had underestimated how much someone could possibly need when they were trying to leave their entire life behind, even if only temporarily.

ClownPierce let out a quiet chuckle.

"Take your time," he muttered to himself, remembering what he had told Parrot earlier.

He wasn't in a hurry.

Besides, there was something about this place that made him want to stay a little longer.

His eyes wandered toward the river again. The cottage was simple. There were no guards, no walls surrounding the property, no signs that anyone here was prepared for an attack. Just a small home, a river, a forest, and a few flowers growing near the entrance.

It was almost laughably defenseless.

And yet Parrot had managed to survive here for years.

ClownPierce wondered how.

He had heard that Parrot was an orphan. He had heard that he raised three younger brothers on his own. He had heard that two of them had already left, and the youngest was planning to do the same.

But hearing those things from an old villager was different from actually seeing the result.

The neat little cottage.

The drawings covering the walls.

The tea Parrot had made without hesitation.

The way he had immediately wiped his tears the moment he realized someone was watching.

ClownPierce tilted his head slightly.

Interesting.

The front door eventually opened.

Parrot stepped outside with a small bag hanging from his shoulder. He looked a little different from earlier. His hair had been fixed, his clothes were neater, and he had changed into something more comfortable for travelling. Despite that, he still looked tired.

He stopped when he saw ClownPierce waiting by the gate.

"Sorry for taking so long, sir."

ClownPierce raised an eyebrow.

"You don't have to keep calling me that."

Parrot blinked. "Oh.."

There was a short silence.

“Uhm sorry.."

ClownPierce smiled.

"You really like apologizing, don't you?"

Parrot looked slightly embarrassed. "I guess I do."

"Yeah. I noticed."

Parrot adjusted the strap of his bag and glanced back at the cottage. For a moment, he didn't move. His eyes lingered on the little house, almost as if he were trying to memorize it.

ClownPierce noticed.

"You're not leaving anything behind, are you?"

"No," Parrot answered quietly. "I just... wanted to look at it one more time."

ClownPierce said nothing.

Parrot took a slow breath before finally turning away.

"Alright. I'm ready."

ClownPierce pushed himself away from the fence.

"Then let's go."

Parrot nodded and followed him down the path.

The journey back to the Nether was relatively quiet. Parrot mostly stayed beside ClownPierce, occasionally looking around whenever they passed through unfamiliar parts of the forest. He didn't ask many questions, though ClownPierce could tell there were plenty of them in his bird mind.

Eventually, the trees became less dense, and the familiar sight of the Nether's entrance came into view.

Parrot slowed down a little.

He had never been here before. 

ClownPierce noticed his hesitation and glanced at him.

"First time?"

Parrot nodded.

"Yeah..."

"You'll get used to it."

Parrot looked at him for a moment, as if he wasn't entirely sure whether that was supposed to be reassuring.

Before he could say anything, a voice came from ahead.

"There you are."

ClownPierce stopped.

Ferre was standing near the entrance, looking over several crates that had just been brought back from the Overworld. He had clearly been waiting for ClownPierce to return, and judging from the look on his face, he had already been waiting for quite a while.

"Where the hell have you been?" Ferre asked.

ClownPierce simply walked past him.

"Taking a walk."

Ferre stared at him.

"Really?"

ClownPierce shrugged.

"I was bored."

Ferre opened his mouth, probably ready to complain again, but then his eyes shifted toward the person walking behind ClownPierce.

He froze.

Parrot stopped as well.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds.

Ferre slowly looked at ClownPierce.

Then back at Parrot.

Then back at ClownPierce again.

His expression immediately changed.

His eyebrows furrowed.

"Who.. Who is that?"

ClownPierce glanced over his shoulder.

"Oh, him?"

Parrot awkwardly raised a hand.

"Hello."

Ferre did not return the greeting.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes at ClownPierce.

"You brought a child here?"

Parrot blinked.

"I'm not a child."

Ferre ignored him.

"ClownPierce."

"What?"

"Did you kidnap someone?"

ClownPierce stared at him for a moment before bursting into quiet laughter. Seeing that Ferre getting more irritated. 

"What?" He asked. 

"You heard me." ClownPierce answered. 

"I didn't kidnap him."

Ferre crossed his arms.

"Then why is he following you?"

"Because I invited him."

"That doesn't make it sound any better."

Parrot looked between them, clearly unsure whether he should interfere.

"I... agreed to come with him."

Ferre's eyes immediately moved toward Parrot.

"You agreed?"

Parrot nodded.

"Yes."

Ferre looked at ClownPierce again, still suspicious.

"You actually asked him?"

"Yes."

"And he said yes?"

"Yes."

Ferre's expression remained unconvinced.

"You're telling me you went to the village alone, disappeared for who knows how long, and came back with a random Lovebird hybrid following you?"

ClownPierce smiled.

"When you put it like that, it sounds like you suspicious of me."

"Because IT IS suspicious."

ClownPierce chuckled. Meanwhile Parrot, shifted his bag higher onto his shoulder.

"I really am going here willingly.."

Ferre looked at him again.

Parrot seemed harmless enough. Tired, maybe a little nervous, but certainly not someone who looked like he had been dragged here against his will.

Still, Ferre wasn't completely convinced. He turned toward ClownPierce and lowered his voice.

"You better explain."

ClownPierce only smiled.

"Later."

"Clown─"

"I said later."

Ferre sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Of course.

Of all the things ClownPierce could have brought back from the Overworld, he had somehow brought back a person.

And judging by the way ClownPierce kept looking at the Lovebird, Ferre had a feeling this wasn't going to be the last surprise.

...

They eventually opened another Nether portal.

Parrot stood near the entrance for a moment, looking around the area surrounding it. There was something about the place that seemed strangely familiar, as if it had reminded him of something from a long time ago.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Still, he didn't say anything.

The moment they stepped through the portal, the atmosphere changed completely.

The Nether stretched out before them, vast and terrifying. Lava flowed almost everywhere, illuminating the dark landscape with its harsh orange glow. Netherrack covered the ground and walls as far as the eye could see, its rough red surface almost resembling blood-stained stone.

Parrot shuddered slightly.

It was hot.

Far hotter than anything he was used to in the Overworld.

He instinctively pulled his clothes a little closer to himself as he followed ClownPierce and his soldiers. The heat pressed against his skin with every step, making the air feel heavy and difficult to breathe.

ClownPierce, however, didn't seem bothered in the slightest.

He walked ahead as if he were taking a casual stroll through his own backyard.

Of course, he was.

He had lived in the Nether for so long that the heat had probably become nothing more than an ordinary part of his life.

Meanwhile Parrot quietly followed behind him.

. . .

Eventually, they arrived at ClownPierce's territory.

Parrot's steps slowed.

His eyes widened as he looked around.

The territory was far more impressive than he had expected. A massive castle stood at the center, surrounded by enormous walls and countless structures that stretched throughout the area. Everything was built with a striking red and black theme, matching the colors ClownPierce wore. 

Guards stood almost everywhere.

There were guards stationed near the entrance, along the walls, around the castle grounds, and even in places Parrot hadn't expected anyone to be watching. There didn't seem to be a single corner that was left completely unguarded.

It was intimidating.

But at the same time...

It was impressive.

"Woahh..."

ClownPierce heard the quiet exclamation from behind him.

He turned his head slightly.

Parrot was staring at the castle with genuine amazement, his eyes wandering from the towering walls to the guards standing around them. There was no fear in his expression this time.

Just pure fascination.

ClownPierce couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride. He didn't show it, of course. He simply looked forward again, pretending that Parrot's reaction meant nothing to him.

"Ferre," he called, stopping for a moment. "You handle the rest. I want to show this kid around first."

Ferre looked at him.

Then at Parrot.

Then back at ClownPierce.

There was a brief silence, Ferre finally said again.

"You're leaving me with all of this?"

ClownPierce didn't even wait for the rest of his complaint. He simply started walking again.

Parrot briefly glanced toward Ferre, who was already looking increasingly annoyed, before quickly following ClownPierce from behind.

ClownPierce could hear Ferre's muttering even after they had walked some distance away.

He ignored it.

Oh well! 

Let him complain.

As they entered deeper into the castle grounds, Parrot continued looking around. Everything felt completely different from his little cottage. There were enormous halls, carefully decorated walls, polished floors, and countless rooms branching off from the main corridors.

It was almost difficult to believe that someone could actually live in a place this large.

Parrot kept looking around, trying not to stare too obviously.

ClownPierce noticed anyway.

"You can look around," he said casually. "There's no need to be so careful."

Parrot blinked.

"Oh.. Sorry."

ClownPierce chuckled.

"There you go again."

Parrot smiled sheepishly.

They continued walking until ClownPierce eventually turned down another corridor.

Unlike the rest of the castle, this part seemed quieter. There were fewer guards here, and the walls were covered with paintings.

Parrot immediately noticed them.

His steps slowed.

ClownPierce glanced back at him.

"You like this paintings?"

Parrot's eyes moved from one painting to another.

"Yeah..."

A faint smile appeared on his face.

"I really like them."

ClownPierce watched him for a moment. Then he opened the large doors at the end of the corridor.

"Then," he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the room, "do you want to look around my gallery?"

Hearing the question, Parrot thought for a moment before finally nodding.

"Of course!"

He said it while nodding several times, his expression immediately brightening.

Seeing that, ClownPierce let out a small chuckled before turning around and leading him toward his private gallery, located on the eastern side of the castle.

It was not a place just anyone could enter.

Only a select few were allowed inside. Family members, people ClownPierce deeply trusted, or those who held enough power and authority to be granted access.

As for Parrot?

Well...

Was he one of them?

Who knew? 

ClownPierce pushed open the large doors, revealing a spacious room filled with paintings. The gallery was much quieter than the rest of the castle, almost completely separated from the noise of the soldiers and servants outside.

The walls were covered with paintings of all kinds.

Some depicted landscapes. Others showed old battles, strange creatures, castles, and places Parrot couldn't recognize. There were paintings that looked incredibly old, their colors already fading with age, while others looked much newer.

Parrot slowly stepped inside. His eyes immediately wandered from one painting to another.

"Wow..."

He walked a little farther, careful not to touch anything. 

"These are all yours?"

"Most of them."

ClownPierce followed behind him, watching as Parrot examined each painting with genuine curiosity.

"You painted all of these?"

"Some."

Parrot turned toward him.

"Some?"

ClownPierce nodded.

"Some were painted by other people. Some were gifts. A few were commissioned."

Parrot hummed thoughtfully before looking at another painting.

"I like this one."

ClownPierce followed his gaze.

It was a painting of the Nether from above. Lava flowed between enormous cliffs, while a fortress stood in the distance, surrounded by countless lights.

"You like the Nether?"

Parrot gave him an uncertain look.

"I don't know if I like the actual Nether yet.

ClownPierce smiled, nodding.

"Fair enough."

Parrot also smiled before returning his attention to the painting.

They continued walking.

ClownPierce pointed out a few paintings here and there, explaining what they depicted. Some had stories behind them, while others were simply things he had found interesting enough to keep.

Parrot listened carefully.

Every now and then, he would stop to ask a question.

"What happened here?"

"Who painted this?"

"Why is that person holding a sword?"

"Was this place destroyed?"

ClownPierce answered most of them.

Sometimes seriously.

Sometimes vaguely.

And sometimes, he simply told Parrot that it was none of his business.

Parrot didn't seem offended.

Instead, he would simply move on to the next painting.

For someone who had only come here to get his mind off things, Parrot seemed to be doing a surprisingly good job.

Eventually, they reached the far end of the gallery.

ClownPierce stopped.

There was one particular painting hanging on the wall. Unlike the others, he didn't immediately explain it.

Parrot noticed.

He looked at the painting.

There were three people in it.

The first was ClownPierce.

He looked younger, though his expression was still unmistakably his. Standing beside him was a man with white hair and striking purple eyes.

And beside them was a much younger child with black hair and the same purple eyes.

Parrot stared at the painting for a moment.

"That's you, right?"

ClownPierce nodded.

"Yeah."

He looked at the white-haired man.

"That's Branzy. He was my husband."

Parrot's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh."

Then his gaze shifted toward the child.

"And him?"

ClownPierce was quiet for a second.

"Ashswag."

He paused.

"My son."

Parrot blinked.

"Your... son?"

ClownPierce nodded.

"Yeah."

Parrot looked back at the painting, taking in the three figures again. There was something almost strangely warm about the picture.

ClownPierce stood between Branzy and the young Ashswag, all three of them looking far more peaceful than Parrot had expected.

"He was really small here," Parrot said.

"He was."

"Is he older now?"

"Yes."

"How old?"

"Old enough."

Parrot gave him a slightly confused look.

ClownPierce simply smiled. He didn't seem interested in giving an actual answer.

Parrot looked at the painting again.

"What happened to them?"

ClownPierce's smile faded just a little.

"Branzy is sick, and i can't really help him for now."

"Oh..."

Parrot immediately lowered his gaze.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"You don't have to apologize."

ClownPierce looked at the painting again.

"As for Ashswag..."

He stopped.

His eyes remained on the younger version of his son.

"We're not very close anymore."

Parrot didn't say anything.

There was something about the way ClownPierce said it that made him feel like asking another question would only cross a line.

So he didn't.

Instead, he simply looked at the painting.

Ashswag was still so young in it.

Parrot wondered if ClownPierce ever missed those days.

He didn't ask.

ClownPierce eventually turned away from the painting.

"Come on."

Parrot followed him, though he gave the painting one last glance before leaving.

ClownPierce eventually turned away from the painting and continued walking deeper into the gallery.

Parrot followed him, though his eyes remained on the other paintings around them. There was something comforting about being surrounded by so many pieces of art. It reminded him of his own cottage, even if this place was much larger and far more extravagant.

After walking for a while, ClownPierce stopped in front of another set of doors.

He opened them.

This room was different from the main gallery.

It was smaller and much quieter, with a large window overlooking the Nether outside. Several paintings were placed around the room, but unlike the ones in the gallery, these looked more personal. Some were unfinished, while others had clearly been worked on many times.

There was also a wooden easel near the window.

Parrot immediately noticed it.

"Oh..."

He stepped closer.

"You paint here?"

"Sometimes."

ClownPierce walked toward the easel and lightly brushed his fingers over its wooden frame.

"When I don't feel like being bothered."

Parrot laughed quietly.

"So you come here to hide?"

"Something like that."

Parrot looked around the room again.

"I think I'd like a place like this."

ClownPierce glanced at him.

"You like quiet places?"

Yeah."

Parrot's smile softened.

"My cottage is usually quiet too."

"Usually?"

Parrot hesitated.

"When my brothers were still there, it wasn't."

ClownPierce chuckled.

"I can imagine."

"They were loud."

"You raised three of them. What did you expect?"

Parrot laughed.

"That's true."

For a moment, the atmosphere became lighter.

Parrot wandered around the room, looking at the unfinished paintings. He stopped in front of one that depicted a landscape he didn't recognize.

"This one isn't finished."

"No."

"Why?"

“I got bored."

Parrot turned around with an amused expression.

"You just stopped?"

"Yep."

"You're terrible."

ClownPierce laughed.

"Maybe."

Parrot shook his head, still smiling as he looked back at the painting.

"You know, I usually finish mine."

"You're more patient than me, then."

"Maybe."

There was another short silence. ClownPierce looked at Parrot for a moment. Then his eyes moved toward the empty canvas sitting on the easel.

He seemed to consider something. 

"You said earlier that you don't like drawing yourself."

Parrot looked at him.

"Yeah.."

"Why?" ClownPierce asked. Parrot thought about it.. He didn't know. 

“I don't know."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I guess I just don't know how to draw myself properly. When I draw other people, I can focus on them. Their expressions, the way they look, the little things about them."

He paused.

"But when it's me... it feels strange."

ClownPierce listened quietly.

"Strange?"

"Yeah."

Parrot smiled awkwardly.

"I'd rather draw someone else."

ClownPierce glanced at the empty canvas again.

Then back at him.

"Then why don't you let someone else draw you?"

Parrot blinked.

*What?"

ClownPierce gestured toward the empty canvas.

"I could paint you."

Parrot stared at him.

"Me?"

"Yes."

The answer came so casually that Parrot almost thought he had misheard him.

"You want to paint me?"

ClownPierce nodded.

"Why not?"

Parrot looked at the canvas, then at ClownPierce.

"But... why?"

ClownPierce leaned against the edge of the table, his expression calm.

"Because I've been painting things I find interesting for years."

His eyes settled on Parrot.

"And you're interesting."

Parrot's face immediately became a little warmer.

"Oh."

He looked away.

"I don't think I'm that interesting."

"That's what you think."

ClownPierce smiled faintly.

"And I'm the one holding the brush."

Parrot let out a quiet laugh.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't have to."

Parrot looked at the empty canvas again.

He seemed hesitant.

Not because he disliked the idea.

If anything, he seemed curious.

He had spent years drawing his brothers, his home, the river, the flowers outside his window. He had filled countless pieces of paper with memories of everyone except himself.

And now someone was offering to make him the subject.

For once, he wouldn't have to decide how he looked.

Someone else would see him.

Someone else would remember him.

Parrot finally looked back at ClownPierce.

"...Alright."

ClownPierce raised an eyebrow.

"Alright?"

Parrot nodded.

"You can paint me."

A small smile appeared on ClownPierce's face.

"Good."

He turned toward the easel.

"Then sit down."

Parrot walked toward the chair placed in front of the canvas, still looking slightly uncertain about what he had just agreed to.

ClownPierce picked up his brush. As he finally prepared everything for the painting.For the next few hours, ClownPierce made sure he captured every detail of Parrot.

The shape of his face.

The way his hair fell around his shoulders.

The folds of his clothes.

Even the smallest details that most people would probably overlook.

Every now and then, ClownPierce would pause, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied Parrot before returning his attention to the canvas.

Parrot remained surprisingly calm throughout the entire process.

He sat quietly on the chair in front of the easel, occasionally shifting his posture whenever he started to get uncomfortable. Sometimes he would look around the room, but most of the time, he simply watched ClownPierce paint.

There was something strangely familiar about this.

ClownPierce had done this before.

He remembered the days when he used to sit in front of a canvas for hours, carefully painting his lover's face and making sure he captured every little detail.

He remembered Branzy sitting patiently for him, sometimes talking about random things while ClownPierce worked.

He had even tried to paint their son.

Ashswag.

But unlike Branzy, Ashswag had never been interested in sitting still for long.

No matter how much they tried to convince him, the boy would eventually find some excuse to leave. He didn't want to sit there, didn't want to pose. He simply wanted to do his own thing.

Branzy had always hoped that one day they would have more paintings together.

More memories on canvas.

The three of them.

A family.

But Ashswag had always seemed distant from them. Even when he was still young.. 

ClownPierce's brush slowed.

"..."

His eyes drifted away from the canvas.

They landed on Parrot.

Parrot was still sitting quietly in front of him, his hands resting loosely in his lap as he waited patiently.

For a moment, ClownPierce simply stared.

There was something about him.

Something familiar.

Not his face.

Not his clothes.

Something deeper than that.

Parrot reminded him of someone.

Someone who had once stood on the other side of a canvas just like this.

Someone who could sit across from him without fear.

Someone who could look at him without lowering their head.

Someone who was equal to him.

ClownPierce's gaze remained on Parrot for another moment before he finally looked back at the canvas.

His expression became unreadable.

He knew who Parrot was.

He knew everything.

He simply had no intention of talking about it.

Not now.

Perhaps not ever.

His brush moved again.

Stroke after stroke, the painting slowly began to take shape.

The hours passed quietly. Eventually, ClownPierce added the final details.

A small adjustment to Parrot's hair.

Another touch around his eyes.

The folds of his kimono.

Then he stepped back.

He looked at the painting for a long moment.

Finished.

"Alright."

Parrot lifted his head.

"Done?"

ClownPierce placed the brush down.

"Come and see."

Parrot immediately stood from the chair and walked toward the canvas.

The moment he saw it, he stopped.

His eyes widened.

"Oh.. Oh wow."

ClownPierce watched his reaction. Parrot moved a little closer, carefully examining the painting.

It looked like him.

Not just the obvious features.

The little details were there too.

His hair.

His expression.

His clothes.

Even the tiredness in his eyes that Parrot himself had probably stopped noticing.

"You really captured me."

ClownPierce gave a small shrug.

"I told you I could."

Parrot smiled.

A genuine one.

"I... I really love it."

He looked at the painting for a few more seconds before turning toward ClownPierce.

"Thank you."

ClownPierce raised an eyebrow.

"For what?"

"For this."

Parrot gestured toward the canvas.

"I've never really had someone paint me before."

ClownPierce was quiet for a moment.

"Then consider it your first."

Parrot smiled again.

"I'll treasure it."

Something about those words made ClownPierce pause.

Treasure it.

He looked at the painting once more.

For some reason, the thought of Parrot keeping it somewhere in his little cottage felt oddly amusing.

Or perhaps...

He simply liked the idea.

"Good."

ClownPierce walked over to another table and picked up a small bottle of water before handing it to Parrot.

"You've been sitting there for hours. Take a break."

Parrot accepted it.

"Thanks."

He took a drink before sitting down again, this time on one of the comfortable chairs near the window.

ClownPierce didn't return to the main gallery.

Instead, he sat down across from him.

The painting remained between them.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

There was no need to. They simply stayed there, talking about small and meaningless things.

Parrot asked about some of the other paintings.

ClownPierce told him stories about a few of them.

Parrot talked about the river near his cottage.

Then somehow, the conversation returned to his brothers.

He spoke about Flamefrags, Wemmbu, and Spoke.

Not with anger.

Not.. Really.

Mostly with the kind of fondness that came from years of caring for someone.

ClownPierce listened.

Sometimes he asked questions.

Sometimes he simply let Parrot talk. 

"this bird really love to talk." He said to himself. 

The Nether outside remained loud and dangerous, but inside the room, everything felt strangely distant.

For the first time since arriving, Parrot didn't seem like he was thinking about leaving.

And ClownPierce didn't seem to mind keeping him there.

Hours ago, he had brought Parrot here because he thought the Lovebird needed something to take his mind off things.

Now, somehow, they were simply spending time together. And neither of them seemed particularly eager to leave the room.

That memory is still fresh in his mind.

Even after everything that has happened, even after all the things that should have been enough to bury it beneath countless other memories, ClownPierce still remembers.

He remembers the cottage.

The quiet river.

The way Parrot used to look when he was tired but still tried to smile as though nothing was wrong.

The sound of his voice, the little pauses between his words, the way he would immediately straighten himself whenever someone entered his home, as if he had to remind himself that he was supposed to look fine.

ClownPierce remembers the drawings hanging on the walls, the tea Parrot made for him, the nervous little glances, and the way the entire place somehow felt warmer than it had any right to be.

Most of all, he remembers Parrot.

Back then, ClownPierce already knew everything. 

He knew that Parrot was one of the TSOTH. He knew what Parrot was, what he carried within himself, and how much depended on his continued existence.

He knew that Parrot was not simply another player wandering around the Overworld, not simply some lonely Lovebird hybrid living in a cottage by the river and worrying about his younger brothers.

There was something far greater resting on Parrot's shoulders.

Something that Parrot himself didn't seem to fully understand.

And ClownPierce knew it.

He knew all of it.

Yet, somehow, Parrot doesn't seem to remember any of it anymore.

At least, not him.

That is the part ClownPierce still cannot understand.

Every time his mind drifts back to Parrot, there is a strange weight that settles inside his chest. It isn't quite grief. It isn't quite regret, either.

It is something colder than both, something that refuses to leave no matter how many times he tells himself that there is nothing he can do about it anymore.

Fear.

That is what it is.

ClownPierce is afraid.

He is afraid of what could happen if something goes wrong. Afraid of what might happen to Parrot if the world decides to take something from him again.

Afraid of what the future will look like if Parrot disappears one more time, because ClownPierce has already seen what happens when something that important is taken away.

And perhaps, deep down, the thing that frightens him most is the possibility that he already knows how this story ends.

He simply refuses to admit it. 

ClownPierce exhales slowly, the breath leaving him almost soundlessly as he rests his hands against the cold stone railing of the balcony.

From up here, the entire courtyard stretches beneath him.

His soldiers are beginning to gather one by one.

Their movements are organized and familiar. Weapons are being checked before they leave, armor is being adjusted, orders are being passed from one person to another, and the newest recruits are moving into their assigned positions under the watchful eyes of those who have been serving him for far longer.

The sound of metal shifting against metal rises from below, mixed with distant voices and the occasional command being called across the courtyard.

It is almost comforting.

Almost.

This is the kind of thing ClownPierce has seen countless times. Soldiers preparing themselves. Orders being followed. People moving according to a plan he already knows by heart.

There is supposed to be nothing uncertain about it.

And yet, today, his attention refuses to stay where it should.

His eyes settle on Snowlicker among the gathering soldiers.

The leader of his newest recruits stands with the others, making sure everything is in order before they move. Snowlicker has proven himself reliable, reliable enough that ClownPierce has no problem leaving certain matters in his hands alongside Ferre.

He watches for another few seconds, quietly observing the way Snowlicker speaks to the others and the way the soldiers respond.

Everything is fine.

Everything is exactly where it should be.

ClownPierce should be thinking about the mission.

He should be thinking about the territory below, the routes they will take, the resources they need to secure, and whether there is anything that could interfere with his plans.

Instead, his mind wanders somewhere else entirely.

Back to Parrot.

His gaze remains fixed on the courtyard, but he isn't really seeing the soldiers anymore.

He remembers their first meeting.

Then the second.

He remembers the strange familiarity he felt around Parrot, the feeling that there was something about the Lovebird hybrid that he had seen before, something that his mind recognized even when he couldn't immediately place it. At the time, he didn't think much of it.

Now, he cannot stop thinking about it.

Because after Parrot returned from the Nether to the Overworld, something changed.

ClownPierce still doesn't know exactly what happened.

He doesn't know what Parrot saw, what he experienced, or what happened inside his mind when he crossed back through that portal. He only knows that when Parrot returned, it was almost as though something had been quietly removed from him.

Not physically.

Not something ClownPierce could point at or see.

Something deeper.

Something in his memories.

It is almost as though the moment Parrot stepped back into the Overworld that day, a door inside his mind closed.

Everything they had talked about.

Everything they had done.

Every small moment they had shared in that strange period of time.

Gone.

Or at least, buried so deeply that Parrot no longer seems capable of reaching them.

Maybe not all of it is gone.

Maybe there are still fragments somewhere inside Parrot's mind, small pieces of memories that survived whatever happened to him.

Maybe there are moments he remembers without knowing why they feel familiar.

Maybe there are things that still linger at the very edge of his thoughts, just out of reach.

But when it comes to ClownPierce...

Parrot seems to have forgotten.

And somehow, that hurts more than ClownPierce wants to admit.

His fingers slowly tighten around the stone railing.

He looks down at the soldiers again.

They are still moving.

Still preparing.

Still living.

The world hasn't stopped just because one person has been lost.

ClownPierce looks away.

Well. 

He cannot keep blaming Parrot for it.

Not when Parrot has █████.

And now that █████ is already...

... 

"Ugh.."

His thoughts stop.

For several seconds, he simply stands there.

The unfinished sentence hangs inside his head, heavier than anything he could have said aloud.

There is no point finishing that thought.

Not here.

Not now.

Perhaps there never will be.

The memories hurt enough without forcing them into words.

His gaze eventually shifts away from the courtyard and toward the open doors behind him, where the strategy room waits in silence.

From the balcony, he can still hear the soldiers below, but the sound seems farther away now, almost muffled beneath the weight of his own thoughts.

Inside the strategy room, several paintings hang along the walls.

And one of them is.. 

Parrot.

ClownPierce's eyes remain on the painting for a long moment.

He painted him again after learning about his execution.

He still remembers the moment he found out.

Not because someone warned him.

Not because anyone came to tell him what was happening.

There was no warning.

No message.

Nothing.

Just like him.

Even LettuceK lied to him about it.

By the time ClownPierce finally learned the truth, there was nothing left for him to do.

It was already too late. 

So he painted Parrot.

Again.

Maybe it was foolish.

Maybe it was pointless.

But he couldn't simply allow the memory of Parrot to disappear completely, not after everything that had already been taken from him.

The second painting is different from the first.

It isn't perfect.

ClownPierce knows that the moment he looks at it.

The proportions are slightly wrong. The expression doesn't quite capture what he remembers. There is something missing in the eyes, something he cannot put back no matter how carefully he studies the painting.

He doesn't know why.

Perhaps his hands were too tense while he painted.

Perhaps his thoughts were too loud.

Perhaps he simply couldn't remember Parrot's face as clearly as he used to.

Or perhaps...

Some things simply cannot be recreated once the person they belong to is gone.

Still, he keeps it.

He has to.

Because imperfect or not, it is still Parrot.

At least, it is something.

The painting hangs inside the strategy room alongside the others.

Most of them are hidden beneath black curtains, their frames barely visible beneath the fabric. It is a quiet tradition, a mark of respect for those who have fallen long ago.

ClownPierce doesn't allow those paintings to be uncovered casually. The people behind them are gone, but their memories remain, and that is enough reason for him to leave them undisturbed.

But there are two paintings covered with red curtains.

Two that are different.

Two that ClownPierce refuses to let anyone see.

He doesn't explain why.

He doesn't need to.

His eyes linger on them from the balcony for a moment, and something in his expression shifts so slightly that anyone watching from below would probably miss it.

Those paintings mean something different.

They aren't simply memories of people who died.

They are memories of people who still have a place inside him.

Memories he isn't ready to let the world touch.

ClownPierce's gaze slowly drops toward his hands.

The black gloves cover them completely.

For a few seconds, he does nothing.

Then, almost absentmindedly, he reaches for one glove and begins pulling it away.

The fabric slides slowly over his fingers.

His hand is finally exposed to the cold air.

And there it is.

The ring.

Still there.

Still sitting on his finger as though nothing has changed.

His wedding ring.

The one he shares with Branzy.

ClownPierce stares at it.

For someone who has spent so much of his life surrounded by weapons, bloodshed, power, and people who fear his name, the small piece of metal feels strangely out of place against his hand.

It shouldn't mean this much.

And yet it does.

His thumb slowly brushes over the ring.

The metal is cold against his skin.

For a moment, everything else seems to fade.

The soldiers below.

The orders.

The weapons.

The territory.

The entire Nether.

All of it becomes distant.

His mind returns to the people who are no longer beside him.

Branzy.

The paintings.

The family they once had.

Ashswag.

Parrot.

The people he has lost.

The people who are still somewhere beyond his reach.

And the people he is terrified of losing next.

That thought lingers longer than the others.

His grip around the railing tightens.

ClownPierce lowers his head slightly, his thumb still resting against the ring as if he can somehow hold onto everything through it.

He doesn't cry.

He doesn't break down.

He simply stands there, surrounded by the noise of soldiers preparing for another day, while carrying memories that feel heavier than any weapon he has ever held.

His fingers tighten around the ring.

His eyes close.

And for just a moment, the terrifying figure everyone below knows as ClownPierce disappears behind the silence of a man who misses someone terribly.

"...Branzy."

The name leaves his lips quietly.

Almost like a prayer.

Almost like an apology.

Almost like he is afraid that if he says it too loudly, the memory itself might hear him and decide to disappear.

Because he has already lost to fate's cruel joke.

( song recommend : Here :D

Alternative song : Alternative song :3

Hope you enjoy it! ) 

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Years ago, before the castle became quiet, there was a time when ClownPierce actually knew what it was like to come home and find someone waiting for him.

It had started with their wedding.

ClownPierce had never been particularly good at doing things normally, so when he told Branzy that he had a wedding gift for him, Branzy had expected something expensive.

A weapon, perhaps. Jewelry. Maybe some ridiculous artifact that ClownPierce had stolen from somewhere and decided would look good on him.

He had not expected a castle.

Branzy had stood in front of it for a long moment, staring up at the enormous structure before slowly turning toward ClownPierce.

"...You built this?"

ClownPierce only smiled.

"For you."

"For me?"

"For you."

Branzy looked back at the castle.

"Clown, this is a castle."

"I know."

"You built an entire castle."

"I know."

"For a wedding gift."

"I know."

Branzy stared at him.

"You're insane."

ClownPierce smiled.

"Probably."

And somehow, that became their home.

It wasn't perfect at first. Branzy complained about how enormous it was, how long it took to walk from one side to the other, and how ClownPierce apparently believed every room needed to be twice as large as necessary.

ClownPierce didn't care. 

He only wanted Branzy to have somewhere that belonged to him.

So Branzy filled it.

His paintings appeared on the walls one by one. Books slowly occupied the shelves. Plants somehow found their way into places where ClownPierce insisted plants had no business being. Blankets ended up on couches. Cups were left in rooms they did not belong in.

The once-empty halls began carrying the little traces of two people actually living there.

And ClownPierce loved it.

He would never admit it aloud, but he loved coming back from the battlefield and seeing something out of place because it meant Branzy had been there.

Sometimes Branzy would be waiting for him near the entrance.

Sometimes he would be asleep on the couch.

Sometimes he would be painting and barely notice ClownPierce had come home until a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind.

"You smell like the Nether," Branzy would mumble.

"I am in the Nether."

"I know."

"Then what's the complaint?"

"You smell like you've been fighting."

"I have."

Branzy would sigh, resting his head against him. 

"You're impossible."

"And yet you married me."

"Unfortunately."

ClownPierce would laugh and press a kiss to the top of his head before walking away, only for Branzy to follow him a few seconds later.

Their days were rarely grand.

Most of them were ordinary.

And perhaps that was what made them precious.

They argued over stupid things. They teased each other. They ate together when they remembered to.

Branzy stole food from ClownPierce's plate and then acted surprised whenever he was caught.

ClownPierce would pretend to be annoyed, even though he always left the best part untouched because he already knew Branzy would take it.

When Ashswag was born, the castle became even louder.

ClownPierce, who had once been able to command entire armies without hesitation, somehow became completely helpless whenever his son started crying. 

Oh and branzy?

Branzy found it hilarious.

"You can fight an entire army," he said one night, trying not to laugh as ClownPierce carefully held Ashswag in his arms.

"And?"

"You're scared of a baby."

"I'm not scared."

"You're holding him like he's going to explode."

"I'm being careful."

Branzy smiled.

"You look terrified."

ClownPierce glared at him.

Ashswag made a small noise.

ClownPierce immediately looked down.

Branzy chuckled. 

"See?"

"Shut up."

"You love him."

"Obviously."

The answer came so quickly that Branzy's smile softened.

"Yeah," he whispered.

ClownPierce looked at him.

"I do."

Branzy stepped closer and rested his head against ClownPierce's shoulder, looking down at their son.

For a while, they simply stood there.

The three of them.

Their little family.

Years passed. 

Ashswag grew older.

The castle changed with him.

There were toys where Branzy's paintings used to be. Then books. Then things neither Branzy or ClownPierce understood but Ashswag insisted were important.

The three of them grew into their own routines.

Sometimes Ashswag would sit with Branzy while he painted.

Sometimes he would follow ClownPierce around and ask questions until ClownPierce eventually told him he was being annoying.

Sometimes they would all sit together for dinner, and Branzy would look across the table at the two people he loved most and feel strangely content.

It wasn't perfect.

But it was theirs.

And ClownPierce loved coming home to it.

One evening, Branzy was sitting on the balcony when ClownPierce came outside.

He didn't say anything at first.

He simply walked over and sat beside him.

Branzy leaned against his shoulder.

"Tired?"

"A little."

"Long day?"

"Very."

Branzy smiled.

"You should rest."

"I am resting."

"You're sitting beside me."

"Exactly."

Branzy laughed quietly.

ClownPierce reached for his hand.

Their fingers intertwined naturally, as if they had done it a thousand times before.

They sat there together, watching the Nether glow beneath them.

"Do you ever regret it?" Branzy asked suddenly.

"Regret what?"

"Marrying me."

ClownPierce turned his head.

"Where did that come from?"

"Nowhere."

"That's not an answer."

Branzy shrugged.

"Just wondering."

ClownPierce looked at him for a few seconds.

Then he lifted Branzy's hand and pressed a kiss against his knuckles.

"No."

Branzy smiled.

"Not even a little?"

"Not even a little."

"Even though I stole your castle?"

ClownPierce raised an eyebrow.

"I gave you the castle."

"You gave me the castle and then complained when I changed everything."

"I never complained."

"You complained about the plants."

"They were blocking the hallway, my love."

"They were pretty."

"They were in the hallway."

Branzy laughed.

ClownPierce smiled.

Then Branzy leaned closer, resting his forehead against his.

"Good."

"Good?"

"I don't regret it either."

ClownPierce stayed there for a moment before quietly replying.

"I know."

And for once, there was nothing else they needed to say.

The castle stood behind them.

Ashswag was somewhere inside.

The Nether stretched endlessly beyond the balcony.

And ClownPierce had no reason to believe that anything would change.

Not yet

Not ever─

...

The door to the castle slammed open.

ClownPierce stepped inside so quickly that several soldiers near the entrance instinctively moved out of his way.

He barely noticed them.

His footsteps echoed through the halls as he walked faster, then faster still, his mind already somewhere else.

Something was wrong.

He didn't know what.

He only knew that he needed to get upstairs.

Now.

"ClownPierce."

Ferre's voice came from ahead.

ClownPierce looked up.

Ferre was standing in front of Branzy's bedroom door.

He wasn't moving.

For some reason, that made ClownPierce slow down.

"Where is he?"

Ferre didn't answer.

"Ferre."

The older man looked at him.

There was something in his eyes that ClownPierce had never wanted to see.

Ferre slowly shook his head.

Once.

That was all.

ClownPierce stared at him.

"No."

Ferre lowered his gaze.

"Clown..."

"No."

The word came out quieter this time.

ClownPierce walked past him.

Ferre didn't stop him.

His hand reached for the door.

For a moment, he simply stood there.

He could hear nothing.

No voice.

No movement.

Nothing from the other side.

The silence was wrong.

Branzy was never this quiet.

ClownPierce opened the door.

And the world seemed to stop.

Branzy was lying peacefully in bed.

Too peacefully.

His white hair was scattered against the pillow, his face calm, almost as if he had simply fallen asleep after a long day.

But he wasn't sleeping.

ClownPierce knew immediately.

He stood in the doorway.

He didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Didn't breathe.

His eyes stayed fixed on Branzy as if refusing to understand what they were seeing could somehow change it.

It couldn't.

Slowly, ClownPierce stepped inside.

One step.

Then another.

He reached the side of the bed.

"Branzy?"

Nothing.

ClownPierce waited.

Perhaps he would move.

Perhaps he would open his eyes and complain about being woken up.

Perhaps he would smile.

Perhaps this was some horrible misunderstanding.

"Branzy."

Still nothing.

ClownPierce reached out.

His hand stopped just above Branzy's shoulder.

He hesitated.

Then he touched him.

Cold.

That was when it became real.

His hand remained there.

For a long moment, ClownPierce simply stood beside the bed, staring at the man he had built an entire castle for.

The man who had filled its empty rooms.

The man who had stolen food from his plate.

The man who had mocked at him for being afraid of holding their son.

The man who had sat beside him on that balcony and told him he didn't regret marrying him.

Gone.

Just like that.

No battlefield.

No enemy.

No warning that ClownPierce could fight against.

There was nothing for him to kill.

Nothing for him to destroy.

Nothing he could threaten into giving Branzy back.

Only silence.

ClownPierce slowly sat down beside the bed.

His hand found Branzy's.

It was still.

He held it anyway.

His thumb brushed over Branzy's knuckles, almost absentmindedly, as though some part of him was still expecting warmth to return.

It didn't.

Behind him, Ferre remained by the doorway.

Neither of them spoke.

ClownPierce lowered his head.

His wedding ring caught the faint light from the window.

For years, he had believed there were some things he could always protect.

His territory.

His people.

His family.

Branzy.

He had been wrong.

The castle was still standing.

The walls were still intact.

The Nether outside continued to burn as it always had.

Everything looked exactly the same.

And yet, nothing was the same anymore.

ClownPierce tightened his grip around Branzy's hand.

He didn't cry.

Not then.

Perhaps he simply hadn't understood how.

He only sat there.

Holding the hand of the person who was never going to hold his again.

And somewhere beneath all that silence, one thought settled into his mind with unbearable clarity.

He had come home too late.

He failed once again. 

. 

.

Just like how he fail too now. 

ClownPierce looked at his troops. Now, nothing could stop him; he had no more doubts. 

Besides, he’d been kind enough to this server. 

If this server decided to be destroyed, then let ClownPierce be a part of that destruction himself. 

ClownPierce turned his head slightly and looked in their direction. 

'I'm sure you're all going to love this.'

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